#and everything since has just been driving me into a frenzy

[missroserose]

TOMORROW

@twobrokenwyngs and I are going to see The Joffrey’s Frankenstein

a.k.a. the Gay Monsterfucker Ballet

I am. SO EXCITED Y’ALL

(photo stolen from @joffreyballet on Instagram)

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[jellyfishsthings]

Nerves and Stolen Kisses

I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic about him for quite sometime and after last weekend I just had to. Estelle ( Ollie's rumoured gf is mentioned here but it is a fake relationship for PR reasons.) Also Paul Aron has a gf... friends to lovers trope.

Shoutout to @httpiastri for the inspiration

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was fast approaching. And Ollie was a jumble of nerves and excitement as usual. Since the early hour of the day, he opened the curtains letting the sun into the room and you groaned into the pillow.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Come on, we have a whole day ahead of us.”

“No, you do. I don't know why I came.”

“Because I am your bestest friend and I paid for your ticket and let you stay with me.”

“Both of which are for your benefit.”

“Come on….”

“Fine.” You say with a dejected sigh as you get up and you both get ready for the day. David, Ollie's dad was already waiting for you and you headed towards the paddock.

Everything was a frenzy and was passing by so quickly. As Ollie got into the garage and got ready for the quali you headed towards the stands trying to find Cassie, Paul's long-term girlfriend. Throughout the years you have formed a unique friendship. She was the only one who knew about your crush on Ollie and she teased you endlessly about it. Ollie and you had been best friends for the better part of your life, joint to the hip, having endless sleepovers, even if Dad didn't approve.

It was an endless nightmare being close enough to get a taste of all the what ifs, but never experiencing them.

“Do you and your lover boy share a room, huh?”

“It's not like that and you know it, Cassandra.”

“Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?”

“So much. You have no idea. Yesterday I couldn't sleep and as the hours passed, he came closer and closer. He ended up holding me in his sleep. And I felt so bad because of Estelle. I know that they aren't really together and it's for PR, but still, I feel awful because technically I am the other woman… and she is just so nice and sweet. Never overstepping, I think she knows.”

We both stay quiet after that as the session continues.

“You know… whatever the case. You both love each other, platonically or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” I say as I watch the times set by all the drivers, Ollie having the fastest one yet.

“Looks like your man is on pole.”

We both make our way through the paddock, trying to pass the roaring sea of fans and we hand out already-signed autographs to anyone who asks for them. When we finally arrive, we part ways, before making promises about having dinner together at a restaurant Cassie wanted to try. And I head towards the Prema garage finding two beaming Bearmans, hugging.

“Hey Bear. Did you drive fast enough?” You call at him. And he grins like an idiot before swooping you into a tight hug spinning you. His laughter echoes in your ears as he sets you down.

“Yeah I drove fast enough, you minx.”

“Good. Now let's go. We are having dinner with Paul and Cassie in four hours and I want to see the city.”

“Give me five minutes to change and we are good to go.”

The afternoon is spent visiting local stores, trying to communicate in scrappy English and making terrible puns with products or street names. When they finally head to the restaurant their sides hurt from laughing. Dinner passed by as quickly as it came. As everyone says, time flies by when you are with the people you love.

Just as they open the door for their hotel room, Ollie flops in the bed as you head towards your computer and open it as hoards of emails and messages appear on the screen. Great more deadlines and essays to write until the end of the week.

“Leave it. We can pretend that we have nothing to do and watch a movie or local TV and try to understand what the hell is going on.”

“Thanks Bear. But I can't, as tempting as your offer is. Go to sleep, I will join you soon.”

And so you sit in front of your computer, ending essay after essay, sending them on time, until your eyes hurt from the pale blue light. The bed seems more welcoming than ever before as Ollie starfishes the entire length of it and his soft snores fill the empty space. Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day.

An awful sound echoes in the room and eventually wakes you.

“I swear if it's one more ad I will jump from the window.” You grumble into your pillow as you steal the blankets and turn yourself into a burrito.

Ollie hisses as he opens his phone only to find a ton of messages and many missed calls from Ferrari. He dials Fred back as he moves towards the bathroom, trying to let you steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

When he emerges back in the room he sits down in front of you, his back supported on the bed.

“Ols, what's going on?”

“Carlos has an appendix”

“Oh no. Is he having surgery?”

“Yeah.” He says softly. “They want me to replace him.”

“What?” At that you are fully awake. Your hair is a netted nest and you look at him in shock. He looks at you, you his best friend who would look like a mess to anyone else but to him you look like the most beautiful and amazing creature in the world. Your mere presence has a more calming effect on him than anything else. If it weren't for you, he would have already lost his mind. “How? When? I…”

“We need to get to the paddock, if I don't want to miss FP3. I will wake up Dad and break the news to him.”

Soon after you enter the paddock and thousands of reporters try to get a better look at Ollie, flashing their cameras at you and bombarding you with questions as you make your way to the Ferrari garage and mechanics steal Ollie from you and David as they set to work quickly. David looks pale and sick as he paces into the garage trying to control his nerves through the FP3 and the Quali. When Ollie finally got off the car when he scored the 11th place, missing Q2 only by 3 hundreds of a second, you knew that this was it. He was finally shining like the bright star he was. He had done more than enough, his raw talent showing with barely one hour to get used to the car. And as mechanics and reporters closed around him. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't belong here. Where did you fit in? The reality hit you and it hit you hard. You hid in the back corners of the garage, eyes glued to the screen as everyone passed by without acknowledging you. You would happily hide in the shadows where he shined but this world wasn't meant for you. The anxiety was picking up at you, eating you alive from the inside.

And when Ollie got too close to the wall, your heart stopped beating. He was driving a car that was twice as fast and twice as dangerous than his normal F2 car. It was too much. The sound, the danger, everything really. Breathing suddenly seemed so hard and you needed a way out. As you hide behind the garage you call the one person who could understand. Terri picks up in the second ring her soft voice already calming you.

“Hey love. Is everything alright?”

“How do you do it? How can you stand back and do nothing?”

“You love him, don't you sweetheart?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well … no I always hoped but… whatever the case, to answer your question you simply do it, you just have to. A driver needs his support system and you are it for him. You are his forever person, whether that is romantically or not. He needs to be near you and as much nervous as you are, so is he. Without you he would be lost, believe me I know my son. And I can bet you that as much as your heart breaks right now, you are also immensely proud.”

“Of course I am. But where do I fit in, in this world.”

“Right beside him, love.”

“Thanks Terri. Please call David. I think he is losing his mind and he is sick with worry.” You say chuckling before saying your goodbyes and head back towards the garage. The session is already over and Ollie is nowhere in sight.

Ollie plays with the power button of his phone trying to calm down but to no avail. The lock screen is a photo of the two of you. It was last summer both your skins flushed and hair slightly wet and tangled. You both smile at the camera and your eyes look bright with happiness. He feels slightly lighter but he knows that there is an impending panic attack and so he turns to the one person who could help him in this situation.

"I got your text," you say, tiptoeing inside and shutting the door behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds to scare him. "How are you doing?”

Ollie is sitting on a massaging table, elbows on top of his legs and head resting in his hands. His eyes are stuck on the floor, his silence is defeaning. When he still doesn't answer, your heart rate picks up. Is something really wrong?

You make your way over to him, hands finding his cheeks and softly tilting him up to look at you – and you swear you've never seen him look this wrecked before. Not after his worst crashes, not when he lost the rookie championship last year, not when he was cheated out from the Formula 3 championship. Once again, you've entered completely new territory, and your heart breaks at the sight.

"Ollie, talk to me," you plead, holding back the tears that starts to form on your eyes and threatento spill. It's so painful to look into his eyes, but you can't back down. Not now, not when he needs you this much.

"I'm-" his voice cracks but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm so nervous, I don't know what to do."

It's like he's oozing anxiety, and his heavy sigh is like a stab in your chest. Ollie, your usually so calm and collected best friend is probably going crazy over this – you know him well enough by now to understand that he's definitely freaking out even more on the inside than what he shows or tells. He is a messy jumble of nerves.

"I get that. One hundred per cent. But.." your thumbs begin to stroke over the skin of his cheeks, along his jaw, and then finally across his eyebrows, to which his eyes flutter closed. "This is your dream. It's been your dream since forever, and now you finally have the chance.”

"And it's not just any car, it's a Ferrari. Do you realize how cool that is? Do you realize how many people would kill for an opportunity like this?" You smile at the sight of him with his eyes still shut, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, messy fringe covering his forehead. Even like this, at his most stressed state, he's completely gorgeous, not that you would ever tell him that. "You would've killed for an opportunity like this just 24 hours ago."

"But what if I ruin it?" His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, shoulders slumping forward. "What if I go out there and I'm shit, and then they realize what a big mistake they've made by even putting me in the academy? What if-"

"It won't happen." His eyelids slowly open and he looks up at you, seemingly not even the slightest upset that you cut him off. "You're too good to do that. You'll get in that car and it will feel like your second home, just like it always does."

Finally, a small smile makes its way onto his lips. It's only been a few minutes since you came in, but he seems much more relaxed now, leaning into your touch completely. "I'll try my best to make you proud."

“I'm always proud of you, you mufflehead.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest and he stands up from the table, opening his arms wide and pulling you in for a tight hug. His heart is still beating louder than a drum in his chest when your ear is pressed up against it, and you're almost worried it will jump out any second now. But his breaths are much more controlled now, and his mind seems much lighter. And soon enough his heartbeat slows to normal.

“I bet that in twenty four hours not only will you finish the race, you will score points and beat Max Verstappen.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves” he says chuckling. “God, my neck is killing me.”

“Sit down. I've got you.” And so you start massaging his neck. It's stiff and hard under your hands and he lets a small groan as you untangle one of the knots that were quite painful. After a few minutes he is putty in your hands, his eyes closed, trusting you completely and feeling at ease for the first time in the past two days.

True to your world, Ollie crosses the finish line in seventh place, having gained points in his debut. But the one thing that kept him calm through the process was the thought that she was waiting for him in the cool down room. When the race finishes and drives the car back home he jumps from his seat and he can't get fast enough to her. People around him are praising him and congratulating him but they all fall to deaf eyes.

When he finally gets into the room to change into new fireproofs, she is patiently waiting for him. Her eyes are a little misty and her face flushed.

“I told you.”

“I didn't beat Max.”

“Still.”

She closes in on him and her hands are thrown around his neck, he reciprocates the hug immediately as his heart beat finally slows down. They doth draw away after a while only for him to dive back into her and kiss her firmly on the lips. Shock petrifies her and when he stops, he places his forehead on top of hers. He is a flustered mess and he is mumbling apologies, before she reconnects their lips.

For the following hours Ollie sports a shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone thinks that it is because of his amazing performance and not for kissing the girl that held his heart captive since they were five years old.

[inmyminditsreal]

I Hate You A Little Less Between My Legs

Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Spencer and Reader hate each other. But sometimes hatred turns into something...more.

Warnings: Sex, p in v, oral (fem receiving), hate fuck, agression.

This is my first time writing smut!!!! lmk what yall thinkkk

It begins

Me and Spencer are rivals. We hate each other's guts. I hate him because ever since I joined the BAU he’s just been rude. God, so rude. All the shitty looks and comments. You’d think he was nice because of his warm demeanor. I joined a couple years back, and as soon as we were introduced, he looked at me. Not in a really mean way, but almost as if he wants to eat me, something dark. 

It’s been a long day at the office, everyone is gathered at the bar, Spencer has been his normal annoying self all night. I’m leaving the bar after everyone has left, except Spencer of course.

“Y’know today would’ve been so much better if you had just stopped talking. Seriously.” Spencer says as he walks backwards in front of me.  I stop, look at him, and of course he’s smirking. I’m finally done. I want nothing more than to rip that gross smirk off his face. So I do that, not in the only way I know how, but in the only way he wouldn't expect. I roughly grab him by the face and dig my lips into his, pushing him against the wall. 

“Yeah?” I say while tugging on his hair. He reacts quickly by groaning into my lips, like it's all he’d ever wanted. No. Needed. The barrier of tension around us has finally been broken, like a needle to a balloon. Now that I've popped it, I know this is it. I have to prove I can't be broken, won’t be broken.

“You really think you’re in control? God I know how badly you must’ve wanted this.” He says in a breathless whisper as he slides his hands under my thighs and lifts me into his arms. I feel my stomach flutter and my knees start to feel weak. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Something is uneasy about his eyes. The way they look at me feels hungry, starving. 

“Oh really? I’ve wanted this? Look at yourself, you’re barely holding yourself together.” I say, obviously lying. I lean into his growing bulge and he swallows with steady eyes on my every move. The reins of control are passed back and forth, no matter how desperately  I want him to have them.  I’m so afraid he knows that.  He puts one hand under my ass and the other around my waist and he starts to walk to his car. He plops me down and slams the door. He drives urgently to his place, arriving suddenly. I try to get out of the car and walk but he suddenly swings me over his shoulder, so easily. My legs start to tense. Why is this turning me on so much? 

“Put me down. What are you doing Spencer?”

“Carrying you to my bed. What else did you expect?”

The sudden calm on his face is scary but in a way that makes me want even more, an adrenaline of intrigue. To his apartment, to his room, eventually thrown on to his bed in a frenzy. 

“This is what you wanted? Huh? Tell me princess.”

This wasn’t what I wanted when I kissed him, but I want it now, need it now.

“Why don't you find out?” I tease while beginning to undress my shirt, taking a childish amount of time to undo each button. I notice his eyes getting darker with every single one. About halfway done, in a  swift motion, it's ripped off and discarded like nothing. With a small gasp from my mouth, I don’t know what to say.

“Really, you’re going to try and tease me? After you’ve already started this.” He rips off his shirt, then his pants, and everything. Looking at his body, I feel so needy. My once potent hatred, now waning. walking towards me , he spreads my legs, rips off my skirt, then gently clasps the edges of my panties, sliding them slowly over my skin, throwing them to the floor. I unclip my bra, nipples hard and aching. I swear I hear him whisper under his breath something along the lines of, “beautiful.” Pushing me further onto the bed, me now on my back. He begins to kiss and nip at the skin on my bare stomach. His fingers trail along my folds and he begins to dip his fingers in and out. Fuck. 

“All wet for me.” He says with that stupid smirk.

“Oh shut-up.” I groan.

He uses his free hand to grasp my breast, teasing soft circles around my nipples. I whimper blissfully. He kisses down my neck, then my stomach, sucking on my hips, then leaving peppered kisses down my pussy. I shutter. 

He slides on a condom just before he lines himself up with my entrance, gently slapping his cock over it.  

 With a cocky smile and a powerful push, he’s inside me, and he doesn’t stop. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck. He pounds into me with controlling movements, angry ones. With my fierce scratches carving into his back. He seems unfazed, maybe even happy. 

“I’ve always wanted to see you like this, to rip that witty demeanor you carry right off. And I have, you’re a mess.”

“You think you’re making me a mess? Trust me this isn’t what a mess looks like.” 

“Oh we’ll see about that.”

His anger turns me on, it sets me on fire. His anger gets worse and his thrusts only get harder, more urgent. I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to go slower but still so fucking hard. 

“Fuck.” I cry. He smiles in response. His fingers wrap around my clit, urging me gently while rubbing sly circles. 

“Oh god I’m close” 

I groan. “Harder.”

He doesn’t disappoint and thrusts into me with even more force, leaning in to cup my breasts. Rubbing my nipples with his fingers gently, while pressing harder and pinching suddenly. I scream a moan in reaction. He leans down to suck my nipples, biting and nipping at them. I’ve never been touched this way, and he’s coming to know that. His groans and breathy whispers are so much more beautiful than I’d ever expected them to be.

“I’m gonna! Im-” I yelp as he pulls out just in time for me to not finish. He hasn’t finished either, but he wants to watch me squirm, and fuck, I do. Wriggling under him in incoherent whines. The line between pleasure and pain seems so distant it hurts.

“Please.” I pant in a small voice. His smile makes me boil but my desire is so much hotter. 

“Tell me you’re mine and I’ll let you cum.”

“What?” 

“You heard me.”

He slowly creeps his head down between my thighs, licking one soft stroke down the middle of my pussy, making me arch needlessly. His hands are big and rough lacing my outer thighs with silky strokes and gentle rubs. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders, moving even closer to the place I want him most. My hand hesitantly but eagerly grips onto his hair and pulls.

“Come on, you know you want to.” He whispers while looking up into my eyes, the darkness in them looking so much hotter than it used to. My brain fighting between giving in and taking the reins once more, finally being in control. Just as I’m about to resist him, he says,

“Alright then princess, you’re stronger than I thought.” and he begins to swirl soft circles around my clit, making me whine desperately.  Though everything is telling me no, god no, take back control, leave, walk out, get away, dont. I plead in a voice so needy it surprises even me, “Im yours. Please. I-I'm all yours. “ 

His head cocks back and he smiles, “Good girl, I knew you had it in you.” He hesitates for a second, looking at me. This time, I don’t know what his eyes are saying. Then he digs his head into my core, his tongue exploring what I like, and what I don’t. I’m loud enough so that he knows, and he loves it. He plunges his tongue inside me and takes it out, using my wetness to coat me in a lustful mess. Soft in some spots, rough in others. Fluttering his tongue around my layers, sucking slowly around my clit. Rolling my hips and swinging my arms above my head. My mewls and moans make him work even harder, incoherent words mumble from my mouth. Once I’m close, I cry, 

“Spencer. Oh god Spencer.” 

I’ve already given up control. This can’t be any worse. 

“You’re adorable when you’re like this y’know? All needy and wet,  and all for me. I was right.” He says in a breathless voice that makes me groan with pleasure.

I roll my eyes and mumble, “Right about what..mm?”

“You must’ve wanted me so fucking bad, to be rolling your hips and moaning my name. All this just for me. It’s hilarious.” He breathes with a bitchy smile. Everytime he talks against me, his voice vibrates my insides.

“Shut up.”

He laughs, “No shitty comeback, I must really have you on your knees, or well, on your back, about to come for me.” He smirks.“Y’know.” He says as he licks me up and down, making me shiver and writhe. “I think you look so perfect under me. All simple and helpless.” While before he can spit out anything else, I pull on his hair, pushing him even deeper into me. He doesn’t complain and eats me for all I’m worth, all I am. I cum in waves. Waves of pleasure and a sense of giving in. I’m overtaken, I’ve waited and this was it. I groan and shutter, twitching until it's over. I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I had. Eyes closed, head held back. Spencer's eyes were on me, I couldn't see them but God, he was admiring me. He thinks I look so beautiful, a sweaty, blushing mess. But he’d never say. One day I won't need him too. The night ends with his arms around my waist, tangled in sheets. 

The next morning was a bliss shattered by a phone call. My familiar ringtone haunts me and my arm wrangles out to grab it, it’s Hotch. Picking it up I yawn, “Yeah? Hotch, is everything alright?” 

“You’re late. So is Spencer. Do you know where he is? He didn’t pick up. Also, come to work.” 

“Shit” I mumble while looking over at Spencer laid out on the bed, the sun hitting him in a way that curses me. 

“Yeah..uhm we hung out after the bar. So I stayed on his couch. We’ll be right there. Sorry!” Sounding so fucking unconvincing.

“You two. ‘Hanging out?’ Alright, just get here.” He said it in that one way, the way you know he’s suspicious of you but not angry, not that angry. He hangs up.

“That was the shittiest excuse I've ever heard. In what world would he believe that we were hanging out?” Spencer laughs from the bed, stretching as he sits up.

“Shut up alright I know, just get dressed and let’s go.” We both stand up, I grab my clothes and walk to the bathroom to get changed. We go to work and receive awkward stares and side-eyes. In a room full of profilers, I’ve never felt so judged.

[phyrestartr]

Baby Crazy | Miguel x F!Reader

Miguel x Symbiote Host!Reader W/C: 1.8k

#SFW, mentions of trauma, mentions of past miscarriage, new beginnings, Miguel has baby fever, established relationship, fluff, comfort

Note: I'm trying to finish up and move on from a bunch of WIPs I have cluttering up my docs, so that's why I'm rapid-fire posting LOL. I have so many that are nearly done bro it's driving me insane!!!

--

Something changed.

This hadn't happened before, the way he was acting, the way he was feeling. Everything around him, anything that even slightly hinted at kids, triggered the frenzy in Miguel’s brain; if Peter showed up at HQ with May in his arms, Miguel had a hard time leaving the room and ignoring them because–yes he wanted to hold her, god dammit, hand her over already, Parker.

Then there were the instances with Jess on missions; any time she got whipped around, Miguel flew to her in an instant, asking if the baby was okay before asking if Jess was okay. He knew they were both fine, but–but still.

And, Christ, when you held a baby, and that stoicism lifted from your beautiful face? It killed Miguel, made him fall even more in love with you if that was even possible. 

Fuck. He was so, so doomed. 

He'd never seen you so soft before. Just that little glimpse of your maternal instincts, your quiet gentility, dyed your partner’s blood in bright hues of hope and wonder. Because you were a hardened woman, someone the universe took great pleasure in beating on time after time. It was a wonder love could still find a home inside your bruised heart. Miguel had been there to see you before it all, and held you through most of the downfall, and when he’d missed things, you filled in the gaps for him; you were his greatest confidant, ranking high in Miguel’s mind with Lyla and Gabriel. 

You'd been there since the beginning as a cool, calm, collected reporter that'd do just about anything to get the next story for the papers. Miguel found you incredibly aggravating, and he would have had much less patience for you if he hadn't wanted to get in bed with you so much. And as it turned out, your insatiable curiosities would come to bite you in the ass as much as it would foster your bond to the scientist; you would become host to the symbiote, and he would become spliced with spider genetics. 

Spiderman. Venom. 

Who else could you turn to but each other? Who else would understand what it felt like to change in a split second, to endure what it meant to change? 

You'd both done your damndest to take it in stride, and now here you were, too many years later, stuck to each other like glue and hardened off into something hurt and impenetrable that just now started to ease into something soft and malleable. Miguel found he loved it. He loved you. 

And, shit, he wanted a goddamn baby with you. 

He watched you from the couch while you loitered in the kitchen, hair a mess and oversized sleep shirt hanging lazily off one shoulder as you willed yourself to get a pot of coffee going. Rosy eyes glanced down to your stomach. How tight would that shirt get when you were nine months? And what if you had twins? Miguel had confidence in himself, he figured he had the power to put two babies in you at once. Easy. No problem. Definitely doable and–

"Miguel?" You called from the kitchen with a croaky, groggy voice.

"Baby?" He blurted, the fever in his mind overtaking his mouth and sabotaging what he tried to say. 

You stared at Miguel as heat rose to his face. He didn't call you "baby." You didn't call him "baby." You had a right to be suspicious. And because you were you, you continued to stare, and stare, and stare like it was some kind of punishment done to make Miguel squirm in his seat (which succeeded). 

"I–uh, shit, sorry. You–say again?" 

You stared at him. 

"(Name), for the love of–stop, just stop. Please," he more or less begged as he rubbed his face. Maybe he could rub away the red staining his cheeks if he tried hard enough. 

"Hm." You collected the two mugs of coffee you'd prepared during Miguel's daydream, and brought them to the couch. "You've been thinking about babies a lot." 

Miguel took the mug with a soft thanks. "Well, it's hard not to with Jess and Peter around," Miguel deflected. 

You slipped your legs across his lap and leaned against the arm of the couch. "Mh." You sipped your coffee and held it with both hands to warm your chilled fingers. "Do you want–" 

"I think so." He looked at you, eyes big with a maelstrom of nerves and excitement dancing behind them as sparks fluttered in his chest. "Do you?" 

Your head tilted just slightly as you looked him over. "Mhm. Wanna do it now?" 

Miguel's palm magnetized to your thigh and squeezed. "Well, I think we've got time."

“Okay.” Miguel smirked and started to feel up your leg, his fingers dipping into the sleep shorts you wore. But then, you took out your phone, and paid no mind to his lustful touches. “What do you want?”

Miguel blinked. “What?” 

You stared at him again. “For breakfast.” 

“Oh.” 

“Mh.” You fidgeted with your phone between your fingers for a moment. “Oh. Did you…think I was talking about–?”

“No,” Miguel interjected. “I–I just thought you–maybe just–I, well. Maybe?” He swallowed and drummed his fingers against your leg. “Have you…thought about it?” 

The question held weight; he knew you’d thought about it, knew you lamented over it, even, because you lost a child just as he had. The memories swirling in your mind never rose to the surface, never burned into the history of the outside world, but Miguel knew they were there. He knew a late-term miscarriage could never be forgotten. 

“Mmh…” You slipped your legs off his lap and made slow work of tucking them into your sleepshirt, making yourself a blob. A very cute, sleepy blob. “We’ve thought about it,” you admitted, but didn’t expand. It gave Miguel hope, though. Clearly you’d mulled it over with your other half. 

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

Your partner nodded. His hand found its way onto the bump of your knee, and his thumb rubbed curious circles against you as he exercised patience, like a puppy sitting and waiting for a treat. You watched his hand on you, quietly admiring the veins and tendons proudly pushing against his skin, and the shift of muscle dancing under his movements as he soothed you.

“Are you ready?” You wondered softly. One of your hands slipped from your mug in favour of resting over his. “For a baby.” 

Miguel chewed his cheek for a moment and watched your hand, too, like avoiding each other’s gaze would somehow quash the trepidation, make it easier to admit what you both wanted and what you both feared. But Miguel, the man who didn’t always like what he had to do but knew what he had to do, bit the bullet and found your eyes. Your beautiful, perfect eyes. Maybe your shared joy would have them, too. 

“Yeah.” He scooted into your space and caressed your warm cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “If it’s with you,” he said, and turned his hand to cup your cheek with his palm, “I’m sure.”

The still, placid look of you melted, just the slightest bit, under the incalescence of your lover’s touch. Your lovely lips twitched a fraction, but the true smile, the one Miguel craved to see day after day, glowed in the colour of your eyes. 

“Hm.” You hummed softly as you nodded, thinking and deliberating with your other half. Your gaze wandered away from Miguel and to the side slowly, to the side she whispered in the most. Your eyes fluttered, then, gaze recentering and focusing on Miguel in front of you again. 

“Well?” He tucked some hair behind your ear only for you to un-tuck that same piece. Miguel tucked it back again, and this time, you let him. “What’s the jury say?”

You took a deep breath, and nodded. “We think we’re ready,” you murmured. You caught his hand and pressed a light kiss to his knuckles, treating him like the princess you knew he was. “If it’s with you, we’re sure.” And this time, you gave him a smile. 

Miguel’s heart erupted. His boyish grin hit you with the concentrated power of the sun before he all but dove into you, crushing you with a hug, and spilling coffee everywhere. You made some sort of strange noise, something between laughter and panic, as you fumbled with the mugs and set them down wherever you could while Miguel peppered you with affection. He kissed your de-blobbed body, first your collarbone and then between your breasts. He nuzzled there before taking a deep, deep breath of your scent and sighing, content.

“You’re weird,” you said as you carded your hands through his hair while he basked in the glory of your chest. 

He pulled his face out of heaven and rested his chin between the girls as he gazed up at you, eyes bleeding adoration and excitement. “Oh, what, I’m not allowed to be excited for a baby?” 

You pinched his nose and watched him scrunch up his face and suffer. “You’re just weird.” Your mean fingers found his eyebrows and pulled them. “I’m excited, too. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” You let go of the hairs and smoothed them over with your thumbs. “About trying again.” 

That had Miguel’s attention. “You never mentioned it.” He tilted his head, resting his cheek against one plushy mound as he listened. 

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t know if I should.” You dragged your nails against Miguel’s scalp, and he closed his eyes with a pleased sigh. “I’m glad you did.”

Miguel hummed warmly. “Guess we were both a little scared, huh? Hah. Venom and Spiderman, afraid to talk about the future. Who woulda thought.” He picked his head up to look you in the eyes. “But at least that’s out of the way now.” 

“Mh. Now you can stop complaining about using condoms,” You said, deadpan. 

“I–you–look, you don’t get it–”

“Hm.”

“It feels different. Better. Like a real connection–”

“Hmm.” 

“And–okay, fine, I’d rather not have a shitty layer of rubber between me and you. What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Hmmm.”

“Vieja,” Miguel pleaded. 

You smiled, soft and quiet like drifting petals. “Like I said, you won’t need to complain about them anymore. Not for a while, anyway.”

Miguel bit your tit lightly, and you flicked his forehead. “Why don’t we not-complain right now?” 

“Hm.” 

“We have time to start round one of baby-making, yeah?” His smile, dangerous and hungry, split across his features again as his hands wandered up and under your shirt teasingly. “If we knock you up now, we’ll have a kid born in…what, February? Good start to a new year.” 

You thought about it more seriously than Miguel thought you would, if the narrowing of your brows and a sudden prolonged silence told him anything. You were probably mulling over the zodiacs for that month, though, deciding if you liked them enough to go for it. Even with your serious take on things, you still loved your astrology. 

“Hm. Okay.” But you plucked your phone off the ground and turned the menu you’d pulled up to Miguel. “Food first. Baby-making after.” 

He nodded. “Deal.”

[celestoria]

May I have 9, 15, and 17 with kaeya? Congrats on the milestone!

Tags: gag, oral (f), fingering, manager!kaeya x idol!reader

Do not interact if you are 17 or below (17+)

You sat on the edge of the table, your back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror, and your stuff messily placed aside has lost its original order.

“Shh, let me take care of everything,” Kaeya whispered, undoing the zipper you had in between the crotch that was originally placed for an emergency bathroom break but was now used for a quickie. “I promise I wouldn’t make a mess.”

Only twenty minutes to go and you’d be running down the backstage hallways to perform for the biggest concert of your solo career. It was a risky thing to do, fucking your manager when the time was ticking, but you knew the both of you needed this so much with all the stress piling up.

Understanding he couldn’t spill cum on you due to the fact it might turn into a mess that would lead to scandals he can’t afford you to have, he instead inserted a finger or two within you. He knew you like the back of his hand with how long you have been working together, making all the spots that made you quiver with a single touch feel like common knowledge.

“Kaeya,” you gasped as his fingers curled and the thumb of his other hand grazed your inner thigh while keeping you well spread apart.

His hand left your thigh and reached out for a handkerchief he keeps in his pocket, balling it to before stuffing it into your mouth, ruining the inner corners of your lipstick. “As much as I love hearing your beautiful voice moan out my name like that, it would be a shame if anyone finds out we’re being a little dirty here, don’t you think?”

You had no objections since you could hear the faint squeals and cheers of your fans leaking through the plywood thin walls which led you to assume people outside could hear what you’ve been up to.

Kaeya skillfully moved his middle and ring finger, with his pinky and pointer resting on top of your outer lips, telling you that he placed so much in you. Your chin hovered on Kaeya’s shoulder, making your suppressed moans loud and clear for his ears to listen. A familiar knot formed in your stomach, your legs wanting to close if it wasn’t for Kaeya being in between you and holding one leg in place.

“Cumming this soon? Looks like someone’s in a hurry,” he teased but gave no resistance. He pulled out of you, leaving a trail of translucent liquid clinging to him and your cunt. “Ha, I wonder if I had my dick inside you, would I make you five times wetter than you are now,” he said as the cool air brushed against your damp cunt.

You still had ten minutes before the show starts and he didn’t want you to leave this room with your juices staining your bodysuit. Kaeya knelt, still spreading you apart with his hands on your knees. Something tells you that this quickie was just getting started.

“Dear me, and I thought I promised that I wouldn’t make a mess. Guess that’s why people say to only believe half of what comes out of my mouth,” he joked. “Here, let me clean you up.”

His tongue slowly licked your inner corners, swallowing the thick cum coating you. Kaeya knew time was running out and gave not even a minute to calm down from your high before eating you out right before your show. It’s as if he intended to give you such an adrenaline rush for “stress relief”.

His voice vibrates on your pussy while relishing your cinnamon sweet taste. All of his attention went to your nub and flicked it up and down, causing you to move your hands from the open edges of the table to his long blue locks to grip on him. Kaeya’s mouth continued to lap on you, switching between your clit and pussy. Your thighs pressed in between the man’s head, driving him into a frenzy.

You tried pulling his head away from you, leaving Kaeya panting and thirsting for more. His lip was glossed by the same slick dripping down to his chin, which ended up dried clean by the inner sleeve of his white coat.

Kaeya pulled his handkerchief out of your mouth and wiped you off with the parts that weren’t dampened up. “How do you feel,” he asked, zipping you shut like nothing ever happened.

“A hundred times better,” you huffed with a faint smile forming on your lips.

Three minutes ticked before the show was about to start and you have never felt this good for ages. Kaeya being your manager was your best decision because only he had the guts to just eat you out when you were rushing.

Maybe during the afterparty, you’ll repay him and his efforts.

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just Wish I knew what caused it

(Fitpac exs to lovers)

Ch. 1 (to be named maybe)

Next Chapter

Translations done with assistance from: @caracolast (Portuguese) @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish)

Fit was driving along the interstate in silence…. okay mostly silence.

The Radio had given out about an hour beforehand and Ramon was sitting in the passengers seat fixing it; which wasn't all that quiet.

Fit was almost thankful for the lack of music, even if it did mean he couldn't stop thinking, because at least that meant he could wear his prosthetic arm and keep control of the wheel. With this distraction Ramon wasn't itching to take it apart again.

Fit’s mind was wandering, thinking about the circumstances he'd ended up in.

A single father traveling halfway across the country in the middle of summer to live on a ranch with strangers; one of which he had possibly fought in a war with.

The only reason he was even entertaining the idea was because Phil had suggested it.

And the only reason he was going is that he ran out of ways to avoid it.

He had no job, no extended family, and his savings were dwindling fast.

Phil had called Cellbit last week asking if he still needed more hands and if he had space for them.

A few days later, Fit and Ramon had as much of their life as they could fit in the back of their truck, that was almost twice Ramon's age, and were off to California. Everything else of value they managed to get in storage and Fit had a Trust to keep that paid for a while.

And as he thought about how he'd even get their stuff, he realized he didn't ask nearly enough questions. He knew he name of the guy who agreed to hire him; Cellbit. He knows he has kids near Ramon's age and that he is married but to who? Phil mentioned another hand who lived there but through the frenzy Fit didn't at all hear who it was and based on how Phil was talking about it, maybe he was supposed to know one or both of them? And if he didn't were they trustworthy? Were any of them? Fit had already been thinking of that anyway. He didn't care much if something happened to him but if something happened to Ramon, his beautiful baby boy, a gift from heaven, Fit could never-

There's a sudden loud static noise before some cheesy pop song that Fit doesn't know starts playing. The volume is turned down, “Finally! Fuck… look Fit I got it.” Ramon proudly lifted up the radio for Fit to see out of the corner of his eye before Ramon put the Radio back in its spot in the dash.

Fit smiled letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding “Hey good job kid… you're going to make a lot of money one day, just don't forget about me when you're a rich and famous mechanic.” He ruffled Ramon’s hair and Ramon laughed.

“I could never. I learned everything from fixing your shit” Ramon scoffed, smiling before flipping down the visor and opening the mirror.

Ramon gently traced his fingers over his upper lip examining it excitedly. Ramon had wanted a mustache since he was 5 and he finally had some dark lip hair develop after his 15th birthday.

Fit was excited for him. Even if it would come with the discussions of how the hell do you even maintain and clean facial hair. Fit had personal experience and it could be a hassle.

“How much farther do we have?” Fit asked after a bit getting worried they somehow missed the exit.

Ramon checked his phone which was navigating them; “5 miles to the exit, then another 10 till we're actually there. It'll be about 20 minutes”

Fit nodded appreciatively. “Alright then.” he mentally calculated which lanes he should get in and when based off the traffic level in each. “You excited? There's bound to be plenty of stuff that could use your touch.”

Ramon nodded but even only half looking Fit could tell something was off. “…Tallulah and Chayanne wouldn't lie to you about the kids you know”

“I know… it's just a lot of change… and… I still feel like it's my fault.” Ramon shrugged

“Ramon…” Fit cooed in his usual tone when he's trying to be assuring

“I know… I know. You're the one who wore the wrong arm and then lost the data but just-” Ramon faltered

“Ramon, this could have happened without you being around. And honestly my arm was a bad place to store the data I don't know why he insisted upon it.” Fit put his hand on Ramon's shoulder “This isn't a ‘you’ problem. I have it handled now, and if this doesn't work out I'll get us a cheap camping spot and I'll find something eventually.”

Ramon nodded “alright” he hummed and looked out the window “Thanks, dad”

Fit smiled feeling that maybe this time Ramon would internalize it.

Soon they were off the interstate and driving straight until they got to the Ranch. Waiting to meet them was a man Fit hoped was Cellbit, with a child who Fit thought couldn't be older than 6 and an older child that seemed to be around Ramon's age.

The older one was sitting on the fence, swinging his legs. He wore a yellow and green Jersey for a team Fit didn't recognize but seemed to have a Brazilian flag on it. His eyes were covered by his curly hair that he seemed perfectly content on leaving despite acting like a lookout. He was wearing shorts and one of his socks seemed to go up higher than the other. Fit thought this looked odd…

The younger kid, who was using the paved road just inside the fenced area of the ranch to skateboard, was wearing a red and white striped shirt that was definitely to big for him as you could only just see his shorts even though they went to his knees. His knees were covered by his pads, the kid was also wearing a helmet that covered most of his hair but it seemed to have a curl of its own.. He did note this kid probably had the largest pair of glasses he ever saw on someone under 18. The kid almost looked like Where’s Waldo.

The adult, who appeared to be taking a break from his own skateboard, wore a white tank top and brown pants with a green long sleeve tied around his hips. The back of his brown hair, that was graying in the front, was pulled back and he seemed to be enjoying the sun. He turned as he heard Fit’s truck pull up and stop before the gate. He smiled and climbed over and hopped down.

The older kid went to hop down as well but the man clearly recognizing it before it could happen stopped him “Richarlyson! Tua perna não aguenta isso! Não pula dessa altura.”

The kid, Richarlyson, frowned climbing down instead and walked over to stand next to the man. Fit put the car in park and got out. “Hello, my name is Fit. I got hired to work here, I'm looking for Cellbit?”

The man smiled and offered his hands “I'm him, It's nice to meet you, Fit” he looked him over, his eyes eventually landing on his prosthesis “Nice arm, who do you get them from?”

Fit looked at his arm “oh. Uh my son actually made this one, I had kept a bunch of my old arms in a box and he managed to put this together for my birthday one year.”

“Que massa! My Pai made my leg!” Richarlyson proudly proclaimed pulling up his shorts to show where flesh met the sleeve of a prosthetic. That “sock” was not a sock at all but metal painted fully black and honestly it looked very well made.

“Oh wow” Fit looked to Cellbit impressed but Cellbit shook his head.

“Ah! Não sou eu. that's someone else. I mean I am his Pai but not the one who made the leg.” Cellbit chuckled putting an arm on Richarlyson’s back.

Now that Fit was closer, the scars that littered Cellbit’s arm’s and face became more obvious. That was a war veteran if he ever saw one.

“So kid,… uh how old are you?” Fit asked, that was a question you were supposed to ask kids you don't know right?

“14” Richarlyson answers. “You?”

Fit pauses, that's not usually how these conversations go, but before he can answer

"¡Apa Cellbi! ¿Puedo ir y decir hola?" The younger child called

Cellbit waved him over.

The kid took his helmet off and crawled through the fence before running up and hugging Cellbit “Hello!”

“This is my youngest, Pepito” Cellbit introduced

“Aww, hello Pepito, my Name is Fit.”

Pepito pointed to the truck “Who’s he?”

Every one looked to see and Ramon waved through the window realizing he was being stared at.

“That's my son Ramon. He's a bit shy” Fit explained

“Oh okay…” Pepito nodded “I like his hair.”

“I’ll tell him you said so” Fit assured.

“Let me go open the gate and you can drive up to the house” Cellbit said “we’ll catch up”

Fit nodded “I mean, I can drive you. The only stuff in the back passenger area is a couple of suitcases and a cooler that can be put in the back since we're here now.”

Cellbit nodded “Alright, thanks, thank you.”

Cellbit had the kids move to the side and then hopped the gate before getting it open. Fit got back in his truck and after explaining to Ramon, he slowly drove through, the kids walked in and Cellbit closed the gate before Fit got out of truck to move the bags.

Ramon got out too. “Hey Fit” Ramon said grabbing his bag and keeping his voice low.

“Yes, my child?”

Ramon held back a huff “I can sit in the back with the kids” he offered

“You sure?” Fit asked, in Fit’s mind the truck was more Ramon’s then it was his own. Sure Fit bought it well before Ramon was something he even dreamed of having in his life but it only still ran because Ramon had got really into machines at age five. Ramon was his go-to mechanic since he turned eight. When Ramon was ten, Fit adapted his Will to specifically say the truck was not to be sold till Ramon decided. If felt wrong to sit Ramon in the back.

“I'm sure. It's a short drive. Makes you look better if your son has manners anyway.” Ramon nudged Fit with his shoulder

Fit nodded and patted Ramon’s shoulder before everyone filed into the truck.

Since Pepito was so young and Also small for his age, he sat upfront in Cellbit’s lap while Ramon and Richarlyson sat in the back. They were at the house in less than 2 minutes.

“So you're going to just pull up here. There's been a change of plan unfortunately.” Cellbit stated.

Fit stopped the truck and looked to Cellbit, worried.

“The guest house we'd usually have you stay in had a pipe burst and it flooded 2 days ago. It's still getting maintenance.” Cellbit explained “so for the time being you'll be in the guest room in the main house. It does lock” he said assuredly seeing Fit tense up.

Fit nodded. That was fine wasn't too bad, they'd manage. “Thanks for the heads up” he turned the truck off and got out.

As soon as Pepito was allowed to get out he ran into the house to go put the skateboarding things away. Cellbit chuckled and got out as well.

Ramon and Richarlyson waited a second but they didn't have much to stay in the car for, so they followed their dads.

“Mr. Cellbit?” Ramon piped up.

“Hm, yes?” Cellbit looked at him “what is it?”

“If you need help with the pipes situation I might be able to lend a hand” Ramon offered “I'm pretty handy”

Cellbit smiled “that's good to know but I think we got things under control"

“Yea my Pai is handiling it!” Richarlyson smiled “he's pretty good with that stuff.”

“It's true. I'm lucky to have him around” Cellbit shrugged “but hey, maybe he’ll want the help. We can always ask”

The door to the house opened “Cellbit, 'cê não me contou que o funcionário novo 'tava aqui” the door closed.

Fit thought the voice sounded familiar but… no that couldn't be. He looked up to see his new co-worker.

“Foi mal, Pac,” Cellbit states although whatever else he says was drowned out in Fit’s brain as he locks eyes with Pac for the first time in over a decade.

This couldn’t be happening… right? This was all a weird fucked up dream.

“Pai!” Richarlyson runs up to meet Pac pulling him into a hug that disrupts Pac’s eyes from looking into Fit’s as Pac hugs Richarlyson back “Olha pro braço do cara novo! Ele disse que o filho dele que fez, igual você fez minha perna!"”

And the nightmare gets worse as the realization dawns on him that not only has he disturbed his Ex’s peace half way across the country, but that Pac’s husband is his employer. “That’s just great”, Fit thinks.

Fit adjusts his shirt some and finally averts his gaze. Yep, he only feels the shirt in his right hand, he’s wide awake.

“Do you two know each other?” he hears Cellbit ask as the world goes back into focus.

“Oh uh, yea we did.. once..” Fit responds, not daring to lie

“Don't worry about it” Pac adds “it was a while ago.” But Pac’s face hides nothing in this moment. He's not happy. “I'm going back to fixing the guest house” And Pac kisses the top of Richarlyson’s head before walking off.

Without his permission, Fit’s eyes follow Pac .

If Cellbit knows what's happening he saves Fit the embarrassment of making it clear. “Come on. You're probably tired from all the driving. Let’s go get you two settled”

He pats Fit’s back hard enough to bring his attention back to the present and helps them get their bags before he leads him and Ramon inside. Pepito is coloring at the table and Ramon smiles and waves as they pass.

Cellbit leads them upstairs and to a room that's the most separated from the rest on that floor. “Com licença, I need to get the door unlocked”

He counts five bedroom doors and one labeled bathroom plus the one him and Ramon will be sharing for the time being and Fit starts trying to work out who they belong to. Just to keep his bearings. Only two of the doors actually seem to lock so one is probably Cellbit and Pac's while the other probably belongs to the other ranchhand he hasn’t met yet. One of the doors has a little pillow on the outside meant for teeth when parents don't want to risk waking their kids up by going under the pillow. That's probably Pepito’s. One of the blank door’s is probably Richarlyson’s but then who's the other belong to?

Cellbit finally managed to unlock the door, “Entendi!” He hands the key to Fit. Cellbit holds the door for Ramon and Fit as they shuffle in and put their bags to the side. It was a nice room, Decently decorated, there was a photo of an older gentleman labeled “Alfredo” on the bedside table that caused Cellbit to sigh "ai meu Deus...” he rolled his eyes and grabbed it “sorry I thought I cleared all the photos out, my husband must have snuck back in here and left this as a joke.”

Fit nodded not getting the joke himself “No worries. Thank you so much again for this. You have no clue what this means to me”

“Of course, of course, veterans have to look out for eachother.” Cellbit shrugged “and honestly you're saving my ass, we really need the help”

Fit nods and Cellbit leaves them to unpack

“That guy, Richarlyson’s other Pai.. you knew him, more then you let on.” Fit looked to Ramon “didn't you?”

Fit paused but before he could answer he was getting a call and used that as an excuse to avoid the question “one sec Ramon, Hello?”

“Hey Fit, haven't heard from you since you left just making sure you're safe.” It was Phil, he could have checked he just forgot.

“Oh yea… things are good… We got here safe, everyone's been nice…” Fit nodded

“Seeing Pac bothered you more then you thought it would huh?” Phil hummed sympathetically

“You knew?!” Fit demanded

“ I told you! How did you miss that!?” Phil demanded back

Fit paused and the more he thought about it the more of that conversation felt like a blur “You-!… you… probably did…” Fit sighed “yea it shocked me…”

Fit could hear Phil frown “I'm sorry Mate.., would you have not gone if you realized?”

Fit thought about it “no I would have… just would have been nice to be more prepared, it's my own fault I didn't pay attention” he chuckled. Ramon sat down on the bed testing its comfort.

Phil hummed “yea kinda is.” He said in his usual smug tone that at least caused Fit to laugh “but seriously, you going to be alright? It's a big change”

“Yea we’ll be alright don't you worry” Fit assured

“Alright, just remember if you need to talk-”

“I know I know” Fit interrupted “alright old man get back to your kids and let me get back to mine”

Phil scoffed to hide his laugh “yea whatever. Talk soon”

“Talk soon” and Fit hung up

Ramon looked up at him “didn't you” he repeated less a question and more of a reminder.

Fit frowned “well if you have to know, Drama Queen, yes I did. But it doesn't matter. Please drop it.”

Ramon seemed unsatisfied with the answer but shrugged “fine, that picture of the old guy was a really weird joke though right?”

Fit smiled “totally weird. Also ‘Alfredo’?”

Ramon chuckled and nodded “double weird”

Fit chuckled back.

Things just seemed to get complicated whereever Fit goes. But maybe this time… maybe this time things will just be okay.

Next>

Please point out any weird looking errors if you see them so I can fix them. I did get this beta's like twice and I found 3 different problems while making this post.

[istadris]

Blaming @bobombogenesis for inspiring this idea but imagine if after the movie, during the time he's captive, Bowser is angry at everything and especially Luigi who sometimes comes by. Bowser is convinced it's to make fun of him. And maybe at first it is, just a bit : Luigi didn't like his time in a cage at all and wants to make sure Bowser knows it too.

But he's not cruel (just a but mocking when he's confident since it doesn't happen often) and he empathizes more than he should with Bowser's situation. Yes, he knows Bowser has only himself to blame for being locked up in a cage, but he doesn't wish it on anyone else either...

So he comes back and brings a couple of things here and now. Checks on how Bowser's been eating. Refills his water when it seems like there isn't enough. Asks him if he's been sleeping well, he's got very big eye bags.

Bowser at first hates it and snaps at Luigi any way he can. He wishes Luigi would actually put his hand inside the cage so he could bite it, it would be hilarious and very cathartic.

Then one day Luigi shows up right on the day Bowser is having an itchy shell that is driving him insane. In the Darklands or his castle he would have plenty surfaces to rub himself against, but here he only has little metal bars and his dumb piano. He's itchy and furious and filled with murder impulses.

When Luigi walks in, he's confused and scared at first by Bowser's abnormal agressivity (not that Bowser hasn't been agressive but so far it was mostly tantrums, not this bloodthirsty frenzy), until he notices Bowser rubbing himself against a corner of a piano and goes "ooooh....got it!" Before running off and coming back with a toothbrush.

Bowser almost bites his hand off when Luigi slips the toothbrush through the bars but when it starts rubbing his shell...oh. Ooooooh that's....that's so good ??? That's the best shell rubbing he's ever got ?? And before he knows it he's flat on the cage ground, rumbling in pleasure as the toothbrush scratches him just right, sneaks between his spikes, massages and scritches him at the same time, it feels so good his thoughts just leave his head and leave him into a mindless puddle of happiness.

It takes until Luigi is gone for Bowser to get out of that headspace and realize what must happened. And for the next couple of Days he's trying his best to NOT think about it.

(And failing miserably).

Next time Luigi shows up Bowser grabs the bars and immediately yells "What did you do to me last time ?? What was that spell??"

"Oh, you seemed to have an itch and I used to know a girl with a pet turtle and she liked having toothbrush scritches..." (Bowser glares at him like he's about to set him on fire) "I-I-I thought you could use it and you didn't seem to hate it?" He adds very fast.

Bowser glares harder. But suddenly. An idea comes across him. He looks away and grumbles something.

"What?"

"I say, do you know more tricks like that one ?"

Here's Bowser's plan: since Luigi seems dumb enough to actually care for an enemy, he might as well exploit it. And get very satisfying caring at the same time. But only as a side effect of his masterplan ! Not at all because it put him in a weird fuzzy headspace that made him feel happy for the first time in his life !!

Luigi doesn't know the plan. Luigi is kind, a bit dumb and most of all very eager to see again Bowser looking so...cute. so despite being terrible with animals (they all seem to hate him despite his best efforts), he reads up on turtle care and provides them to Bowser. Who is very satisfied and starts looking forward to Luigi's visits.

To the point he even allows Luigi to scratch his head with his bare hand. But only because...it makes him...feel...good....what was he thinking about...? Doesn't matter...

Especially with Luigi's voice crooning nice things to him like how he's a good boy, a cute little turtle, and it makes his tail wag because no one ever said that to him....

When Bowser inevitably escapes (and makes grabs Luigi on the way out), it isn't long before he finds himself missing these strange moments where he was cared for, pet, cherished. Vulnerable yet safe.

And he wants to get them back.

(Or : Bowser and Luigi develop a reciprocated pet kink )

[ilovespec]

Shark love~

yandere Fem ! gang leader × Civilian Fem ! reader.| part 2.

WARNING!!!: a small mention of trauma, obscene language , YANDERE IS A FUCKING GANG BOSS , Yandere has nerve problems , yandere and Y/N are female, illegal entry (into the apartment) , somnophilia (in the form of kisses and hugs without Y/N's consent) , drinking alcohol , yandere deceives Y/N .

part 1

part 3

6390 words.

It's been a month since Y/N moved to this city! Surprisingly, there were a lot of polite and nice people here... The salary was paid regularly... And there were even a lot of places to have fun! But every day she imagined two of these girls in turn.. Whom she met on her second day in this city... It was as if they were watching her ... Although it is possible that she is paranoid, or she is just tired at work...But lo! Today she had her well-deserved vacation!! And she decided to go to the club..

(Time skip)

It was already evening, and Y/N was standing at the mirror and applying light makeup.. She was wearing a beautiful black dress, just above the knee..and just in case, I took a small purse.. For money and phone. And after 15-20 minutes, she was already sitting in a taxi and driving to the club...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

And so, she has already arrived at the club and sat down at the bar...

- A strange-looking girl bartender : good-good night to you ~ cutie ~ what will you order?

The appearance of this bartender girl is very.. Unusual... She has tanned skin, curly GREEN hair, and a muscular build.. A scar on the right eyebrow, and a scar running through the upper and lower lip.. Black little earrings in the ears, and a black bandana on the head... Her name tag had the name "Erba" on it

-Y/N: beer for me, please..

And just as she was about to take her purse out of her purse, she was stopped by a large , calloused and tanned palm covered with scars..

- A familiar voice: and me, please.. "White Russian". I will pay for me, and for this simpatico coniglietto.

Y/N looked up... And I saw her "old friend" SQUALO!! She sat down on the chair to the left of Y/N as if nothing had happened, threw one hand behind her as if "hugging" her, and held her hand for a couple of seconds without letting Y/N get the money, and then let go of her wrist and paid to the bartender "Erba" in cash...Then, Squalo turned her attention to Y/N

-Squalo: haha~ how small the world is.. Good night to you, Y/N.

That night, Squalo was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt, a black and white bandana on her head...Uh..a black and white tie with a shark print...? Okay..black trousers with a leather belt that had a plaque.. In the form of a shark, and also, she was wearing high, black leather lace-up boots. Squalo smiles toothily at Y/N, once again showing her terrifying teeth..

-Y/N: and good night to you too..Squalo..

-Squalo: Oh oh oh... Why are you talking to me like I'm 50 years old? I'm only 33 years old..

-Y/N: well... That's the point.. You are almost 10 years older than me..

Squalo laughs hoarsely.. Her laugh is quite intimidating.. And strangely, there were fewer people in the club when Squalo came..but nothing , maybe it 's just a coincidence ..Squalo gulped down her cocktail, and Y/N slowly drank her beer... Squalo waited for Y/N to finish her alcohol, AND TOOK HER HAND WITH THE WORDS

-Squalo: Dear Y/N~ let's go dance, huh?~

When they reached the dance floor, Squalo started dancing furiously.. And some strange , frenzied and loud music was playing in the background... and Y/N hesitantly connected to it...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After dancing for QUITE a WHILE, they sat down to drink again... Squalo drank a little, and since Y/N had a vacation, she drank beer without limiting herself... Since she even forgot that Squalo pays for everything...

(Timeskip)

After a while... Y/N was already COMPLETELY drunk!! Her face was flushed like a tomato, and she no longer hesitated to joke, laugh and gently hold her hand, or hug Squalo (much to her delight) and so it went on... UNTIL LATE AT NIGHT FUCK!!! And finally, when it was about 4 a.m., Squalo gently put her hand on Y/N's shoulder

-Squalo: huh~ we had a lot of fun.. But I think it's time for us to go home, you need to call a taxi-

Squalo abruptly cut off her monologue as... Y/N fell on her breasts and passed out. Well... This will make Squalo's task easier! Now you don't have to secretly send your man to bring Y/N to her house! Squalo carefully, as if Y/N consisted of glass, picked her up in her arms , and looking at her lovingly went to the exit ,but her subordinate came up to her.

-Subordinate Squalo: Uh... boss... And why was it necessary to expel all drunks or people?. By "substances" from this club? Most of them were imprisoned for drunken brawl , drunk driving and other hooliganism!

SQUALO KICKED HER SUBORDINATE IN THE FACE, WHICH CAUSED HIM TO FALL WITH A BROKEN JAW AND NOSE !!

Squalo: don't make such a noise, bastard... Don't you see..? My darling is sleeping in my arms.. you don't even understand how fucking happy I am right now...

Squalo came out with Y/N in her arms, and got into her car, put Y/N in the seat next to her .

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After a while, they ended up in apartment Y/N.. and yes. Squalo has been here before, but Y/N didn't know about it.. Squalo went to Y/N's bedroom, put her on the bed and...she took her pajamas out of the closet, and changed her clothes because Y/N can't sleep in such a dress and heels. Then, she just put Y/N on the bed, lay down next to her and began gently kissing her skin, trying not to wake her up... Ha~.. Her angel's skin was so soft ~... Just as she thought..and then, she just She wrapped her muscular , rough and scarred arms, around her fragile little body . And hugging her, she fell asleep with her in her arms...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

The next morning...

Y/N woke up with a severe hangover.. And somehow she opened her eyes... huh?! Is she lying in her bed...?!!!?? AND SOMEONE 'S FUCKING HUGGING HER!!!!! Y/N turns in shock, and sees that Squalo is hugging her, and looks closely at Y/N, and when she saw that Y/N was looking at her, she smiles..

-Squalo: oh~ dear! You're already awake!!

Squalo kisses Y/N on the forehead..

-Y/N: ha..?

Y/N blushes.

-Y/N: why... why do you call me that...?

-Squalo: why do I call you that..? Don't you remember?!!? We started dating yesterday, honey~

(In Squalo's mind: I'd rather lie and be with my sweet angel~ !! Than I will bribe the cops so that I won't be imprisoned for illegal entry..)

Y/N blushes in shock, and the whole effect of the hangover is forgotten immediately, her face immediatelyIt took on a beetroot hue , and she buried her face in her lap

-Y/N muffled: how embarrassing....

Squalo laughs, gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen... And after 15 minutes he returns, TAKES Y/N LIKE A SACK OF POTATOES AND CARRIES IT TO THE KITCHEN!!! She sits her down on a chair, and puts a plate of food in front of her, and she goes to the balcony.. Probably to smoke...

-Squalo: Bon appetit, babygirl >3<

How do you like this part? I tried my best, lol >3<

about what kind of music was playing in the this club:

[sacredwrath]

P1. Logan

Welcome our third main character :) Logan, leader of Jesse's crew and one of Jesse's partners. 

Not too many warnings for this chapter. A lot of it is world building and introducing new faces. 

Past captivity and torture, protective caretakers, angry caretaker (not at whumpee), thoughts of revenge, injury reveal 

Logan doesn't want to let go of Jesse, not even for the short ride home, not for one second. It's been almost six weeks since they were taken, and every moment since has been a desperate frenzy. An endless cycle of planning, daring, and failing. Then, laying awake all night trying to convince himself the wasted day hadn't been Jesse's last. 

Everyone else is just as anxious. It had been a struggle to make them all stay home while he and Misha went to meet the smuggler. 

He holds Jesse close to his chest, trying not to squeeze too tight in case they're injured beneath their huge coat. They're bundled up like it's the dead of winter. 

Finally holding them close he finally lets himself breathe.

Misha speeds. She always speeds, but especially today. Usually he'd be the voice of caution, warning her to slow down, but tonight he hardly notices. Until she hits a bump and Jesse yelps. 

"What? What's wrong, Jes are you okay?" 

No response. Their eyes are squeezed shut, they must be in some kind of pain. If the scrapes and bruises on their face are anything to go by he wouldn't be surprised. 

"Misha slow down, would you!" He snaps, exasperated. "Hey, Jes are you ok? Can you hear me?" 

"Yes" Their voice sounds tight and shaky "I'm fine." Even as they say it the car hits another bump and they gasp. 

"It's ok love, we'll be home soon. We can help if you're injured, everything will be alright." Six weeks in AQUAs prison can't have been easy. Anger clogs his throat and he has to swallow hard. If anyone hurt Jesse…

He lets the thought trail off.

"Misha, did you tell Isa we're on our way?" He asks, mostly to distract himself.

"I'm driving. Don't bother, we're practically here anyways.”

A long, hidden dirt driveway snakes off of the main road. Easily missed by anyone who doesnt know it's there. No signs mark it and the trees are so thick that any car is quickly hidden from view.

As they push further back into the tees Jesse begins to tremble. They whimper softly, gasping at every twist and bump in the road. If they're injured the unpaved road is probably causing a lot of pain. Logan tries to hold them as still as possible

"Hey, seriously, slow down, I think Jes is hurt." Thankfully Misha listens and slows the car to a less bone rattling pace. "Don't worry, Jes, we'll be home soon." 

Jordan is waiting by the gate and leaps up when they see the car round a bend. They rush over gesturing furiously for Logan to roll down his window.

"How'd it go? You got Jes! Hey Jes!" The words pour from them at breakneck speed. 

"Yeah, it's all good, Jesse's here, they're just a bit tired and shook up. Run back up to the house, would you, and let them know we're almost home." He says

Jordan jogs alongside the car, "Oh thank God! Glad you're back! We missed you Jes!" They race off before Jesse even has a chance to respond.

At the top of the hill stands the stately stone structure that for so many years has been their home. It's four stories, with a large basement, made almost entirely of stone and sturdy oak. Jake, who technically owns it, says it was originally built as a small keep and was converted into a house gradually over generations. It's been passed down through his family before the world went to shit. 

Much of its original functionality has been preserved despite the modern renovations prioritizing aesthetics over defensibility.

Their team has tried to undo many of the renovations, making the structure as much a fortress again as possible.

Logan has lived there with the others for almost 6 years now, and many have been there longer. 

Today the sturdy stone doors are flung wide, letting the last golden rays of sun spill across the foyer and the anxious faces of Logan's family. 

The smell of something cooking wafts up to greet them as Logan carries Jesse from the car. 

Martin and Isa rush forward offering their help, but Logan brushes them off 

"Hey Jes, are you ok? Welcome home!" Isa walks close beside them. "What the hell happened to your face?" 

Jesse doesn't respond, just squeezes their eyes shut and burrows deeper into Logan's arms. 

The house is a frenzy of activity. Everyone crowding around asking questions and trying to help. Jesse's fist clutches Logan's shirt so tightly he's worried they'll hurt themself. 

"Hey, come on guys, give them some space would you?" He chides gently 

"Logan's right, you all are terribly overwhelming."  Misha carries her medical bag from the trunk. "I need to patch up their face and see if they need other medical care. Nora, will you help me? Everyone else, please just finish dinner and maybe bring us some? I promise we'll all have time to catch up, just one thing at a time. Yeah?"

Their main floor bathroom is large, but five is still a crowd. Isa flat out refused to leave Jesse's side, and Logan didn't push it. Making them stay behind when he went to pick them up was hard enough. Now, he supposes if Jesse would want anyone by their side, it would probably be Isa. 

Logan seats Jesse gently on the counter only pulling away once they untangle their hand from his shirt. They're hunched over, arms wrapped around themself refusing to meet anyone's eyes. 

"Hey Jes," Misha says in what Logan thinks of as her Doctor voice, all gentle and soothing. "Can I see your face?" 

She lifts Jesse's chin, they're crying. "Oh Jes! What's wrong?" That only makes them cry harder. Logan and Isa both move forward trying to take Jesse's hand, but they cringe away from them. 

"Don't" they whisper "I'm sorry" 

They both draw back shooting each other worried looks 

"What's wrong Jes?" Misha tries again 

They say nothing for a long moment, then "It's bad" Jesse's voice is so soft they can barely hear it "I don't" they sniffle, curling tighter in on themself "I don't... want you to see... I- its - I don't-'' they trail off. Logans never heard their voice so small.

"Jesse, it's ok I promise. Whatever happened to you we wouldn't judge. We love you." Isa says softly. 

"We're your family" Nora puts in 

"It'll all be ok now. Whatever it is we'll patch you up and go get some dinner. Yeah?" Misha adds

Logan doesn't say a word, his stomach sinking to his toes. Idiot! He chides himself. You knew something was wrong. You should've had Misha look them over in the car. You should've- 

"I'm sorry" Jesse's lips are still trembling, “I'm sorry” but they pull down the zipper, shrugging out of the oversized coat.

Misha is the only one able to suppress her shock. 

"Oh Jes" 

It's worse than Logan could've imagined. They’re naked from the waist up under the coat, their entire body emaciated and covered in wounds. He doesn't know where to look first, or how to stop looking (strike).

Black bruises cover their torso, especially concentrated around their stomach and ribs. They've lost so much weight that he can actually see where their ribs are broken. Cuts and burns in various stages of healing litter their skin, with one particularly bad burn over most of their left hand. The fingers are twisted and bent unnaturally with several fingernails missing entirely. He can see actual handprints bruised up and down both arms.  

Jesse hunches forward again, trying to hide themself in the process revealing their back. There is so much blood he can't tell where the wounds are. Deep blue and black welts show through the mess of blood and torn flesh, crisscrossing their skin making a large X. 

He can't look anymore, he's about to be sick, he turns away, squeezing his eyes shut and feels the shock and horror transform. Rage like nothing he's ever felt kindles in his stomach, and spreads through him like nuclear radiation. He sees red, he's going to lose it. The red turns to white and all he can hear is his own blood pounding in his head. 

Whoever did this is going to regret being born.

He will find them and pay back every single wound Jesses suffered ten times over, a hundred times over. He will turn their body into a crime scene. Take them apart piece by screaming piece till there's nothing left but blood

"Who did this to you?" And he sounds nothing like himself even to his own ears.

"Logan" Misha's sharp voice cuts through the storm in his head. "You need to leave. Now. You're scaring them." 

His eyes snap to Jesse, tears rolling down their faces, and they're curled in on themself, cringing away, trying to hide. Trying to hide from him.

He runs from the room.

Prev | masterpost | next

Tag list:) @whumpacabra

[simoncardonefishes]

STALKING GREENFISH – The Swimbait v Soft Plastic Impoundment Challenge!

By Simon Cardone

My personal cod quest began in in the year 2000 and has since taken me all over Australia fishing fast flowing gin clear waters right through to giant murky slow-moving rivers and everything in between.

Like most cod fishos that I know, the search for new locations and different methods to catch greenfish is constant, so with some of the reservoirs managed by SA Water finally being opened to the public of South Australia for recreational activities I immediately purchased a fishing permit and got out exploring.

Happy Valley

The closest reservoir just minutes from my home is Happy Valley, located about 25 minutes’ drive South from the Adelaide CBD. Prior to Happy Valley being opened for fishing in December 2021, it was decided to stock the reservoir with 1000 mature murray cod ranging from 2 to 9kgs in weight so that visiting anglers could have something to target apart from the noxious redfin perch and carp that already inhabited the impoundment.

This proved to be a great move, as the cod immediately started feeding and spread out quickly to all parts of the reservoir. The fish were attacking all manner of artificial lures and almost everybody who had a crack in the early days ticked a murray cod off their bucket list. This feeding frenzy didn’t last however as the cod started to see more lures, they become more selective when it came to what to eat.

Changing Tactics

Due to the Happy Valley cod being smaller sized fish in the 50-80cm range, I initially opted to target them with golden perch tackle, casting 50 – 70cm crankbaits. This worked a treat for the first few weeks, but then the crankbait bite shut down, partly because the bait fishos had moved in and the cod were now feasting on an almost daily diet of chicken and cheese!

This required a rethink on my part, so I decided to walk the banks and fish in places where other people weren’t. Sticking with a seven foot 3-6kg rod matched to a 2500 sized reel spooled with 15lb braid, I tied on a 20lb fluorocarbon leader and grabbed a couple of packets of four and five inch Bite Science paddle tailed plastics. Selecting the appropriate jig heads required a little bit of trial and error, but I have now opted for a ten gram standard 4/0 jig head for the five inch plastic when fishing deeper water, and a 3.5 gram 1/0 weedless jig head for the four inch plastic when fishing shallow water.

After a few fishless sessions with the crankbaits under the belt, I was quietly optimistic that the switch to a more life-like presentation might get me back on the winners list. My hunch proved to be correct, with a brace of hungry cod in my first two sessions exploring new water. A simple slow roll is the preferred retrieve method after allowing the plastic to hit the bottom initially.

Enter the Swimbait

Observation of the immediate environment will always be a key to fishing success, whether on the day or in the future. While the soft plastics were still nailing cod after a few months of fishing, I had noticed a pattern where most of the hits and hook-ups were occurring in a metre or less of water over either rocky bottom or on flats with reeds and weed beds.

For my next outing I decided to leave the plastics at home and cast swimbaits exclusively. I tied on a 190mm Shimano Arma Joint to my 40lb fluorocarbon leader on my swimbait setup and it has stayed there ever since! Again, success was immediate, if not stunning! The short hour-long session yielded five fish from six hook-ups, including three in as many casts. My son also got his first cod off the top on a surface paddler during our brief mission. Again, a simple slow roll is the best retrieve for this lure type – the action is so lifelike.

Of course, I had to try and replicate the results the following week, and yes, the swimbait delivered – it was no fluke. I encouraged a mate who had been struggling to get a fish for a while to give the swimbait a crack and his first session out managed to land seven cod from ten hook-ups – champagne fishing in anyone’s book!

The Verdict

So which lure is best? There was only one way to find out. I spent the last six months of the year fishing with both lure types during all my sessions at the ressie. I have fished at various times of the day in various locations and in all types of weather. And the fish tally is about 50/50 after all this time. Some days both lures have success, on others it’s one or the other, but the numbers don’t lie!

Overall, the soft plastic is the more versatile of the two lures, given you can rig it differently to suit the water depth and surrounding structure. So, on days when the fish are sitting out a little deeper it is a clear winner. As mentioned earlier, the lighter spin outfit used to throw the soft plastic gives the cod a chance to give an honest account of itself as a hard-hitting sportfish – the drag peeling shallow water runs are fantastic!

The most exciting lure in terms of the strike and crunch factor, is the swimbait. Nine out of ten strikes are off the surface – these fish are hell bent on killing the larger prey item and are not messing around. After the initial chaos, generally the fish I have encountered are relatively easy to subdue on the swimbait setup I run. On some days I have had cod follow the lure all the way to my feet, including two cod that hit each other as they both tried to slam the lure!

Go Your Own Way

With both land based and fishing from canoe or kayak being permitted at the reservoirs here in South Australia, fishing with soft plastics and swimbaits are methods that every angler should have up their sleeve for those times when trolling a deep diver or casting a crankbait or spinnerbait isn’t creating any interest from the resident cod – this has been accepted practice by most switched-on cod fishos in the eastern impoundments for some time now.

I highly encourage you to go out and explore your local impoundment either for the first time or with some of the methods I have described – especially with many of the rivers and creeks across the Murray-Darling basin in flood at the time of writing - you might be pleasantly surprised with the results.

Finally good times ahead for South Australian freshwater fishos.

[umbralaether]

Reuniting after being separated for a while, realizing how much you missed their presence

His scent lingered everywhere —on the clothes he’d left behind, on the pillows and sheets, even the pages of the book he had been reading smelled of him. It had permeated every ilm of the room, and it only made the longing worse.

G’raha’s trip was only to be a few days. She knew she couldn’t go with, she could hardly stand for more than a few seconds without intense pain. They hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours since their return from Ultima Thule, but she was sure it would be nothing she couldn't handle.

Her first miscalculation.

The bed was too big, too empty without him there. She could cling to his pillows all she liked but they were not the warm, comforting body she wanted. Tossing, turning, and eventually giving up sleep completely left her with nothing to do but think. Is sleep evading him just as much? What is he doing right now? Does he miss me nearly as much?

When Alisaie shows up the next morning to help with her physical therapy, the elezen notes the circles under her eyes. More questions with no answers, and the session drags on. Each step wracked with jagged pain, the same as the day before. Her legs tremble, beads of sweat along her brow, and she wants to give up so badly. The smell of cedarwood, of vanilla and spiced cinnamon drive her through the session, and if she closes her eyes she could almost believe he was there right beside her.

Night falls and she wonders why his absence has made the room void of color, how the only things she seems to notice are crimson. A scarf draped over the chair, the scattered hardcover books. She feels as though she's looking through a filtered lens. She attempts sleep once more, only to find the room is silent without him. How many nights had she managed to find sleep through his purring form alone? How many times had she counted each heartbeat, a rhythmic metronome that sang to her like a siren song?

It feels pathetic, to miss him so much that she cannot do anything else. She buries her face in the blankets once more, the exhaustion slowly tempering her thoughts into submission.

Perhaps this same exhaustion is what makes her unaware of falling asleep, of the door opening and the soft thump of bags hitting the floor. She flicks an ear in the direction of the bed creaking, a newfound weight filling the space beside her. What a cruel dream, she thinks, making me feel as though he's here.

"I missed you, my love," though his voice is a whisper, she hears those words reverberate in her skull like a long awaited melody.

"Raha?" She murmurs, and his arms envelope her in response. He nuzzles into her neck, her hair. Breathes deeply.

"Oh how I've missed you." A mutual confession against her skin.

Its magical, how quickly everything brightens with his return. The phantoms chased away by the real thing, the silence no longer deafening, the frenzy of needing him soothed.

The smell of him is everywhere, but now it feels like home.

[katyspersonal]

Let me reformulate.

Who do you love / simp the more for between Aldrich, Micolash and Shabriri?

(Or is your favorite crazy soulsborne man a secret 4th thing?)

Why you have to put it this way sdfhhfds

Okay but honestly, every question of a kind is rigged by design if it includes Micolash in it, because I will ALWAYS choose him xD You know he is very dear for me, and at this point the "relationship" we have in my dreams where he appears feels like actual communication. It just runs very deep. And I could not abandon him if I tried because whenever it is about to happen, I have some sort of a nightmare of him dragging me back to him emotionally :^) 👍

I'll say though, without Micolash in the equation it is probably THE other Deep Sea simp guy. I never get to discuss Aldrich with anyone but Val, but I have a HUGE soft spot for the guy. The 'corrupt cleric' trope in fiction attracts me like a moth to a light bulb, but even further than that he has a similar transcendental motivation to Micolash (and Rykard, for that matter) - trying to get out no matter what cost because if you really think of it, no depraved actions really matter in the world that is already broken and corrupt by design! I suffer (am I tho... am I, tho) from some sort of disconnection from humanity, and this sort of higher plane thinking really resonates with me and gives me peace. Just finding a character that can 'understand' this makes me feel less lonely, even if that's a villain who is so comically evil he is long past redemption horizon. Val will also confirm that I've legit had very peaceful, elaborate and even 'magical' dreams about sea after discussing the guy in lengths, and when a fictional character gives me 'significant', personal-feeling dreams that's an automatic W.

...I also imagine him being fat even before eating people, and this is my favourite body type. Huggable is good!!!!! Yeah, when I think of Aldrich, I picture his still human(ish) self, and not the state of stealing Gwyndolin's look that we meet in the game.

This is not to say that I disregard Shabriri of course. I've been torturing Val and Crow with essays about him for a good reason, you know xD However, he DOES terrify me in a unique way. Micolash wants knowledge and to take his place in a higher plane away from the plebs, Aldrich wants to get to the better era for him and his simps in general being in the world stuck in vicious cycle, but Shabriri wants to, like... destroy everything, you know?

All three characters made quite huge human sacrifices out of despairing for how their world was designed if you think of their lores in general, whether they found it easy (if not enjoyable) to do or not. (I'd think the former for all three -_-") But I see Shabriri as someone without grandiose ideas but rather, he got a hunch of THE forbidden, the most evil power that goes more against Golden Order than anything imagineable and just... couldn't NOT. The call of curiosity is the most sparing way I can describe it. There is a Russian saying - "Суету навести охота" - that specifically refers to a person that ruined everything Just Because. Without even beneficial goal, just because things were too peaceful and 'boring'. That's him, okay? xD Yet I still feel bad for him, just... just why he had to tangle himself with something THAT horrifying.

^^^ I've been overthinking the contrast between how Kale says 'May chaos take the world' and how Shabriri says it. The intonation is so... drastically different - with Kale already seeking some peace and liberation from pain in the prospect of all things being melted, but with Shabriri (as you remember) sounding like a goddamn maniac. 'Some men just want to see the world burn', huh? I don't think anyone can truly comprehend Frenzied Flame since it comes from the power equal (or same) as Greater Will, so it is like a 'sickness' that will draw power from drives, feelings and principles of the host.

All in all? Shabriri is Chaotic Evil. I could write an essay about why Aldrich can qualify as Chaotic Good (at least past some point in his history) and Micolash as Chaotic Neutral, but this post is already overstaying his welcome because this question SHOULD be much simpler than I made it be x) I'll always like the 'Chaotic' type the most, but the Evil one is always least attractive. Adrich will do one a "favour" of eating them to add to his mass and take them into a better era, Micolash will do one a "favour" of making them a martyr in the progress torturing and sacrificing them for his weird rituals goals to commune with Gods... But Shabriri, bless his heart, will harm one... why? 'For fun' is the NICEST it can be. @_@" I am sure that Shabriri has a lot of intelligence packed in him as an extremely skilled manipulator then and now, but even tangled with hivemindish superior power, he is danger and evil for the sake of it and not out of twisted but noble motivations. He is uncaring and..... ironically 'cold' for someone with his element? I'd still quite love to bother the guy for attention and discuss existence and memories with him but in the end this is, figurally and literally, playing with the fire. xD

I know it is a combination of interpretations and super extensive analysis that was left behind the doors, but again, with Soulsborne characters, your own intuition and experiences is often all you've got! Thank you for the question, though! xD It was fun to think about..

[msfbgraves]

Since Hollywood also is churning out nothing but sequels, reboots and remakes, what now?

This makes me think of my fourth year in Berlin. The first two years I was on a theatre frenzy. I can't hold much booze or dance for very long, so since I wasn't drinking my money, I went to the theatre. I mean the tickets were €8!

Swan Lake, Nutcracker, Hänsel und Gretel, Entführung aus dem Serail, Threepenny Opera, Cats, Oscar Wilde, Norma, some Schiller I didn't care for, all the Hollywood flicks for 4 euros on Tuesdays. I found the Philharmonie a bother to get to, spoiled brat that I was. European films from the Berlinale it was, yet more ballet.

And then I started to notice that a lot of the big things I'd already seen?

This is how you get to the experimental things.

Hollywood's crap, new TV is bad fanfic, mostly.

So, after burning off some of the good, as I of course haven't seen everything yet -

Time to get experimental again.

Now, I've seen some bad plays in my later Berlin years. Just, y'know, godawful. But some things have stayed with me, if only through a lingering sense of bewilderment. I can't even really name one specific play they were often so strange. But it did wet my appetite for simply going and seeing what happened.

It seems that tv is forcing us, together with Hollywood, to do the same thing. Ghibli may not appeal to me much, aesthetically, but if there's nothing new to be had I might discover something. Maybe I'll watch Jupiter Ascending for the extreme weirdness of it.

Honestly, this is how this happens, Hollywood. It's simply people with a ferocious appetite for story not finding anything. Weird story is better than bad story, ok? You're driving people like me, who would have been perfectly happy paying €8 a pop to see a 90 minute medium budget Matt Damon movie for years on end, right underground, because there are none around anymore. I am not the target audience for Quentin Tarentino or Brian De Palma, dafuq are you doing making me watch Scarface instead? If you don't want Venom to be a love story, you need to give teenage girls something else to watch. I thought you had some indoctrinating to do, too, huh? You are not helping the capitalist US military agenda by driving me into the arms of a gay junkie NYC playwright of Russian descent, man. That's what you get for limiting people's options. Ralph Macchio could have been a perfectly fine 80's and 90's leading man, but no, you had to drive him to the weird stuff, didn't you? And if you don't want a feminist critique of Heat, I guess you're outta luck because I've watched it now, and The Aviator's next. O, and Everybody's Fine is one of De Niro's best films even if it isn't award cinema and a total cash grab. I would have never found that movie if you'd put something decent on, but nooooooo.

Because I know it's bad. If you're unironically enjoying The Karate Kid part III more than, well, anything else on, it is bad.

But boy. If you thought we were weird now...

[monstersohmy]

Lanterns in the Dark: Chapter 2

Pairing: f!fairy x m!minotaur

Summary: After Rhoswen has a close call, she and Minos share their fears. Cautiously, they begin to allow themselves to care for one another

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mostly pining and fluff, references to endangered species, reference to starvation, humans are terrible

At the sound of the chimes, Minos opened the door, a little disappointed that Rhoswen wasn’t tangled in them again. The trust she’d shown in letting him untangle her at the last visit had warmed his heart and reminded him that, despite his size and past, he could be gentle and careful. That, if he couldn’t be part of this world, maybe he could be part of hers. 

As usual, she flitted around the place muttering in that ugly language scanning for curses. He patiently waited at the table looking at her softly, black eyes glossy at the idea of being cared for. 

Confident the room was clear, the pink light grew brighter through the transformation until Rhoswen stood in her human form. From the bag wrapped around her waist, she took a few tea bags and a large, heavy mug that would fit his hand and set them on the table. 

“You enjoyed the tea before, so . . . “ she faltered.  “I thought– I hope you like it.”

The glossiness in the minotaur’s eyes became tears.

“Why are you tearful?” Rhoswen caressed his cheek. Minos pushed into her delicate hand.

The acrid smell that lingered on her last time had gone, but it still plagued his mind. Minos had not been able to let it go, worrying into a near frenzy in the time since the last visit. 

“Why did you smell of blood last time?” he countered.

“A goblin tried to eat me. Got me halfway its mouth. I had to--,” her head dropped, shoulders shaking. “I had to hurt it.”

He wondered what such a tiny being could do to hurt a creature so much larger. Especially while grasped in a gnarled goblin hand and held a breath away of being devoured. How did she—

Oh. 

The spell she cast so he could hold her had been done for survival. 

Reaching out with extraordinary gentleness, he stroked her grassy hair while she shook with sobs. He had no idea how to comfort her, but took a risk and guided her to sit in his lap so she might feel safe in his arms. Her sweet face buried into his tautly muscled neck, tears joining his. 

“I’m the only one left.” The grief-stricken whisper was barely imperceptible. Minos heard it. Not just the fact. The leaden loneliness of being the only one. “I’m scared.”

 “So am I.”

“What are you afraid of?” 

“Of being that monster again. Of humans,” he paused. “Afraid of driving you away.”

Rhoswen hadn’t had a family or even a friend for so long before she’d found him near death in the forest. Everything outside was growing more dangerous. Humans were growing their settlements, slashing and burning everything in their path for new buildings and roads. Unaware or uncaring that communities and entire species were being displaced or eradicated. There was less space and too many creatures fighting for it. Fewer sources of food as well, which had driven that goblin. It was starving.

Rhoswen sobbed herself to sleep, tears running down his clavicle and chest. Minos dared not move lest he disturb her. 

“Would you walk me home tonight,  Minos?”

*

The night was clear and cool. Deepest blue sky pin pricked with stars and presided over by a blinding full moon.

Minos could barely feel the weight on his horn where Rhoswen sat as they walked through the night. He never ventured far from the cabin, fearful that he wouldn’t find it again. Fearful he would encounter humans and again become the monster they had made him. Mostly, fearful that the little fairy would be lost from his life. 

“That’s it. That rosebush.”

Thick, angry black branches coiled, armed with long thorns ready to attack. Dark, heavy red roses bloomed in abundance. Beautiful, but also a warning of the blood that would be spilt should anything other than its mistress try to disturb it. Minos deeply breathed in the scent, shivering at the richness of it. He’d thought all flowers would be beautiful and kind. These roses and their bush were violent. 

Rhoswen dropped away and fluttered to kiss his nose. 

“Boop.” 

She flew to the bush and, tucking her delicate, translucent wings close, burrowed through one of the tunnels amid the thorns that led to the innermost hollow. 

*

Cold sliced into her bones.

Rhoswen laid her head on the cotton, pulled the sweater scrap around her, and continued to shiver, the night was so cold. After a time, her body quaked trying to keep itself warm and she rolled to lay on her back in order to spy whatever pinprick stars could be seen through the raging rosebush. The freeze was so harsh and stabbing that she wondered if these would be the last stars she’d ever see.

Something rustled outside of the bush, then the stars disappeared. 

*

“Rhoswen.”

The fairy stirred, opening her eyes to pure blackness. Warm blackness. Somehow she’d made it through the freezing night.

“Rhoswen, I am taking the blanket off the bush now.”

Suddenly, sunlight seeped through the rose bush’s thick limbs and deadly thorns. Still tipsy in that half-sleep place, she stirred and sat up, trying to bring the world into focus. 

“Rhoswen.”

The voice was deep and familiar, laden with worry. 

“Minos?” Her voice was barely a whisper yet he heard. Bits of the morning sunlight streamed between the viscous branches of the rose bush. Between them, Rhoswen thought she saw shadows of a bull’s head and horns. Probably a hallucination brought on by coldfright but she crawled through the thorns anyway, hoping it was him and not a vision. 

At the end of the rosebush, the sunlight was so impossibly bright it hurt. All that was visible was searing white light and stark black shapes within it. Yet there was a warmth just ahead and she stumbled forward and fell into it. 

Minos gazed down at the little fairy collapsed in his hand. He did his best to stroke her green hair with his pinky finger until she came to, blinking. She couldn’t stay there; he might accidentally close a fist and hurt her. 

“Rhoswen, I need you to hold on.” 

He brought his hand to his shoulder and held it there until she settled against his thickly corded neck, clutching for safety. Minos retrieved the blanket he’d tossed over the rosebush and threw it around him, creating a space for Rhoswen to be safe until they arrived at the cabin and she could be properly warmed by the fire. 

[mymemoirs]

Life in Traffic: "Tua di Jalan"

I was on the bus heading home when I thought of the word "Tua di Jalan" in my native language, Indonesian. There was one major episode that led to me thinking that: found a gray hair at age 26 in the office bathroom. It drove me into a frenzy of google searches on why I can get gray hair during my 20s and whether it's normal.

Oh, it's probably because of my daily nutrients intake, genes, or just a bad habit of sleeping late, which I'm definitely guilty of. Or it could be stress, because a lot has been going on for me lately.

Regardless, I went back working and was the last to clock off from work that Friday night. As I sat on the bus, the hair gray thought from that morning subtly crept in. It was then, that I thought of "Tua di Jalan", a term my friends and I exchanged during my first or second year of working when describing my commute to work. It hit me a bit hard that I may or may not be growing gray hairs and that signals I'm getting older, which I selectively chose not to think about, until now.

In English, phrases with similar meaning are "Road Warrior", "Stuck in Traffic", "Life in Traffic" or "Long-haul commuter". Not a phrase mentions getting old on the road and I think the one that comes in close are "Life in Traffic" (thus, the title.) There are however, Portugese phrase similar to this, which is "ficar velho no trânsito" ("growing old in traffic").

Anyway, besides letting my mind wander about the linguistic aspect of the phrase, I was thinking of how much time I have spent on the road. In the 24 hours that we all got, I spent an hour going to work and around two hours back home, making up roughly three hours of commute. Let's do some simple math, shall we? (feel free to count yours as well: sleep, eating, work, commute, etc)

As last month is my 3 years work anniversary, I'm going to count up to three years of my time spent commuting all those years. I work for 5 days a week and the average working days for a year in Indonesia is around 257 days.

257 days x 3 hrs = 771 hrs 771 hrs / 24 hrs = 32.125 days per year 32.125 days x 3 = 96.375 days per 3-year

For the three years I work in my current company, I have spent 96 days or 3 months commuting. Each year would be a month or 32 days. That's quite a lot and it's considered a fix amount since there is yet a bullet train or a faster mode of transport in the city I work in.

But there's beauty in the commute. Some of my best ideas, if I let them flourish, came from my time on the road. Not driving yourself to a destination, allows your mind the room to wander. Alas, the time I spend commuting is mostly spend on phone screen or sleeping, and I wanted to change that to spending time reading or studying.

I have been trying to make the transition but shuttling at 6 or 6.30ish means waking up early in the morning and that has been making me drowsy. Even for just a little, I'm making the effort to read a book. I guess, compared to studying, reading is much easier to do.

In the end, the notion of getting old or life in traffic depends on how we look at it. Yes, it's been mostly 90 days of commuting but it can also be 90 days of time spend on thinking, reading or studying while in motion. I actually did a lot of things while I'm on the bus and I think I should honor it. In fact, everything that happens in my life - whether I see it as good or bad - deserves to be honored, because each experience has led me to this moment.

This, my friend, is a life lesson that I had to keep relearning all my life.

- Reina

P.S. Interesting links to hit up: Your Life in Numbers Interesting books to read: Life in Traffic (gonna add this to my reading list as well)