#and i think now ive felt it in a more personal way instead of just a general feeling

[ghosts-lot]

i am glad im alive im glad i can feel things and even if i dont completely like not being able to recognize my own emotions because they feel too big and too strong and like theyre blurring together and fighting each other as they mutate and flash through me i am glad i dont feel empty all the time

[orcelito]

ok i am actually so very angry and there's literally nothing i can do to fix it. life keeps going on. she might even be happy. and fuck dude, i'll make sure im happy too, i was a fully developed person before she was in my life and i'll continue to be one without her. but God Damn, the fact that she can just do something so blatantly awful and unfair to me and then run off without any actual repercussions is just so fucking rankling to me.

like perhaps she feels guilty. she said she did when it was all going down. but it was just something she "needed to do". so obviously she didn't feel guilty enough or she wouldnt have done it like that lmaoooo

i really did deserve to have a good solid yell at her. but unfortunately, by the time i did see her in person i just wanted her out of my fucking life. so. no yelling was done, unfortunately.

[13eyond13]

.

[be-good-to-bugs]

hmm

[giamee]

𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝟐 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄!

୨♡୧ pairings :: blade x reader ; sampo x reader ; gepard x reader ; dan heng x reader ; jing yuan x reader ; luocha x reader

୨♡୧ gia's notes :: writing this as a quick lil thing because i just finished school and i want to like,,, pay homage to the crushes ive had on my classmates LMAO this is so self indulgent i'm delulu... gonna miss seeing them in the hallways ,,, this one kinda mid i wrote it on my phone while half asleep AND ITS EXAM SEASON RAHHHHHH

୨♡୧ contains: modern!school!au, fem!reader sorry, most definitely ooc because these are based off of real people oops, just cute lil crushes man feel free to judge my taste in men !

𓆩♡𓆪 BLADE

-he's in your biology class, but not close enough to really get to talk to him

-you're not sure what to make of him, but you see him in the gym a few times when you're there as well

-his stony exterior, however, is shattered in your eyes when you enter the gym one day to find it empty other than just him in there, blasting his playlist out loud

-out of all of the possible genres he could he listening to, you weren't expecting a drill remix of anime osts

-you can't help the giggle that escapes your lips from what you're witnessing, and blade freezes upon hearing it before whipping his head round to face you like a deer in headlights

-he scrambles to turn it off as you set up at a squat rack, and it's almost endearing to see such a stoic classmate look so flustered

-you almost felt bad for the guy, and you hesitated before asking blade if he could spot for you

-and just like that, the ice was officially broken

-the two of you talked more frequently now, even becoming sort of friends through your shared class and the gym

-more frequent talks gave way to the more intimate aspects of blade's personality- as it turned out, he was quite touchy

-lingering touches when spotting you in the gym turned to his leg pressed against yours when you sit next to each other- leaning into your personal space a little too close to call it casual, and the bastard enjoyed the way you got flustered when his face got near to yours and the way that people looked at the pair of you and whispers, rumours, started to fly

-"if you keep sitting that close to me, people are going to think that we're dating," you huffed at him

-blade didn't even glance up from his phone that he was scrolling through with one hand, the other resting against the back of your chair

-"good." you were glad that he didn't look up to see the way that your eyes widened and you turned your head to the side to hide the giddy smile that was creeping onto your face

-and despite you enabling this, all the harmless flirting, there was some unquellable part of you that screamed to be set free and hoped for something more. that when he made you look him in the eyes with a finger under your chin, he wasn't just doing it to tease you

-there was undeniably something going on between the two of you, but there was also the unspoken mutual decision to not mention it

-and so you resigned your self to the realm of just friends. it would be easier this way, to move on without any ties before uni

-yet on the last day, you found him scrawling his phone number in your yearbook with a demand to stay in touch, and it left you looking down at the inked digits with the thing in your chest set free, telling you that your feelings might just be reciprocated

𓆩♡𓆪 SAMPO

-your deskmate in chemistry because of a stupid seating plan that didn't change the entire year

-you've never really spoken before, but he's well-known for being rowdy

-his friends sit nearby, and most of his conversations consisted of talking to them loudly while leaning across your desk, while you try to balance your chemical equations

-other than that, you keep to yourselves mostly

-it isn't until your chemistry teacher is going on a tiresome rant about the bohr effect that you shift your attention away from the board, your eyes instead focusing on sampo and the pen in his hands as he twirled it through his fingers effortlessly

-you nudged him slightly, pointing to his hand and mouthing at him "how do you do that?"

-sampo smirks, leaning in closer to you and keeping his voice at a low whisper to avoid alerting your chemistry teacher

-"so you hold the end like this..." sampo whispers to you, demonstrating with the end of his pen. you nod and try not to think about how small the pen looks compared to his fingers, fixing your grip

-"and then you hold it loose, and flick it around your thumb" sampo demonstrates it effortlessly, catching the pen in his hand and smiling at you

-you concentrate on your own, feeling his gaze against the side of your face instilling slight tremors in your hand

-you attempt the spin, watching as the pen teeters before falling and landing on your desk with a clatter

-you hear sampo snort beside you, and your teacher whips his head around and fixes the pair of you with a glare

-"am i interrupting something?" you and sampo both snapped your attention back towards your teacher as he looked at you both pointedly before continuing with his lecture

-you braved a peek at your deskmate, seeing the way his eyes were stubbornly facing forwards while a slight smirk adorned his face

-it became almost a ritual for you to attempt sampo's stupid pen trick each lesson

-it looked so simple, you didn't get how you were still struggling to do it, and your focus was pretty much anywhere except on the lesson

-sampo watched on in idle amusement at your frustration, sometimes demonstrating it to you again just to rub it in before getting elbowed by you

-besides him poking fun at you, there was also a sweeter side to sampo

-there was a day where you had forgotten to wear your contacts, and were effectively blind the entire day

-despite being nearer to the front, you couldn't even read the board when you squinted

-you ended up asking sampo to read what was on the board to you, and with an exaggerated sigh he did so, whispering the words to you in the same low voice that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up

-"you owe me, you know," he told you jokingly, pointing at your homework

-you rolled your eyes, sliding it over to him

-"i don't know why you think that the answers will be right, but sure"

-"hey, at least you did the homework"

-uhhhh idrk how to end this SORRY

-you guys got along well and then the year finished and you weren't in the same class any more

-whenever you see him in the corridors you smile at each other though

𓆩♡𓆪 GEPARD

-he sits in the seat opposite from you in your english class

-you can't help zoning out when the lesson gets boring, and more often than not that results in you inadvertedly staring at gepard until you snap back to reality and realise that you've locked eyes with him, resulting in both of you hastily looking away with pink dusting both of your cheeks

-it's hard not to look at his handsome face, and your wandering eyes often get drawn to him against your will

-the sun hits his hair just right from the window behind him, and he looks like an angel with a halo when he's concentrating with a furrowed brow and taking notes about chaucer

-he's not too bad of a person to be sat across, in short

-you see gepard from time to time in the library, and by luck's draw, one of the only free seats in a particularly busy hour ends up being next to him

-he glances up when you place your books down, shooting you a quick smile before turning back to his own work

-you're about to put on your headphones and start revising, but you catch the faint melody of an ice spice song blasting from gepard, oblivious to the world

-it takes a lot of self control to not burst out laughing in the middle of the library, but you text this information to your friend instead while biting back a smile

-she responds after a few seconds with a link to gepard's spotify account, telling you to take a look through his playlists

-risking a glance at gepard, still heavily focusing on his work, you click on the link and begin to scroll through his account

-you find yourself growing more and more blown away by his music choice

-someone who was so serious and stoic didn't seem like the type to have one of the most insane tastes in music you've ever seen, but you liked it

-it offered you a more human side to his aloof self

-when you saw him start to subconsciously mouth the words in time with ice spice, though, that's when you snorted a little

-and when gepard looked up at you in confusion, you waved him off

-maybe you would try talk to him after class more

𓆩♡𓆪 DAN HENG

-although he doesn't share a lesson with you, dan heng actually takes the same bus to get home from school

-you have a tendency to oversleep in the mornings, so you've never had the opportunity to realise this as the buses you take arrive at school minutes before the bell

-and after school, you can leave as soon as lessons finish, and your differing timetables kept you apart as well

-but after a day at the library in school, you ended up getting a bus nearer to the end of the day rather than your usual time

-because of this, you found that most of the other students at your school were getting this first bus back, and a lot less of the seats were available

-you scanned the seats, searching for an empty spot when you got on, and you saw dan heng sat on his own, looking out the window with his earphones in

-you recognised him as a guy in your year and headed to where he sat, gripping your bag tighter for emotional support

-"could i sit here?" you spoke before realising that he probably couldn't hear you over the sound of his music, and you hesitated before tapping him on the shoulder

-his attention snapped to you before he shuffled slightly, leaving you with ample space to take a seat

-you didn't talk much, feeling self conscious of your feed as you scrolled through your phone next to dan heng, waiting for the stop where you would get your second bus

-you were lucky that you were sat closer to the aisle, and didn't have to make things more awkward by asking him to get up too

-you pressed the button to stop the bus, picking up your bag and getting off

-but to your surprise, as you looked behind you to check if it was clear to cross the road, you saw that dan heng had gotten off of the bus as well

-which wasn't too weird, really. there were plenty of other buses to take from here

-yet your suspicions were confirmed as you realised that you and dan heng were headed for the same bus, stopping in the same queue with him just behind you

-normally you would keep to yourself, but you must have been feeling extra talkative that day because you decide to strike up a conversation with him

-"so you take this bus as well?"

-dan heng nodded, taking out an earphone to better hear you as you both waited for the bus

-"yeah, in the morning too"

-"i'm guessing the early one? i always miss it because i sleep in"

-dan heng smiles and shrugs

-"maybe you should go to sleep earlier, then"

-"yeah, maybe"

-the pair of you talk a bit, and despite his appearance dan heng is actually quite fun to talk to, though he moreso tends to listen to you rant and occasionally provides some input, which seems to suit you both just fine

-come next morning, you found yourself waking up a little easier than usual, getting ready and leaving your house earlier than usual

-and as a result, you managed to catch the early bus

-you spotted his cropped dark hair almost as soon as you got on, and decided to sidle up to him again

-dan heng spotted you this time, though, and even offered you a smile as he pulled put his earphones as youvsat down next to him

-"so i'm guessing that you slept earlier, huh?"

-if it meant getting to talk to him more, you'd be in bed before it even got dark

-but he didn't have to know that

𓆩♡𓆪 JING YUAN

-he's that one guy in the year who's just universally loved, by teachers and students alike

-he's warm, he's studious, he's head boy, and he's practically everyone's friend

-it's not uncommon to see plenty of the girls in your year go up to him to try and flirt, and for others to look on in jealousy at their attempts

-and despite everyone's best efforts, jing yuan remained single

-as much as you didn't want to, you couldn't help but get a crush on him, just like every other girl in the year

-your heart beats out of your chest when you walk past him in the corridor and he gives you a smile and nod

-your knees feel weak when you see him in the library studying, his handsome face scrunched in concentration

-and though you may only be observing from afar, you're completely content with that

𓆩♡𓆪 LUOCHA

-luocha is a friend of yours that you made pretty recently

-there's a quiet charm to him that leaves you feeling at ease, and you've found it incredibly comforting to be in his presence when revising for exams

-even though he's a man of few words, he's managed to keep you as grounded as you can be during the stress of your last days of school before it's over

-it all came to an emotional headway at prom night

-you had been drinking a little, and with the night coming to an end the realisation that you wouldn't be seeing most of the people here again had you feeling teary eyed

-luocha found you on the dancefloor, pulling you towards him without a word and letting you just cling onto his suit as you both swayed in time to the slower song

-you let the soothing scent of him wash over you as you started to wind down at the end of the night, and you felt one of his gentle hands resting on your back as you began to wind your arms around his neck too

-"it was nice to know you," you mumbled to him, voice muffled by the material of his suit

-you felt luocha's grip on you tighten almost imperceptibly, a sign that he had heard you regardless

-"you can still know me" he murmured, and in your hazy state of mind you relaxed into him even further

-"that would be nice"

-as prom came to an end and after you had gotten over the air of finality, the pain from wearing your heels all night was beginning to kick in

-your car was parked a while away and while you did want to just go home, the prospect of taking another step was making you wince

-luocha was quick to notice your hesitance, and before you even said anything he was crouching down in front of you, telling you to "get on" which you gratefully did

-his warm hands wrapped securely around your thighs, supporting your weight as you told luocha where to go

-he made it to your car effortlessly, letting you down carefully and even opening your own car door for you

-you giggled at him being a gentleman as you got behind the wheel, smiling up at him with a bittersweet pang in your heart

-"thanks for everything, luocha"

-the man hesitated for a second, before returning your smile

-"any time"

-he ducked down, leaning in closer to you, and you felt yourself inhale sharply as he wrapped his arms around you, encasing you in a last embrace before you would part ways for the last time

-"keep in touch, okay?"

-"okay"

୨♡୧ honkai star rail masterlist

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[nyancrimew]

You do a lot of really cool stuff and you do it As You. How do you overcome the fear of being Perceived and Known? Especially when the stuff you're raising awareness about is controversial or big? I have anxiety and while the "fuck it we ball" mindset has gotten me fairly far, I still find myself regretting putting myself out there or regressing back into a shut in.

i feel like what helped me kinda deal with getting pretty well known is probably not really applicable to many other people, because most of it really was that ive just been slowly more and more exposed to a bigger and bigger level of fame since i was like 16 or so. long before i was at the point i am now i was a really well known person in the android modding community and then the broader and broader tech community, i definitely didn't deal super well with some of my first minutes of fame and there's lots of stuff i regret (i def let it get to my head for a while and because i was also slowly burning out at the time i was quite an asshole to a lot of people). i don't think that was necessarily the best for me at the time, but i learned some lessons especially about community building and i did a lot of media work already at the time so ive been honing my communications skills for almost 10 years at this point.

i first started blowing up with hacktivism related stuff around 2019, and then everytime i did again it was bigger and bigger, making massive international headlines for the first time in 2021 (with the verkada story). i still fucked up a lot and got very stressed at that time, especially with my mental health being extremely abysmal and paranoia growing as state repression became inevitable.

after the indictment in 2021 i did more and more press work again (there are lots of portraits of me from that era) but still wasn't like A Celebrity except for those brief moments, which (as i took a break from hacktivism) gave me some more time to grow and learn. by the time the no fly list hack happened in 2023 i had been spending a few months already doing various smaller cyber security related work and working with many of my journalist friends in the industry. in a lot of ways the no fly list leak and the media reaction to it was just routine work for me already at that point, which i think allowed me to take in all the social fame way better as well. it still all felt quite surreal, but i was already mostly media trained, had quite a bit of experience with working with an audience already so it was just kind of a matter of adapting to my new environment.

this isn't to say i was like specifically working towards fame (especially this level) but ive always cared about community/audience building and media communication. i don't think im like "fake" or whatever, but you do have to consider that despite my laid back style im still someone with an autistic special interest in personal branding and media communications. i just don't wanna do that for corporations or for profit and instead use it for my activist and journalist self advocacy to give things a platform.

[444you]

manifestion guide for overthinkers and pessimists

MY MANIFESTION JOURNEY

*caution: mentions of personal limiting beliefs* you can skip through this if you want, but it’s mainly talking about my own journey and what i struggled with 🦋

for me, i’ve been heavily into law of assumption and law of attraction for about 7 years now. i tried many different manifestation techniques, i never found one that fit. i got into sammy ingram when she first made her youtube channel. she was one of my fav youtubers. not just because of her advice but i loved her personality. i binged her videos. she always gave good information but i knew for me, affirmations never helped. i always looked into the 3d, even when i knew i shouldn’t. anytime i saw a sign, i would freak out because i thought i would continue to manifest signs instead of my desire. i also overthought a lot and felt like if i had one opposing thought, that my manifestation wouldn’t come. the thing is i’m aware that this stuff doesn’t affect how your desires come in, but i still freaked out over it. this is just a few of the many issues i had. i tried scripting, water methods, subliminals. i even had a subliminal channel, people would get results but i never got any from my own or others. now i’m highly aware that i have limiting beliefs yall 😭 this is what is causing me to not achieve what i want. this is something that i’ve been working on for years and i know that i’ll gradually move past it.

WHAT IVE BEEN CURRENTLY DOING TO MANIFEST MY DESIRES

vision boards. i make them for multiple desires or specifically just one. if i want something to come fast, i put a 2 month time frame on it and then i also put the year. so say i wanted to manifest a car right now. , i’d make a vision board of my dream car. then i’d write a text that says “july - august 2024”. i had this strict belief that manifestations come in 3 days or less. however, i always put a 2 month time frame because i know i can easily get upset and doubt it. id make the collage of that i want on my phone. then i’d put it as my wallpaper for 3 days or more. i did this because i’d gradually look at it multiple times a day, this way my mind could be familiar with my desires. with this however, i can talk to my friends about my desires. i can have so many doubts and think the opposite but somehow it still works for me. but anyway, i’d look at it for a few days and then change it to something completely different, any wallpaper. i delete the vision board from my camera roll. (if you go to settings and wallpapers, it’s still there as a choice to view in the future) then i’d just forget about it. sometimes but no always, i’ll put a reminder to check my vision board after the timeframe i put it. so for the car example, i’d put a reminder after august. then i go back and see what manifested. at the end of the day, we all think differently. we all have different ways to manifest. and if you’re somebody like me who has a lot of limiting beliefs, don’t feel discouraged. i used to get upset that everybody got subliminal or manifestion results, but i eventually found something that worked for me. and you will too.

[e-vay]

so… i turn thirty this year & after two failed relationships, im unsure how to have hope i’ll ever find my “person”. Ive been following you for a long time… how did you have hope that you’d eventually find someone and have a happy relationship?

If this is too intense or personal to ask, dont worry i just,,, i dont know. Its a struggle to feel like i’ll ever find The One and i know you went through something similar so… maybe you’d just have advice?

Thank you,,, i hope youre having an amazing night ❤️

I don’t mind you asking me this. If talking about the hard times I went through can help others get through it, I think it’s worth discussing. 

Like you said, I also struggled with love for a long time and after a few devastating relationships I gave up on dating altogether for a while. But, in hindsight, that ended up being a blessing because I was able to spend time bettering myself and—most importantly—learn to love myself. Yes, having a partner can make our lives richer, but I think it’s important to be able to enjoy your own company. Before, I thought the void inside of me needed to be filled by another person, so I would go out of my way to find somebody to do that without actually worrying whether or not they were the correct fit for me. Having time to focus on myself made me a better person (I think), and it ultimately ended up being for the best because I no longer felt like I was less than. Of course, I would still feel lonely from time-to-time and I’ve always been a romantic so I love the idea of love, but I got to the point where I felt fulfilled enough on my own so that when I met my now-husband, the feeling was significantly different. It wasn’t “I need to put this person in the hole that is my heart so that I can crawl my way up out of this pit,”... It was instead “Oh, this person significantly ADDS to the joy in my life” and that’s one of the reasons why he stood out to me as a partner. Though I would have liked to have met my husband sooner in life, honestly? Had we met sooner, before I matured and improved myself, we likely wouldn’t have worked out. I'm not saying you need to improve yourself. I'm just saying that that's what helped me and ended up giving me hope.

I also think society gives us too many unrealistic expectations and goals that we’re expected to meet by certain “deadlines”. Everybody moves at their own pace and has their own journey that’s unique to them. We can’t all be expected to follow the same linear path; humans are just too different. I was my husband’s very first girlfriend and he was 36 years old when we started dating. But when I’ve asked him if he’s upset/disappointed he never had a relationship before meeting me, he’s told me “No, I think we met when we were supposed to.”

Lastly, I want to address my personal beliefs on “The One.” Y’all know I’m a romantic and I do believe in soulmates, but I also believe we’re capable of having more than one soulmate. The world is too big for us to be limited to the chance of only ever finding one single person who is compatible for us. And if we miss out on meeting that one person, our chance of love is shot??? I just don’t believe that. When widows/widowers remarry, does that diminish the love they had for their late spouse? Of course not. It doesn’t mean their first love wasn’t just as important and meaningful as their new love. So, maybe you could find it helpful if you adopt this mindset as well. I think it makes the idea of romance seem less impossible.

I don’t know if this makes you feel any better but at the very least I hope you don’t feel worse for having read it! I don’t know you personally, but I wish you absolute happiness.

It's going to be okay 🙂

[tastywormfood]

Ive tried to get my feelings about Moominvalley s4 into words, but im having a really hard time even accepting them. But ill try!

So here's my thoughts in Moominvalley s4.

Im 23 now and i remember being 12 - 15 figuring out my identity, and the only "representation" in mrdia being basically either "Bury your gays" trope or just queerbaiting. I grew up on a base level thinking i wasnt allowed to exist, and if i still dared to, tragedy would be my only birth right.

I believed i wasnt allowed to live a happy, soft AND queer life, cause no media i had seen had ever showed me that, that was a possibility.

Both the 90's Moomin series and Moominvalley 2019 are my comfort shows. I fall asleep to them at night, i listen to them like a podcast while im working or outside, they even calm my panic attacks. I collect cups, plushies, i collect the Comics and even some of the books.

I have 3 Moomin tattoos. This universe means a damn lot to me, and to thousands of ppl world wide.

As a queer person i find incredible comfort in Tove Janssons work, and you have to be a fool to be unable to see the way Snufkin and Moomintroll are written together.

I have been following this show since early 2020 and have watched interview to interview, ive listened to the podcast more times than i can count, and they knew what they were doing.

From the beginning of the show they deliberately wrote Snufkin and Moomin to be something more, they even confess In a BTS that their Moomin might like Snufkin more than Snorkmaiden. Even the podcast talked about it!! We are not crazy!!!

I feel incredibly gaslit by the entire situation, and suddenly im 14 again being told im reading too much into it.

Idk what happened inbetween S3 and 4, but it felt like all the love and care that came from the show, just disappeared?

Ignoring Snufmin for a second, every episode this season felt like a filler. It has no plot, followed up on nothing from the last seasons, and had an extreme amount of loose ends.

The former seasons, especially s1 and 2 has such amazing writting, character development and just a feeling of patience and of softness, i would watch it and think everything would be okay... But this season felt stripped of every inch of the care Tove Jansson put into her universe.

I want to talk a little about Moomintroll.

One of Moomins character Arcs is his want to grow up, its his need to be taken seriously and his need for independence and adventure. His need to step out of his dads shadow, and to be his own moomin! The character development he had built up through out the seasons, completely and utterly disappeared. There is no trace of anything in s4.

He is right back to where he started in s1, not being able to stand up for himself and say no, not having the confidence to go on adventures and right back to idealizing his dad. If anything this entire season felt like a prequal! Cause at least s1 Moomintroll wanted to learn, and was activily trying to change.

Moomintroll truly felt like a side character this season, i dont even think he has any important moments. Unless you count Comet in Moominvalley (which i dont), where all his independence has disappeared. Moominpapa literally has to push him out. He made one decision that eps, which was to float down the river instead of walking, which ended up being the wrong and slower way.

The regression Moomintroll went threw this season is heartbreaking, and thats not my Moomin.

Focusing for a bit on Snufkin, this season felt like a slap to the face.

They know that Snufkin is one of their most popular characters right? If not the most popular. If anything he is at least in the top 3, not only in Moominvalley but in the rest of the moominverse.

So why did this season feel like Snufkin erasure?

He was barely in it, and when he was all of that glow that normally radiats from him was all gone. He felt like the husk of a character.

This version of Snufkin was on of my favs, cause you could actually see his flaws and disagree with his actions. He had room to grow, and he did, he truly did.

He learned from Moomin just like Moomin learned from him. Their characters Arcs co align witch each other, their relationship and interactions are the pillars of the entire show. Snufkin and Moomintroll are what make the show proceed.

Finding the 2019 show for the first time as an 18 year old gave me confirmation and trust, that i was allowed to live a soft and slow life as a queer person. If Moomintroll and Snufkin could have that kind of beautiful queer slow burn romance, then i had a chance to as well.

They knew that a big part of their viewers are queer, and they knew how popular Snufmin was. They knew what kind of ppl they attracted, or they wouldnt have made it like that.

All the soft moments, the longing, the zoom in on eye contact, the zoom in on hand holding. They said trust us, they said be patient, and then they threw everything they had been building up out and set fire to it.

We got Queerbaited, and i truly havnt felt this feeling for a while. We got actual queer shows now, ofc they all end up being cancelled! But they exist!

This show felt like it was crafted with so much love and care, that i completely let my guard down. The entire queer Moomin community did a 5 year long trustfall, just to hit the floor the last second.

Season 4 of Moominvalley felt empty. It felt lost of all care and love. The first 3 seasons felt handcrafted by warm hands, season 4 felt machine made. Easy to digest, with no real soul.

Season 4 of Moominvalley feels souless.

I have chosen to live in a world where Comet in Moominvalley is a prequal to s4 and that s4 is a prequal to s1. The true last season was S3 and Moominvalley ended with Snufkin and Moomin walking arm in arm. Thats the only way i can Rationalize everything.

I have so much more to say, but ill stop here for now. Hope all of you are doing okay<3

[waynewifey]

aftermath — b.w

part one - ‘dear mr. wayne’

part two - ‘aftermath’

part three. - ‘aporia’

summary: you escaped that warehouse, but part of you died in there. now, your husband helps you grief your own loss while trying to not murder your relationship.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: drama & angst romance

warnings: mentions of sex and alcohol; mentions of ptsd, anxiety and it’s symptoms; hospital setting; dubious science; dubious law enforcement

word count: 2.9k

A/N: thank you for all the positive feedback on part 1! there will be a part three because this post would get too long, so let me know if you’ll like to be tagged in that. my biggest challenge writing this was trying to give bruce the start of a redemption arc, please tell me if you think it worked. comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!

gotham, USA.

the continuous beeping sound wakes you up.

your eyes are still closed, blocking the intense light over your head. your senses are taken by the familiar scent: sandalwood, cinnamon and lemongrass soap. it almost feels like you're home.

but your feet are senseless from the cold and the bedsheets faintly smell like chlorine. there's a pinching ache in your arm and the scenario is complete. oh how you hate hospitals.

"how are you feeling?" back at home, bruce had learned the difference in your breathing as you woke up, which made pretending to sleep hard enough for you to give up. you open your eyes, finding yourself in a luxurious room. if it wasn't for the IV on your left side, it could easily be mistaken for a five star hotel.

bruce sat at a large light green armchair, about four feet from your left hand. you couldn't tell by his voice, but he looked exhausted. for once, he's wearing sweatpants. the puffy face and swollen eyes show he hasn't had much sleep. you, on the other hand, feel like you've slept for a thousand years.

"i have no idea. what's up with me?" his sigh has your heart racing and the fear of being a liability falls over you. a comforting hand lays on yours, his warms fingers grounding you to remember the last time you were awake. it felt like a nightmare and you desperately hoped it was. instead, the pain comes in flashes, the image of your husband being shot and the feeling of hitting ice cold water do too. it's all just so horrible you wish it wasn't real.

"they told me you were going to be fine, but i don't know." bruce feels as if a burden has come off his chest finally seeing you move. the last couple of days have been a torture of expectation and blame for him. "the doctor had you in an induced coma. you had a concussion on the river. your stomach was stitched up. he said..." he stops for a moment, this is obviously way too hard for him to go through again. bruce hasn't left the room ever since he was discharged. everyday, for two weeks, he kept overthinking the night before and the day during. if he had stayed up and talked about your relationship, you wouldn't be in that bed. if he looked for you in the morning, if he noticed your absence at work, if he hadn't put his phone on silent mode... there were a million of things that he could've done different so the most important person in his world wouldn't have gone through all of that. "he said the ptsd would worsen your recovery. this morning the nurses told me you were better, so i have to believe them. that's my only hope."

you need a moment to take in the words, finally deciding that you didn't want to discuss your health. there were way better people to pay attention to that in the building and it would only make you anxious. you can't help but stare at his eyes, your mind bringing up the image of your husband choking the man that kept you hostage.

"you almost killed him." the tone is of disapproval, bruce couldn't be any more confused. he frowns. bile arises from his stomach leaving a acid taste to his mouth.

"i would've, of course i would. y/n, you had no idea what i would do for you. i would fight the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe. that's why i do what i do. the batman, the politics, it's all for you. if i can make this world 1% better for you, for our children, to live on, it's worth it." his gulp is loud, adam's apple going up and down, showing how dry his throat was. the following words have his voice shaking, almost disappearing. "but fate keeps telling me that i'm not enough. no matter what i do, you keep getting hurt and i just-" bruce stares the floor. that's something he always did when saying harsh things, avoiding eye contact and not letting tears slip away. however, this time it doesn't work at all. he can hear his heart tearing up with every syllable, the physical pain striking his chest. he wants to beg you to forgive him, but there is a noble thing to do. his words are cut off by the creaking of the door and the doctor's footsteps. he's smiling, like this isn't hell. bruce shrinks into the couch, making himself ignorable.

"so... i have good news!" the blonde says, clipboard in hand. "we need to run some other tests and an x-ray, but you seem to be healing pretty well. we'll hold you in for a couple of days just to make sure there aren't any complications with your body and then you can go home. how are you feeling so far?"

you're surprised by the sudden change in the conversation and your brain needs a moment to think about something helpful. you do a body scan trying to identify any pain, but overall you feel good.

"hungry. like, starving." the doctor smiles, saying he'll get you a meal as soon as possible. he warns you that you may not be able to eat much just yet, something about your stomach shrinking. you nod, already feeling irritated by the recovery process. then he leaves and there's a loud silence until you get back on the previous topic.

"you just what?" you expect bruce to sit correctly again, but he doesn't. he looks so small in the shadows, so comfortable. you really don't want to talk about that anymore, but curiosity takes over. he doesn't respond immediately, so your heart pounds over the anxiety of hearing bad news. suddenly you feel so tired, you want him to take over all the decisions like he usually does. today, though, he seems open to suggestions, like his own ideas weren't suitable. how could you know someone so well but still have no idea what's on his mind?

"i think maybe you shouldn't be associated with me. any part of me." the world stops with your breathing. bruce wishes he could take it back. going over this conversation in his head made it seem easier to say out loud. you've been married for three years. you knew his ambitions for even longer. you chose this life and he has no right to take that from you. still, the ring on your finger weighs you down.

— DENIAL

you've learned to appreciate the winter winds. at the top of the wayne tower there were barely any, but tonight they caress your face with the gift of numbness. breathing in is both refreshing and painful. the scratched teacup warms your fingers, a small memoir from your childhood home, from times that won't ever come back. you used to be down there, frightened by dark alleys and gunshots. now you're on top of the world and nothing, not even that psychopath, can take that from you. you did relearn discomfort. ache. cold. it all made you appreciate life even more. in fact, the month that followed your hospital discharge was pure bliss. something about renewal, about rebirth.

bruce watched you from the living room, the wrinkled glass distorting your silhouette in the balcony. that was a good representation of how he currently saw you, slightly blurred and shaken. his cup would usually hold whiskey, neat, but it holds coffee instead. you keep saying you're fine and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. then he would hold you and you would be actually fine. so now he's staying awake through the night, sleeping three or four hours during the day while alfred takes care of you. of course they don't let you know, because you've denied every explicit help. as you get ready to sleep, bruce gets ready to stay in bed through the night, alone with his thoughts. part of him was scared to sleep. he was sleeping when you were taken, there's no way he would let that happen again.

it has been almost a year since he stopped patrolling the city. the news cover murders and robberies every day. alfred makes sure to come up with something for both bruce and you to do at those hours. he's taken a pause in promoting his candidacy, he couldn't handle the public eye for now. still, the marketing team insists that your kidnapping was good media, even though he never officially spoke on it. they publish notes about being away, about taking care of family. he can't see how that could be good in any way.

you open the glass doors, flashing your husband a sweet smile. you're in a red silk robe and your hair is still perfectly done. perfectionism was one of the side effects, as one may call it, of the trauma. you visited a psychiatrist about a month ago, since bruce insisted on it, and he marked all of the habits that made you happy as unhealthy. you never told bruce what was said in that appointment in hopes that he'll get over it. him treating you like a porcelain doll made you nauseous.

"ready for bed?" you ask, standing behind the couch and hugging his shoulders. you breathe in his scent, remembering the day you met. you were an executive in an overseas wayne enterprises headquarters that had just gotten transferred to gotham. they offered you six figures to take the second in command position, so you obviously got to know the first in command. in the beginning, you honestly thought he was an entitled brat that didn't work at all. overtime, you realised how much he cared about the company and how much he was pining over you. you gave him an opening and he asked you out. six months into the relationship, he told you about batman. he knew, somehow, that you would be forever.

he sets in bed while you're touching up in the bathroom. the night had to be perfect. you've hadn't made love ever since the fight and ovulation week had gotten you a little crazy. you check yourself in the mirror, thanking the hormones making you sexy. you crawl into his side, slower than needed, hair falling over the shoulder. "hi" you whisper, sitting diagonally from him and cuddling a bit. he says hi back, with a chuckle. you give him a little peck, which is all you've been doing for all of this time. he stays still, not pulling back but also not doing anything either. you try to take it as a good sign. your lips then reach his jawline and neck, leaving wet kisses all over his skin. your hands touch his shirt and go underneath it, tracing your fingers along his defined abdomen. a hand holds your arm, pushing you away. your smile fades and you frown your face to him.

"touch me, bruce" you not so much ask, it's more like a plead. he sighs, channelling all his will to stick with his decision. he puts a string of your hair behind your ear and you think he's going to properly kiss you.

"i don't think we should do this. you're not well enough yet." he doesn't sound so certain, but it hits you like a hard brick wall. this is harder for him than he lets it show, he's a man after all. even so, he can't see you like that for the moment. he sees you scattered and feels like it's his responsibility to assemble you again.

"i'm perfectly fine." you state like a grumpy proud child who's just lost a soccer tournament. he sees right through it.

"you're not, you're in denial." that simple word makes your mood swing: denial. it's the same thing the stupid psychiatrist told you. you can even hear his smoker's voice echoing in the office. it isn't true. you got over it, that's all. maybe some people take more time to do so, but you did just like that. you had a life to get back to.

you get off the bed and pull your robe tight again. "i'm sleeping in the guest room. good night." he doesn't follow and lets you be. in all honesty, he didn't know if he would have the strength to turn you down a second time.

bruce tries to fight the tiredness. even with caffeine running high in his blood system, he falls asleep for a while. the guest room is far enough that he doesn't hear the muffled sobbing. he wakes up not so long after with screaming. his heart races as he runs down the stairs, following the sound of your voice. his mind starts thinking the worst, but he finds you only having nightmares. he crawls in bed with you, without being kicked off. he lets you lay on his chest, one arm over your shoulder. his body warms yours up and you finally stop spasming. it doesn't take too long for both to fall asleep.

— ANGER

the penthouse is quiet. the winter is almost at it's end, so the pre-spring rays lighten the living room bringing warmness to your solitude. you sit uncomfortably, unknown to this feeling of absence. you don't feel him in the tower.

bruce said there was a non deniable meeting with his press team, because eventually he would have to go back to promoting his election, which would take place in the fall. you acted unbothered. yet, he's barely been gone for an hour and you can already feel the anxiety crippling. you only left the apartment for doctors appointment, still too scared to walk on the streets. and he was always there, too, holding your hand. so this is different.

alfred is downstairs upgrading the batman suit with a new technology he created. he invited you, but the darkness of the cave was definitely unrequited. that's how you end up lounging, in silence, staring at window. finally, you decide to try to watch something. you shouldn't really do that, because something could trigger a panic attack. but you're fine, you really are. enough with this nonsense.

shuffling through the channels, nothing gets your attention until there's a juridical show on. the judge is talking to the prosecutor, apparently, announcing the next witness to testify. the camera angle changes to the courtroom and expectant eyes turn to the wooden door. it opens slowly to reveal a knight in dark armour. you hold your breath. the jury buzzes and the room gets loud. heavy steps make his cape swing behind him, as he makes his way to the stand.

bruce had to make a tough decision. while you and him had been cleared from the trial, you with the psychiatrist report on PTSD and him with the marriage, the lawyers mentioned that the batman's testimony could be decisive for the accused to be found guilty by the jury. the public respected him. either they loved or feared him. so, even though he's never made such a public appearance, less even speaking, he had to go to that trial. he owed it to you. but you could never know. he didn't want to spark your interest in the case, you shouldn't have to go through it again. he lays his hand on the constitution and swears on it.

it doesn't feel real until you hear the judge.

"members of the jury, i present to you the batman."

it feels like a dagger has gone through your chest. there's a mix of feelings that have you almost throwing up. you feel like screaming and crying and blowing the fucking world up. how could he do that to you? that was your case, your life. you stand up only to find your legs trembling. you want to run there and testify. you want to tell the world the horrors you've been through and show them, including your husband, that you had overcome it. he was calling you weak right in you face and you couldn't bear the feeling of being chained up again. you're stuck in this hell of a tower like some futile damsel.

you stomp your way to the elevator, your mind set on leaving the building. but your heart stops you in your tracks pounding and almost vomiting itself out; you feel your toes numb and your legs can't stop shaking. the baritone voice still sounds in the apartment. you run to it and scream at the TV. you throw a pillow on it. that doesn't cool you down. your body is in motion while all you can see is red. you knock the coffee table down, shattering the glass and scattering like ashes the books that were on it on the floor. the noise still doesn't muffle his voice and you can't find the fucking remote control. you stumble across the room, throwing lamps and vases around. everything is falling down, in every sense. you grab a candle and let out a scream when you hit the TV with it, the screen going black and the noise finally ceasing.

alfred finds the room trashed, with you kneeling on the broken glass. there's blood on the floor. your body trembles with every sob. he cautiously steps towards you. you feel out of breath, tears burning your eyes. he holds you like a mother does.

"i'm sorry- i'm so sorry," he shakes his head, saying it doesn't matter. you wanna say it does, but there's simply nothing leaving your mouth apart from "i'm so sorry"

part three - aporia

[wosoragebaiter69]

but i didn't did pour the whiskey

barça femeni x reader

overview: they said getting over addiction wasn't easy, what about when no one knows? what about when relapse happens after a whole year?

A/N: my requests are sitting... but I can't get to them and im really sorry, ive been so busy atm and dont got much modivation for em'

TW: alcohol addiction, self-hatred, relapse, course language, actual detail instead of me brushing over it

!! viewer discretion is advised, i suggest only mature audiences read this !!

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

In all honesty, you'd seen the signs. You'd known the inevitable was coming. The feelings of urge that you'd felt a year ago when trying to stop. You had stopped though, so you ignored it. Then it became more real. To the blank stares at the crates in the stores, rather than the hatred you harboured before after finally being ‘better’.

To walking and judging if you should buy it or not.

To blinking tears out of your eyes, wondering why you'd think that in the first place.

Because why would you, you were better now. Right? That's what you'd told yourself anyways.

It kept amplifying over the course of a week. Until you couldn't take it, until everything you'd worked so hard for for the past year came crashing down. All those memories of countless nights pacing, crying, yelling over a stupid fucking substance fade away.

Guilt. That's all there is. Guilt.

Guilt for betraying your past self who had cried for hours, who felt like she was going psycho over not having a single drink.

But, you can't find it in yourself to stop drinking it. It's just one beer, how harmful could it be? Said by the words of a true fucking alcoholic.

So, you do the only thing you can think of and cry. Cry until your face is numb, your throat burning with every breath, cry until your lungs can't take in any oxygen anymore.

Cry until you feel like you've felt something.

Then when you did stop crying what did you do? The only option you thought you had. Drink more.

- - - - -

You knew you looked like shit, you felt like it too. Your face puffy from the numerous breakdowns the night before, your eyes red from the tears that had an endless flow, dark rings under your eyes from the restless 3 hour sleep you'd got.

Also not to mention the headache you'd acquired. Knowing that only last year if you'd drunk this much, you'd only start to feel something. That's not something to be proud of.

You try your hardest to make yourself look even the slightest bit presentable, getting rid of the puffy face with a shower and taking paracetamol to take away the ache in your skull.

This would do enough to convince them you were fine, it's not like you were the loudest or most obnoxious person on the team. Preferring to observe everything with a smile.

What you didn't consider? Your captains. You're only 22 so even if you're techincally an adult, they're still over 7 years older than you.

So you walk into the lockeroom for training, silently making your way to your cubby as usual. Until, you feel a tug on your sleeve. Alexia is standing there, worry etched into her features.

"You ok? It looks like you've barely slept." Her voice is low and quiet, something you were eternally grateful for.

"Yeah, just a rough night. Thanks capi." You don't lie, but you don't tell the full truth either. She can sense this but doesn't say anymore, allowing you to go back to getting ready.

You take the time to rethink of the previous night, the regret you'd felt immediately after taking the first sip. But, the feeling of being unable to stop.

No matter how much you'd told yourself it was nothing, you know this isn't the end.

You push the thoughts away, clearing your mind of any thoughts before walking out onto the field ready for training.

- - - - -

It was the same people you saw watching you; Alexia, Marta and Mapi. It wasn't every second but enough to showcase they knew something was wrong but just didn't know what.

You had joined in the summer from your old club in Italy. No one knew of the past you'd had with alcohol. It's not like you made an effort to tell them either, they respected your choices not to drink when going out and you didn't need to bring up topics that were from before even moving to Barcelona.

Maybe if they knew, you'd have someone to confide it.

Somehow you'd managed to hide it from your old team as well, but considering the close relationships that Barcelona had with each other you doubted it would be shrugged off as easily.

When training was finally over, you were quick to slip away. As the thoughts and need of what caused you in this melancholic state start to reappear in your mind.

Not now, why after so long did you have to collapse now? When the peak of your career could potentially be around the corner.

You want to survive like a normal person, you want to be able to do things without relying on a fucked up liquid. Why did it have to be you?

And why?

Why is the only thing you can think of to soothe these thoughts, alcohol?

- - - - -

You stare blankly at the open carton, hesitation as you ponder if you should give in or not. Should you drink it? Part of your mind says yes, part of you yearns for it. The rational side says no, and to stop before it's too late.

But wasn't it already?

So you give in. The burning down your throat a painfully familar comfortality.

In a depressing way it makes you more aware of your surroundings, the beer bottles scattered in the room. Liquid all over the floor and on your things. It bothers you, but you can't bring yourself to clean it.

So you sulk, going over past memories. You'd never considered yourself a sad drunk, always being happier and finding a way to goof about while drinking. Then, very rarely toward the end of recovery getting angry. Never sad though.

Times change, people change. You thought you'd changed, but that kind of addiction? It never seemed to leave. Waiting until you're vulnerable to attack. Like an incurable disease.

Before you really comprehend it, the whole box of beers you'd bought yesterday are empty and strown across the floor.

You reach a point of feeling nothing, a numbing feeling brought by guilt, the alcohol making everything seem hazy. Your phone is ringing, but you can't bring yourself to answer. You can't bring yourself to care.

- - - - -

Knocking at your door brings you out of the limboed state you're in. You figure they'll leave soon, and the knocking stops after a minute. Until the door opens revealing the three who had been watching you in the morning.

Alexia is the first to you, the others take in the state of your apartment and walk around elsewhere.

"Hey." It's all she says, but enough for tears to fall from your eyes. You can't bare to look at her face, so you keep your eyes glued to the floor.

"Come on, look at me." She uses her hands to guide your chin so you're looking straight at her.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." She pauses, "Let's sober you up first." You don't argue, and follow her orders. Exhausted, you pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow.

- - - - -

Waking up was easier than you'd thought it would be, your head not pounding as much as in the morning. It made sense though considering you'd drank less than the night before. There were pills on the side table with a glass of water which you take easily.

The sun is setting so you must have slept for a couple of hours by this point. When you walk into the living room you notice all the rubbish gone, the floors are clean and there's no reminisince of beer anywhere. Alexia, Marta and Mapi are talking quietly amongst themselves and look up once they realise you're awake.

"Come, sit." Mapi pats next to her. You nod silently walking over.

"Would you mind explaining to us what happened? I know you’ve said before don't drink, so this is very new. If you don't want to talk that's also fine but I don't want to see you hurt." Alexia says, she doesn't pry but she does make her point known.

"Ok, but please can you do no talking while I explain? I'm not sure how much I can take if I don't explain it all in one." You're not sure why you opened up so easily, maybe because you desperately craved for someone. Anyone.

"Last year, I was an alcoholic and I can't tell you really when it started. It was to take all the weight and pressure off my shoulders originally, but it turned worse. I just kept drinking regularly and when I tried to settledown, I realised I couldn't. So I didn't stop. It worked for me."

"Then as the season moved on I realised I did desperately need to do something about it but I was just so scared of what people would say to me. How would they react?"

“So instead of getting proper help I did it myself.”

"I got rid of all traces, didn't go out as much. It was horrible. I thought I was going crazy. I wasn't ok at all. I'd obviously relapsed a couple times when trying by myself to recover but it gave me more determination. I'd say it took like 3 months before I truly felt like I was clean."

"Then, I'd had the oppurtunity to play here and it's like everything went away. I should've known better." You sigh.

"Known what? Did you know you were going to relapse again?" Marta asks carefully.

"I saw the signs but ignored them, when I did give in... all I felt was regret, I still do. I think that's why I drank the rest if I'm going to be honest." You look away, not daring to look at any of them.

A pair of arms engulf you, large hands pushing your head to the persons chest.

"Listen to me, we can help you. You won't ever have to do this alone, not while I'm here ok? I don't know much about this, but I'll try. We all will." You start sobbing into her chest, clinging your fists tightly into her shirt. A way to thank them without words.

Because the belief they had in you made you feel like you could do it. Even in these drowning times.

—————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed fic, this may not be accurate to everyone but this is my experience with battling addiction to alcohol and i write it because i too relapsed after a year recently

this was more for also for awareness and just know that you aren’t alone in anything, if you feel you need someone to talk to i’m always here :)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not saying please/thank you?

So this is an ongoing argument with my roommate. I (22nb) am autistic, and T (55f) has ADHD.

Now to get this out of the way, i do say thank you. I was always taught to wait a moment after receiving something, take a bite or appreciate what you were given for a breath, before thanking someone so that you could add something more to it. My roommate and I both agree that i do say thank you the vast majority of the time, but the problem for her is that i do not say it fast enough.

T often gives me a "tHaNk yOu" while the item in question is still being passed. This seems ridiculous to me as i haven't even been fully given it yet.

In addition, i have the dishes as my household chore, and i do them daily, despite almost never making any dishes myself. I do this to both support T and her diet, as well as contribute to the household that i live in.

T thanks me near daily for doing the dishes. This always seems weird and unnecessary to me, as it is my responsibility. I have told her this. I dont expect to be thanked for doing my own laundry, after all. In return, T gets upset that i dont notice and thank her for taking out the garbage/recycling/compost, to which she is the main contributor to and is under her responsibilities.

As for please: i do say this much more rarely. I think it feels overly preformative and fake, and i typical choose more "would you mind closing my door for me" "if its not too much of a hassle, could you toss me my waterbottle" "id appreciate it if you could preheat the oven while you're in the kitchen"

I think that these work perfectly fine as a replacement. Please just has always felt wrong and fake. No one else in my entire life has ever commented on this before.

Thirdly; T has been upset that i don't respond to her apologies appropriately. After she is snappy at me (due to her emotional disregulation from ADHD) (last time it was because i asked if she was using the oven instead of asking if i could use the oven myself, for reference) there is a 50/50 shot that she will come and apologize.

I dont often accept apologies. Apologies are for the person saying them to get it off their chests, or to make you put it behind them. Usually, ill say something like "it was just one of those days, y'know?" Or "its alright, water under the bridge"

Because i was always taught that apologies came with a promise of change, and T can't (or won't) change how she re-directs her frustration at unrelated things to things ive done "wrong". When she told me the correct response was "i forgive you", i decided to not engage instead of telling her directly that i didnt forgive her (because i am certain she will do it again). (I usually dont engage with her when shes irritated: she never notices and just wants to say her piece so im not being rude here)

She said that i was being disrespectful, "like always", and when i suggested it may be more difficult for me due to my autism, she said that we made plenty of accommodations for me (which i think is false), and that i just needed to do this for her comfort. That please/thank yous were something she needed to feel appreciated and i should be making more accommodations for her.

To me, i feel like she is getting really caught up on semantics and is being a little controlling about it. But maybe its just a boundary? I dont know if i could commit to changing my language for her though, i feel like i will just start forgetting after awhile because it feels so fake. Shouldn't it be better for me to say things genuinely than just for her approval?

AITA for not saying please/thank you?

[ariseur]

OKAY SO I SAW YOURE ALSO A LATINA AND , WANT REQUESTS; IVE ALWAYS HAD THIS THOUGT, what if Satoru and Suguru were BOTH dating a foreign reader (Mexican if you wanna be specific) idk I just though it’d be kinda funny when they remember the reader has an entirely culture than them!!

((btw that “BOTH” was about a poly relationship with satosugu, which you obv don’t have to do!!))

FOREIGN LOVE - SATORU GOJO

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - decided to change up my formatting a little bit, just experimenting lol. but!! unfortunately i don’t write for suguru ( yet, i’m still trying to get a better sense on his personality n his character since i’m almost done w/ s2!! ) and i dont write polyamorous pieces!! so i just decided to write about gojo for now 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - intended lowercase, mentions of japanese culture that i’m not educated on so lmk if there’s more common stuff i could mention instead, lmk if i missed any warnings!!

✧˖° SATORU GOJO dating a foreign reader would actually be a pretty cool dynamic to experience — anon i like your way of thinking about how gojo ( and geto ) would sometimes forget how their foreigner significant reader has an entirely culture from them because .. they probably would lol

✧˖° if you’re not that well versed in japanese / asian culture and traditions, i feel like he would just like casually bring up certain things or events that go on in japan like obon or setsubun or maybe you’re unsure of certain common etiquette, so he’s confused when you’re like “???”

✧˖° but!! if you’re interested in learning stuff about japanese culture then he’ll be like “you’ve come to the right person” and i can just imagine GOJO making that one tiktok emoji face— like the [proud] one lol. he’d love to tell you all about it though, he thinks you wanting to learn more about his culture is just another sign that you love him, and he wants to know more about you too!! he’s willing to sit with you for hours on end and ask you questions about what you do for your culture.

✧˖° if you’re new to japan and you’re unfamiliar with certain places around town and stuff, i think one of the best things that GOJO likes to show you is the food around town. i dunno about you guys but i literally love takoyaki and yakitori and that’s not even relevant to the headcanon i just felt like sharing that for no reason it’s so good to me. but of courseeee!! we can’t forget about kikufuku, a small daifuku with mochi and we all know how SATORU recommends the edamame or cream flavor, so lord forbid you don’t like it — he’ll be so dramatic 😭

✧˖° howeveerrrrr—!! since anon mentioned about shedding light on reader possibly being a latina or mexican, let’s talk about a hispanic!reader with GOJO, yeah??

✧˖° i love the idea that he can’t handle spice, and i dont even know where it came from and i feel like he probably could handle somewhat spicy foods? but i just love envisioning GOJO freaking out over like a tiny lil poblano chilé or something like that. i’m sure he’d love the food but i feel like he’d be so confused watching you make foods from your culture. like, tres leches??? why are you just soaking cake in milk???

✧˖° i’d say SATORU is a somewhat good dancer .. when it comes to certain songs 😭.. he’s not the worst when there’s some spanish music in the back but he will def try to improvise and will make both of you trip. i think he’d like dancing norteñas but i can just see him doing all these unnecessary dips in the middle of the song because he’s just seen it somewhere. he might even give you a kiss when he dips down a little lower, usually towards the end of the song. and when you call him out on it, he’s just like, “what? i can’t give my baby a kiss?” like the bastard he is ugh i need him rn

✧˖° don’t even get me started on him speaking spanish. he swears he’s suddenly this suavé latin genius once he surprises you with a few words. i think he’d be like that with any language though honestly except i’m pretty sure he knows a little bit of english since someone said he traveled abroad?? but with certain languages, he’ll definitely butcher them a lot lol. in the end, you praise him for trying and that alone results in him giving himself a pat on the back.

✧˖° i dunno about you guys in hispanic households, but growing up the way to shush someone or like a baby or something would be like “ya”. it could also be used in like “ya callaté” which is like “shut up already,”? i’m not sure if there’s a direct translation in english but i think like the closest thing to it in english is kinda like, “enough”, in that context?? so im just imagining you saying it to a dog barking or a baby crying and he’s just confused all “wdym ya ya, are they a horse??”

✧˖° i think you and him would really bond when learning about each other’s cultures, though. it’s a learning experience for the both of you and you unlock a new topic in which you guys can both learn about. you can count on your tour guide, SATORU GOJO—!

𐙚 join my taglist here !!

𐙚 requests are open — june thirteenth, 2024

[phagodyke]

completed the game btw 👍

laptop crashed on me trying to open elden ring the final straw 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[fortunapre]

𝐀/𝐍𖧞 this is the last part. I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW: “dont stop! your writing is god-tier!“ i heard you all chant in unison.

Dont fret little ones. 🖐️🙂‍↕️ Ive surely got some more ideas in the bank...If you haven’t, go check out my prompts list <3

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𖧞 16+ (entire fic rating), swearing, mention of alcohol, mention of intoxication, a little bit o’ mischief…not really but you’ll see ;)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𖧞 oscar piastri x fem!reader

Go back?? (Scene vi) Click Here!

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 𖧞 Scene VII 𖧞 (𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞)

be honest im 𝒻ℯℯ𝒹𝒿𝓃𝑔 yall

December 17th, the same night

We both walked into the room in silence.

The only noise was the shutting of the door and a barely audible “Santa Baby,” playing from the other room. Instead of looking at Oscar, I surveyed the room.

Unlike the front room, there were no Christmas decorations. It was a plain bedroom, a guy’s bedroom by the looks of it, with only a small desk and a bed. I tried to distract my gaze from the man in front of me, but the tension was growing too thick.

I reluctantly looked away from the uninteresting room and focused on him. He was no longer facing away from me- he was leaning back on the desk, hands gripping the desk on each side of his body. No matter how relaxed he seemed to be trying to look, I could see how rigid he really was.

He was looking at me, no smirk present. With how serious he looked, I thought to myself about how I kind of miss his ever-lasting grin.

He let out a deep sigh and moved to fold his arms, his body still leaning back against the desk.

I watched as he slightly turned one of his folded arms, looking at his wrist. I assume he was looking for his watch, but forgotten he’d given it up to the festive host earlier. He sighed again and looked away.

I only kept looking his way. I was blatantly staring, but what else was I supposed to do. I was hoping to get him to look at me.

My staring worked, as he probably felt my burning gaze. He looked up, brown eyes meeting mine.

“I’m guessing there’s still about six minutes left,” He finally broke the silence, and told me.

“Yeah…” I had no idea what to say. Did he want to get out of here? Or rather, did he want to get out of a locked room with only me? “..probably.” I added.

“This is stupid.” I heard Oscar mutter. I'm not sure if I meant to hear him, but I felt kind of sad at his words.

“7 minutes in heaven is always stupid. I’ve always tried to stay out of party games.” I told him, trying to save myself from feeling embarrassed. While we were sitting in a circle, and as I waited turn after turn, I dreaded when I’d be chosen. I dreaded being chosen, because I was secretly hoping the person to choose me was Oscar. And now that I’d gotten my wish, he didn’t even want me here.

He saw my reaction and acted quickly. “No, that’s not…” his words trailed off. I waited for him to finish his sentence, slightly confused. “Not the game,” he added. “That's not what I’m talking about.”

“What then? Being stuck with me?” I didn't mean to say what I was worrying about outloud, but I continued anyway “Trust me mate, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do.” I lied through my teeth. I definitely sounded defensive.

He scoffed and I saw him poke his tongue in his cheek. “Y’know what?” Oscar spoke and he sounded deeper and sharper. Apparently what I said riled him up. “Maybe If you’d let me speak, I’d tell you. Don’t start saying shit just to start something.”

I’d almost flinched at his tone and curse.

“Ok.” His anger only fueled mine. I unfolded my arms and put a hand on my hip, trying to look as unfazed as possible by his presence. “Enlighten me.”

“First of all, why would you think I wouldn’t want to be near you? Did me kissing you not once, but twice, not mean anything?” His voice was raising, but he didn’t look angry so to speak. I scrunched my eyebrows at his omission. “Don’t answer that. I don’t care, actually.” He suddenly added, catching me off guard.

It was my turn to scoff. God, and he accuses me of being an instigator. “Asshole! Of Course it meant something, it takes two to go as far as we did, you know.”

The argument held confession-notes in between the lines, but any affection or truth was smothered by our matching anger. Neither of us were understanding the words that came out of our mouths, and instead becoming more riled up by the yelling. Which, we were definitely yelling now.

“Don’t lie and try to make me feel better, Y/N. You were probably just filled with adrenaline.”

“Do. Not. Tell me how I feel. I know what I'm doing, I knew what I was doing just fine both times.”

“Really?” He had a monotone accusing tone, trying to find a lie. He seemed to be unimpressed with anything I said now.

“Yeah. Really.”

I hadn’t realized how fast my heart was beating now. I tried to slow my breathing and be the level-headed one because his head was definitely not thinking straight. Apparently he had nothing else to say, but neither had I. This argument was stupid and we both knew it.

We both stayed silent and slunk against something behind us, not daring to look at eachother.

Then, I heard him speak again and prepared an eye-roll.

“Now, what I was saying was…” Oscar started still not looking at me. “Was that I meant that I’m what's stupid.”

“That’s an understate-”

“Don’t.” He stopped me. “Don’t try to be snarky, Y/n. Let me speak.”

I just looked at him then raised my eyebrows and moved my head in a ‘Well, speak!’ motion.

Despite my attitude, he stayed calmer than before and took a deep breath. “Do you remember Christmas, two years ago?”

That same question.

What was so important two years ago? “You already asked me this…”

“Just. Yes or No? Do you remember?” He seemed suddenly on edge.

“I mean, I remember it, yeah, but are you talking about, like, a specific thing that happened? I don’t understand…” I spoke, trying to convey my confusion. He looked stern, and intent on hearing everything I had to say.

“Yeah,” he clarified. “I, um, I’m talking specifically about that night. Christmas night.”

My mind whirled as I tried desperately to pick out an obvious memory, but nothing was coming to mind.

That Christmas was the year my brother and sister didn’t come.

That Christmas was the year I was gifted the worst sweater by my mom.

That Christmas I stayed up practically all night.

I remember staying up all night, because the next morning, my mom forced me to go into town with her. I remember vividly how sluggish I’d been the whole time. But… that’s all….

Suddenly, I remembered something.

The thought of staying up triggered another thought: that night, I remember sitting on the sofa, watching a movie, when someone scared the shit out of me.

I had been peacefully wrapped in my blanket at around 4 am, when someone barreled through the door.

Oscar.

It was Oscar that scared me. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, especially Oscar since I didn’t even know he’d been out.

Two years ago, we didn’t ever talk to each other except to tease, so it’s no surprise he didn’t bother to tell me he was going somewhere.

When he came in, I was confused. My confusion grew as I’d taken in his appearance. His eyes were barely open, and his focus was darting all around the room. When his eyes met mine, his eyes opened and his body suddenly stopped. Full stop. He planted his feet and stared at me. His jaw was slack and his cheeks, from what I could tell in the little light from the kitchen behind me, was pinker than normal.

He was drunk. Oscar had come home drunk that night and had seen me when he walked through the door.

At the time, I remember laughing at him and turning back to my movie to ignore him.

But that’s not where the altercation ended– drunk Oscar had said something.

I remembered Oscar stopping, looking at me, and then he showed the broadest smile (one I'm sure would never have been directed towards me, had he been sober). Then, he sauntered closer to the sofa, out of the doorway and in front of my view of the television.

“Oscar…” I groaned. “Just go to bed, mate, your wasted.”

He stayed in place, restricting my vision and looking at me. Actually, he was staring at me. Actually he was staring all over me.

That night, I was wearing my short PJ shorts, and a Star Wars t-shirt. Nothing special, but it definitely caught drunk-oscar’s attention.

“Hello?” I tried again, but he was unrelenting.

“What?” was all he answered with.

“Get out of my way, that’s what.” I snapped, just trying to watch Princess Diaries.

He looked behind him to the screen and a grimace filled his whole face. Usually Oscar’s expressions consisted of mad and smirky-jerk, but when he was drunk, tons of emotions flashed on and off his face.

“That’s shit.” He must have been referring to the movie. His voice was groggy and deep, probably tired after what seemed like an exciting night.

“Whatever.” I gave up with the television and just wanted him to leave. “Just go to your room before someone else catches a visual of your post-party debauchery.”

“Dirty girllll,” he said slowly, borderline slurring. “Stop thinking about my de-whatever.” I quirked an eyebrow and shook my head at him. He seemed so incredibly out of it. I should totally hold this over him. Where’s my phone? I should totally film this.

I gave up looking for my phone, and looked back at oscar. Still standing there.

“Wait, what? I wasn’t at a party…” Oscar spoke, referring to my earlier statement of his “post-party” inebriation- an incredibly late reaction.

“Okayyyy…?” I said slowly. “Then what’s,” I motioned to all of him, “this?”

“Nothing.” He said rather quickly. Then his tempo changed as he looked down, almost shy. “None of your business, alright?” I nodded, but he kept speaking. “Actually, this has nothing to do with,” He copied my motion with a serious amount of sass and gestured to all of me, “…you. Ok?”

“Yeah, alright.” I was over this. He’s obviously completely drunk.

“I'm serious! Don’t accuse me of getting drunk because of my feelings, ok? Don’t even think about it. Why would I care about you… let along get drunk over fucking childhood crush on you? That’s ridiculous, and entirely possible— That’s not the point!”

Wait.

Back to the present- I now know why Oscar’s worried about that night.

Oscar must not have been that plastered if he now remembers what he said. Or rather, what he confessed. At the time I ignored his rambling and walked him to his room, away from me.

Now, I’m not sure all of that was just drunk-rambling.

Oscar was watching me figure everything out, watching me realize what he was so afraid of.

“I remember you rambling about having a… but there’s no way.” I said out loud to him, voicing my spinning thoughts. He just kept looking at me. “Right?” My voice got softer as I took in what Oscar’s silence might mean. “But you hated me.”

“Y/N.” He spoke like I was stupid.

“What?” I fired back, getting defensive.

“I never hated you, think about it.” He was trying to make me realize it, but all of my memories of him are arguments– save the past week.

“I am thinking about it. You always picked on me and fought with me. You said the meanest things and I always fought back. We’ve never gotten along…” I tried to list.

Then, all of a sudden, a smirk formed on his face.

That same smirk I’d claimed I’ve been missing, now felt weirdly… intimate?

“Oscar, you…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Yeahh” Is all he replied with, smirking and telling me all I need to know with one look. He started to move closer to me.

Step by step, he slowly walked towards me like he was testing my reaction. I just let him come closer and closer until we were face to face. Pine and wintergreen filled my senses. Our eye contact never waivered.

“Y/n, I don’t mean to bring this all up now.” he gestured to the door. His smirk lessened in intensity as he tried to apologize.

I suddenly remembered we’re in the middle of a 7 minutes in heaven game. And that it’s definitely been longer than 7 minutes.

(My sister was the culprit of our unexpected extra time, having told them to leave us alone.)

I focused back on the man in front of me. The man who had practically just confessed to me that he had a childhood crush on me. A childhood crush that he claims has never left.

“This is stupid.” I copied his words form before.

“Oh?” Oscar almost recoiled, hurt flashing on his face.

“No! Not… Not you! Not this.” I reacted and grabbed at the front of his shirt, not wanting him to misunderstand me and turn away.

Both of our breathing hitched at the contact, and the proximity it brought.

“Ok, then what do you mean?” He said, softly. His eyes were trained on my lips. I opened my mouth and closed it again, not knowing how to say this.

“I mean I’m stupid. Im stupid for not realizing it sooner. Im stupid for being so harsh and rude and-” I started apoligizing as my emotions began rising.

“I was rude too.”

“Yeah, but you…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. His confession was still new. However, the more I thought about him— Oscar Piastri, my rival and hater in every way—my mind started to clarify.

“Yeah, I…” He couldn’t say it either it seems.

We both stood close, not fully saying what we meant out loud yet still fully understanding what each other meant and wanted.

Seconds passed by of us relishing the new emotions, my grip never leaving him. We practically shared air at how close we were and our eyes locked. I started to feel what could only be described as butterflies.

It washed over me and the idea hit me like a train: I wanted him too. Maybe more than he wants me.

At this revelation I tugged him to my level and brought my lips to his ear.

I didn’t want to waste anymore time arguing or lying to ourselves.

I took a short breath and then whispered, “let’s get out of here.”

Then in almost one motion he smiled, a devilishly handsome smirk, then he grabbed my hand and took us away from the party.

Away from prying eyes.

hehehehhehehe 🫵💋

OH? WHATS THAT?!?! YOU GOT HERE FIRST BECAUSE, gasp!, you’re on my taglist?!?!?

any other people i missed or new people that want to be tagged, COMMENT or MESSAGE ME!

𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𖧞

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