#and here i thought that he left to do another show

[simpingforcreamsoda]

This is actually something Disney leans into themselves!

On the Disney cruise line, there are a lot of stage play productions that get put on, a lot of which are simply musicals for their properties (no shade, they’re bangers and the quality of performance is very impressive for the environment), but also some extra fun ones.

I vividly remember one where the plot was that Hades, after Hercules ends, tries to be good and make the Underworld “fun��, but The Fates show up and say they’re repossessing it unless if he’s properly evil again. He goes on a Disney property tour trying to get villains to be evil and raise the evil meter, most of them sing their villain songs (Yzma actually sang one! And no, it wasn’t the cut one, Snuff Out the Light, it was entirely original! Fun fact!)

There was one bit where he gets Iago to badmouth Jafar and the evil meter raises every time but then Jafar shows up but instead of getting mad he and Iago sing a love ballad and literally spin in the air around one another and the meter goes back down. That’s neither here nor there. Just thought I’d mention it.

Anyways, at the start, Hades hypes up that he’s gonna call Maleficent and Evil Queen over, because they’re the baddest of them all. When they finally do, they start arguing over who’s hotter and which one Hades would want to take on a date more. Eventually they piss each other off so much that they both leave and Hades is left with a Not Evil underworld.

Thankfully, the mere repetition of Hercules’ name gets him so pissed that the evilness gets immediately restored.

But yeah this comic is canon

A crossover for the ages.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆

There were only whispered words of his presence as Zayne slept — you never knew more than he would share. An enigmatic presence that loomed in the hours of the dark that haunted Zayne’s thoughts through the day; the very reason he worked himself to the bone to mend the hearts of the people that were dealt a bad hand. 

But even Gods weren’t immune to the darker side of their minds. And it just so happened that you could confront this perceived nightmare on your own.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Dawnbreaker!Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1.4k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Heavy Angst, comfort, fluff, nightmares 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE + THIS 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ── I needed to give Dawnbreaker!Zayne a damned hug and that's what this turned into. ── This was also inspired by a tiktok that I fell in love with.

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

Dark, dreary, and cold. The chilled atmosphere seeped into every sinew of your body — the muscles in your arm and shoulder ached in protest as you made a fist, while your palm and fingers closed around the cool feel of clean, clinical cotton. 

The permeated smell of stale air and antiseptic filled your senses, and you struggled to keep a choked groan behind the seal of your lips. 

The homely feel of lying in bed, in the comfortable space that was your shared bedroom with your lover had long vanished. It felt as though a void had crept through the window while you slept, leaving behind the hollow, desolate shell of something devastating. 

A small shuffling sound, akin to the ruffle of a thick overcoat came from beside your head. It made you freeze in place — fear settling deep in your chest and it forced your heart up into your throat. 

“Don’t move. Your pain will only be made worse if you do.” 

Your lashes fluttered open to reveal the dull white ceiling panels of a hospital room. There was no cacophony of steady beeps or shrill cries of machinery alerting the patrolling nurses of wayward patients — it was silent, eerily so. The cracked feel of your lips made you wince, and you turned your head to look for the source of the voice. 

A figure, shrouded in darkness from the shadow of the doorway, loomed over you — strands of raven hair moved over his forehead and down to his shoulders. Though his eyes, inescapable in their familiarity and the warmth they held for you in another life, were familiar; it was different, the dark shades of ice covered the forests of green and the gold of the sun rays. 

“You–” A heave of air left your chest in a deep cough. He moved fast, stepping closer while narrowing his eyes with concern. A hand covered in scars hovered above your wrist. “You’re not–? What is–” It hit you with the force of a bullet straight to your heart. “This is a dream?”

He nodded once, a small frown on his lips. 

“You’re him, you’re the one that–” The tip of your tongue darted out to wet your lips, but it provided no relief. 

“Here.” A small glass appeared by your face, and the hand holding it moved it to your cracked lips, urging you to drink. 

Slowly, you let the cool liquid flood your mouth and replenish what your body couldn’t. After he deemed you finished, the glass made a small thunk when he placed it down on the bedside cupboard.

“You’re Zayne, but…” The words were whispered, the fragility of them barely able to be touched, and those hazel eyes bored into yours, the depths of them swirling with an untold agony. He didn’t move or allow any emotion to show on his ever-familiar face — there was no warmth there as you were used to, that smile you longed to see would never grace his lips, not while you were here. 

“I see you know of me,” he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I–?” You struggled to your elbows; the lack of response and vitality of your limbs made you grunt with frustration and effort. “This is a dream—I don’t know how I’m here, but it’s you!”

Zayne stared into your face; flickers of gold shone as he took in your determined expression. 

“It’s you!” The repeated sentiment had no effect, and your heart sank. “I know you—you’re the one he dreams of, the one my Zayne is afraid of, I–” The sudden movement of his frame jerking backwards made you flinch in surprise. “No, please, please don’t go.”

Your hand reached out towards his retreating figure, desperate to soothe the animalistic fear in his taut features and sharp gaze. “I know. I know you’re hurting–”

“Stop.” 

Silence grew and grew, billowing and building in the space between you. His shoulders rose and fell at a stuttered pace, the fear that forced him backwards wounding in his chest and into a corner. 

“Stop—enough, please,” Zayne rasped, shying further back. The words sounded as though they tore at his throat on the way out. “I’ve watched you in my dreams. It was you that taught me how to grieve; how I could mourn the loss of everything that could have been and wanted, while you stood right in front of me with him and watched.”

Where your heart thundered so recklessly in your throat only a moment ago, suddenly became an icy cavern. Zayne shuddered and leaned against the wall by the door, a hand covering his face and his shame. 

But you could only gape at his shrinking figure, the way agony laced his words like a twisting branch of thorns, sharp in the way they gashed at your thoughts and memories of the man you loved — this version of him in far more pain than you could comprehend. 

The sorrow that filled you at the sight of him so defeated compelled you to move. 

Slowly, you rose to sit up on the hospital bed, each movement immediately protested by every single one of your muscles, but you quelled them in an instant. Zayne needed you, and there was nothing that could come between you and the few strides to close the distance, not even the man himself. 

“My snowman,” you whispered, watching the way he tensed at the sound of your voice. “It’s what I call him, you know? My snowman—I know you know this.” The soles of your feet hit the cold floor — you suppressed a wince. “You would have seen, right?”

Zayne’s gaze burned into you; through you with its intensity and pain. You pressed on, one slow step after another — the similarity of approaching a wounded and cornered animal not lost on you.

“You would have seen that I love him,” you continued, your voice lowered and shaky with the tidal wave of emotion you could barely contain. “You know, don’t you? Because you’ve seen.”

A small, jerked nod was your only reply, but he still did not move. The closer you moved to his seclusion, the colder it became. You persevered, pushing through the walls he was hastily throwing in your way to keep you out. 

“Then you would know,” you said quietly, coming to a stop only a pace away from him. At that distance, you could make out the shallow breaths he pulled through gritted teeth; how his shoulders almost went to his ears in a fallible defence. “That no matter who or what my Zayne becomes, I would love him.”

A single step closer. It echoed in the room like a clap of thunder. 

“You would know that I have seen him, even when he never wished for it, at his worst. How I patched the wounds inflicted by others and most harshly, himself—how his worst critic is his own mind.”

A slight shuffle of your feet brought you chest to chest with him, and he stood as though carved from the most beautiful, breathtaking marble, decorated with the soft petals of flowers that you imagined as his soft gaze—the way it made your heart stutter and swell with warmth. The hazel-green eyes you loved widened slightly in surprise at your proximity. 

“My Zayne…” you trailed off, smiling with the reminiscent love you held for him. “My Zayne holds my heart. And I hold his. Did you know that?”

Zayne’s throat worked, bobbing up and down as he wrestled with the fear and longing welled up in his eyes. “I– I did.”

His shoulders jerked as you reached your arms around his waist, and you placed your ear against his chest to hear the constant, reassuring thump of his heart — it was faster than a rabbit’s from your touch, but you stood fast, immovable in his embrace. 

“I know you’re hurting,” you whispered quietly, barely loud enough to hear over the thrum of his pulse. “I know it’s not fair.” Sturdy, strong arms crept from their rigid position at his sides to wrap around your back and shoulders. His broad chest hitched on a stifled gasp. “But I’m here now. I’m here with you.”

“Okay,” Zayne breathed. His arms held you tighter and tighter, unyielding and unwilling to let go of you, now that he had you. 

“And,” you said softly, squeezing his middle. “You would know that no matter who you are; a dream, a madman, whatever you will or will not be, you’re still my Zayne.”

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Half-Baked Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Like I said - I love you." • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "It's okay. I've got you." • ALT ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Cold as Ice • I3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Stay a While • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Tolkien Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Turned to Stone • B3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Hidden Tears • B5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Swallowing Hard • G5 ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Dreams Do Come True • I2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Body Swap AU • B5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Shadows • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Grief • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Reassuring Smile • G3 ── MASTERLIST ── Lyrical Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune • A1 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ When we all fall asleep, where do we go? ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Suffering in Silence • N5 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt and Comfort Bingo (@hurtcomfort-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Identity Porn • I3 ── MASTERLIST

[gingerteafairy]

i want to thank @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to post it. this is insanely long, had to be divided into other chapters, this is the first one. hope you guys like it because i loved to write this fic. sorry for the mistakes here. english is not my first language. special thanks for @ikkyfics!!

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader

summary: tough times shows up after prision. His only alternative? Working miles away from home. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

tags n warnings: postprison!warren, singlemom!reader, language, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, complicated family scenario. word count: 13k

Rule #1: Make a Good Impression

Warren was cornered. Spending time in prison wasn’t as tough as what came after: having to rebuild his life from scratch, with that stupid criminal record hanging around his neck like a weight. There was no place for him anywhere, not even at street corner markets selling stolen cigarettes. He felt useless. He’d been turned down even for a job at a sleazy motel, where not even the criminal underworld seemed to want him anymore. Rent was overdue, and his last meal of the month was expired cereal from a month ago and a warm bottle of beer, which he was still deciding whether or not to drink to numb the pain a little.

He had almost given up on looking for more opportunities. Maybe selling art on the beach, like Spencer, or getting rid of all the junk in his place until he was left with just a bed and a fridge. Because, honestly, even a wood-burning stove could come in handy these days.

What was there to do now? The answer was simple: absolutely nothing. Just shrink. He slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes glued to his phone screen, as if it were his last lifeline. The internet bill was the only thing he had managed to keep up with. Funny. He could be broke and starving, but funny videos were a relief. Reality, no matter how harsh, could wait. He mindlessly scrolled through the feed, as if in some way postponing the inevitable, until a message flashed on the screen, snapping him out of his stupor.

Spencer:

Hey man. My buddy’s market is hiring. Cashier. Male. $1,720. Fuel help. Only requirement is knowing how to count change. No small talk. Just show up today at 3 PM.

It was impossible not to feel an immediate sense of relief, like life had suddenly given him a second chance. This had to be some kind of miracle. But of course, there was a catch. It was already 2 PM, and the market was on the other side of the city. So, what did he do? Like an automatic reflex, he glanced at the dirty mirror on the wall. He needed a shower, at least.

He grabbed his phone again without thinking twice. Before stepping into the bathroom, he sent Spencer a message.

Warren:

Thanks, man. I know this could be my last shot before I fade into invisibility.

Spencer:

I know things are tough. Good luck. I know you’ll nail it.

With that, Warren rushed into the shower, doing the bare minimum to look like someone who hadn’t completely lost himself. He thought about his clothes. His first option was what was left of the most “decent” outfit— the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day of the robbery. “Great, perfect impression, Warren Lipka,” he muttered, staring at himself in the mirror. The shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had a hole in the pocket, but deep down, he didn’t care anymore. Ironing? Maybe another day. If he had to go, he might as well go in style. A style that was wrinkled, but still, style.

He checked the GPS and entered the address. The drive would be long, the kind of trip that makes you see parts of the city you only know by name. It felt like a tour, but of a place you didn’t want to know. The city stretched out, as if it couldn’t quite handle its own misery. Finally, he reached a run-down market and parked in a secluded corner. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

“Last Chance? What a joke,” he muttered to himself, laughing quietly as he stepped out of the car. He locked the door quickly, not wasting time. What kind of neighborhood was this? You never know when a bigger problem might pop up, something worse than a simple job interview.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but a strange wave of nervousness hit him. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another one, a way to get things moving, even a little. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even come out with some dignity. If he was unlucky... well, he was used to that.

The one thing he knew for sure was that, somehow, life wouldn’t wait for him to figure things out. He had to try. Even if it was at a place called Last Chance.

He pushed open the door, hearing the little bell ring, announcing his entrance. The place was so quiet that the sound seemed to echo in the emptiness. As Warren had expected, no one was in sight. He let out a low, almost scornful laugh, twirling his car keys in his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "This place looks like it’s been forgotten," he thought, feeling an odd sense of discomfort, but he knew there was no choice but to press on.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted, hoping no one would answer. That way, he could just turn around and leave this bizarre place behind, a bad judgment call.

The silence lingered for a few seconds, but no answer came. With nothing else to do, he shrugged and began walking through the narrow aisles. Hands in his pockets, Warren scanned the area, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of a security camera. No security in this place? Typical. He gave a crooked smile, and as he passed a shelf, he grabbed a chocolate bar and slipped it into his pocket with a quick, almost natural motion.

"Why are you stealing?" The sudden, sharp voice of a child cut through the air, making Warren jump back, knocking the candy off the shelf. They fell to the floor with a small clatter, creating an absurd scene. "Shit, that scared the hell out of me."

"Jesus, kid. Where did you..." He muttered, instinctively raising his fist, as if it were an automatic reaction, but quickly lowering it when he saw the child. It was just a little boy, there was no way he could hit someone that young. "I wasn’t stealing, man. I was just saving it to pay later."

"Luke, who are you talking to?" Her voice came in soft but firm. Warren turned, his eyes widening, and there you were: so beautiful, it almost seemed out of place in this dead-end town. You appeared so suddenly he barely had time to process it.

"Talking to this guy who was..." The little boy began to reply, but you interrupted him with a calm smile.

"Warren Lipka." He quickly introduced himself, extending his hand to you. He wanted to make a good impression, or at least seem less pathetic than he felt. "I’m here for the job interview they said was going on."

You paused for a moment, then let out a short laugh, gentler than he expected. "Oh, you’re Warren, I should’ve guessed." You shook his hand politely, with a confidence he couldn’t even pretend to have. Then, with a motherly gesture, you turned back to the boy, who was still staring curiously at Warren.

You bent down and kissed the boy on the top of his head, the gesture so natural, like it was something you did every day. Afterward, you turned and started walking toward a door behind the cashier. "Come on, or are you going to steal another chocolate?" You asked, your voice laced with light teasing. Warren almost wanted to bury himself right then and there, embarrassed for being caught.

"How..." He began to ask, unsure of what exactly to say.

"Hidden camera," you explained, flashing a mischievous smile. You watched as he began scanning the room with his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I’ll show you later. Now come on."

With one last glance around the place, Warren, still confused and wearing an awkward smile, followed you to the door.

The room revealed was simple, with white walls and a large shelf on one side covered in folders and a few books—most of them children’s books, others Warren couldn’t identify, but from the titles, he could tell they were probably boring. You gestured for him to sit, and then took a seat across the desk. Warren distractedly looked at the small photo on the desk: the little boy outside, smiling beside you in a park filled with trees. Their smiles, so natural, reflected a moment of happiness.

"You two look alike." Warren started the conversation, pointing at the photo with one hand while the other fiddled in his pocket.

"They say he has my eyes. But I think it’s the hair, maybe the shape of the face." You smiled softly, stretching your neck to look at the photo more closely, the movement light and effortless.

"Maybe it’s the eyes. They really do look like yours." Warren said, shaking his head with a somewhat awkward smile. "You’re a really great older sister."

You let out a soft laugh, masking a smile that slipped out for just a moment. "Thanks, but Luke’s my son."

Warren froze, his jaw dropping at the revelation. He widened his eyes, unable to believe it, then quickly disguised his shock, putting his hands to his mouth like he was trying to wipe the look of disbelief off his face. "Now it all makes sense," he murmured, unaware of how visibly stunned he was.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ve never seen a sibling so affectionate. I used to fight with mine all the time." Warren laughed, still in disbelief, furrowing his brow casually as if trying to make the moment less awkward.

"Really? I had Luke when I was really young, 18 years old to be exact." You added, your hands folding on the table, your expression now more serious, as if you were sharing a piece of your story.

"Damn. God, I’m sorry. Shit, I feel like such an idiot now." Warren muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to get nervous." You quickly reassured him, your voice calm and soothing. You leaned forward slightly, as if trying to show empathy for him in that moment.

"And I even called you beautiful. Shit, I’m really not cut out for this." Warren placed his hands on his head, leaning on the table with a heavy sigh. He lifted his eyes to you, his gaze now loaded with guilt. "You think your husband would kill me if he knew?"

"Maybe he would, if I had one." You joked, tilting your head lightly in a playful way, trying to ease the tension in the air. Warren noticed a slight sadness in your voice that didn’t go unnoticed, but for some reason, he decided not to bring it up.

You sighed, straightening your posture and sitting up straighter as if shifting the conversation. "Alright. You’re hired."

"What? Already? What about the interview..." He paused, scratching his head, visibly surprised at how quickly the decision had been made.

"You were hired the moment you walked through that door." You laughed softly, stretching in your chair casually. "Not many people make it out here."

"No wonder. A dump like this..." He scoffed, mocking the place, but his eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. "Oh my god. Again. Shit, I just say the dumbest stuff. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. It really is a dump." You laughed, getting up and walking around the table with light steps. Out of nowhere, you surprised him with a quick, almost warm hug that left Warren feeling momentarily disoriented. "Welcome, Warren."

"Thanks. I won’t let you down." He said, offering a weak smile, but mentally cursing himself for noticing how good you smelled as you pulled away. The feeling of being an idiot didn’t leave his chest.

Warren opened the door for you, and you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes sparkling with a kind of genuine warmth. He followed right behind you, closing the door with a soft click, breathing deeply as he watched you walk through the market, seemingly immersed in something only you knew. He wondered if it was something related to the boy’s father or if you were just worried about something missing from the shelves.

"Did you pay for the chocolate?" Little Luke inquired, a confused expression plastered on his face.

"How old are you, kid?" Warren questioned, furrowing his brow, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to the boy.

"Seven. But I’m almost eight. In nine months and thirteen days." Luke declared proudly, crossing his arms like an adult.

"Weird kid." Warren thought to himself, silently laughing at the little one with big, curious eyes. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. So he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Maybe it was a desire to please you or to apologize to the kid. "Here. It’s for the chocolate."

"It’s $2.35. You’re short $1.35." Luke blinked, extending his hand toward him.

"Oh, kid. Just take the dollar and be quiet, alright? I’m struggling here." Warren hissed at the boy, but instead of crying, the little one just smiled.

"You’re weird. I like you." He chuckled, a funny, purely childlike melody echoing through the small space of the market.

Something warmed in Warren’s chest as he watched that toothless smile. The thought of being a dedicated father flooded his mind, creating false scenarios of an idealized life – a family smiling, him hugging his wife, holding his son in his arms, walking him to school, giving him a dog, teaching him how to shoot. Damn, he’d do anything to be the best dad for Luke, and it wouldn’t even be just because he wanted to win over the beautiful mom from the market. That was the one thing missing from his life, maybe that’s why he was born.

"If you start today, I can give you a tip." Your voice, breaking the idealized moment, brought Warren back to reality. He was an ex-convict, semi-in-love with a single mom, and still trying to figure out if any of this even made sense.

"You don’t have to. I can help." He tried to hide the silly smile that was about to appear, taking the uniform you handed him.

"I insist. The salary’s not great, and you’re practically the only employee here." You remarked, with that radiant smile Warren had already memorized. The sincerity in your tone was palpable.

"No, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a pleasure working with you." He stated without thinking, quickly clearing his throat with a small gesture. "Working with you. You get it."

"Yes. Thanks. I owe you one." You waved your hand, heading back to the room with Luke happily trailing behind you, both walking away while Warren stood there, eyes fixed, his heart still beating harder than usual.

"Alright… time to work." Warren stretched lazily, raising his arms above his head before shuffling toward the employee bathroom.

The space was small and functional, a far cry from the public restroom, which for some reason, was absurdly large and had a strange smell that didn’t leave, even with air freshener. He grabbed the uniform you had given him—a yellow shirt with the store’s name printed on the front. Since there were no pants in the package, he decided his own would do the trick.

When he came out of the bathroom, he closed the door with a quiet click and, with a swift motion, tied his hair in a tiny ponytail. He walked to the register, where you were already standing with a notebook in hand. The moment you heard his footsteps, you looked up.

"Looks good on you." Your tone was kind as you pointed to the shirt identical to yours. He hadn’t even noticed when you had changed—maybe it was when you went into the back room.

"Now we match, look." The voice emerged from behind him. Luke appeared beside him, wearing the same uniform, which, even in the smallest size, was still too big for his tiny frame.

"Yeah, kid. Now we’re coworkers. A real man." Warren smiled and lowered his hand for a high five with the boy, who tried to slap it with all his might.

"Wow. You’re strong. You gonna tell me you’ve been training secretly?"

"I train. I watch fight videos on YouTube." Luke replied proudly, striking a boxing guard pose.

"Luke, we’ve talked about this." Your voice came with a warning tone as you approached.

"Ah, mom. I don’t watch blood. Only sometimes." He pouted indignantly, and you tilted your head before pinching his nose with two fingers.

"Ow, mom!"

"Didn’t see that coming, huh?" Warren chuckled without thinking, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment longer than necessary. In the brief silence that followed, something in his expression made his heart skip a beat. Warren Lipka didn’t seem like the dangerous criminal from the TV—just a guy with a big heart and an intensity that even he didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah... we have a routine.” You cleared your throat, shaking off the unnecessarily sweet thoughts and handing the sheet over to him. “Monday is deep cleaning day, Saturday we count the stock. I’m here at 8 AM every day, except Thursday, when I pick up Luke from his grandparents’ house and drop him off at school. I get here at 10 AM that day. The rest is pretty easy, not much movement. Here, take this to memorize.”

“Got it.” Warren took the notebook, noticing how detailed your notes were.

“Today is Wednesday. You’ll be in the deli section.”

“Just checking expiration dates?”

“Yep. Luke usually helps me, but today he has homework.”

“Can I stay with Warren first?” Luke inquired, his eyes shining with expectation.

You gave an indulgent smile before raising an eyebrow. “Promise you won’t fight with your classmates at school tomorrow?”

“I promise.” He nodded firmly and raised his pinky. “But only tomorrow.”

Warren let out a low chuckle, and you gave him a playful disapproving look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go, Luke. Let’s see if this meat is still good. Did you know that a lot of good meat gets thrown away here in the US? I used to collect it.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s eyes widened as he walked alongside him to the refrigerators.

“Yeah. I’d go to markets like this one and take the ones that were still good.” Warren opened the fridge and started checking the labels. Then he paused, blinking as if realizing too late what he’d just said. “…But don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He tried to hold back his laughter but failed miserably. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He picked up a steak package and held it up for Luke to see.

“I think it’s still good to freeze. It’s got 10 days left.”

“A deal, then. 50% off this stuff that’s about to expire.” Warren shrugged, smiling and tossing the package back into the freezer.

…

Warren paced restlessly back and forth in their usual café, his hands moving nervously, his nails gnawed down to the quick, until a small piece of nail polish chipped off. He could feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were about to burst. His body swayed back and forth, his gaze locked on the clock on the wall, the anxiety consuming him. The weight of the conversation he was about to have was crushing his mind. When he finally saw Spencer walk through the door, the relief was instant, but it didn’t ease his nerves. His snack, the one he’d ordered earlier, lay forgotten on the table, untouched. He didn’t even notice it was still there.

Spencer greeted a few people in the café with a disinterested wave before walking over to the table. He sat down, casually tossing his backpack into the chair beside him, and extended his hand to shake Warren's.

“I want to be a stepdad.” Warren blurted out, not wasting a moment, before Spencer had a chance to say anything. The words came out fast, clinging to his chest like gum, almost as if the pressure had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

"Hey, how’s it going, Spencer? How’s work? Good. Thanks." Spencer mocked, rolling his eyes at Warren’s approach. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "We haven’t talked in two weeks, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?"

Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son." He slammed his hand on the table with conviction, the slap of his palm echoing in the otherwise quiet café. The tension in his body was palpable now, his shoulders tight. He quickly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled a nicotine lozenge from his pocket, placing it in his mouth almost mechanically.

"Since when are you quitting smoking?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to grab one of the lozenges and popped it into his own mouth.

"Since I realized innocent people suffer from the crap smokers exhale," Warren replied in a serious tone, biting down harder on the snack, the crunch almost matching the stress he was feeling. "I saw it in the paper."

Spencer frowned, skeptical, but chose not to comment. Instead, he flagged down the waitress to put in an order. The conversation was starting to take a curious turn, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to figure out what was really going on with his friend. The café bell rang, and suddenly, Eric appeared at the door, casually waving to the crowd before heading straight to the table.

"Hey, guys." Eric greeted, throwing himself into a chair and locking eyes with Warren.

"Warren wants to be a stepdad." Spencer said, his tone bored, hiding a smirk of irony, and Warren smiled broadly, relieved to finally say it out loud. It was a mix of nervousness and excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Dude, that’s a bad idea." Eric shook his head, disapproval written all over his face. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to explain himself seriously. "Those things never work out. Once you get attached to the mom, she’s never gonna let you go. You’ll regret it."

"That’s sexist, Eric." Warren hissed, grabbing Spencer’s coffee cup and taking a sip without caring that it was someone else’s drink. He knew he was breaking the unspoken rules of the café, but he needed something—anything—to relieve the pressure building inside. "And what’s wrong with her getting attached? I like her."

"When’s her birthday?" Eric shot back, his voice relentless, eyes narrowing as if he were conducting an interrogation.

"I don’t know." Warren replied quickly, but a hint of doubt crept in.

"And the kid’s?" Eric pressed, staring at Warren, waiting for a response.

"Wait, I remember, he told me..." Warren trailed off, trying to recall the details.

"What’s her favorite color, and why is it blue?" Eric fired again, a mocking edge in his tone.

"That’s not the point!" Warren snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his frustration growing. "I don’t know, man. It’s the way she looks at me. Her and that weird kid. The little pest knows everything, he rattles off stuff I don’t even know. He answered 37 + 53 like it was nothing."

"90." Eric responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't count, you're a robot." Warren muttered, shaking the snack bag with frustration as he glared at Spencer. He noticed the bag was almost empty. "No, seriously. The kid’s really smart. I know he’s not mine and everything. But I’d make an effort. He has the same nose as me."

"Alright, you're stretching it a bit now." Spencer warned, his voice taking on a serious tone as he finished his coffee with a sigh, setting the empty cup on the table. "What about the job?"

"Tiring. I lift boxes, stack them, store everything. I do almost everything. She helps with cleaning and sometimes takes the register when I'm organizing the fridges. The kid helps her with the change. Everyone who passes by loves him."

"Hmmm. Sounds good." Eric shrugged as the waitress approached with a new order, and he gave a distracted thumbs-up.

"What made you change your mind?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked at Warren with more intensity, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"She’s a hard worker. Women like that are strong. She’s probably fought hard to get this far." Eric spoke with an almost knowing conviction, his tone calm but determined. "Just don’t screw it up, Warren."

"Now it’s my fault?" Warren defended himself, shaking his head in frustration as he stood up from the table, stepping back slightly while slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Spencer looked up, concern now evident on his face.

"Home. I need to get some sleep for work tomorrow. See you guys." Warren replied quickly, his movements hurried, shoulders tight as he turned to leave. The tension still hung in the air, but he needed a moment alone to process everything.

Rule #2: (Try) Not to Stick Your Nose in Other People’s Business.

Warren woke up earlier than usual that morning. He felt surprisingly energized, a rare occurrence, so he made sure to take a proper shower before heading out for work. He knew that today was one of those days you tended to be late, so he planned to take care of everything until you arrived.

As he parked the car in front of the shop, his eyes immediately found you sitting on the doorstep, shoulders slumped, hands pressing against your head. Something was off. His chest tightened at the sight. You looked... desperate.

His brows furrowed slightly, and Warren stepped out of the car, walking toward you with measured steps, trying not to invade your space too abruptly.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if afraid of startling you.

You quickly lifted your face, eyes misty, and your chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the anxiety trapped in your breathing.

"It’s Luke..." Your voice cracked, and you stood up, your hands nervously twisting in front of your chest. "My car broke down, I can't pick him up from his grandparents’ house, and it's almost time for school. He’s going to miss class, and his teacher already said he’s struggling. My brother isn’t answering, no taxis are coming, and..."

With every word, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You didn’t even notice your hands trembling until Warren gently interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, hey." His voice was firm but kind, and without thinking much, he pulled you into an embrace.

The warmth of his body surrounded you, and the sudden gesture made your walls crumble for just a second. The woody scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his jacket fabric made you realize how tense you were. Your heart, which had been pounding against your ribs, began to slow down.

"Sorry. I thought you needed this," he murmured close to your ear.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and pulled back slightly, but without fully breaking the closeness.

"I did. Thank you." Your voice was steadier now, though there was still a lingering edge of panic. You quickly wiped your face with your hands, trying to erase the traces of tears. "Sorry for unloading all this on you, I’m just... desperate."

Warren tilted his head slightly, watching you closely, as if he were analyzing every layer of your nervousness before speaking.

"Where’s his grandparents’ house?" His voice was resolute, like he had already made up his mind.

You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden question.

"What?"

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath before repeating himself.

"Where’s Luke’s address? I’ll go pick him up."

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Your instincts told you to refuse — he was just your employee, he didn’t need to get involved. But the desperation pressing down on you was heavier than the pride that wanted to hold you back.

"You’d do that?"

The smile that appeared on Warren’s lips was small, but genuine, his dimples barely visible as he grinned. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before you realized you were smiling too, even if shyly.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He raised an eyebrow, as though genuinely finding your hesitation puzzling.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your chest warmed in a strange way.

"Come on. Let’s go." He gestured toward the car.

"And the shop?"

"Ah, no one comes here at this time anyway." He chuckled, as if the place was his to command. And for a moment, you found yourself wishing it was.

Warren walked around the car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently for you to get in before closing it carefully with a swift motion. He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. You were still tense, biting your lower lip, trying to hold onto the last threads of control. Warren noticed and, without saying a word, turned on the radio. A loud rock song blasted through the speakers.

"Shit." He muttered, quickly lowering the volume and switching stations.

The sensual melody of Careless Whisper filled the car.

"Goddamn radio." He grumbled again, spinning the dial hastily. This time, soft instrumental music filled the air. "Better," he said, leaning back into his seat and relaxing.

You chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For this." You gestured vaguely at the radio and at him. Warren cast a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the road.

"Do you like the job?" You asked, trying to ease the weight of the moment, your fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the seat.

"Yeah, actually, I’m pretty attached to it. I think it was my last chance to be a decent citizen." He said with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily glancing at you before turning back to the road.

You tilted your head slightly, studying his profile for a beat, the soft tension in the air palpable.

"Do you like it just for that?" Your question came out more curious than you’d intended, a little more pointed than you planned.

Warren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run through his hair, the hint of a mysterious smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"There are other reasons too."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your gaze to the window, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You weren't sure why, but the way he said it unsettled you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"What about you? Do you like your job?"

You let out a soft, nasal laugh, tilting your head back slightly. "Being the manager of a run-down market wasn’t exactly my childhood dream."

Warren chuckled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "How’d you end up there?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you took a deep breath before answering.

"Well... I got pregnant with Luke."

The atmosphere in the car shifted subtly. Warren fell silent for a moment, as if processing the weight of your words, his hands firm on the wheel, eyes focused ahead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked quietly, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

"In the beginning, it was hard. I didn’t have much support, just graduated high school. College seemed impossible." You glanced down at your hands resting on your lap, fingers twisting nervously. Warren nodded slowly, never looking away from the road. "But then he was born, and... everything changed. It was like my whole life suddenly had a new meaning."

Warren smiled, his thoughts clearly drifting to Luke. And as he did, he realized something interesting: his smile was almost identical to the boy's. That same genuine sparkle in his eyes, a light untouched by time, despite all the struggles life had thrown their way. Without thinking, Warren’s own smile softened, mirroring the one he had just seen.

"Can I ask you about his dad, or would that be too intrusive?" Warren’s voice was gentle now, eyes fixed on you, the concern clear in his gaze.

"No... no, it’s not intrusive." You shook your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. "Luke's dad is complicated. He was a great father in the first few months, but then he started saying that Luke was getting in the way of his career."

"What a jerk." Warren spat without thinking, his jaw tightening in indignation. He frowned, immediately realizing his own boldness. "Sorry."

"No... jerk is too mild a word." You shot back, your tone still sharp, but softened by the vulnerability that lingered beneath it. Warren relaxed his shoulders, relieved that he hadn’t crossed a line. "When he said that, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended it. Since then, it’s just been me and Luke. I ended up raising him alone with the help of my parents. Luke doesn’t even know who he is. I prefer it that way. If he asks about him in the future, I’ll tell him, but not now. I’m still angry about it, though."

Warren nodded slowly, processing your words, his expression softening with understanding. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of tires on the road.

Finally, Warren let out a small, knowing smile, his gaze gentle.

"I may not know much about you guys, but Luke is a really cool kid." Warren’s voice held a genuine tone of admiration. "Not many seven-year-olds can count the days until their own birthday."

"You really think so?" Your eyes lit up at the question, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the warmth spreading across your face.

"Of course. The kid’s a little terrifying sometimes, I’ll admit." Warren teased, making you laugh out loud. "Seriously, I get freaked out when he starts doing mental math."

"He’s the best in his class at math." You said, the pride evident in your voice.

Warren rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression playful. "Of course he is. That kid’s going places. He’s going to be the next Einstein, and they’ll write books about him. Mark my words."

You laughed again, and Warren held onto that sound, savoring it, like it was a melody he didn’t want to forget. The sound was infectious, and his chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

"He sounds like my brother. He was always super smart, too. Top of his class, just like Luke. He’s the one who owns the market and helped me get this job. That’s how I ended up there."

"So it’s in the genes."

"Maybe." You fell quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your thoughts drifted as you absentmindedly added, "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The question came out casually, but it hung in the air with an unexpected weight, more serious than you’d intended.

"Me?" Warren raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh, his face lit up with disbelief. When you nodded, he shook his head, still laughing. "That’s a good one."

"Why?" You chuckled, leaning slightly towards him. "What’s wrong with that? You’re good-looking, charming, funny. There must be someone."

Warren snorted, resting his elbow against the car window, the air suddenly a little heavier. "Oh, yeah, sure, women love a former convict who can’t even afford a Coke." His voice had a mocking tone, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of self-deprecation that made your chest tighten with empathy.

"No... no one." He answered quietly, his gaze now fixed on the road ahead. "What about you?"

"No…" Your response came out almost hesitantly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope danced in your mind before you pushed it aside.

The conversation fell into a heavy silence, the kind that lingered like a thick fog between you. You could feel the change in the air, the tension that wasn’t quite palpable but couldn’t be ignored either. You silently thanked the universe that you were close to your destination. As Warren parked the car, you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, eager to escape the weight of your own thoughts before they dragged you deeper into uncertainty.

You hurried up to the door, your hand moving quickly to press the doorbell without hesitation. Warren followed closely behind, stopping a step back, his body still tense, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for something unexpected.

The door swung open.

And then, your blood ran cold.

"Daniel?" Your voice came out as a strained rasp, barely a whisper, your face draining of color instantly.

The man standing there, with his captivating green eyes and a charming smile, widened the door to let you in. "I was really hoping to talk to you. Come on in."

He then looked at Warren, sizing him up with a quick, calculating glance before extending his hand. "Hey, man. How’s it going? I'm Daniel Beavers, but you can call me Dan."

Warren held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, his jaw tightening, before he shook Daniel's hand with deliberate firmness. "Warren." His voice was cold, the warmth and ease from earlier gone completely.

Daniel laughed, a little too loudly. "Damn, you’re strong." He gave Warren a friendly slap on the back, but Warren didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral, only offering a polite smile before stepping inside.

Once out of Daniel’s line of sight, Warren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath brushing your ear. "Who’s that guy?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before your voice barely escaped your lips, a whisper heavy with discomfort. "Luke’s father."

Warren went silent for a beat, his body stiffening as though the weight of your words had struck him physically. His chest tightened, and his next words came out as a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Shit."

Without thinking, his body straightened, as if some primal instinct had taken over. His shoulders subtly broadened, and he instinctively positioned himself a bit closer to you, as if shielding you from whatever lay ahead. The gesture was so natural, so automatic, it was almost like he was becoming a human barrier.

He didn’t have the right to interfere.

But something inside him screamed that he should.

“Hi, mom!”

Luke’s cheerful voice shattered the tense silence in the room. The little boy appeared, his backpack already slung over his shoulders, running to hug you before turning to Warren with a bright, wide smile.

"Warren!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Warren’s legs for a tight hug.

"Hey, little man. Hope I didn’t take too long." Warren grinned, gently messing up Luke’s hair.

Luke pulled away, furrowing his brow. "What happened? I thought you weren’t gonna come."

"The car broke down, buddy. Warren’s gonna take you to school." You explained, maintaining a smile, though out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t ignore the way Daniel was watching the scene, his gaze quiet and calculating.

"Cool!" Luke cheered, raising his hand for a high-five with Warren. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Not this time, kiddo." Warren pretended to sound disappointed, crouching down to meet his eyes with a playful expression. "But next time, I promise."

"Okay." Luke whispered, clapping his hands excitedly.

You glanced around the room, feeling the house unusually quiet. "Where are your grandparents?"

"They went to the market. They’re planning a party for Daniel. For some celebration." Luke answered innocently, not noticing the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of Daniel’s name.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep your composure. "Alright, let’s go. Luke’s gonna be late. It was nice seeing you, Daniel." The falseness of your smile was clear, but it was a necessary mask.

"Wait." Daniel stepped closer, pulling a shiny gold envelope with navy blue details from his pocket. He extended it toward you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I didn’t even tell you the big news."

Your stomach churned before you even looked at the contents.

"Daniel and Honey?" Your voice came out low, almost incredulous.

"I’m inviting you to my wedding." He announced as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You can bring Warren too. It’d be great to have you both with us. Honey really wants to meet you."

Daniel then pulled out a smaller piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Warren, who hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

You laughed—not out of happiness, but out of pure disgust. "Yeah, Daniel. You really outdo yourself every day." You stuffed the invitation into your pocket without a second thought.

"It’ll be great to have you there." He softened his voice, his hand making an almost theatrical gesture as it brushed your arm. "Please, sweetheart…"

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Warren watched the scene unfold like a predator studying its prey. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were subtly balled at his sides, barely contained by the tension in his body. Something inside him had already pegged Daniel as a fool, but seeing this whole act up close... that was too much. His protective instincts kicked in.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Dude, what’s up with this? Don’t you think this is a little weird?" Warren broke the silence, his voice a low growl that drew every eye in the room to him. His tone came out rougher than he intended, but at that moment, he didn’t care to hide his feelings.

Daniel blinked, genuinely confused by Warren’s reaction. "Weird? Why would it be weird?"

That question only fueled the fire inside Warren.

"Don’t you realize how completely bizarre it is to invite your ex to your wedding without even giving a heads-up? You abandoned this kid, and now you show up years later like everything’s fine?" Warren narrowed his eyes, his muscles visibly tensing as his posture became more aggressive, as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

Daniel let out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the situation with a dismissive gesture. "Relax, man. I just thought… I don’t know. We’d be good friends. Didn’t know she was already seeing someone again." He shrugged, giving you and Warren a mischievous look, as if he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

The statement caught Warren off guard for a moment, making his eyes narrow even further, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "Yeah. Exactly." He reaffirmed without hesitation, crossing his arms firmly. "And even if she wasn’t, you can’t just keep popping in and out of people’s lives like it’s a game. Look at yourself. How old are you?"

Daniel was slightly thrown off, the first crack in his confidence showing in his hesitation. "Twenty-seven."

Warren let out a dry laugh, almost sarcastically. "Twenty-seven." He repeated, savoring the irony of the situation. Then, he stepped forward, forcing Daniel to retreat until his back hit the wall. The intensity of Warren’s presence was palpable. "Listen, man to man. I’m thirty-one. But I had a grip on things long before that."

The discomfort on Daniel's face was unmistakable. He tried to recover his posture, but Warren wasn’t letting him off the hook.

"Alright, man. No need to get all upset or rude." Daniel hissed, attempting to regain his composure as he pushed lightly against Warren’s chest. Warren instantly lifted a fist, ready for any reaction.

It was only then that he remembered you and Luke were still there, silently observing the scene. Warren took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and relaxed his shoulders before speaking in a more controlled voice, though still firm. "Stay out of our lives again, alright?"

Then, with a sharp smile, he straightened Daniel’s perfectly aligned suit jacket as if he were adjusting a porcelain doll, his touch almost mocking. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Daniel replied automatically, quickly wiping where Warren had gripped him, trying to salvage his composure.

"I hate that kind." Warren muttered between his teeth, his gaze hardening, but he quickly turned to you, softening his expression. He gave you a more serene smile, almost affectionate. "Shall we go, babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing him say “babe.” Not out of fear, but because, in that moment, you realized something different. The way Warren said it felt... right. As though he had claimed a piece of you without even realizing it.

"For sure." You smiled, your eyes softening as you started walking toward the door. But then you stopped, turned around, and walked back to Daniel with steady steps.

Without hurrying, you took the invitation from your pocket with a smooth motion and extended it to him, without any emotional appeal. "Keep it for someone who actually wants to go. Best wishes!" Your voice was sweet, but the sarcasm beneath it was impossible to ignore. Every word carried a subtle criticism, something you could no longer hide.

Daniel stood there, frozen, holding the invitation as if he had finally realized it was irrelevant to you, his expression draining of any confidence he had left as the reality hit him. He was out of place. And that seemed clear to everyone in the room.

Warren opened the door for you to pass, but before you stepped out, he gave Daniel one last threatening glance. A silent, but clear, warning.

You both walked toward the car, no longer needing to hide the smile on your faces. The tension from the earlier conversation still hung in the air, but somehow, the whole situation seemed to have brought you even closer.

"Alright, all set..." Warren murmured as he buckled Luke's seatbelt in the back seat. "Now, school."

He was already turning to head to the driver's seat when Luke's curious little voice caught you both off guard:

"Are you and mommy dating?"

The silence that followed was instant. You and Warren froze for a second before exchanging a knowing glance.

Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... I'm a pretty nosy guy," he said, looking directly at you before turning to Luke. "So, I guess we are."

He twisted the key in the ignition, but before pulling away, he cast a quick glance your way. "Is this alright with you? Us... this."

The question came without hesitation, but with a genuine undertone of concern. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the weight of the silent exchange between you two. Then, you smiled. Not just any smile, but one of those effortless, warm, and real smiles.

"Great." You replied, feeling a lightness in your chest.

He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to lock that expression in his memory. Then, he nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"Great." He repeated, turning his attention back to the road before accelerating, as if the whole world had just fallen back into place.

Rule #3: Your friends aren’t always right.

After school, you drove to the grocery store. The car’s engine hummed softly before going silent as you turned the key in the ignition. The sound of the seatbelt undoing echoed in the silence between you. You opened the door and climbed out, unlocking the passenger door without looking back. Warren stepped out soon after, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his gaze scanning the storefront as if something was different, even though everything looked exactly the same.

Inside, the muffled sound of an old radio played some generic music as you made your way to the checkout. Warren, on the other hand, detoured to the warehouse, his steps slower than usual. The smell of dust and cardboard filled his nostrils as he entered. The shelves were crammed, the boxes stacked chaotically, as usual. But Warren didn’t care about any of that. 

He just needed a moment here, alone, to gather his thoughts. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers. His gaze ran over the words written there—how many times had he read them?—but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, the creak of the door opening made him quickly shove the paper back into his pocket.

"Can I come in?" Your voice sounded hesitant, head peeking through the crack in the door. He blinked a few times before forcing a smile. 

"Of course you can. You own the place." He gestured with his hand, a relaxed movement, but his shoulders remained tense. 

You walked in, closing the door behind you, the dry sound of wood echoing through the small space. Your eyes wandered around the warehouse for a second before returning to Warren, who was now swinging his foot on the floor, his right hand still deep in his pocket. 

"I just came to say..." You began, walking slowly towards him. "Thank you for what you did today." 

He let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away from you to the floor. "Oh, that?" His shoulders lifted in a casual gesture. "It was nothing. In fact, I think I was kind of stupid." 

"No." Your answer came out firm, quick, taking him by surprise. You cleared your throat, trying to soften your tone. "It wasn't stupid. It was... it was really good. Really helpful. I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do in that situation. He was such an asshole." 

Warren tilted his head to the side, watching your expression for a moment before asking, "Has he always been like this?" 

You let out a tired sigh, leaning against the wall behind you. "I guess he always has. I just didn't want to notice." 

"That sucks." He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. After a second of hesitation, he walked over to stand next to you, leaning against the wall as well. "I guess we always have that in life. Not realizing the right person was right there." 

You frowned, lifting your chin with a hint of indignation in your voice. "Why do we do this, huh? All the signs were there. The way he ignored me, how I had to ask him to the school dance..." 

Warren turned his face towards you, blinking slowly. "You asked him to the school dance and not the other way around?" 

"Yeah! Can you believe that?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "He said he forgot! When we were picking out my dress the night before!" 

Warren closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh before muttering, "What an idiot." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light above casting soft shadows on his face. With a slow movement, he licked his lips before speaking again. "I would never do that to you."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching for a second. 

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice came out low, almost reluctant.

He pressed his teeth against his cheek, looking away to the floor, as if seeking courage there. When he finally looked back at you, his expression was more serious.

 "I would never treat you like that." His voice was firm, but there was a certain hesitation in his gaze. "I'm not exactly a good guy, you know that. But I’d never leave you hanging like that."

"Really?" You leaned your head against the wall, still looking at him, your fingers tightening the hem of your blouse with an unconscious reflex of nervousness.

Warren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips, almost as if he was amused by your reaction. You snorted and went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence that followed was almost palpable. Your breathing seemed to echo in the small warehouse, while the dust danced in the air under the yellowish light.

"Oh my God..." The laugh came low, exhaled along with a sigh.

"What?" He frowned, but the corner of his mouth still carried a trace of amusement.

"Now I want to go to Daniel's wedding with you just so he can see that I'm okay." You admitted, covering your face with your hands, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "That's so immature. I'm such an idiot."

Warren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, I don't care." Without hesitation, he took another step towards you, leaning in slightly as he gently removed your hands from your face. "I still have a password, we can say it's yours and that I'm following."

"No, Warren... That's not right." You protested, but the lightness of laughter was still present in your voice. "I'd be using you and that's so wrong..."

"Do it. I just don't want you to look like that because of that idiot." His voice lowered slightly, seriousness seeping into his tone.

"He doesn't deserve even a second of your emotions, of anything you have to offer. So use me. Do whatever you think is best, because you have a hard enough life to worry about anything else and I'm willing to do anything to help you."

Your heart stumbled in your chest when you felt his warm touch against your wrists. Warren gently lowered them, letting his hands rest on either side of your body. The space between you was decreasing with each passing second without anyone making an effort to break it.

He bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering between your mouth and your eyes. You felt your breath catch at the realization, heat rising in your stomach, in your cheeks. Your own attention followed suit—his lips, then his brown eyes, intense, filled with something unsaid but completely understood. The atmosphere was heavy in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.

Warren's heart hammered against his ribs as he raised one hand, bracing it on the wall beside you. The other still held yours. The space between your bodies slowly disappeared. He leaned toward you, his lashes lowering as your faces came closer, your breath mingling.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a sharp blade, making you both pull away in an instant. You took a step back, your chest rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Warren ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

"I better... you know... go outside." He nodded, his voice thick with something that sounded like disappointment.

You nodded, crossing your arms over your body as if that could contain the wave of feelings that were stirring inside you. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave right away—Warren leaned his back against the wood for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, trying to regain control. Only then did he pull away and walk to the cashier.

You stood there for a few more moments, your fingertips brushing your lips, as if trying to feel something that had never happened.

If you had kissed... would it have been wrong? Or was the doorbell a signal not to?

You shook your head, muttering "Stop it" to yourself, trying to push the thought away. But the knot in your chest was still there as you left the warehouse and headed back to the market.

Across the way, Warren was handing over the customer’s groceries with automatic movements, but his mind was elsewhere. When his eyes met yours, for just a second, something flared again—a question, an uncertainty, a regret.

Without saying anything, you looked away and walked into the office, busying yourself with anything that felt like work. You needed to distract yourself, needed to convince yourself that this didn’t mean anything.

The customer left, and Warren stood behind the register, still holding the last bag as if he’d forgotten to let go of it. His mind raced in circles, trying to find a way to talk about what had almost happened. To tell him how he felt without ruining everything.

He walked slowly to the office door and raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the wood for a second before curling into a fist and pulling back.

This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if it did, he was sure it would ruin everything.

Eric was right. It was better to just give up.

Rule #4: Don't hold back an emotion for too long, it might take over you.

The doorbell rang, and Warren didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The familiar jingle of keychains rattling in his backpack and the sweet smell of grape candies in the air were enough to recognize Luke.

"Hey, little man. How was school today?" Warren beamed, walking around the counter with lazy steps to talk to the boy.

"It was nice." Luke replied excitedly, throwing his backpack on the floor before wrapping Warren in a brief, tight hug. Soon after, he pulled away and stuck his small hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Look, I made this today."

"Awesome, a frog." Warren took the green origami between his fingers, studying the careful folds. He turned the piece from side to side, smiling. "Where did you learn that?"

"On the internet, look. Come see, it jumps." Luke took it back, placed it on the counter, and pressed it lightly on the paper. The little frog jumped. "See?" 

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you're scary." He tested the frog, squeezing the paper as Luke had done, and the creature jumped again. "This is witchcraft, isn't it? You put magic in it and didn't tell me, you little brat." 

"No!" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "It's just origami. If you fold the paper the right way, it moves, like a lever." 

"I see..." Warren feigned distrust, crossing his arms. "So it's pure skill and not some dark pact?" 

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Wanna make one?" 

"Tsk, I don't know." Warren leaned back a little, as if it were a risky challenge. "I'm pretty sure I'll ruin it before I even touch the paper." 

"Stop being a wimp." The boy, however, didn't take the refusal lying down. Luke took his hand with determination and pulled him down the hallway to the office. The air grew heavier as Warren walked through the door. 

His eyes met yours for a moment too long. Something unresolved hung in the space between you, and you both looked away almost at the same time, disguising it with silent discomfort.

 It had been a week. 

Seven days since what almost happened in the warehouse. 

Since then, conversations had been limited to short sentences about work, polite words that didn't fill the awkward silence. You spent as much time as possible in the office, while Warren remained at the cash register busy with anything other than talking to you. Always busy. The only close interaction happened when it was time to restock the shelves or when one of you left. And even then, you both avoided looking each other directly in the eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?" You broke the silence first, forcing a smile as Luke let go of Warren's hand and ran over to you.

"It was cool, but Warren and I are really busy right now." He explained excitedly, grabbing two sheets of paper from your desk.

"With what, exactly?" You asked, your gaze falling on Warren more than the boy.

"We're gonna make frogs." Warren answered casually, twirling the sheet between his fingers.

"Frogs?" Your brow furrowed slightly.

"Of paper, Mom." Luke rolled his eyes, as if your question was absurd. "I made one in class and now I'm going to teach Warren how to make one too. Sit here, facing Mom."

Warren hesitated, his eyes meeting yours again, almost as if he was asking for permission. You held his gaze for a second before nodding, pointing to the chair across from you. He sat down, looking guilty, shifting in his chair as Luke stood beside him, full of excitement.

"Here's how it is, follow everything I do or you'll get lost and do it all wrong." The boy began to fold the paper with precision. Warren imitated the movement, frowning in concentration.

"That's it. Now you're going to fold it here... like this."

"Okay..." Warren replicated the fold, narrowing his eyes to check if he was doing it right. "And now?"

"Do it like this, like this. Now fold it like this... Now turn it over. Don't let it get wrinkled, it has to be right. Turn it over again, fold it."

"Easy there, Luke. I'm old." Warren laughed, his hands fumbling to keep up with the boy's agile movements.

Luke snorted, but held back a smile. "You're slow, Warren."

"Hey, that was unnecessary." He made a playfully offended expression.

"Now just this one more and it's done!" Luke showed off his perfectly aligned frog, proud.

"Congratulations, honey!" You clapped your hands, amazed at your son's work. “It looks exactly like a frog. Good job.”

Warren looked at his origami, then at Luke’s. He held up his creation—a crumpled, shapeless ball—and raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, it looks just like mine.” 

Luke laughed loudly. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your laughter too. “Sorry, Warren. It’s just so funny.” 

“It looks like a frog that got run over!” Luke laughed, placing his hands on his stomach. 

“I know, I know. I should’ve seen that coming. You two are against me.” Warren sighed dramatically, tossing the paper ball aside. “It’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave that to the little man and his super smart mom.” 

But even though he failed miserably at origami, the smile on his face seemed genuine for the first time in a week. 

“You don’t pay attention either, Warren Sillyka!” Luke laughed, sticking his tongue out at Warren. 

“Did you see that?” Warren raised an eyebrow at you, pointing indignantly at the boy. “The kid just gave me tongue!” And without thinking twice, he returned the gesture.

"Hey!" Luke protested, grimacing and pulling the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Now, you little criminal..." Warren narrowed his eyes before standing up, his hands ready to attack with tickles.

"No, stop! Stop!" Luke squirmed, laughing as he tried to escape. Warren, however, was faster, grabbing him easily and lifting him in his arms, swinging him from side to side.

"Serious infraction, young man!" Warren mocked, holding Luke tightly. "You have the right to remain silent! Hands where I can see them!"

"Never!" Luke challenged, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "I will not give in to you, Sillyka."

"Oh, then let's go again." Warren took a deep breath and threw the boy slightly in the air before catching him again, eliciting more laughter. "What now? I’ll only let you go with an apology!’

You watched them, the scene unfolding before your eyes like something you never imagined you would see. Your son laughing freely, sharing such pure happiness with someone other than you. Warren holding him in his arms felt... right. Like this was where Luke was always supposed to be.

The laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it. And when Warren and Luke looked at you, your laughter turned into something else—louder, looser, more genuine. Your eyes grew teary, but not just from laughter. The emotions inside you bubbled up in a way they didn’t know how to express, that you had kept locked away under lock and key deep in your heart for many, many years.

"No... don't look at me." You tried to contain your laughter, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "Keep going..."

"Mommy?" Luke frowned, his joy turning to instant concern.

Warren noticed the same and quickly put the boy down before approaching you. 

"Mommy, are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears. "Yes, my baby... I am." You smiled, even though your voice shook a little. "I'm just happy." It was true. Partially, at least. "Can you go to the storage room and get me a tissue?"

Luke hesitated, still suspicious, but nodded. "Yeah." And then he left, looking back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, the barrier you were trying to hold collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, followed by an uncontrolled sob. 

"I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands, unable to stop the wave of emotion.

Warren's heart clenched, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a firm embrace.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there.

Your face buried in his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, feeling the heat of his body as you cried without reserve.

“I'm here. Shh..." Warren murmured against your hair, stroking your back in slow circles. "I'm here."

"I'm soaking your clothes…”

"Fuck it. I'll wash them when I get home."

He slid his fingers through your hair, brushing his lips gently against your temple, a silent gesture of comfort. Your breathing began to calm, still shaky, but less suffocating. You sniffed and pulled away slightly, staring at his face so close to yours. The way he looked at you... calm, steady. Like a beacon in the middle of your storm, guiding you back.

"I forget how incredibly perceptive he is." Your voice still cracked. "He always knows when I'm not okay. I can't hide anything from him."

Warren smiled weakly, running his hand over your wet face, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb.

"You don't have to hide it from me either." He said softly, then leaned down, still on his knees, to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't hide anything from me." 

The door swung open. 

"Here, Mom! I got it." Luke came running back, holding the box of tissues. "Sorry I took so long. It was really highI had to grab a chair to get up. But I didn't drop anything." 

You let out a shaky laugh, accepting the tissues and opening your arms to him. Luke fit into the hug without hesitation. You looked at Warren over your son's head, his gaze full of gratitude.

 "Well... I guess I'll be going now." Warren mumbled, standing up slowly. 

"Where to?" You asked, grabbing a tissue and blowing your nose. "Leaving already?" 

"To the cashier. It's my turn." He smiled weakly, watching Luke grab another tissue for you. "Take care of your mom, okay?" 

"I'll do it." Luke nodded with the seriousness of someone who takes the mission seriously. He held the trash can for you to dispose of the tissues. "It'll be okay, Mommy." 

You smiled, tightening your arms around your son. "I know it will, my baby. Thank you.

" Warren took slow steps towards the door, almost hesitantly. You watched him go, feeling a tightness in your chest as you watched him walk away. 

"See you later." He paused for a brief second, turning just enough to look you in the eyes. 

"See you..."

…

Warren turned the "Closed" sign on the door, taking one last look at the street before returning to the cash register and writing down the day's records. You always dropped Luke off before five, so you'd be back soon. He wanted to get everything done early to make his job easier.

After reviewing the checklist, he went to his office and left the paper on his desk. When he returned to the cash register, he heard the door open and looked up in time to see you come in. You walked over to him with a small smile on your lips.

"You look happy." He commented, resting his hands on the counter.

"I just found the perfect dress for Daniel's wedding." You said, leaning a little on the counter. 

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow, Saturday."

You walked around the counter, stopping next to him. "Do you have an outfit yet?"

"I have that damn thing I wore on my first day here. Will that fit?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms.

"It'll do. It's perfect." You replied, placing your hands on your hips. "I can't wait to show you."

 "The dress?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I want to see it too. What color is it? No, wait... Isn't that bad luck?" 

"What?" 

"To know what the woman will wear on her wedding day." He explained, confused. You let out a laugh. 

"No, Warren." He blinked, waiting for the explanation. "That's only for the bride. You can know." 

"Oh... sorry. I've never been to a wedding before." He confessed, relaxing his arms. "Are you excited?" 

"Nervous." You admitted, leaning against the counter. "I don't know how I'm going to react." 

"I'll be there." Warren comforted. "Do I have permission to punch him if he messes up with Luke?" 

"Luke isn't going. It's at night. It starts at eight, but these things always take a while. I don't want him to stay up until the early hours of the morning." 

"So it's just going to be the two of us?" 

The question came with a subtle but noticeable tone of curiosity. 

"Yes." You nodded, feeling an unexpected nervousness grow in your chest. 

"Do you want me to pick you up?" He asked, and there was something else in his voice—a hint of expectation. 

"Yes, it's okay. I was just going to drop Luke off at his friend's house and come back to get ready." 

"Deal. I'll stop by at seven-thirty?" 

"Seven-thirty is fine." You nodded, crossing your arms. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled sideways.

"Shall we go out? It's closing time, and I don't want anyone knocking here." You changed the subject, walking to the door.

"Good idea." Warren grabbed his keys and followed you out, locking the store behind you.

Warren scanned the street, frowning slightly when he noticed one of the streetlights flickering, casting irregular shadows across the sidewalk. The silence of the night seemed to drag on with the cold wind.

"So... is it okay to walk home in this darkness?"

"Yeah, I always walk back after work." You answered matter-of-factly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He let out a short sigh, pulling the iron to cover the store window. "This isn't good."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as he locked the door. "Since when did walking two streets over become a problem?"

"Since always. Anyone can run into the wrong person." He turned to you, glaring firmly.

"No problem. If anything happens, I'll scream and run." You joked, shrugging.

Warren chuckled and shook his head before approaching. With his hands firmly on his waist, he tilted his face, his eyes assessing you up and down.

��Come on. I’ll take you.” You hesitated for a moment, but ended up nodding and starting to walk. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Going home?” You pointed to the end of the street.

“No. Get in the car.” He patted the hood of the vehicle twice with a half smile.

“It’s only two streets.”

“And I don’t know who’s coming around the corner. Do you know?”

“You’re so worried.”

“Baby, after you go to jail, even your neighbors are suspicious.” He joked, unlocking the doors. “Maybe you have your own criminal record and I’m here all by myself thinking I’m safe and sound.”

You smiled, getting in the car. “And what would my crime be?”

Warren started the engine and pulled out of the space, his eyes narrowing as if he was evaluating the response.

“Murder, for sure. In cold blood, plain daylight.” He teased, turning the steering wheel to enter the avenue. “Maybe poisoning.”

“And why?”

He gave you a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

“Because you have this innocent woman look, all pretty, cute eyes who make men fall in love at first sight… the perfect stereotype.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “When I least expect it, I’ll wake up in an ice bath.”

You gave a short laugh and lightly pushed his shoulder. “How awful, Warren. I’d never kill you.”

“I don’t know… what if one day I make you angry?”

He turned onto your street and parked in front of your house. The engine purred softly before being turned off. Silence filled the car.

“Then I don’t know…” you teased, biting your lip as you pretended to think.

Warren chuckled softly and shook his head. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.

But before you could reach for the door handle, you hesitated.

“Warren.”

He turned to face you, leaning in slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, as if he already knew what was coming.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze locked on his lips. Your heart raced as your bodies leaned almost instinctively toward each other. Your hot breath mingled in the small space between you. But at the last moment, you pulled back, looking away.

“Nothing…”

“Fuck, stop saying it’s nothing.” Warren grumbled, letting out a short sigh before unbuckling his belt and cupping your face with his warm hands, pulling you into an unexpected kiss.

The touch was intense, a mix of urgency and pent-up desire. Your fingers tightened the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, opening your mouth for more of what you craved so much.

When you pulled away, a mischievous smile played on his lips. You smiled, still feeling his breath against your skin, your mouth damp from the trace of what had happened.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to pull away, but he pulled you back, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

This time, you moaned against his lips and released his belt, seeking more proximity. Warren slid his hand under your shirt, pulling your waist closer and feeling the soft skin against his touch. His other hand went to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining in your hair as the kiss grew more intense.

Time seemed to have stopped. You turned your body so that he had more access, your hand touching his face, the hairs of his growing beard prickling your skin, brushing against your chin. It stung, but it felt so damn good. When air became a necessity, you pulled away with a silly smile, your eyes shining under the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You’re very welcome.” Warren murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your skin as if he still didn’t want to let go.

You smiled and looked away, opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Warren.”

“Why?”

“I’m in front of my house.” You laughed softly.

Before you could leave, he pulled your hand and stole one last kiss.

“Just one more.” He murmured against your lips, sealing them once more. You smiled against his mouth before finally leaving.

Warren waited until you got in and closed the door to start the car. He licked his lips, capturing your trail. He frowned, smelling a strange smell in the air. Looking around, he decided to look at his pants and...

“Shit, Warren. What’s wrong with you?” He groaned in disgust, seeing his own situation. His jeans were darker, damp, soft. “I can’t believe this. One kiss! One kiss! I’m so fucked up. That’s the ending.”

Disgusted, he just decided to go home as soon as possible to resolve the outcome of the little moment between you. Even though he was uncomfortable with the sticky feeling between his legs, the satisfied smile didn’t leave his face.

And it didn’t leave throughout the entire night.

[littlestl4mb]

valentines day with luigi and he's come down with a cold but refuses to acknowledge it and still tries to take you out to dinner, do fun things with you/care for you etc and you're like bRO you need to take care of yourself!! u literally have to force him on the couch with tea otherwise he won't ever rest

omg bro YES. i think that man was raised on the notion that he has to be on 100 mode all the time. if he’s not busy, he feels like a failure. he hardly lets himself rest; he grinds his gears until there’s no grease left to sustain him— until the machine of his body is grating upon itself just to keep sustaining its momentum. 

in love and relationships, he’s definitely like this too. well, he thinks he has to be this way anyways. thinks that it’s what has to be done— putting others first without second thought for himself. 

with all his work, hobbies, and busying himself with you— he doesn’t realize he’s pushed himself past his physical limits until there’s a sudden accompanying ache in his body. a sore throat that hardly lets him swallow. a pounding head that allures to the cold that’s brewing in his system. and still- he disregards it. ‘there’s no time to be sick right now.’ he tells himself. he convinces himself he can push off whatever ailment he’s harboring until next week. when it’s not valentines day, when he doesn’t have an elaborate day planned. when he doesn’t have to worry about letting someone- well the most important person to him- down. he tells himself he’ll load up on DayQuil and theraflu today and reward himself with a long nights sleep afterwards. because surely he can control whether or not he gets sick. right.

when he shows up knocking at your door with an extravagant bouquet of roses in hand, a dainty box of chocolates tucked between his top and bottom teeth, and a little gift bag dangling from his wrist, he’s so certain that he can make it through today. besides, he thinks the pain and discomfort is worth it when you open the door a few seconds later. he wishes he had another hand with a camera in it just to capture the look of delight and surprise on your face. 

“happy valentines day, baby” he mumbles, the box still tucked between his teeth while his other hand wraps around the heavy vase of the flowers again. he’s hardly trying and yet he looks so puppy eyed standing at your door with his arms full of the largest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

you’d usher him in and help him put everything he’s carrying down onto the counter. and kiss his repeatedly while thanking him for the thoughtful gifts. the little gift bag, as it turns out, has a printed itinerary of your plans for the evening (you know, a walk together through your favorite park, two tickets to a museum, and then a mini menu of the elaborate dinner he’s planning to make you later that night). oh, and a casual gold locket necklace that has a photo of you two printed out and glued inside of it. (the engineer in him deff went CRAZY making sure the image was the perfect size and that it fit perfectly). 

and surprisingly! luigi makes it through a good part of the day without you knowing he’s sick. he maybe lets a sniffle get out here or there, and his voice sounds hoarse on occasion, but he tells you it’s just his allergies. which you’re skeptical of, but you give him the benefit of the doubt. and besides, he’s so determined to celebrate the day with you that you can’t stop him. 

…..well…. until things suddenly take a turn for the worse. 

it hits him like a brick wall when you’re at the museum. the pounding in his head returns and this time it’s ten-fold. his body heats up with a flame that somehow can’t quell the immense coldness he feels. his body practically vibrates as he’s struggling to contain the sudden shivers he has.

“oh, look at this painting of the two birds curled together on the branch. it’s so us, don’t you think?” you point to a painting that you’re looking at, your head turned away from him. when you turn to look back at him to see his response, you’re met with a ghastly version of luigi. he’s pale like he’s seen a ghost, and his eyes are glossed over. his curls are starting to stick to his forehead from how warm he is despite his shivers :(

“hm? oh yeah,” he croaks out and nods his head in agreement. 

and you don’t know how you missed it before, or how he was so good at hiding it. it leaves you feeling guilty knowing he must’ve been feeling unwell for so long, and yet he pushed through it so selflessly for you. 

“oh my god, lu. are you okay? we need to go home,” you frown, your smaller arm looping around his while you guide him towards the nearest exit. 

getting home is more or less of a black screen to him. he knows he gets into the car at some point, and that you two get back to your apartment at another point. maybe there’s a stop made along the way, but he’s not too sure about that. and despite it all, the man still tries to waltz into the kitchen, determined to make the dinner he planned on making for you. he’s stubborn that way. 

“luigi, can you please lay down? you can make dinner another night,” you insist. the back of your hand presses softly against his forehead, which he hums almost deleriously at. the sign of a fever burns brightly against your own skin. 

“no, i’m fine. really. i’ll just make the risotto and then i promise i’ll go lay down.”

you shake your head at him, but say nothing. you busy yourself with boiling some water for tea. only leaving luigi’s side to grab some bottles of vitamins and nyquil from your bathroom medicine cabinet. 

when you return, he’s leaning against the counter with his fingers pressed into his temples. desperate to quell the throbbing in his skull. “can we turn the heat up in here? jesus, it’s freezing,” he mumbles. (the thermostat is at 73, you know things are bad because that man definitely runs warm as it is, usually he's asking for you to turn the heat down)

you set the medicine down, and reach out to wrap a hand around his bicep. with a soft squeeze, you tug him away from the kitchen counter. he’s too tired, too achey to even fight back anymore. his body submitting to the fact that maybe he should just listen to you. 

you take the opportunity and guide him to the couch. he doesn’t protest when you take out a pile of soft blankets and layer them on top of him. he’s too tired to. and he can’t lie to himself— getting tucked into your couch makes him feel a whole lot better. it’s kind of funny how fast he gives into being taken care of. he pretends like he doesn’t want it because he’s so used to being the one to take care of things.

when you stand up from his side, he lets out a pitiful whine of protest, “noooo, where are you going?”

“i’ll be back,” you assure him. true to your word, you do return. a cup of lemon-ginger tea with honey in one hand, and the bottle of nyquil in the other. you sit yourself by his side as you give him the cap of dark blue liquid. once he’s downed it, you hand him the cup of tea and tell him to drink it, that it’ll soothe his throat. and once he’s done that, you make him take a handful of vitamins too. 

“will you be okay if i get up and make some dinner? was thinking of making that one chicken noodle soup recipe. y’know, the one from scratch.” 

luigi pouts in his typical way but gives a little nod of his head. your fingers lightly graze through the mess of curls on his head for a few moments in attempt to comfort him. he looks so soft sometimes that it almost hurts. he doesn’t let many people see him so weak either but he has a lot of trust in you <3 

and then when you’re making him the soup, you make sure turn on a light hearted movie for him to watch. intermittently you check in on him to make sure he’s doing okay. his fever start dying down, which helps your worrying. he’s constantly trying to thank you, and also apologize for “ruining” valentines day :( but you shush him each time. 

i think he really starts to lean into being taken care of in the following days. like if you’re doing something in another room he calls out “babyyyyy, where are you? this cold is so bad” and no doubt he’s still feeling sick but he also starts to use it to his advantage. he swears he’s dying, that he needs you to run your fingers through his curls again to make him feel a little better. he’s pouty and whiny and needy. and you don’t even care because that’s your sweet baby lu and if he needs to be babied then so be it! he deserves it! so if he asks for more blankets, you bring him more. if he asks for more tea, you brew him some immediately. if he asks for you to just sit by his side, there’s no hesitancy from you at all. 

ngl i wouldn’t be surprised if he also pretended to be sick way longer than he actually is just for a few extra days of being pampered by you 

[gorbo-longstocking]

Cover It Up | Modern!Caracalla x GN!Reader

Summary: Every few nights, like clockwork, Caracalla shows up at your door, drunk, or high, or both. There is so much that he says, and so little that you can bring yourself to tell him. It’s the same now as it always is.

Tags: Modern AU, GN!Reader, references to drugs and alcohol, implied past child abuse (Caracalla), implied addiction problems (Caracalla), so much yearning, reader is a medical student, kind of sad and angsty, this is technically an side story to my main fic Do Not Blame the Sea but it can be read as its own thing, Caracalla and Reader’s relationship here sort of parallels how it is in the main fic

Word Count: 1.7k Words

Song: Lost Kitten - Metric

Do Not Blame the Sea Masterlist

Before the door even opened, you knew who was standing on your doorstep. Who else would visit you in the late hours of the night when the moon was drifting lower on the horizon in order to make way for the sun? You couldn’t name another person in your life who would dare bother you during the few seconds of solitude you so desperately craved. No one else would expect you to be awake. Not your parents who would lose their minds if they discovered you were doing anything but sleeping or studying, and certainly not your fair-weather friends from college who knew nothing of your insomniac tendencies. It was always him. The one you’d drop everything for, no matter what it was.

It was always Caracalla who knocked on your door.

“Good morning, doctor.” He leaned on your porch railing, his feet unsteady. The stench of booze radiated off of him in waves, nearly suffocating in its intensity. On his chin, vomit was crusted to his skin, and you let out a sigh.

“Caracalla, I don’t think anyone would consider it morning yet. Come in.”

You always thought he was beautiful with the night sky behind him. While your apartment was nestled too far in the city for there to be stars, the midnight blue complimented his eyes perfectly. His imperfections were hidden during the day when you saw him on campus, that was when he was far too fixated on hiding them. It was only at this hour, when sweat made his makeup run, revealing acne and pockmarks, and the humidity made his red hair curl, did you think he was more handsome than you had ever seen him. Caracalla would never believe you if you told him. If anything, he would believe your words to be a joke. So, like all thoughts in regards to your affections for him, you kept them to yourself.

Reaching out an arm, you opened the door wide to help him inside. His hand was clammy, far too warm to match his drunken flush. Judging by the size of his pupils, alcohol wasn’t all he had gotten into. You had known Caracalla long enough to know his drug of choice tended to be cocaine, though with a frustrating tendency to indulge especially when he didn’t know what he was taking. The likelihood he simply ate a random pill he found on the floor of a frat house was annoyingly high. He giggled as he clumsily made his way in the door, pressing his body against yours. Despite his rancid state, you found yourself craving his warmth. You always did.

“Doctor, doctor, I need my doctor,” Caracalla slurred as you led him to the couch. When he flopped onto the cushions, his eyelids fluttered shut before he forced them open again. That made it easier to guess what was in his system, it meant whatever he took wasn’t an upper. “Need you to take care of me. Get to it.” He was always so demanding, and a bit of fondness fought with your exasperation. Before you left to get him a glass of water, he reached out to wrap delicate fingers around your wrist. “I’ve missed you.”

You missed him too. In order to keep the words from spilling out, you gave him a tight smile and pulled away. His glassy eyes flickered with a familiar frustration you paid no mind. Once you were in the kitchen, you fell into a routine. Water to hydrate him, a wet towel to wipe the vomit from his chin, and some tylenol for the morning. Like every night Caracalla came, you would tell him to sleep on the couch, and like every night since you met him, he would find his way into your bed. You set the medicine on your night stand.

“Tell me you missed me too,” He demanded once you were in his line of sight. His eyes were squinted, unable to open them any wider than they were. When you handed him the water, he drank greedily, and before he could wipe his chin with his sleeve, you crouched down to wipe him clean. Caracalla hummed, nearly a purr, as you steadied yourself with a hand against his cheek, leaning into your touch. “I know you did, I can feel it.”

“I’m surprised you can feel anything aside from how badly the room is spinning,” You grumbled.

Caracalla laughed, high-pitched and sharp. His gold tooth glinted in the dim light. “I must be dreaming, but I see four of you, doctor. Surely one must want to soothe my aches.”

“Those aches better be the urge to sleep.” The wet rag you were using caught on his bottom lip, dragging it down. Over a year of yearning made you stare, though you would never dream of taking advantage of him in this state.

Caracalla followed your gaze to his mouth and he smirked. His voice fell into a whisper, breath hot against your face. “The urge to fuck.”

“My answer is the same as always, Caracalla.” Before you removed your hand from him, you gave him a firm pat on the cheek. Disappointment made his face scrunch up. It was a cute expression, and maybe it was a quarter of the reason you kept turning him down. The other half being the fact he was only ever intoxicated when you were together, and the final quarter being your parents inevitable disapproval. “It’ll never happen.”

Caracalla stood, swaying in place for a moment. Once he found his balance, he stumbled the memorized route to your bedroom to curl into his side of the bed. It was embarrassing to realize that he had his own spot in your home now, but with how often he showed up, it only made sense.

A year and a half ago, you wanted nothing to do with Caracalla. You barely knew he existed outside of the rumors that followed him like a plague. Of his pet monkey that made him a miserable roommate in the dorms, of the fact he was a walking petri dish of STDs, his promiscuity, his tendency towards hedonism over his grades, and most of all, the fact his daddy knew the dean personally, so it wasn’t as if he could get in any lasting trouble for any of it. He was in your biology class three semesters ago. Like most people he considered below him, he paid you no mind until you were stuck together on a group project. You intended to do all of the work if only to avoid him, and he seemed content to let you.

You hadn’t meant to find him hysterical and barely coherent in his dorm, nor did you mean to endear yourself to him as entirely as you by calming him down. Apparently, his father had left him quite the nasty voicemail. You didn’t listen, you deleted it the second you got ahold of his phone, but you could put the pieces together well enough. Especially with the half-sobbed pleas for mercy Caracalla cried into your chest.

After that, Caracalla latched on, and like mold on bread, he grew on you. During the day, he barely paid you any attention. It was only at night did he make his affections known, drunk, or high, or both, always showing up when the rest of the world was asleep. You didn’t know why he bothered. If he truly meant what he said, surely he wouldn’t ignore you as he did during the day. When he kissed other people, he made sure you knew, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye. There was a lot about Caracalla you didn’t understand, and you were certain you never would. You wanted to, though. That was why you buried yourself against his side, slinging his arm over your shoulders to help him into your bed.

This was how the night always ended, Caracalla in your arms, snoring away. This time, however, he remained awake, staring up at you. It was obvious it was taking everything he had to stay awake. He took turns closing each eye, one resting while the other bored into you.

“Go to sleep,” You muttered.

Caracalla whined and rubbed his cheek against yours. “I don’t want this to end.”

The admission made your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t want this to end either. He was always gone by the time you woke up.

“Then don’t leave.”

His fingers tightened in the fabric of your pajamas. “It’s better that I do, my doctor.”

“Caracalla.” Licking your dry lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Why do you always come back? If you’re not going to stay, why do you look for me like this?”

He hummed, and for a moment, you didn’t think he’d respond. Finally, clumsy and slurred, the words tumbled out of his mouth and burrowed into your chest, “You make me feel safe.”

You wished he could say it when he wasn’t on some pill when it actually meant something. Still, you couldn’t help the flutter your heart gave. Your eyes burned as you tightened your grip on his body. “I hate it when you’re like this.”

“I hate it when I’m sober,” Caracalla sleepily replied. “I remember too much.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you let yourself ask, “Do you forget these nights too? Is that why you hardly look at me when we’re on campus.”

“I could never forget you.” He was drifting now, and with a deep breath, he forced himself to hover over you, his palm planted on the mattress beside you. With a desperation you shared, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Kiss me.”

It took everything you had to turn away. “Not when you’re like this. When you're sober, I will. I promise.”

Defeated, Caracalla let himself slump back against you.

“I’m never sober.”

“Then you know what my answer is.”

With him curled around you, you barely heard it, the same confession he made every night, spoken with the conviction you tried to ignore. “I love you.”

You didn’t respond.

A minute passed in silence, the only sound in your small bedroom the sound of your mingled breathing. Gently, you shook Caracalla to make certain he was asleep, and when he didn’t move, you told him what you’d been hiding since the first day you held him. Your own declaration that made your stomach churn with fear.

“I love you too.”

And, like every night, Caracalla didn’t hear.

A/N: I know I said that I wasn’t going to do DNBTS oneshots, but I listened to Lost Kitten by Metric and saw visions of this. This is sort of a tumblr only fic, I dunno if I’m gonna out this on AO3?? I gotta think on it. Like I said in the tags, this is supposed to sort of mirror where Caracalla and Alga are relationship wise in DNBTS, just a smidge angstier. Caracalla unable to truly be with Alga in the way he desperately wants due to public perception, but until he can, Alga will continue to push him away despite wanting him too. Cue insane amounts of yearning. Also something, something Caracalla is incapable of change.

For those who don’t know what Do Not Blame the Sea is, it’s my main fic! So, if you liked this, go check that out, hehe. I don’t have much to say here, really, so this author’s note will be short. Bye-bye! I hope you enjoyed this little thingy, please like, reply, or reblog if you did! It’ll encourage me to indulge in more side stories and AU’s <3

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

I guess this is another what if/continuation.

Tommy felt ridiculous on checking in on Evan. But the guy hadn't answered his phone since letting Tommy know that he was being discharged from the hospital and his girlfriend, Ali, would be taking him home.

Tommy tried to not feel a pang of jealousy at that. He knew Buck had a girlfriend and was straight. Yes, he was an "ally" but it sort of stung since Tommy thought they had clicked when they first met in Evan's hospital room.

He thought Evan liked him, but it was clearly wishful thinking on Tommy's part. A part of him knew he should just be grateful that Evan still wanted to be friends with him after Tommy had told Evan that he was gay.

(Carla was weirdly supportive of Tommy being friends with Evan still, "I just think Buck and you could learn a lot from each other." She had told him nonchalantly after he had told her he felt weird continuing their friendship with all the Abby and looming feelings Tommy had for Evan.)

He knocked in Evan's apartment door, "Evan?"

No answer.

"Hey, Evan? Are you in there?" The fear and worry got to him, Evan wasn't answering his calls or texts and now he wasn't answering. If Ali was with him, then surely she would answer the door.

It was daring and infringing on Evan's personal space but he was genuinely worried; Tommy checked to see if the door was locked.

It wasn't.

"Evan?"

He had never been to Evens apartment, but he wasn't expecting the large airy industrial loft. He took a moment to look around the dark apartment, there was hardly any light in the kitchen except the light coming from the large windows that showed off DTLA.

He turned to his left and saw the soft glow of an orange light before he hear Evan's voice- it was rough and bordering on mad. "You know, most people would take the hint and leave me alone."

Tommy could hardly be upset at how cold Evan sounded, he was too worried about Evan. The man looked dejected and upset- his blue eyes red shot and his face blotchy.

"What happened?"

Evan sniffed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. He let out a scoff that broke down into a sour sounding laugh. "Ali broke up with me."

"She what?" Tommy sat down on the table across from Evan, careful to leave space for where Evan was resting his cast covered leg. "Like now?"

"Yup." Evan nodded, his voice rough as he tried to avoid looking at Tommy. "She-uh, couldn't live with the fact that I'm a firefighter. I guess it freaked her out that she could lose me."

Tommy grimaced at that, it was something he had noticed in the past with his teammates and their exes. People loved scars on firefighters, it just freaked them knowing how they got them.

"Can't say I blame her." Evan admitted, he tried to pull a smile for Tommy's sake but Tommy could see the grimace still. "This is a lot for anyone, I know I'm a lot without my leg in this stupid cast."

"Hey!" Tommy gently touched said leg, "You're not a lot." He reminded the younger man pointedly, "You're going through a lot right now, you didn't ask for your leg to get crushed by a freaking firetruck." He sighed, watching as Evan leaned back in the couch. "Who's going to help you now?" Tommy asked after a few seconds of silence. He couldn't help but notice the stairs that more than likely led to Evan's bed and the bathroom that was clearly in the main floor.

"What do you mean?"

Tommy raised a brow at that, his mouth opening slightly. He figured he didn't need to clarify here. "I mean, you're currently using crutches and you live in a apartment with stairs." He looked up at the loft, "A lot of stairs." He shook his head, "is your sister planning on staying with you?"

"No." Evans confused face was staring to worry Tommy now, "She'll drop by, but I'm probably just gonna sleep on my couch, y'know, since the kitchen and bathroom are down here."

"Uh huh." Tommy pursed his lips, the logistics sounded...fine. "What's your plan for getting your clothes and stuff from your bedroom?"

Evan paused at that, clearly annoyed and not having thought out that far yet, "I can hop upstairs if I really need something or I'll ask Maddie or Bobby for help when they come by."

Tommy had a bad habit of keeping his head down and staying quiet. It was mostly out of fear and self preservation because when he did open his mouth during the most inopportune times he would end up saying the most out of pocket and random stuff like...

"Or you could stay with me."

The cat was running out of the bag now.

"Er- wh-what?"

Even Evan looked as confused as Tommy felt.

"Not like forever type of-" Tommy shook his head, hoping to start over as he paused to reset himself, rubbing his neck nervously as he tried to find the words all while his stomach was interested in bringing up his lunch again. "I have a house, it's a one story house, so no stairs to deal with and I have a guest bedroom with its own bathroom. It's a shower stall, so you wouldn't have issues getting in and out."

It was bold to assume Evan would even entertain the idea of Tommy's request since they had only known each other for five days.

There was a carton of milk in Tommy's fridge that Tommy had had longer than this...friendship?

"You don't have to say "Yes", obviously....I just don't want to leave you here. Especially since the first few days are the hardest and you're gonna be on pain meds for a while."

Despite thinking Evan would be weirded out, Evan looked thrilled and relieved- a weird mixture of aww and feelings hit Tommy hard in his heart. Evan looked so adorable, blushing as he smiled hard at Tommy. "You would let me stay? I mean- I-I wouldn't mind. It's just taking care of me might be a lot. Im probably gonna complain about my leg when im not loopy on those pain meds."

Tommy chuckled, patting Evan's leg, "After what you went through, you should be able to complain."

That got Evan to laugh, he was already looking and sounding bright to Tommy's ears.

It suited Evan well.

(This crush was gonna drive Tommy crazy.)

"It's just- I should probably pay you rent or something."

Tommy eyed the loft, "I don't even want to know what you're paying rent for this place, keep your money. I just want you to focus on getting better. At least when you're staying with me, I don't have to worry about you falling down multiple steps just so you can change your shirt."

Evan still didn't look fully convinced, "I don't know, Tommy. I- I wouldn't be in the way? I mean, we just met. You're gonna get sick of me real-"

"I don't think I could ever get sick of you, Evan."

Tommy didn't have the rationale to wince or over think about how sincere he sounded. He didn't even want to know what he looked liked while saying it.

Because Evan's reaction was worth it. The younger man seemed to flush all over, his eyes dilating as his mouth dropped open for a bit.

Tommy couldn't help but linger at Evan's lips.

"Y-yeah. O-okay." Evan licked his lips, Tommy could have sworn Evan's eyes dropped to Tommy's lips, but that was definitely wishful thinking. "It would probably be easier to stay with you then here right now."

Tommy had to get back to being rational and logical about this.

"Exactly." He stood up, "I can pack a bag for you and then we can head home? Maybe pick up some dinner on the way, we can pick up some Thai food."

Evan's relieved and grateful smile had Tommy grinning back like an idiot. "Sounds great."

"Great." He clapped his hands together, "Just point me to where you keep your luggage."

Thirty minutes later Tommy was helping Evan get into his truck.

It was definitely a stupid idea to have his crush stay with him, but Tommy couldn't help but feel incredibly giddy as he and Evan talked throughout the car ride to the restaurant and then to Tommy’s house.

Maybe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship...once Tommy got over his crush on Evan.

[crazyxtogether]

Thoughts about the painting + season 5 byler

I've been thinking a lot about the painting reveal scene in stranger things 5 and I have many thoughts about how it could go. I don't think this will happen, but I am worried that the painting reveal will be the crux of the byler arc in season 5; like their whole storyline and eventual getting together is going to center around the painting. I do NOT want that. Even though I love the painting I think it would be kind of lame if they make it too much of the focus for another season. So here are my ideas for how the painting reveal could go down without it being too central.

1.The painting is never mentioned again

Starting off strong with something that is not very probable BUT I do think could definitely happen. I can see how maybe the painting served it's purpose in season 4 already so they don't need to bring it up again because they are going to go in a different direction with making byler canon. Like the painting really set the stage to show Will's feelings and now they are going to leave it behind because the focus will be more on Mike's perspective. Just to be clear I do not think this is the right choice, but I have to keep in mind that these are the people that forgot about Will's birthday. Even though this is different, it just means there is a chance they don't take things as seriously as we think they do.

2."What painting?"

I would love to see Mike find out from El that she didn't commission the painting and then stew on it and maybe lash out a little bit before he finally confronts Will about it. I think this is likely to happen, HOWEVER this would maybe make the painting into too much of a thing and take away from establishing Mike and Will's relationship. I know the painting is a big thing, but it's also not. As much as I wouldn't hate to see one last byler argument ending in a confession, I really hope we left that back in season 4. And I feel like this type of painting reveal could lead to that. So while this is a great idea I really hope they do it differently.

3.Mike already knows

Now we're getting to what I really want to happen!! I think it would make the most sense if Mike knew right away that El didn't commission the painting and that Will was talking about his own feelings. Mike may be extremely emotionally repressed, but he's also really smart. I think because so much of his story centers around his relationships, it's easy to think that he's a lot more oblivious about things than he actually is because his feeling confuse him. But I do think he is smart enough to have put together that El didn't commission the painting because she told Mike that she thought Will was making it for a girl (among other evidence).

So I think that Mike already knows, but what does this mean for the painting reveal scene?

I picture an offhand comment about Mike being the heart or something like that at the beginning of the season just to bring back the idea that the painting still exists and maybe show that Will is a little guilty for lying about it... and then AFTER they have already gotten together Will confesses that the painting was from him and Mike tells him he already knows.

Maybe this is just my perspective, but the whole series has been leading up to this relationship between Mike and Will where they really care about each other and are soft with each other. There have been some bumps in the road, but overall this is what we've seen throughout every season. And I think that even though Mike has been a little bit confrontational with Will in the past (thinking mostly about the rink-o-mania fight) after their MANY heart to hearts in season 4 he's not going to want to risk hurting Will when he's not sure of his own feelings. I really do think Mike already knowing fits with his character and with what we have seen/will see with byler overall.

Anyway this is way more than my two cents but I'm excited for whatever way the painting reveal will (or wont) happen!

[deafeningfanlight23]

Sun and Moon Designs for TSAMS AU + Rant! :] (I LIKE PSYCHOLOGY OKAY :'D)

I'M BACK Y'ALL I PULLED A WILLIAM AFTON! ✨💃 And because I have nothing to do, I will waste my time that I have on the Earth to talk about things THAT SHOULD BE TALKED ABOUT BY EVERYONE: THE SUN AND MOON SHOW! >:D

SUN'S SECTION

(Sun uses he/she pronouns in my story so don't be confused if I address her with she! :D)

I have ALWAYS imagined her with this over-the-top outfit, y'know, where you get an eye-strain - A bunch of colors slapped on the fabric with a radiating, never-ending positivity and sunshine coming from it all! :]

BUT, because he is one of my favorite characters and my top kin, OF COURSE HE GONNA HAVE TRAUMA that's my love language 😍✋ (I show affection this way don't mind me 💅😋)

This outfit is like the POLAR OPPOSITE of how he is feeling on the inside, and that's how I intended it to be (SUBTLE STORYTELLING OHHH Shakespear is in DA HOUSE >:D) - Because this is a part of this facade that he has been keeping up, one of positivity and joy, optimism and something else but I ran out of adjectives ;D

With this happy-go-lucky persona, she tries (and often fails) to cover up and hide this shadowy, nagging void and this untreated and messy pile of self-hatred, self-doubts and endless trauma that becomes increasingly intertwined! :D FUN AIN'T IT >:D

Sundrop also has a RELENTLESS inferiority complex that nearly paralyses and stunts him - That he is of less worth, that he is a burden and failure to his family and everyone around him, and that no matter how much he tries (and his lack of tries thereof), he will always be beneath everyone. And to be honest, he eventually accepted this role because he thought that's just how things are supposed to be, and that's the only place where he CAN'T do nothing wrong and can't disappoint anybody, because everyone else does the work while he stays in the sidelines and is stuck as the passive observer. He can't mess ANYTHING up through this, and that's good. Although it makes him feel so, SO feel useless, so much so that it feels like it chokes him around the throat like a noose whenever he sees his siblings (especially Moon) work so hard on keeping this piece of shit, HIM, safe, despite him doing NOTHING in return to even deserve this.

I have SO MUCH to tell about Sundrop and her psychology, it's just so fascinating and interesting! There are so many tiny, moving parts and pieces that make her the anxious, traumatized mess she is who can BARELY hold herself together and is about to snap! (and it helped me to kinda cope cuz I projected like 1000% issues of mine onto her :3 SO I GUESS THIS WAS JUST ME TRAUMA-DUMPING AND VENTING BUT SNEAKY, I evil genius 🤭)

ANYWAY, HERE IS SUNNYBOY! :D

This is my favorite so far because I also just slapped my own style onto him >:D AND YEAH I HAVE GOOD TASTE, I KNOW 💅✨ /j :D

Sun has a more "feminine" style and also an eyelash on the left eye because, in my story, he is a demigirl and uses he/she pronouns as mentioned :D I also gave him MANY earrings and details to emphasize kind of the randomness of his outfit and also the subtle randomness, or a more fitting term, "unpredictability" of him - You never know quite certainly what will piss him off and make him shout in unfiltered, pent-up rage, or make him suddenly turn quiet, stunted, and afterwards break down and sob. She is like a dice :]

The facade is EASILY to be cracked after all.

However, the amount of details and earrings are for me at least kind of overwhelming and everywhere, as if so many things are demanding for my attention - And that's because Sun is a mess, a person whose pieces of himself are scattered from one spot to one another more far away.

I COULD TALK ABOUT HER FOR HOURS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I GOTTA SHUT UP MY MOUTH 😭🙏

ANYWAY SUN'S DIFFICULTY TO DRAW WAS... 4/10 because he's an unstable cutie patootie :D But it was a bit difficult to talk about him because IT OMNIOUSLY IS SIMILAR TO ME HM I WONDER WHY- 😀

BUT NOW, THE EMO BLUEBERRY IS NEXT! >:D

MOON'S SECTION

I have NO IDEA how to begin with Moon, he is just really um Moon-y 😭

BUT what I can say about him is that in my story, he behaves more and is like the first version of Moon before he had sacrafised himself for KC - And we all know that he didn't treat Sun THAT well. Of course, he loved his brother dearly and cared about him, however, this love didn't really come across in his ways of trying to keep Sun safe and unburdened. He LITERALLY was so much "good intentions, bad methods."

He overprotected Sun so much by trying to unburden him by doing everything himself and not letting him help in a way, and although it should benifit Sun, it only caused their already stain relationship to actually fall apart more and Moon to crash out, causing him to ultimately lash out at Sun. It was very tragic to witness ^^' While the intentions of this are transparent, it actually just feeded into Sun's perception of his role as the useless brother and gave him another reason to hate himself even more, but especially made his fear of messing up even stronger and bigger because there was NO opportunity to challanege this belief by having a moment of success, accomplishment and glory that he desperately needed to get pulled out of this spiral - Which ultimately resulted into trying to kill Eclipse to silence these thoughts and feelings. It kept him depended on Moon though, because after a while of Moon doing everything himself, it was so normalized that he expected Moon to always figure everything out himself. It was a clashing piece of parts that shouldn't co-exist with each other. But he continued drowned in those feelings uselessness, in his inferiority complex and fear.

WAIT I WAS COMPLETELY DRIFTING OFF TOPIC I STARTED TO TALK ABOUT SUN- 😭 ("editing" Squishy: That's why I marked it yellow so you can skip it, and the following ones, too ;D)

Okay, to get the point across swiftly, Moon was abusive towards Sun. He exhibited absolutely abusive behavior and was sometimes EXTREMELY immature, and his ways of abusing Sun reflected that, too - Guilt-tripping, blame-shifting and much more. (But Sun is VERY MUCH so himself, too, we can't forget that.)

My interpretation is that Moondrop, while he and Sun still shared a body, had an emotional development that was constantly disrupted. He never really had the "privilege" to, for example, learn how to interact with the world around him and to learn how to regulate and control his emotions because of social isolation and the takeovers of Sun. Of course, that affected Sundrop too, but Sundrop had way more interactions with the outside world and had opportunitites to learn about social interactions (and Karens maybe taught him how to somehow restrain his emotions) unlike Moon.

Moondrop also was VERY depended on Sun, just like Sun was depended on Moon - He literally couldn't LIVE without him, even less than Sun could, because Sun was his only source of emotional stability, his sort of crutch that always helped him through things!

WITH THAT OUTTA THE WAY, TOO, Moon is also a VERY short-tempered person, just like Sun in a way. Although he is very smart, he also is VERY impulsive - He isn't very cold, cunning and calculating, but he CAN be. Just like Eclipse, the one he doesn't want to get compared to because he is the walking embodiment of EVERYTHING he doesn't want to be but sadly, still kind of is. Anyway, as we saw ourselves, he often threatened to beat Sun or punch him at least during gaming episodes, and although it was often seen as a joke by both of them that is not taken to be seriously (or so it looked like, though Sun very much got nervous), I think that it planted at least some seeds of fear in Sun's mind, judging how much HE TRIES to avoid to anger Moon and immediately gets quiet and fidgety when Moon is sadly angered. And the infamous whacking stick, we can't forget that :'D

And just like Sun, Moon also has an IMMENSE self-hatred and low self-esteem - His past haunted him and tormented him, his desire to protect Sun overrode sometimes the smart, science part of him, and there were many things he wanted to correct but never could and ultimately failed to do so.

OKAY WAIT WHY IS HE KINDA INTERESTING TO TALK ABOUT TOO- 😨

BUT ANYWAY HIS DESIGN! :D

THERE HE IS :3

I like his design a lot tbh! :D AND I JUST DISCOVERED THAT MOONFLOWERS EXIST AND LIKE OF COURSE I GOTTA SLAP IT ONTO HIS PANTS CUZ IT MATCHES SUN'S SUNFLOWERS >:D

Difficulty to draw was 6/10 cuz like meh :/ He introduced me to TSAMS though AND I REMEMBER RELATING TO HIM SO MUCH CUZ IT WAS THIS EPISODE I THINK "Sun learns MOON'S DARK SECRET" and where he basically DID NOT SPAT FACTS BUT TRAUMA 😭 So I will give him a sticker for trying :3

And now, the twins side-by-side:

They have similarities cuz they are twins, duh ✨💅

They have the same flower theme on the pants, they have those weird left eyebrows AND THE MOST IMPORTANT THING: They have those necklace thingies! :D And they work like this: Sun's has the actual Sun side in black to focus on the Moon, because Moon is his counterpart and he can't live without him, and Moon's has the actual Moon side in black to focus on the Sun because of the same reason! :D

AND THIS TOOK 1 HOUR AGAIN TO WRITE YAY 😍 Sooo thank you for hearing me yap, hope you enjoyed! :D (Though you can tell me of course if it doesn't interest you and you just want to see the character designs, I have the feeling that not many are interested in the stuff that I say! ^^' AND THAT'S OKAY BTW YOU SLAY REGARDLESS >:D)

NOW I GO SLEEP cuz it's 10 pm where I live and I have school tomorrow and I am sleep-deprived cuz NIGHTMARES :'D Nightmares should go and eat out of the garbage can I tell u 😃

TUNG! :D

[arxiwon]

Hi I have a request, could you write something based on this part from Kendrick lamar‘s Song „Pride“

„Me I wasn’t taught to share, but care. In another life I surely was there. Me I wasn’t taught to share, but I care, I care, I care“

In Another Life | pjs

Pairing: Jay × Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Break-Up AU

Warnings: Emotional distress, heartbreak, themes of love and loss, unresolved feelings, heavy angst, implied moving on.

Synopsis: Jay was never taught to share, but he was taught to care. And God, he cared about you—maybe too much, maybe not enough. When the distance between you grows wider, he convinces himself that time will fix it, that love alone will be enough to keep you by his side. But when you finally leave, Jay learns the harshest lesson of all: caring isn’t the same as holding on. And sometimes, letting go is the only thing left to do.

The first time Jay realizes he might have lost you, it isn’t dramatic. There’s no explosive argument, no doors slammed shut, no shattered glass on the floor. Just silence. A silence that stretches too long, settles too deeply, and makes itself at home in the space between you.

He wasn’t taught to share, but he cares. He cares in ways he doesn’t know how to articulate.

You had always been the one to give more. More patience, more understanding, more love. And Jay? Jay took. Not because he was selfish, but because he thought you’d always have more to give. That you’d always be there, waiting.

But now, as he watches you from across the room—your laughter softer, your gaze distant—he wonders when you stopped looking at him like he was your favorite thing in the world.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, tilting your head.

Jay hesitates. His first instinct is to say no. To brush it off, let the moment pass, let things stay easy the way they always have. But something about the way you’re looking at him now—like you already know the answer, like you’re waiting for him to slip up—makes him pause.

He swallows. “Are we okay?”

Your fingers still around your glass, and there it is again. That pause, that silence. It presses against his chest like a weight he doesn’t know how to carry.

“Do you want the truth?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Jay forces a small laugh. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You exhale, setting your glass down with more care than necessary. “I don’t know.”

It’s not the answer he expected. Not the reassurance, not the soft words that make everything feel less heavy. Just three syllables, simple and honest, yet they cut through him like a dull blade.

Jay wasn’t taught to share—his emotions, his fears, his vulnerabilities. But he cares. And right now, caring feels a lot like drowning.

He wants to reach for you. To pull you close, press his forehead against yours, and tell you he’ll do better. That he doesn’t know how to be open the way you need him to be, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. That doesn’t mean he wants to lose you.

But he hesitates. And in that hesitation, he watches as you pull away first.

Because maybe, in another life, he was better at this. Maybe, in another life, he knew how to hold on before it was too late.

But in this one, he just watches you slip through his fingers.

And all he can do is care.

Jay doesn’t sleep that night.

He stares at the ceiling, the room thick with the weight of everything unsaid. The air feels colder, the bed emptier—even though you’re still here, just on the other side, facing away from him. He wonders if you’re awake, if your mind is running in circles like his is.

He wants to reach out. Just to feel you, to make sure you’re still within arm’s reach. But he doesn’t.

Because what if you don’t reach back?

Me, I wasn’t taught to share, but care.

He was never good with words. Never good at saying what he needed to say until it was too late. He thought love was something you showed, not something you had to say out loud. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe you needed to hear it. Maybe you needed something more than just his quiet presence beside you.

He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll talk to you tomorrow. He’ll figure out the right words, the right way to say them.

But when morning comes, you’re gone.

Not permanently—not yet. Your shoes are missing from the doorway, your coat gone from the rack. Your things are still here, but the absence of you still feels suffocating.

Jay sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. His chest feels tight, something sharp curling in his ribs.

He should call you. Or text. Something. But his hands stay still in his lap.

Me, I wasn’t taught to share, but I care.

Maybe if he says it enough, it’ll make up for everything else.

Maybe if he cares hard enough, you’ll come back.

—

But caring isn’t enough.

Because days pass. Then weeks. And though you don’t leave entirely, you drift further and further, slipping into a life that feels less and less like his.

Jay sees it in the way you stop lingering in the same space as him. How you don’t fill the silences anymore, how you don’t look at him with that quiet kind of warmth you used to.

And one day, he sees it in the way you smile at someone else.

It’s small—barely anything, just a passing moment. But he feels it like a punch to the gut.

Because he used to be the only one who could make you smile like that.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, jaw tight. He has no right to be angry. No right to feel this bitter, this hollow.

But God, he still cares. And it’s eating him alive.

—

The night you finally leave, Jay doesn’t say anything.

Not because he doesn’t want to—because he does. He wants to tell you to stay, wants to tell you that he’ll do better, that he’ll learn.

But he knows that if he really cares about you—if he truly, deeply loves you—then he won’t hold you back.

So he watches as you close the door behind you, as your footsteps fade down the hall.

And when the silence swallows him whole, Jay finally understands—

Caring was never enough.

And it never would be.

Jay tells himself he’ll be fine.

That time will fix the hollow feeling in his chest. That eventually, he’ll stop checking his phone, stop looking for you in every room, stop expecting to hear your voice in the silence.

But time moves forward, and nothing changes.

He still cares. And caring without having you feels worse than anything he’s ever known.

—

Somewhere along the way, he starts avoiding places where you might be. Not because he doesn’t want to see you—God, he does—but because he doesn’t know if he can handle it.

Because what if you look happy? What if you don’t look back at him?

But one night, he isn’t so lucky.

It happens in a quiet bar, the kind you both used to go to when you wanted to escape the weight of the world for a little while. Jay hadn’t planned on coming here, but his friends had dragged him out, insisting he needed to do something other than wallow in his own mind.

And that’s when he sees you.

You’re sitting by the window, bathed in soft light. Your head tilts back as you laugh at something, eyes crinkling at the corners. You look… good. Like the weight you carried with him is gone.

Like leaving was the right choice.

Jay doesn’t realize he’s gripping his glass too tightly until his knuckles turn white. He forces himself to breathe, to look away. But then your gaze lifts—just for a second.

And you see him.

It’s quick, barely anything, but he sees the way your smile falters just a little. The way your fingers twitch against the rim of your glass.

For a second, he wonders if you’ll come over. If you’ll say something, if you’ll let him hear your voice again.

But then, you turn back to your conversation.

And just like that, Jay realizes—this is what it feels like to be a ghost in someone else’s story.

—

Later that night, long after he’s left the bar, Jay finds himself staring at his phone.

There’s nothing stopping him from calling you. From typing out a message, telling you everything he never said when he had the chance.

But he knows it won’t change anything.

Because caring isn’t the same as holding on. And he lost that right a long time ago.

So he does the only thing he can.

He lets go.

And this time, he doesn’t look back.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Goku + Vegeta when their spouse is away on a work trip headcanons

warnings: established relationship, husband/wife, fem!reader is taking Chi-Chi and Bulma's place as the Saiyan’s significant other in each separate, respective scenario.

If this does make you feel comfortable, please hit the back 'button' on your phone or laptop and do not leave any mean comments. This blog is a safe space for everyone to share their thoughts and enjoy fics.

Special thanks to @actuallysaiyan for being my beta-reader and cheerleader, this piece wouldn’t have been possible without her.

I would love to hear feedback on these types of scenarios for Dragonball/Dragonball Z and if I should continue them or what I should try writing next~!

divider by @cafekitsune

Son Goku

Goku would definitely be excited to have the house all to himself for an entire week because that meant he got to spend more time training to get stronger! Your sons would also be home while you’re gone on this business trip, so that’s a bonus right there!

As much as he loves to fight, he would like to make up for the time he had missed seeing Gohan grow up and get to know Goten more. Goku wouldn’t exactly be called the best father, but he had been putting in the effort after the Old Kai had given him another chance at life. He had an inkling just how hard you worked at your job to provide for the family from Gohan, but once you were out of the door? Totally different story.

Goku only knows how to cook simple meals, but he would wait until almost all the food you had meticulously prepared for your departure was almost gone. At least before he walked in the door one evening after a grueling session with Vegeta and he saw Gohan cooking in the kitchen with Goten clinging to his side. Not just what you would you normally eat, but the portions you always dished out that would fill him and the boys up.

Turns out that after he had died and his oldest son defeated Cell, you had developed a new routine in his absence: You would be up first thing in the morning, followed by Gohan, who had early morning classes. He would take care of making lunches while you did breakfast, then wake up Goten. Gohan would fly with Goten to West City to go to school, and you would leave for work. If you left work on time, then you’d come straight home and start cooking dinner. If you had to work a few extra hours, then Gohan would be in charge of the kitchen. Goten would help with setting the table, since he was still too young to do any cooking or handle sharp objects.

Once dinner was served and finished, you would clean up the kitchen while Gohan helped his little brother with homework or getting him ready for bed. Afterwards you would read Goten a bedtime story, then it was lights out for everyone until the next day arrived. Gohan would be an exception to the rule if he wanted to put in a few extra hours of studying.

This routine taught the boys not only how to do chores on their own, but also to be a little more independent. It was actually Piccolo’s idea; the Namekian had helped you with looking after them when they were younger on days when you would be stuck at the office longer than expected when Bulma couldn’t. She already had her hands full as the new president of Capsule Corp and being a mother herself.

You were more than happy to compensate for Piccolo’s time with jugs of high-quality water or a meal. It was no surprise that he became a father-figure to Goten as he had been to Gohan.

Hearing all of this from his oldest son stunned and made Goku’s chest swell with happiness and pride. He had sacrificed himself to save the world from Cell, but it wasn’t until after he arrived in the Other World that he realized he had left you all alone. It couldn’t have been easy, especially after Goten was born, but you all did it. He was very proud of you, and he wished you were here now so he could show you just how much he appreciated you.

But you weren’t here. You wouldn’t be back for another six days. Maybe that’s why it felt sort of lonely to go to sleep that night, noticing how cold your side of the bed was.

By the third or fourth day Goku will be whiny, constantly annoying Vegeta during their training sessions on how much he misses you and wants you to come soon so he could eat your cooking or worse, complains why you had to leave for this trip when you could have stayed home before the Saiyan Prince points out how many times he has left his family alone before promptly kicking Goku out of the gravity room.

On the fifth day, he was more than ready to fly wherever you were and bring you home. Unfortunately, the reason you had suddenly called the house right after dinner was because you wouldn’t be coming home like you had planned. Something unexpected happened with a major project at the office, and the higher-ups put you in charge of damage control. Right now you were looking for another day, maybe two days? You promised to keep him or Gohan updated, but Goku was not happy with the news.

He knows your job is important, but what about your family? Nope. You have already worked enough, someone else can handle the problem! You were coming home in two days, no ifs or buts.

You had better be prepared to get the shock of your life if you decide otherwise, because Goku will use Instant Transmission to be wherever you are and suffocate you with bone-crushing hugs and wet kisses. Don’t worry about the kids, he called Piccolo to watch them until the two of you got back.

Now, please give him some attention~.

Vegeta

Vegeta is an arrogant and stubborn-ass Saiyan, even if everyone else says he’s definitely calmed down a lot after getting married and having Trunks. This guy will never admit how much you have changed his life for the better.

Like Goku, he would be delighted to hear that you are leaving for a weeklong work trip; to him, this means he has more time to focus on getting stronger than being forced to sit with you after dinner to watch a show you liked and cuddle for a bit in bed before it’s lights out. It was also an excellent opportunity to get Trunks in the gravity room. He will not tolerate the idea of Kakarot’s younger son being more powerful than his heir apparent.

He would definitely rely on either the meals you prepared ahead of time because he cannot cook or takeout with the emergency black card you’ve left for them on the counter to use while you are gone. Vegeta is a hazard in the kitchen unless it’s warming up something on the stove and microwave.

Although he is technically a stay-at-home dad, Vegeta would quickly realize just how much you do around the house. Regardless of the extra hours you put in at the office, you had always made sure everything was spotless, there was plenty of food on the table, and spent time with him and Trunks. Vacation days? Used only to take four day family trips together or if you were sick.

On the third day, he wouldn’t spend it training from morning to late afternoon in the gravity room or spar with Kakarot. Instead, he scrubs the house from top to bottom once he’s dropped Trunks off at school; washing the dishes in the sink, throwing out expired foodstuff, and decimating the dust bunnies with the vacuum. Once the last load of laundry is done, he rushes to get his son.

He would make Trunks clean his own room. If it was dirty or didn’t meet his expectations of cleanliness? Extra thirty minutes of training or doing one hundred push-ups would serve as his son’s punishment. He did not raise a lazy son, thank you.

He would be more moody than usual in your absence and not realize until Yamcha or another Z-Fighter pointed it out at a surprise cookout at Capsule Corp held on the fourth day. Vegeta would scowl silently and not say anything, even if he took up Mrs. Brief’s offer to take home any leftovers.

As much as he wanted to use the new Instant Transmission technique and bring you home immediately, his pride prevents from doing so. He is the Prince of Saiyans. He is not a weakling to where he cannot handle you being gone for an entire week.

(He does not take it well when you call him on the day before you are supposed to be back that you need to stay for another day to work on a report for the higher-ups. Trunks had to remind him to breathe and loosen his grip on the phone or he’d break the damned thing)

Expect Vegeta to act like a grumpy and super clingy cat as soon as you walk in the door. He will literally follow you into the bathroom because he does not want to be left alone like that again. Do not even think about denying Vegeta the opportunity to take a bath or shower with him because he will have a hissy fit.

Trunks will have to wait to cuddle with his mother. A prince’s needs come first after all~. 

Taglist: @uninhabitedsworld-18 @nasty-redrum @zvmbieb0y @boonsmoon @mythoswarrior-23 @jadeprouductions @hoodiepandaninja16 @jurikuran86 @vegeta-bananabluish @fanboilingwriter

[weneeya]

save me - spiderman au m.list | rules

pairing. childe x reader

note. i'm not playing genshin impact anymore but i just can't escape my love for childe no matter what lmao i saw a fanart of him as spiderman and the idea simply crossed my mind so here i am!

You couldn’t even remember when you became friends with Childe. More than when, you had no idea why you were still doing this to yourself. Not that he was a bad guy, someone mean, or anything like this. No, of course not, he was a nice guy, mostly awkward. The real reason why was that the boy was a pain in your ass, to be honest. 

You didn't know how he was able to do this, but he was always ending up in stupid mess up situations, and you had to get him out of this every single time. You were his knight in shining armor, as he always said ; and you wondered why you kept doing this. Maybe you liked him more than what you wanted to admit. 

But he began to act weird. Well, he was always kind of weird, but it became worse for the last few weeks. It was almost like he was avoiding you, always running away all of a sudden, disappearing for hours. Even his poor aunt was starting to worry ; you knew it, you talked about it with her. 

And there was this guy. Spiderman, as he made himself called by the TV. Something like a stupid superhero trying to protect the city. You didn’t really care about it to be honest. It must be a guy wanting to be seen by the world. It was none of your problem. 

You thought so, until this afternoon arrived. You were walking down the street to go to the library when you heard someone whistling behind you. You decided to ignore it, until the man in your back called out for you. Once again ignoring it, his ego apparently didn’t appreciate it at all. He grabbed your shoulder, but before he could do anything more, you heard another voice from behind. 

You turned your head around, only to notice Spiderman’s stupid figure standing proudly and claiming that he would get you out of this. You rolled your eyes, taking advantage of the first guy to kick him right where it hurt, pushing his shoulder as he rolled on the floor in pain. The hero’s eyes widened behind his mask as you turned around to look at him. 

“But I… You…” That was a first. Girls were usually swooning over him, gladly accepting his help. You crossed your arms, slowly raising an eyebrow. “What?” You asked, and he gestured to the man on the ground. “I was about to save you!” You frowned slightly, thinking it might be some kind of weird joke. 

“I don’t need to be saved, find someone else,” you simply added before you left without another word or look at him. The poor boy stood there for a moment, before he shook his head. The man on the floor began to stand up to take his revenge on him, but the superhero simply threw the top of a bin on him, taking him out for good before he left. 

After that, this Spiderman guy didn’t seem to want to leave you alone ; like you didn’t have enough to take care of. No matter how many times you brushed him away, kicking bad guys’ asses yourself when all he wanted was to show you that you needed his help. Perhaps it was his own ego speaking. 

At the same time, Childe was definitely acting weirder every day that passed by. You were suspicious, because he always told you when something was wrong ; and something was clearly wrong right now. Except that he didn’t seem to want to tell you anything about it. So you decided to not give him the choice. 

When you barged into his room after you got his aunt’s authorization, he was getting out by the window. It could have been strange if all your focus wasn’t on the clothes he was wearing right now. You would have recognized this stupid costume in the dark. “What the hell?” 

This was how you discovered that your childhood friend, Childe, was no one else other than this stupid Spiderman. You were mostly angry at him ; not only because he was hiding this from you but also because of all the risks he was taking by being a neighbourhood superhero on his own. He tried to explain everything, his point of view and how he needed to be useful with his powers, but you couldn’t understand it. He ended up leaving his room by the window, leaving you alone with your anger and your thoughts in his bedroom. 

Your life became strangely peaceful after that day. Way too peaceful in your opinions, you had to admit it. While Spiderman wasn’t bothering you anymore, Childe wasn’t even glancing at you in the hallways of the school. You might be angry, but he seemed to be even more. You thought that maybe you shouldn’t have yelled at him when all he was trying to do was to put his powers to the good side ; but you felt like it was too late for this. 

Until you heard a knock at your window in the middle of the night. It obviously woke you up, and while you were ready to go scare the bird annoying you, the view when you opened the window made everything disappear from your mind. A redhead in a damaged costume, blood all over him and an apologetic look on his face. Childe. Wounded. 

You didn’t hesitate twice before making him get inside your room, trying not to make too much noise so no one in your house would wake up. He sat on the chair of your desk, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you made a quick walk to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

None of you spoke for what seemed to be an eternity. What were you supposed to say? You had fought with him, and now he was almost dying from blood loss in your room. The situation made no sense at all. You were taken away from your thoughts when his voice came out from his mouth in a small whisper. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you heard before you looked up at him. You weren’t surprised, but you hated that he was the one to apologize when it was you who should do it. You had said awful things to him, and you realized it after. “Quiet, let me focus,” you told him. You cursed at yourself for being so emotionally constipated but you could swear you noticed a light smile tucking the corners of his lips. 

When you were done with his wounds, he began to stand up. You pushed him down on the chair, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think you’re doing?” You asked him, and it was his turn to look surprised. “Leaving?” He said, like it was obvious, and you shook your head. “So you can go die in the middle of a street? No way. You’re staying there.” You turned around, walking to your bed so you could put it correctly again. 

He stayed silent for a moment, but the second he wanted to say something, you cut him off. “I’m sorry,” you said, and his eyes went wide. You took a deep breath, your back still turned to him. “I didn’t try to understand you. I was wrong, I admit it.” No matter how hard he wanted to tease you and make a remark, he knew how to read a room. It was difficult enough for you to do this, it was better if he let you speak. 

“I can’t stop you from doing this, but at least let me help you,” and with those words, you turned around to finally meet his eyes. He was right about letting you finish, because he never expected things to take this turn. You slowly shook your head at his obvious surprise. “I’ve always helped you out, I don’t see why it should change.” The light smile playing on your lips made him chuckle softly. You were right, he couldn’t do it properly if you weren’t by his side anyway. 

What you didn’t tell him was that you simply couldn’t bear the idea of him being so severely injured without anyone to turn to. It was better for everyone if the only person knowing his secret was on his side. You offered your hand to him, and he took it with a grin. That was a deal. From now on, Spiderman wouldn’t need to carry his burden alone.

thank you!

[commsroom]

Hi, I like the way you write and I like reading it, makes my brain worms go on overdrive. If you're feeling up to it, I'd like to know your thoughts on Kepler and Eiffel as a dynamic. I've always thought they were incredibly similar in a way none of the other characters in W359 are (save Eiffel + Hera with regards to their circumstances), imo they have some of the same core traits that just then...diverge and express themselves so differently. So yeah. Would love to see your perspective on them.

first, i'm not sure if i see the degree of similarity that you do, but i do think that one of the strengths of wolf 359's character writing is that basically any two characters can serve as narrative parallels and/or foils in some aspect or another.

for eiffel and kepler, i think the main thing they share is a desire to narrativize and distance themselves from their identities. in kepler's case, he perceives it as a career necessity; he's compartmentalized and redefined himself so much that his job is all that's left. for eiffel, it's a manifestation of guilt and self loathing: he can't reconcile the things he's done, the versions of doug eiffel that he's been, with his own moral compass, and it tears him apart. kepler is a man with so so many ulterior motives, and eiffel is a man who really doesn't have any, but i think you could probably say they're both "honest liars" - that how they spin their respective narratives betrays some simple, fundamental truths about who they are as people.

as a dynamic... well, i have a post here about need to know. eiffel and kepler are both pretty good at sizing people up, though obviously what information they value (and what they intend to do with that information) is very different. what kepler is always trying to assess, what he values most, is the utility of others. not necessarily what they can do for him, but what can they do, period? what do they have to offer? eiffel is the exact opposite: he only cares about someone's character, who they are. minkowski is the commander, even when she's not, because the person she is to him remains the same.

this might be a little contentious (and i'll elaborate if i ever write more about gender dynamics), but i think kepler is specifically good at knowing how to appeal to different forms of masculinity. he's good at being someone's drinking buddy, which is a very loaded concept in this context. jacobi is a gay man with military father issues, and kepler knows he will respond to masculine authority. eiffel - however you read him - does not feel out of place in straight society, and has no respect for authority. kepler initially tries to be his buddy, to be the "cool boss" who laughs at his jokes and respects his work and gives him perceived leniency (and stands up for his autonomy against hilbert, which is a whole other thing with a whole set of other ulterior motives), in an attempt to make minkowski out to be high strung and unreasonable, and to reinforce eiffel's biases about her. he's trying to pit them against each other, but that strategy doesn't work, in part because if you give eiffel an inch, he'll take a mile, and in part because kepler misunderstands and underestimates eiffel's loyalty to minkowski. (incidentally, i think kepler is actually less attached to his own masculinity than either eiffel or jacobi are; like every aspect of his identity, it's more of a tool he's learned how to use.)

as an extension of that, kepler knows how to get at a very particular sore spot of eiffel's: his role as a father. when kepler threatens anne and eiffel instigates a fist fight with him over it, it's the only time in the entire show where eiffel resorts to violence. it's the only thing that makes him react like that; he can't physically attack cutter in pagliacci, but it sure sounds like he wants to. he knows, once he's calmed down, that it was stupid, and that he was manipulated, and that it didn't do anything to help his daughter, light years away, but there's a gut anger in him that overrides that in the moment. maybe you can argue eiffel using kepler's ideals about "the big picture" to convince him to stand down in desperate measures is the other side of that. eiffel never resorts to violence, but that time he did. kepler pushes, he doesn't stop, he doesn't surrender, but that time he did.

... and it is compelling that kepler, specifically, is able to provoke eiffel like that, when i would argue the central disagreement of their characters is "force vs. diplomacy." kepler's response to conflict is an assumption of violence and preemptive intimidation: "someone always has power, which means that someone else is always getting shafted. first order of business when a new element pops into your comfortable power structure: reconnaissance. these folks gonna help or hinder? do they have anything i want? anything worth taking? or have they got a stick big enough that it's worth leaving them alone?" while eiffel's approach can basically be summed up by, "can't we talk about this?" and so he fundamentally does not agree with that framework; eiffel believes in teamwork and cooperation. eiffel wants there to be a way for everyone to win. the dear listeners, narratively (and sometimes in some very literal ways), serve as a mirror to humanity, and i think you can extend that on some level to individuals. kepler's approach gets him "disarmed"; eiffel's approach... facilitates "communication."

sometimes i see people joke about eiffel's phrasing in succulent rat-killing tar - "i just like being able to have them in my mouth. i like the taste." - in comparison to the whiskey speech, but i think maybe there is something in the different ways they present those vices. kepler is putting it on display to say, "i'm better than my vices, and i expect you to be, too" - it's a threat, yes, but also a purposeful display of (projected) discipline and temperance. that's how he wants to be seen. eiffel, on the other hand, is completely hedonistic and indulgent, and he's proud of that. it's an act of resistance for him. he's saying, "this is the only vice i have left up here, i am going to enjoy these goddamn cigarettes, and you're not going to take that from me too." douglas f. "maintaining my humanity in the face of bogus military protocol" eiffel.

"long story short" (and it is also funny to me how mad kepler gets at eiffel in all things considered: "your story was not only the most incomprehensible, it wasted the largest amount of my life." ... oh, really now?) i think you could probably put the scene where kepler tells lovelace: "you're an unknown variable, and i hate those." next to: "it's a fire. on a spaceship. you shouldn't need any further explanation!" / "hah! spoken like a man that doesn't know the first thing about commanding douglas f. eiffel!" ... and that would pretty much sum it up. doug eiffel is like perfectly designed to piss off anyone with any attachment to order and authority.

[letsgobarbs]

wip wip wip

thank you for the tag @sizzlingcloudmentality MUAH here's a kiss of thanks <33

Shall we check up on the girls?

Maryam from Homecoming has stepped into Dave's mancave/bachelor pad/ post-divorce apartment like a gullible lamb. And I don't believe he will let her out so easily:

“David, hi!” Her greeting came out far too high-pitched.

Maryam felt the most girlish instinct to squeal into her hands, it should be illegal how good he looked. A part of her felt relieved that he looked well, his skin looked sun-kissed and warm, covered with a slight sheen of sweat. She had never seen him this animated, with a twinkle in his eye, a wide grin on his face that pronounced the crinkle of crow’s feet by his eyes, and he moved purposefully but with a lightness about him that reminded her of butterflies as they flit from one flower to another to feed on nectar. 

However, in this case, the flowers were the blooms of pencils, colours, paper and toys left behind by Molly and Alice that David tidied looking appropriately sheepish. As he ushered her in, the realisation that he seemed genuinely glad to see her eased her anxiety and settled into her stomach like warm soup— soothing and comforting. 

“I’m usually not this messy, I swear. Would you like something to drink?” 

Maryam followed him to the kitchen, appreciating the way he filled out those grey sweatpants. His black t-shirt strained to contain his shoulders, the muscles underneath rippling as he bent down to pick up an abandoned Lego piece. David opened his fridge to reveal… a plastic container of grated parmesan cheese, eggs lying around without the tray, a jug of milk, and assorted condiments on the door. 

The sight snapped her back to reality. Maryam chastised herself, she wasn't here to be distracted by his ass as he bent down to check on the expiry date on the milk, or the way he pursed his lip into the most irresistible little moue, or the way his furrowed brow made his eyes take on a more doe-like quality. The milk is most definitely expired. 

The fridge was the cleanest surface in the house because everything else was covered in a soft blanket of dust. Somehow, it didn't exude the laziness of someone falling behind on cleaning. Maryam chanced a glance around, it seemed more like nobody was home. 

The books on the coffee table, the healing crystal on the dining table, the kitchen counter, all had an even coating of dust undisturbed by ring marks from mugs or plates. Even the things Dave had been tidying seemed untouched since his daughters left them there. She suddenly felt so grateful she had worn socks today, there was nothing worse than the uncomfortable feeling of dry dust sticking to your feet. Her skin crawled at the thought of it. Maryam found there were two sets of footprints, both freshly made by her and David. 

The picture was a desolate one. She imagined Dave never ventured out of his bedroom, never even got off the bed unless he had to. Was he at least eating? Maybe he had some snacks hoarded in his room? The thought that he was depressed and lonely without someone to reach out to made it difficult for her to breathe. Maryam struggled to call forth her mandatory mental health training. Be supportive and non-intrusive. How the fuck was she supposed to do that? Hey David, buddy, you good? Been eating? Eating well? Did you even leave the house? 

Well, he must've left the house. He was wearing his running shoes and he had worked up a light sweat so he must have worked out a bit too. Perhaps, today was one of the better days? 

“I could put on some coffee?” David offered. Without milk? No, thank you.

Maryam made a great show of checking the watch on her wrist, not even reading the time. 

“Actually, I dropped by on my way to dinner, if you would like to join?” 

Liar. She never has dinner before dark. If left to her, she didn't even cook dinner before her evening prayers. 

“Bit early for dinner, isn't it?” He teased, cocking his head to the side as if the new angle could solve the mystery of what she was up to. 

“Yup, I skipped lunch.”

Liar. She had a rice bowl for lunch. 

“Sure, I’d love to join. Didn't you say you lived with your mom? Isn't she expecting you home for dinner?” 

She hadn't mentioned it to him, but it was one of those things everyone knew about her and could've easily mentioned it. 

“She’s out of town. Would you like to grab a jacket before we head out? I'll drive.”

LIAR. Dave couldn't help but level a raised brow at her. He saw her mother cozied up at home, most probably bingeing a new K-Drama. Maryam looked unphased, returning a genial and entirely guileless smile at him. It surprised him how easily she lied. If he hadn't known the truth, he would never have guessed she was lying. She had no visible tells.

Well, well, well. His Maryam was shaping up to be quite the compulsive liar. Her face was a world of dialogue unto itself, it was the most expressive he had ever seen— able to communicate feelings she, herself, couldn't put into words. So he'd grown complacent, believing her to be one of those people who didn't lie well. But this, this was exciting. And endearing.

He wanted to know the lengths to which she could lie— see how far she takes it. It made him all the more curious about why she was lying. He didn't believe she would show up unannounced to simply have dinner with him.

Anyway, I'm sure Maryam and Dave have it all figured out for now. Should we see what Anaticula and Marcus from His Young Wife are up to?

You carefully arranged the items on the table according to the instructions. The amulet, the talisman, the crystal, a small lamp, wine and a wooden soldier doll— his tunic fashioned from a strip of fabric you had torn from Marcus’ clothes. There was also a crushed beetle, but you hadn’t yet decided what to do with it. 

“You can’t judge.” There was a hint of uncertainty that weakened your reprimand. 

“Love spells don’t work,” Acacius stated. Of course, you knew they didn’t work— if they did, then all women would have loving husbands and families. But you couldn’t trample on that sliver of hope that yearned to bind Marcus to you as lovers. You awkwardly cleared your throat, it was embarrassing to chant the spell in front of the man whose counterpart you were trying to ensnare.

In the lowest of murmurs, you began invoking the deities and reciting, “Marcus Acacius Amatus, who Fulvia bore, burn him on this very day, from this very hour on, set on fire and inflame his soul, heart, liver, spirit, with love for his wife, Acacia…” 

The lamp was placed in the household shrine. The talisman under his pillow, the amulet tied around your waist under your tunic, the crystal worn on your finger, the doll wrapped in paper with the chant written on it and buried in a clay pot. Marcus would have to drink the wine.

“What is in the wine?” Acacius asks you as Marcus pours his fourth cup. You had not needed to convince him to drink it— you only mentioned that you had made it for him when he had left for war so it would be ready for him when he returned. You knew he would drink the entire jar. You just weren’t sure if he should, not having remembered those particular instructions.

“These wines typically use aphrodisiacs.” He reminded you as if you hadn’t added them yourself.

“It’s not good for him if he drinks so much.” You were starting to worry about that too. Marcus was in a very odd state of mind— quieter than he should be, his eyes a bit unfocused, you couldn’t make out his softly mumbled words before he tittered at his own joke. Usually, four cups of wine didn’t make a difference. But you knew your concoction was potent, there was also the cannabis in it. 

“Did you add mandrake root? They are always thrown into love potions. Too much of it could kill him.” Acacius noted. And you finally spurred forward, taking the jar off the table and out of his reach. He blinked at you as if waking up from slumber and serenely smiled.

“It’s good wine, give it back.” Marcus lazily lunged for it, causing you to hop out of your seat, cradling the jar as you backpedalled from him. 

“No more wine, Marcus. You’re drunk.” Your voice was soft, concerned.

“I’m not drunk, sweetheart.” Your heart fluttered at his use of the endearment— the gentle, affectionate way he uttered it. It was just the wine, you tried to remind yourself. Yes, the love potion, your mind whispered back. No, those things don’t work, you were just entertaining fantasies.

Oh, wow. So we're truly desperate in that one. Anaticula has not been able to forget Marcus kissing Lucilla, so she will stop at nothing to seduce her husband. Oh, but wait, there's a secret third thing I'm cooking up... IT'S SMUT SMUT SMUTTIEST SMUT. Based on this moodboard I made of Javi x South Asian Reader:

He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It shouldn’t affect him this way, he had seen women wear far, far less clothing— he’d seen them in clothing designed to seduce, those tiny, frilly, lacy things that he removed to see them in all their sexy glory.

And she was fully dressed, respectably so, even if it was so out of place in this bar in Bogotá, Colombia. It had taken him an embarrassingly long moment to realise she was wearing a sari— the kind Mrs Patel used to wear down the street back home in Laredo. But she’d never looked this tantalising. 

The string crossing her shoulder blades moved again as she reached out her arm for her drink. Her top was tight— perfectly tailored to fit her like second skin. It ended just below her bust where it dug into her body forming the most perfect roll. Just below, the sari tightly draped her waist pushing the plush of her torso to pool over the fabric. Javi swiped his tongue over his teeth, feeling them itch with the need to bite into that soft exposed skin at her midriff.  

The dim lights of the bar teased and played over the contours of her back. He took a large swig of his beer to wash down the liquid gathering in his mouth at the lewd images his mind was playing for him like a porno. The feel of her spine under his tongue when he would lick up the long divot running down, symmetrically separating her back in two. The taste of her skin when he would bite and mark that perfect back. He wanted to suck bruises onto the delicate curves pushed out by her sari. 

The movement of her spine was hypnotic as she straightened. And he really should look away now, she had probably felt his eyes on her. But the fluid movement of her waist as she turned to glance at him prevented him from rescuing his dignity. He didn’t even look up to meet her eyes, just stared at the curve of her back like a creep. 

All he could imagine was the same curve as she would turn to look back at him one last time before leaving his apartment. But it would carry the indents of his teeth. Just over that perfect ass wrapped in swathes of fabric, he wanted to see large blooms of hickeys that she would have to walk out in the morning with.

Had quite the productive week actually LMFAO

NPT: @probablyreadinsmut (I know you just gave us the most perfect chapter baby but I wanna know what's coming next) @604to647 @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @jennaispunk @romanarose @mrsmando @stellamarielu @sp00kymulderr @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist @din-cognito @wethairjoel @xdaddysprincessxx @lillaydee @pedrospookie @joelmillerisapunk @almostempty @inept-the-magnificent @josephquinnswhore @peepawispunk @missyorkswhore @iknowisoundcrazy @beefrobeefcal and anybody else who wants to share, if you tag me, best believe i will come snoop!!

[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 31 Thoughts: Extended Sounds of Brutal Crowbar Damage

And we're back again, after quite a wait, but it's a nice easy one to get back into the swing of things. Nothing explosive happened this episode really but a lot of foundation setting. However we've finally hit the part of the show that is now a sequel to The Magnus Archives. So, if any of you have somehow not listened to that and are interested to hear why things are so fucked, that would be how you go about it.

Spoilers for TMA, and TMP episode 31 below the cut.

I didn't cover it elsewhere so I'm going to start with Season 2's trailer. It's a nice, short, and sweet trailer so there isn't a whole lot to get into. There are a few bits in the transcript that are worth pointing out though. Firstly, it's referred to as the "London Exclusion Zone, Primeline" and "Primeline" doesn't appear anywhere else in this trailer nor episode one. That's likely a portmanteau of Prime and Timeline which I would take to mean this is the universe from Archives. Given the warden's worry about tapes and a few other notable bits of text from the premieres transcript I would say it's all but confirmed. The only other thing I think is worth mentioning here is that the scuttling creatures are described as having "too many legs". Which isn't incredibly relevant but does at least show they're supernatural in some sense.

Okay, onto the episode proper and now we can all say goodbye to the number 3 blorbo, Colin. I'll always remember the way he called me a gobshite because I sent him an email during the ARG, and the way he lost his mind because gays were in the computer. RIP, Colin, rest in processors.

There isn't really a load to say on this ep is general IMO. I think it's all pretty surface level but as with the trailer there are some interesting bits and pieces to pick out of it. In general though, I thought it was a very solid start to a season. Picks up right where things left off and lays a lot of groundwork for what's to come and isn't a load of info dumping.

So there are a couple of things to pick out from Colin's very messy and unearned death. During the long string of "Discard data"s there is one that reads "upload data" in the transcript which is for sulphur. Sulphur being one of the tria prima and an incredibly important element to alchemy. Now, the actual audio does say "discard data" and it might not be anything more than a mistake but it's an interesting coincidence if that's all it is. The elements listed are also in order of abundance in the human body.

hardware damage_crowbar/DPHW 4600

I believe this joke was written purely for me. No one can convince me otherwise. It's going in the masterdoc.

I don't think there is much to say on Gwen's, Alice's, or Celia's showing in the episode. They're all more or less doing "normal" stuff. The only thing I would point out is that Celia does do some lying in the episode without the usual distortions around those in the audio. At least not that I heard.

Sam is bringing the wet cat energy the Primeline was missing since TMA's finale. It's being met with mixed reception. Most of what goes on here is all pretty obvious I think. We meet yet another version of Georgie who is a little more rugged and generally done with everyone's shit. She's introduced in the text as "Georgie P" which I can only assume is Georgie Prime. This is further reinforced by Heidi's statement describing exactly what we saw of London post-Change. With the additional talks of domains and circuses I think it's fairly hard to argue this isn't TMA's universe post-season 5. Which has some fairly strong implications for exactly how that all went down and how much the world both remembers and has changed, but I feel like that might be bet to get into elsewhere. And likely by other people. Them naming a van after Gertrude is very sweet tho.

I think that's about all I've got to say on this one. Nothing to mindblowing and not a lot of crumbs to follow but it's a great start to a season.

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

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 5555 sounds about right to me. It's not exceptionally spooky in any single sense but is pretty broad spectrum. Pretty standard stuff. Might as well mention that Hardware Damage (Crowbar) being at 4600 also lines up very well.

CAT# Theory: Our very first 123 which is something I've personally been waiting on. I've been very vocal about how I don't think the Person/Place/Object theory makes a lot of sense. However, this is one of the ones I wouldn't argue for there if you want to stretch it to Colin still being a person after "Integration", or you want to say that JMJ also count. Not that I buy the idea any more. Although it should be noted that Johnny says in the Q&A that the first few cases are wrong. Which means if it is P/P/O it should match up perfectly if you start from the bottom until you hit a point where the wrong ones end. I don't think it would from what I recall on my essay about why it's not P/P/O but it might. I was supposed to use the break to do some more work on CAT# but then I didn't. So I've got no real insights into this one.

R# Theory: B lines up pretty well. It would be confirmable that Colin is at least missing, but getting eaten by a server rack isn't particularly likely to be why.

Header talk: Integration (organic) -/- Computer (Hardware) is a fairly standard description IMO. I can't see much to really dig into there.

[marzipanilla]

OSP just dropped a new Detail Diatribe about Batman : 3

It's so funny that half the shit we're bitching about this show not addressing was at least, in passing, somewhat addressed in this last episode. I almost want to say too little too late ?? like the placement of stuff this season is so frustrating to me. and funny in a kinda haha way. Truly my biggest take away from S3 rn is that it is doing wonderfully for it's side characters and giving up anecdotes about the world, and it is failing hard at delivering on any characters I spent the last two seasons caring about. This season just feels like a weird piecemeal stuff is happening !! season.

Oliver finally acknowledges his mother existed ! that he remembers stuff ! Though catch me here sitting going, oh she loved your dad so much did she? Do you have anything to say about your father loving her at all?? no? do you remember how fucking horrified your brother was when he was first introduced to you?? do you even have a concept of why he was so freaked out about your 'wonderful' father having made a new family ?? do you not remember the two months (GENERATIONS in thraxan time) the fucking planet was ruined by his fight with his people ?? the fact there was no back up for you to get taken care of if he was gone ?? that he had no final words for you or your mother?? but she. the female figure in your life. loved him so much, and clearly every woman in Invincible just exists to tell men how special and awesome they are, so why should Oliver have any concept that's different...

Chronically ill Oliver bc his biology is garbo would be neat. Ties back into my 'I wish hybrid Mark came with problems rather than viltrumite photocopy'. Give these kids more issues lol

God. I am still so annoyed about Rex/Rae. 100% new to the show. did not need to happen. And Debbie having to spend every single fucking moment with Paul propping up his fragile fucking ego. like god damn does she never get a break from propping up emotionally fucked up men. what does she get out of this relationship.

And hey ! there are court cases put to go against heroes ! Except somehow there's zero precedence for them and they are just canonically considered above the law. Horrifying. Also I absolutely refuse to believe this is the first time in the history of anything two superpowered beings fucked up a civilian location. How are there no previous court cases about shit like this. Why is everyone acting like this is a new thing. I've brought it up before, but Invincible has a massive case of Protagonist Centered Reality, in that nothing seems to have happened ever until Mark came along.

Thraxa as a concept explaining disparate lifespans IS great ! I give it that ! It is important to conceptualize ! Suicidally depressed man a few months out from ruining the longest relationship he had ever been in did not need to stick his dick in it though. again, I wonder if they show will EVER dive into Nolan's thoughts on the fact he made another kid. Though them aggressively trying to retcon him in being a functional parent would probably make me gag. oh he flew you around the palace humming to you did he ??? it took Mark until he was 8 years old for this bitch to show up for his after school shit. Try and tell me he wasn't singing human/Earth lullabys bc if you try and tell me Viltrumites have them I will laugh at you. Nolan's family on Thraxa always gave me weird 'I am going to recreate what I had on Earth why isn't it the same as it was on Earth' vibes to me re: whatever the fuck Nolan was thinking.

The fact this dude could have just left Thraxa and it would have saved so many lives will never not a be a point I make. It truly was his absence from Earth and his presence on Thraxa that screwed everyone. Admittedly, he didn't reach the headspace of wanting to atone until the gd jail break, but truly Mr I Avoid My Problems could have just waved his arms up and down on an asteroid at least and let the Thraxans live out their fucking lives while he continued to run away.

When people ignore genuine character flaws that could be worked into/around in favor of just stock 'abusive bc mean!' is just bleh. Somehow reminds me of all the 'character A is in abusive relationship until B saves them' fics that were super popular for so long in so many fandoms. Or the typical make the woman a bitch so the guy can be in the gay ship I want shit. Characters can fuck up in ways that are true to character !! I get a degree of projection will always exist when an individual consumes media, so it's just like.. okay.. you have a blanket over this concept bc that's what you see when you look over there. Can you please acknowledge that's a you thing and not a 'correct' thing??

I saw x Reader shit show up in a video game fandom before the game even released. wild. like. What are you even writing at that point??? Original fiction is totally fine !! You can write your own stuff !! Why are you even calling it fanfic at that point. I can get that way about OC fic sometimes too. Like, most of the time when I'm in a fandom it's bc I want to see those characters. And I get that having inserts or your own chars is a thing! it's just not what the brain space I go into most fandoms with, so it just makes filtering through stuff even more difficult. The only time I go in expecting it is for videogame fandoms for stuff that has a character creator, bc part of that fandom process IS making a person in that world ! I am prepped for it. I get it. But outside of that I'm juts like... I want to talk about these characters here? now? maybe? And I've goddamn written shit with OCs outside of the stuff I typically go for ! to me it's just such a back burner thing. Whatever happened to making free forum rp sites and just fucking going buck wild with friends and strangers. y'all need interactive enrichment with your custom dolls. Please let me break the store bought ones. where are all the people breaking the store bought ones.

Mark agreeing to go hang out on a beach w Debbie instead of refusing and the beach is Beach City (am now officially thinking too much about this crossover lol)

The way I got caught up on our back and forth I almost forgot this, lol! AND OH MY GOODNESS, IMAGINE? I forget exactly what which point Debbie makes the beach offer, but I’d love when exactly in SU/SUF-timeline they’d go? There’s something so fucking funny to me about them going during the SUF-timeline and always narrowly missing the strange, Steven-shaped mental breakdowns in the back. I know those don’t occur in a single day, but it’s tickling me. How could they miss anything? I don’t know I just think it’s funny.

Though, post-SUF is interesting if Gems can see the similar “world on your shoulders”, Mark has going on! Steven can shunt the narrative in the Gems’ minds, which I think is neat, if I’m not misusing the phrase since the guy’s on the road far away. Or maybe it’s just before Steven goes and they stumble into each other. I’d kinda love Pearl and Debbie interacting, honestly, if they could talk about loving someone who hurt you, hide things from you, even when you thought you knew them so deeply, and they left you to raise a child. Pearl being in a well adjusted space, and Debbie still grieving.

Honestly, the gems could help train Mark, they’re got experience and similar-ish powers in strength, sturdiness, and they can jump/run fast enough for flying to be vaguely similar enough to lecture about, I think. Or Lapis Lazulis, haha! Peridot with her trash can lid! Garnet, I’d love to see if she told Mark anything about his future in vague, well meaning advice. Or even giving relationship advice considering Amber. Or, importantly, how to convince an entire reign to end their colonizing ways, lol. Is Mark perhaps willing to start a war, take advantage of being related to any leaders, or fake his own death to varying results?

In general, there’s something so fucking funny to me about Nolan, in the sake of comparison, being Pink Diamond coded. Like OH, did an important or well respected of the colonizing empire come to earth and learn the beauty of its people and nature, including faking/lying/omitting things about his identity and background to being in, only to feel conflicted when his responsibility still remained, and he tried to free himself from them? Yikes! We’ve been through that before! Like gimme Pink Diamond and Nolan outfit swap rn. This is tickling me so much oh my goodness.

[ihopeicanchangethislater05]

i think its time to finally talk about when i first watched house, i thought that a show that had obama in it and kal penn left house to join that show so that's why the running meme was that obama killed kutner

oh boy you wouldn't know the shock on my face when i realised that THE REAL OBAMA, LIKE THE PRESIDENT WAS THE CULPRIT and not a show.

my god