#and they wondered how many more they would lose

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Thank you for all this WORK. I so appreciate the time you are putting into this resource.

Was wondering if there are some good ways to keep information from the character without being knocked out, amnesia, or a drunk black out that would be cause for them to not remember. Thank you!

Writing Notes: Memory Lapses

Healthy people can experience memory loss or memory distortion at any age. Some of these memory flaws become more pronounced with age, but — unless they are extreme and persistent — they are not considered indicators of Alzheimer's or other memory-impairing illnesses.

Some Normal Memory Problems

Transience. This is the tendency to forget facts or events over time. You are most likely to forget information soon after you learn it. However, memory has a use-it-or-lose-it quality: memories that are called up and used frequently are least likely to be forgotten. Although transience might seem like a sign of memory weakness, brain scientists regard it as beneficial because it clears the brain of unused memories, making way for newer, more useful ones.

Absentmindedness. This type of forgetting occurs when you don't pay close enough attention. You forget where you just put your pen because you didn't focus on where you put it in the first place. You were thinking of something else (or, perhaps, nothing in particular), so your brain didn't encode the information securely. Absentmindedness also involves forgetting to do something at a prescribed time, like taking your medicine or keeping an appointment.

Blocking. Someone asks you a question and the answer is right on the tip of your tongue — you know that you know it, but you just can't think of it. This is perhaps the most familiar example of blocking, the temporary inability to retrieve a memory. In many cases, the barrier is a memory similar to the one you're looking for, and you retrieve the wrong one. This competing memory is so intrusive that you can't think of the memory you want. Scientists think that memory blocks become more common with age and that they account for the trouble older people have remembering other people's names. Research shows that people are able to retrieve about half of the blocked memories within just a minute.

Misattribution. This occurs when you remember something accurately in part, but misattribute some detail, like the time, place, or person involved. Another kind of misattribution occurs when you believe a thought you had was totally original when, in fact, it came from something you had previously read or heard but had forgotten about. This sort of misattribution explains cases of unintentional plagiarism, in which a writer passes off some information as original when he or she actually read it somewhere before. As with several other kinds of memory lapses, misattribution becomes more common with age. As you age, you absorb fewer details when acquiring information because you have somewhat more trouble concentrating and processing information rapidly. And as you grow older, your memories grow older as well. And old memories are especially prone to misattribution.

Suggestibility. This is the vulnerability of your memory to the power of suggestion — information that you learn about an occurrence after the fact becomes incorporated into your memory of the incident, even though you did not experience these details. Although little is known about exactly how suggestibility works in the brain, the suggestion fools your mind into thinking it's a real memory.

Bias. Even the sharpest memory isn't a flawless snapshot of reality. In your memory, your perceptions are filtered by your personal biases — experiences, beliefs, prior knowledge, and even your mood at the moment. Your biases affect your perceptions and experiences when they're being encoded in your brain. And when you retrieve a memory, your mood and other biases at that moment can influence what information you actually recall. Although everyone's attitudes and preconceived notions bias their memories, there's been virtually no research on the brain mechanisms behind memory bias or whether it becomes more common with age.

Persistence. Most people worry about forgetting things. But in some cases people are tormented by memories they wish they could forget, but can't. The persistence of memories of traumatic events, negative feelings, and ongoing fears is another form of memory problem. Some of these memories accurately reflect horrifying events, while others may be negative distortions of reality. People suffering from depression are particularly prone to having persistent, disturbing memories. So are people with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). PTSD can result from many different forms of traumatic exposure — for example, sexual abuse or wartime experiences. Flashbacks, which are persistent, intrusive memories of the traumatic event, are a core feature of PTSD.

An occasional memory slip is normal, says Johns Hopkins geriatrician Sevil Yasar, M.D., Ph.D. But as you age, these “senior moments” may leave you wondering whether you’re heading for dementia—the loss of memory and thinking skills severe enough to interfere with independent living, often due to Alzheimer’s disease or other brain changes.

“Stress, an extra-busy day, poor sleep and even some medications can interfere with making and recalling memories,” Yasar says. “And we all have moments when a name or the title of a movie is right on the tip of the tongue, but those events are different from the kinds of lapses that may be warning signs for dementia.”

Most of the time, memory lapses are nothing to worry about.

“But any time you’re concerned about yourself or a loved one, it’s worth talking with your doctor,” Yasar says.

So how can you tell the difference between simple slipups and something that may be more serious? The important thing to look for is persistent change in our ability to think and function. Below are 5 clues. 

Are you losing things and just can’t figure out where they went? We all misplace things. And yes, on a busy morning we may even put the cornflakes box in the refrigerator if we’re moving too fast. It’s normal to put things in the wrong spot, and it’s normal to catch the mistake or retrace our steps to find the keys sitting on top of today’s stack of mail.What’s not: Being unable to figure out where lost belongings might be, putting things in more and more unusual places and starting to suspect—without evidence—that people have stolen your missing possessions.

Do you get lost in familiar places? Losing the way while driving, walking or taking public transportation to a new place is normal. So is getting so absorbed in your journey (or your thoughts) that you have to reorient yourself to figure out exactly where you are.What’s not: “Driving or walking for a long time without realizing you’re lost or completely forgetting where you are, and not asking for help in these situation could  be a sign of dementia,” Yasar says. You may also forget how you got to a new location, become easily disoriented in familiar places, or lose the ability to read a map or follow landmarks and traffic signs.

Do you lose track of the time, date or season? Once in a while, we all forget what day of the week it is, but we usually remember or figure it out quickly. More troubling: not knowing what day it is, the time of day or how much time is passing—and not realizing that you’ve forgotten. Additionally, unable to remember appointments or even missing them despite putting it on the calendar or having received numerous reminders by family. These may be signs of dementia, according to Johns Hopkins experts.

Are your conversations getting stalled? We all have to search for the right word from time to time. “And it’s normal for this to happen more often as we get older,” Yasar notes. What’s not: extreme difficulty remembering words, calling things and people by the wrong words or names and withdrawing socially as a result. Having more and more trouble following, joining or continuing a conversation (you may stop talking mid-thought and not know what you were going to say next) or even following plot on TV may also be a red flag for dementia risk.

Do memory slipups interfere with daily life? Forgetting the name of your neighbor’s dog is normal. What’s not: No longer being able to do everyday activities the way you used to, and you now need help of your family or professionals, “If you used to balance your bank accounts to the penny and now you’ve lost track of where your household money is going, bills have not been paid and as a result electricity or phone service has been turned off. Similarly, you feel lost and overwhelmed making, or even worse, being unable to make, Thanksgiving pumpkin pie with your favorite longtime recipe, it may be a sign of early brain changes,” Yasar says.

And one of the biggest concerns, from a doctor’s point of view, is the issue with medication management, such as forgetting to take medications or taking them incorrectly.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some possible causes your character may not remember things (apart from those you mentioned). Choose which would be most appropriate to incorporate in your story. Hope this helps and thank you for such kind words!

[dolliels]

HANAHAKI..

synopsis: hanahaki + the second years. you don't like them back.

WHAT IS HANAKI? a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. This problem can also be solved if the victim goes through surgery, but since the disease is caused by a grief of such a strong emotion, love, the patient will lose all ability to feel.

riddle 

riddle grew up alone, mostly. every time he seeked for comfort, for company, it’ll fall apart. it would always go wrong, he’d lose everything the moment he got too greedy.

riddle still struggled to properly face trey and chen’ya after all those years, even if he got better with it. it was too embarrassing, too lame. he felt like a loser. a sore loser who deserved nothing. oh sevens, did the world have something against him?

things were looking on the bright side. he was out of his mother’s furious grip, he has more freedom than he ever did (even if he goes by strict rules) he could make as many friends as he liked and hang out with them as much as he liked.

he still preferred being private, however. he liked his friends, you included. they were more understanding of him than any other member of the school. although he’d twist and turn in bed when he thinks back to his overblot (how embarrassing of me! he thinks) he would still much prefer being with those who accepted him a long time ago.

you weren’t too big on sweets. you liked them, sure, but the more you ate the more your mouth felt itchy. knowing riddle’s sweet tooth, sometimes, you’d secretly pass your unfinished slice of cake or unfinished strawberry tart to him. riddle rosehearts, the strict, germaphobic, lowkey a dictator, heartily took it,

if it were anyone else, he’d just stare at them in disbelief. but the thought that you bit into the very sweet treat, it threw him over the moon. he’d read of indirect kisses before, in cheesy romances he read in his spare time. he doesn’t know if this is actually an indirect kiss, but don’t make fun of him, he’s still learning!

riddle has a lot of firsts, like the first time he tried that strawberry tart, or the first time he learned that playing with friends is fun, or the first time he ever overblotted, or the first time he fell in love.

you were his first love.

he turns red when alone, imagining your face and your laughter and your joy. your silly mishaps that he has no heart on lecturing you over, or your inability to understand some of the assignments. he finds all aspects of you cute— wonderful? he doesn’t know how to describe what he’d feeling, but it gets him all giddy.

he’s frustrated often, the way he started blushing violently when you ever get in close contact with him and how you always, always seem to be unaware of this. oblivion would send you to hell.

he’s been feeling quite nauseous lately, probably because of his failed attempts of clumsily sending you signals about how he feels.

it was to a point where he threw up… petals? petals…??????? oh my god, he’s throwing up petals!!!

riddle distinctively remembers reading about this during his first year, a disease of romance, love, and failure.

his heart sinks. maybe that’s why you failed to notice.

things never go his way, riddle thinks. he’s always feeling alone. every time he gets greedy for comfort, he loses it at the highest point of his life. when things are getting better, it takes turns for the worse. that’s why riddle likes to follow the rules.

by his third year, riddle’s back to being his strict, controlling prefect. except something’s different, he’s not as angry anymore. 

that’s to be expected, though. ever since the surgery, riddle has never been the same.

ruggie

He has grown up to treasure everything he has. 

ruggie isn’t as financially stable as others, he wasn’t lucky to be fortunate enough to get what he wants, whenever he wants.

So when he does get what he wants, ruggie makes sure to keep it close to his heart like it means everything. Most of the time, it does mean everything, all of it. his life.

he hardly gives away his things (please don’t mention the kids at the slums, he’ll turn awfully shy.) and takes anything he’s given.

when you would give him the tiniest amount of food, he’d gladly snatch it from your hands and walk away snickering.

easy target for food is what you are, he thinks.

most of the time, when people give things away to him, ruggie just assumes that it’s unwanted. he’d take leftovers no problem. it’s only when you’d constantly hand things to him, always have something to give him and remember he exists, does he think you’re odd. I mean, he’s fine with taking the forgotten leftovers, but what could he possibly do when you don’t forget him?

watch ruggie clumsily fiddle around with his fingers, scanning the area for your presence. he has learned to not worry, as you always manage to come find him everyday without fail. he feels noticed.

he starts to crave for that attention.

ruggie treasures things. he keeps them close in his heart very carefully. but what would he do when you steal his heart instead? where can he hide all the things that mean everything to him?

somehow, he doesn’t mind. he wants you to see him more, ruggie bucchi, his true self.

the crave he has for your is for some odd reason, unmet. you’re oblivious to his shy antics, the way his ears turn flat when you walk away or the way he holds onto the hem of your shirt just for a second longer.

notice him.

notice him.

notice him.

when you see the way he unconsciously covers his mouth whenever you meet eyes with him, or the how he’s constantly going to the infirmary, will you finally notice him?

there’s a trail of your favourite flowers.

ruggie bucchi keeps all the special things close to his heart. when you take his heart away, how else can he express his pathetic, unrequited love? by coughing up a disease ruggie would’ve called embarrassing and shameful if it weren’t for you.

azul

azul is sensitive. he notices things way too easily. the tiny, insignificant details of someone and how they react, he will notice. that is how azul finds out how a person truly feels about him.

even if azul and that other person were considered close friends, azul would still notice the tiny little details that make him unlikable to them even just a little. it’s been a habit for as long as he could remember.

everyone always had something they disliked about azul. it was fine with him, that was normal. everyone dislikes everyone about anything. it’s not like it deters long lasting relationships. azul shrugs it off, it doesn’t bother him. it’s comforting, even, knowing what people think about him.

so it was obvious to say it was near-horrid when no matter how much time azul spent time with you, he could not spot anything off about you, anything that said you didn’t like him.

as much as azul notices how people act around him, he also notices other people. he knows all their flaws, their good sides and their bad sides. even if he couldn’t read your thoughts about him at all, he still expected to see something out of the norm about you, a bad trait, something that made you human.

to him, you had none.

were you god? how come you were near-perfect in his eyes? during cold months, the tips of your nose and ears would flush pink like a cute plum while azul turned embarrassingly pink. he thought it was ugly and didn’t make him look good, but there nothing to prove that you thought the same. he couldn’t tell anything about you at all.

you were like a confusing puzzle piece to him. unsolvable, unreadable, flawless. perfect.

it took a while to adjust, but his unwavering respect for you turned into wavering thumps of his heart and dodging eyes. maybe you weren’t perfect after all, maybe azul just likes you.

the terrible urge to impress you grew stronger everyday. 

he wanted to look as perfect as you did to him.

how can he possibly ever look perfect,

when he is sick?

hovered over the toilet, azul clutched his chest as petals slid out of his mouth as if it were apart of him. well, it is apart of him, I guess. his love for you is one with him after all.

azul is sensitive, but he tries not to show it. not only is he good at catching the little things, he’s quick to anger or get hurt. the best he can do is hide them. so he hides the feeble emotion he calls love and comes back after winter break just as the same. he’s dutiful and runs his business like he normally would, and still hangs out with you time to time. he just feels more… empty? you’ll never know why he seems to be this way, no one really knows about the surgery.

jade

jade leech is often avoided by many people.

people find him creepy, odd, off-putting, unnerving… and more comments he hasn’t bothered to find out about.

those names don’t really bother him. in fact, he enjoys it. he loves watching people squirm in fear over something he says out of the blue. It’s exciting to watch a person try to decide if they should run away or not, unaware of jade’s capabilities.

he’s used to people avoiding him. for the sacrifice of entertainment, he isn’t all that popular. jade leech is used to it.

you were different, however.

your simply didn’t find him creepy. anything he said that was weird, you’d laugh it off and say something weird back too. jade’s height, creepy smile or the way he talks, it doesn’t seem to throw you off at all. you’d smile and wave at him when no one else dared to, you’d easily graze your skin against his and pay no mind, you’d approach him without second thoughts. It was like mutual trust, something jade has learned is difficult to find when you’re him.

so you meant everything. you were just as new and exciting, a pleasant surprise from the predicted fear everyone else has. you made him feel… seen for the first time in his life. 

soon, everything you did was like a horror movie (weird analogy, I know. but it’s jade leech we’re talking about!) the intensity of when the killer would approach, or when the character is alone and vulnerable, his heart pumps like wildfire as he watches expectantly to see what the new surprise would be. his favourite feeling was when the victim would die or escape, the tightening in his chest releasing as he excitedly watches what would happen next. that was you. you were his favourite feeling.

he loves the way your eyebrows moved in expression when you talked, he loved when you sneezed and looked around expecting a “bless you,” he loved the odd ways you attempted to hold your mug comfortably and most of all, he loved you. he love you very, very much.

jade leech is used to all kinds of things. he’s used to people avoiding him, he’s used to his brother’s tendencies to groan and complain at everything, he’s used to azul’s creepy capitalist tactics.

what he’s not used to, however, are the bubbly, excited emotions he feels when he gets to experiment with his beloved mushrooms, the way you took over his thoughts like the plague and most of all, he wasn’t used to the flowers spilling out of his mouth. 

this was odd, per say. jade knew of the hanahaki disease. he knew of all the downsides of it. but he never worried, because, how could he, jade fucking leech, ever love someone so pathetically?

he hoped that you’d love him back too. he oh-so deeply wished he was just as new and exciting to you as you were to him.

the blood meticulously dripped amongst his fingers, flower petals sticking to it alike. he laughed at himself. he’s always imagined that if he’d ever possibly get this disease, it’ll be flowers related to the water like lotuses or water lilies. he never thought he’d start coughing up such pathetic land-dweller flowers.

it was fine, though. jade would get used to it, eventually.

because after all, he’d rather die than stop loving you.

floyd

floyd is scary, he knows that. He’s quick to anger, moody, tall and intimidating. He’s doesn’t really care, though. He just does what he wants. He doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal.

he likes fun surprises, something new, exciting. he thinks you meet that of that.

you’re not as scared as others, you respond to his pranks and squeezes positively, you respect his mood swings and he even caught a few glimpses of you defending floyd. he thinks you’re so cute!

it’s not odd to talk about the leech twins without mentioning you. floyd follows you every and jade just goes wherever floyd goes. it’s like a little trio.

others when he gets upset, return his squeezes (hesitatingly…he hugs tight!) and find him rather silly than scary.

jade thinks you were almost made for floyd, considering how well you two get along. although jade has been with floyd the longest, he can only tolerate to a certain. for you, however, it seemed to go endless. you were so much more patient with floyd then with anyone else. although floyd made be subtle about it, he’s grateful.

floyd adored you. you were everything he loves, for he loves you.

loved you.

loved? (love)

floyd started to ignore you. you’d tilt your head in confusion— you were upset. why would your best friend suddenly act like you weren’t even there? he wouldn’t even get mad, he’d just turn the other way.

it was only so long ago when floyd was hunched over in his bed from a terrible stomach ache. jade was horribly surprised to see bloody petals staining floyd’s bedsheets.

floyd never bothered with these things. for the first time in a while, he read a book out of his own volition to figure out what it was, only to rip the pages apart when he read what hanahaki was.

childishly declaring that he loves you no more, floyd would stay away from you like the plague, whilst secretly filling his system with flowers that will kill him for ever loving someone so deeply.

floyd is gonna disappear from your life completely eventually. you’d wonder what caused your best friend to suddenly hate you, while his family mourns over the loss of a loved one, as floyd refused treatment, because he foolishly decided to love you one day. 

kalim

kalim grew up very sheltered in a loving family. The only concept of love he has is of his parents, who hold hands tightly and gush over the cutest things. they often warn him of the danger of love, and that he must be careful about the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

kalim, although clumsy and stupid, always kept that in the back of his mind.

you were like a breath of fresh morning air.  growing up knowing very little, you were the newest, most brightest experience there was. kalim was sure you were the one. he was completely sure, why else would his heart thump so fast?

he’d hug you and hold your hand, give you gifts you could never even imagine having and tell you how much he appreciates you.

kalim hasn’t gone around to mouthing the word “love” yet, but he knows that you know anyway.

so when he started coughing up petals, jamil was quick to inform the al-asim family. kalim was confused, he didn’t understand. this love wasn’t unrequited, there was no way!

it doesn’t matter, though. he’s gonna continue loving you, you and him are gonna be happy together someday, eventually. maybe not in this universe.

kalim woke up in a hospital bed, his heart heavy.

he loves you. but he forgot what that feels like. he loved you. somehow.

jamil

jamil is smart. he’s smart and knows his worth. this is why he hates being in second, he knows he deserves so much more.

why does he always to have do worse than kalim? why does he always have to be second place? jamil is smart enough to know his potential. he also knows how much he’s holding himself back for the sake of hierarchy. he hates it.

it’s not a surprise when jamil finds himself unconsciously doing slower than certain people to appear normal. his main purpose in life is to not stand out, hide in the shadows, survive. like predator hiding from prey because if found, it will be caught by the silly humans.

you’re completely different from him, though. you’re as normal as a person can be, yet you aim to reach for the stars and hold it close to your heart. jamil understands your desire to outshine people all to well. he’s been in that spot, is in that spot. he pities you.

so he sticks around. he’d casually follow you, hang out whenever he can, help you with assignments so you can be the best version of yourself. he’s voraciously living through you. if you achieve your goals, that’s enough for him. at least he was apart of something meaningful for once.

it catches him off guard, however, when you encourage him to reach for his goals as well. it’s like you’re holding his hand and pull him amongst the galaxies to gently place your hands onto the hot touch of a star.

he knows that’s near impossible to reach, from the moment he was born, his life was chosen for him. but he thinks he could reach the small goals.

jamil secretly pats himself on the back for grazing against your skin for a second longer than usual, treat you to a nice meal or help you ace a test. he hopes that at least one of the goals he could reach in this lifetime is to be with you.

jamil is smart enough to know that he’s not just sick. not when blood trails down his chin to his arms, as flowers spill from inside him.

he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could have something for himself for once. not hold himself back, grasp tightly to what he wants the most.

jamil is smart enough to know his own worth. he’s definitely not worth enough to you.

silver

silver likes the little things. he enjoys the way birds chirp in the early morning, or the way the dandelion petals flow against the wind as he watches you scrunch your nose and blow on it. and then both of you guys start sneezing. ah, summer pollen, a reminiscent part of nature.

he loves the way you hold your pencil, the way you like to tie your shoelaces, how you cut your sandwiches. these small, unnoticeable traits catch his eye quite often, and he’s developed a fondness for them.

he’s a man of little words. silver doesn’t talk much, so when he thinks of these things, he never says it out loud. maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice how he felt about you.

he was so calming, and so gentle, it tugged at your heart when he’d smile softly and tilt his head ever so slightly so the cute birds could carefully place a beautiful flower crown on his head. he’s so princely, you think. a perfect knight in shining armour, loved even by the nature.

often you’d tell him how lucky any girl would be to be loved by him. your comments made silver hopeful.

silver is a man of little words, he likes to spend his days watching rather than showing. when he does finally speak his true thoughts, he genuine, honest. his words roll off his tongue so easily and smoothly, perfect fit for such a princely man (as you call him)

so when silver does finally open his mouth to speak, talk, say of what he felt in that very moment, he throat closed up. maybe he was nervous, maybe he was lame, because to both of your guy’s horror, blood spilled.

he didn’t really know what was happening. only when he felt the urge to throw up in the infirmary did he realize what was going on.

he was familiar with hanahaki. his father always told him stories of how fae would love so strongly to humans who hated them, that those who were unlucky would be induced to vomiting flowers.

when silver thought he was fae, just like his sweet old father, silver swore to himself that he’ll never love a human. now that he knows that he is, in fact, human, silver starts to doubt himself. maybe is, in a way, a fae.

it’s alright, though. silver is man of few words. he likes to watch rather than show. he doesn’t mind what could happen to him, he won’t tell anyone. he’ll just watch you from afar, filling his heart with melancholy love until he reaches his end. which might be soon, for he loves you so strongly.

this is also from my old acc, this was a req but i rlly liked wriitng it yayy (I literally named this doc 'what the flip' and i opened it by an off chance, i totally forgot about it lol)

[fragrantdream]

prince xavier

The rustling leaves of the weeping willow shelter you from the sun and the gentle afternoon breeze. You sit beneath the magnificent tree with your legs crossed and head leant back against its’ trunk. The sun starts to waver in the sky, its light turning from bright white to a much more comfortable orange. You can’t help but fall into the clutches of a light sleep while you wait, but after a while the tranquillity of the gardens is interrupted by a restless presence. Opening your eyes, you look up to see Xavier standing before you, the loose white fabric of his undershirt billowing around him like a halo, and his skin tanned rather strongly in of the dwindling days of summer. He smiles down at the disorientated look on your face, admiring the way you look up at him in awe. 

“Have you been well?” Xavier asks with a smirk, sitting beside you comfortably.  

“I should stand to greet you.” You aren’t sure who is watching you, so you do just that. You bow, trying to greet the future king with the proper protocol.  He chuckles at the sight of you standing before him with your clothes stained by the dampness of the ground – a leaf hangs from your shoulder. He stands and returns the bow mockingly, before reaching out and picking up the leaf between his fingers to let it flutter to the ground. 

“Nobody is watching.” Xavier silently hopes that he’s right, and that his minders hadn’t followed him into the woods. He grips your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, which forces you to smile despite your anxiety. You know you aren’t permitted to see him, and you let the fear of being caught flicker over you for a second before the feeling of his head nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck makes you forget. You both stand still for a moment, taking the moment as it is – beautiful, and fleeting. Birds and bugs begin to chirp louder as the sun continues to set, the air growing colder. Naturally, and as you have many times before, you lay side by side for a while to silently watch the stars as they appear. It’s easy to lose track of time chatting about the upcoming winter, and anything else that comes to mind. You eventually light the oil lantern he’d hidden in the trunk of the willow months ago when you’d first met in this meadow. It is the only way you’re able to stay out just a bit longer past sunset. 

You look over at Xavier, now illuminated by the warm glow of the fire with an arm resting behind his head, eyes trained on you as you lay back down beside him. His hands grasp yours tightly, and he pulls them to his lips where he kissed them, before letting them rest on his chest over his heart. Even after all this time, he was yet to kiss you, so although foreign the action was not undesired. Propping your head up on your elbow you look down at him, and he’s surprised you’ve let go of his hand and wonders if he’s done something wrong. You start to think about how it wasn’t long before he’d no longer be your prince, but rather, a king. He’d be betrothed, and running the country. You wonder how much he might change when that happens though you quickly dismiss your doubts because it’s Xavier, and he has a habit of handling anything life throws at him. You find yourself lost in the sentimentality of the moment and lean down to press a kiss to his lips, certain that his father the king would be disgusted at the thought of his son being touched by a commoner. He winds his hand behind your head and sits up, and you quickly realise he wants to kiss you too – you both slowly test the waters, and relish in the feeling after so many years of imagining it. The feeling is completely different from those daydreams, yet it is a thousand times better at the same time. 

Xavier opens his mouth first with a loud exhale that tickles your face and sends shivers down your spine and neck. You both straighten up and readjust for a moment while he moves his open mouth against your lips, waiting for you respond, and you cave in an instant and open your mouth to fully taste him. The remnants of wine and fruit from his lunch linger in his mouth, and the tastes are richer than anything you’d ever had access too before. He whines slightly at the feeling becoming enthralled with your mouth and softly guiding you to lean back against the now dewy grass. You follow his lead, stretching your legs beneath him as he straddles you, lips never leaving your own. This doesn’t last long however before he pulls away, asking if you’re okay as he lays himself atop your body and guides your legs to wrap around his waist. You nod in an instant, hastily pulling him back to you. This pulls forth more prominent groans from his throat as his lips venture to press open-mouthed kissed to your jawline. You open your eyes for a second to watch him move to your neck, before immediately scrunching them back closed when you feel him sucking on your skin. Unsure of what to do with your hands you reach down to grip at his hair, though he grabs hold of your wrist before you get the chance to tug.  

“I must be presentable for dinner with my father tonight.” Xavier reminds you, and you let out a breathless laugh at the thought. He tightly clasps both of your hands together above your head between one of his own, fingers cold yet strong whilst holding you in place. He kisses your upper arm, letting out a sigh and opening his eyes to look at you below him, already completely wrecked. There is something wild and unfamiliar in his expression, even with only half of his face visible in the light of the nearby oil lamp as it grows dimmer over time. He reluctantly lets go of your wrists to feel your waist and chest, imparting only the softest of touches before moving your arms over his shoulders. You run your hands over his upper back and grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling it up slightly to feel the buttery skin of his lower back. 

You are interrupted by the sound of Xavier's name being shouted from the woods, and quickly reach for the lamp to extinguish it, breaths heavy and eyes wide. He shushes you while standing and offering you a hand to help you up, before guiding you behind the great tree. He adjusts himself and calls out a haphazard “I’m coming now”, before reluctantly walking towards the clearing. He makes it over to his minders but turns back, telling them he’d forgotten something after falling asleep. They dismiss him with a sigh, arms folded and posture trying but failing to intimidate him. He rushes back to the tree and grabs hold of the brass handle of the oil lamp. When he is certain he is out of view, he hooks it between your trembling fingers to leave it with you. 

“Please find your way home safely in the dark.” You press another kiss to his lips as a thank you, hoping that he’d hurry back to his minders before he gets in trouble, though as the crown prince you suppose he is always in trouble. He smiles in return. 

“I love you.” Xavier turns and begins walking back before you can respond, hoping you managed to hear him over the sound of the crickets. 

[mrsarnold]

girlll i swear every time i see your blog its getting prettier and prettier 😭😭😭 nowww how about some percy x oblivious!reader? where he tries EVERYTHING to hint at his feelings but reader still doesn’t see it 😭

can you see me im waiting for the right time. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

syn : in the req !!

pair : percy jackson x fem!reader

warn : fluffy fluff, reader is oblivious, kisses, reader is a lil slow but its ok!!

note : im glad you love my theme !! sparkle divider creds : @bernardsbendystraws

percy jackson was losing his mind. He’d tried everything to show that he loved you. from sharing his favorite snacks, giving you his hoodie, and letting you win at capture the flag—but you still didn’t get it. Every time you called him your “best friend,” he felt like he was sinking faster than he ever could in the ocean. No matter how many hints he dropped, you stayed blissfully oblivious, leaving Percy wondering what it would take for you to finally see how much he liked you.

"percy look at this seashell", you said excitedly reaching down to grab the loner seashell. percy was so out of it he didn't even realize the seashell. he was thinking about how to tell you how he feels without being awkward.

when you realized his dozeout look you quickly stood up and walked over to him. "Perc? you ok", you asked gently trying to get his attention. he snapped out of his daze and nodded awkwardly, "yea just thinking i guess."

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?” you asked, your voice laced with genuine curiosity. Percy hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit you’d seen a hundred times before but never quite understood. “Uh, just… stuff,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged pink as he avoided your gaze. You frowned but decided not to push him.

Instead, you held out the seashell, changing the subject. “Isn’t this one cool? It’s got this swirl pattern, kinda like a mini hurricane.” Percy took it from you, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, it’s… cool,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual energy. He wasn’t looking at the seashell; he was looking at you, wondering if you’d ever realize that the “stuff” on his mind was you—always you.

"well imma go get more", you said smiling brightly before walking away, leaving him to think. then a idea popped into that brain of his.

Percy walked around the whole beach to collect some seashells, pretty omes to your liking.

once he got all the ones he needed he started to spell out something on the sand with the shells. once he finished it spelt out, 'i heart you.'

Percy stepped back to admire his work, his heart pounding as he glanced at the seashell message shimmering in the sunlight. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was the best he could think of—simple and honest, just like how he felt about you. He stood there for a moment, debating whether to call you over or let you find it on your own.

When he finally spotted you walking back, a handful of new seashells in your arms, he felt a rush of nerves. “Hey, uh, can you come here for a sec?” he called out, trying to sound casual.

You glanced up, smiling as you made your way toward him. “What’s up, Perc? Did you find something cool?”

He motioned toward the ground, unable to form any words. You followed his gaze and froze when you saw the shells arranged neatly in the sand. “I heart you?” you read aloud, looking back at him in confusion. “You heart me? Like… as a friend, or—?”

Percy’s face burned, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Not as a friend,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled when he said that making him a little less nervous. "But y'know it's ok if you don't like me back i just thought i should something-", before he could finish you leaned up and connected thebtwo of you's lips.

"i like you too percy", you mumbled out between kisses making him smile against the kiss.

[sheyfu]

pairing: itoshi sae x gn!reader

synopsis: sae turns into a child boohoo (ik impossible but why not idk)

cw: none except my dookie writing skills HAHAHAHHAA IM RUSTY AND IM JS MUCH BETTER W WRITING CHAT AUS’!/&;@/& tbh it kinda lost its plot in the middle but wtv; not proofread HAHAHAAH; swearing

notes: this thought occurred in the midst of me fighting against nature and its worst call (TMI IM SO SORRY); will fix format later cuh i did this on my phone HAHAHAHA; ITS FLUFFY I PROMISE

wc: 781 (LONGER THAN EXPECTED WHAT)

you love itoshi sae. you really really do.

you love him to the point where youre willing to fight anyone and anything just for him even, if it would cost you something.

you wonder how youve come to love him; was it because of his “nonchalant demeanor” that had ticked every time bomb you had in you, or was it his athleticism—yes, i know, boring—that quite literally fixed you in more ways than one? orrr was it actually his cleanliness and (n)-step skin-care routine that would probably do the opposite of what it actually does with how uncooperative your skin is?

youre actually not sure.

but what youre sure about right now, at this time and day, the itoshi sae you fell in love with was definitely not present.

“saeeee” you call out to your husband from the kitchen.

silence.

“saeeeee” calling out much louder, youre met with even more silence that quote on quote, ticked every time bomb you had in you.

weird.

“underlashes?” entering the dining room with your already-running-thin-patience, youre met with a sight to definitely behold.

“what do you want?” your husband—question mark x2–now reduced to a child perfectly mirroring his own features grumbles out from his seat at the table—a half-eaten slice of blueberry cheesecake slathered all over his mouth and some even getting onto his shirt.

what the fuck actually???

“ummmm” you question aloud as confusion paints itself on your face—your eyebrows visibly furrowing as you try to process what’s currently going on.

“you—“

“dont say anything. i dont wanna hear anything.” another grumble—albeit high pitched—comes from the seated man (the boy? child? manchild?) with his signature scowl planted on his face.

you watch with curious eyes as the manchild (youll call him that for now) reaches up for the fork on the “high-ass table counter thingy” (his words, not yours) attempting to feed himself.

heading off to the kitchen to grab your phone (for blackmail), you hear a sudden clank and a scoff from mr. manchild.

turning your head once more to face him, youre once again met with a sight youd definitely want to keep in your book of memories forever.

there, right in front of you, was the itoshi sae, mr. idgafer, the prodigal son™, the man of many names, and the love you call your life, staring down at the fork with the meanest mog and scowliest (is that even a word) face the world has ever seen.

thats right. the itoshi sae that was present right now, at this time and day, was not only the itoshi sae you fell in love with, but also the itoshi sae youd want to spoil, protect, and care for with your whole life.

“sae…” you try to stop yourself from laughing. you really do.

but in that moment, all hell seems to break lose, and that hell was your own laughing hell.

“pfft— hahahaha!” as you laugh your ass off, you miss the subtle shift in the red head’s expression.

your itoshi sae may not have been currently present, but you definitely there; the person he fell madly and deeply in love with. you and your bright smile that could light up all the emo shit inside him, your laughs that seemed to make everything much better, and your—

oh right. his blueberry cake.

ignoring your laughs, the little boy proceeds to hop off the high chair to retrieve the fallen fork.

hes almost tempted to leave you to your laughing trip, but hes too tired to clean up himself. so he does what every child would do; call a trusted adult.

and that trusted adult nearest to him was you, who so happened to be his spouse.

shaking his head, underlashes jr. starts telling you off and bossing you around like the chill guy he is.

“oi stop laughing and help me with this mess.” he slurs out, unable to resist the grin on his face.

“bu- but.. its your- your mess!” taking a deep breath, you wipe away the tears that had appeared on your eyes. “that was a nice laugh! right, underlashes jr?” grinning from ear to ear, you ruffle his hair, receiving multiple complaints and “punches” to your arms.

“yeah yeah whatever. now get off me and help me!” the mini guy successfully swats your hands off his hair, a faint blush blooming on the apples of his cheeks.

“alright, alright! right away, mister mini!” letting out a couple chuckles, you drag the little guy with you to the site of the (his) mess. “im not letting you off the hook though, little guy. you have to clean with me. ‘kay?”

“tch. whatever.”

he wouldnt have it any way though.

[heartsings77]

Hold on to Your Crown...

It’s been a while since I have heard someone say, “Hold on to your hat!” It’s an old expression that signifies preparing for whatever might lie ahead. For me, it still points to a bumpy ride ahead, during which time I might lose my hat if I’m wearing one.

Jesus said something similar in His message to the church at Philadelphia: “I am coming soon. Hold fast what you have, so that no one may seize your crown” (Revelation 3:11).

A loose rendering of this verse might be, “Hold on to your crown.”

In the context, Jesus praises the church for its “patient endurance” (Revelation 3:10) and notes that He is “coming soon” or quickly. His message commends believers for holding fast to His word amid opposition as they waited expectantly for His appearing.

As 2024 ends, many of us wonder how much longer it will be until the Lord appears to take us home to glory. I know of many saints who suffer from various afflictions as they await meeting our Savior in the air. Many of us feel the effects of aging, which makes us long all the more for fulfillment of 1 Corinthians 15:47-55, our receipt of immortal bodies that will never grow old, get sick, or wear out.

It’s likely we don’t have a whole lot longer to wait. The events of 2024 have brought us to the brink of the start of the seven-year Tribulation and, thus, to the Rapture. Don’t let the start of yet another year diminish your expectation of our “blessed hope.”

If we are to keep our eyes on the prize that awaits us, we must not allow the following detours to derail our anticipation of Jesus’ soon arrival:

Don’t Give Up Hope

The longer we wait for the Rapture, the more I understand Jesus’ words in Revelation 3:11. He knew of all the temptations we would face to stop watching for His soon return. Perhaps that’s why He reminded the church at Philadelphia, and us, not to give up hope in these last days.

What is the crown that Jesus tells us to hold on to in Revelation 3:11? I believe it’s the one that Paul wrote about in 2 Timothy 4:8:  “Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing.”

Keep looking up, and by all means, hold on to your hat, or in this case, your crown. The Lord will reward your continued faithfulness in eagerly watching for His appearing. Not only are we in the season of Jesus’ appearing, but we live during its end. If there ever was a time to watch for the Rapture, this is it! (by Jonathan Brentner/Harbinger's Daily)

[akutasoda]

my silence is my cowardice

prompt - words left unsaid

including - boothill

warnings - gn!reader, slight fluff, angst no comfort, wc - 855

a/n: req by the lovely icarus ( @fxngtasy / @rusted-pride ) <3 -> "if the new years reqs are still open,,,, perchance,,,z, perhaps,,,,,,,,, boothill,,,,,,,? mayhaps? no pressure of course tho if theyve all filled up ^u^ he just seems like he might fit w some of the prompts"

boothill was never one for sentiments.

he wasn't even someone who was good with words, so holding a sentiment was rather out of the galaxy rangers field.

perhaps it was due to the fact that he was a galaxy ranger - they didn't exactly live the most social lifestyles. or maybe it was due to the fact that bounty hunting wasn't a job for those who liked to socialise and spend time with people.

but whatever it was, boothill was perfectly comfortable with drifting through the cosmo's on his own. when he had a goal in mind and knew how to achieve it, that was his priority. finding the scum who ruined his life was always going to be his priority until he completed it.

he never really thought that he'd have anyone else in his life that he cared about more than his late family. staying in one place was an impossible occurrence and so he never developed deeper bonds with people than a friendly face value - he knew some other galaxy rangers and were quite well acquainted with them, but that wasn't exactly the same.

and yet here you were.

boothill had stayed a bit too long on the current planet and became quite well acquainted with you, the local who had accommodated him and even helped him with finding his way around.

and even with what little actual time he had spent in your company, he'd grown very fond of your presence. so much so that it was still quite a shock to him just how much you'd grown on him.

boothill could even be attributed to still being in denial that you'd grown on him so much. but the truth was there.

and it was evident by many different factors. namely that boothill longed for presence, everytime you weren't near he found himself wondering what you could be doing or how long it would be before he saw you again.

frankly, it was quite unbecoming of him.

boothill didn't like it one bit. it wasn't like him to care this much about someone else, especially one who he hadn't known for that long and so, it scared him.

everytime he caught himself feeling any kind of positive emotion toward you, he caught himself and near forced himself to snap out of it. he couldn't afford to form attachments to people - and even if he could, he didn't know how and the constant fear of losing the ones he loved was a constant nagging in the back of his mind.

afterall, you can't lose what you can't have.

“are you sure we can't meet again or keep in contact?” you poised, staring at the cowboy as he prepared to make his departure

he let out a low chuckle and shook his head.

but he was lying, and saying it through his teeth would've made him feel worse about it. boothill could always visit you or even give you his contact but he couldn't bring himself to do either.

he desperately wanted to, but he had to hold himself back.

so he stayed silent - it seemed cold and much too distant to still be the man you'd known before. boothill feared that if he allowed himself to speak, he would not be able to depart and leave you behind. that he would start getting his feelings off his chest and establish his desired attachment to you.

but it was best for him to stay quiet. he wasn't ever good with words anyway.

he'd been close to people before to know what happens when they get ripped away from him. his entire world gone up in flames within seconds. having people to care about never ended well for him.

and it certainly wouldn't now either. he couldn't go through that again.

some may call it the coward's way out, himself included, but boothill bid his farewell with as little words as he possibly could and prepared himself to go about his life as usual, before he'd met you. but you could tell something was off and boothill could see it on your face.

it pained him, you clearly showed care and concern for him and yet here he was treating you like someone he'd hunt down. he closed his eyes and sucked in a harsh breath.

boothill left without another word or even glance in your direction.

a harsh farewell to someone he cared about deeply but couldn't face to stay around anymore.

he really was a coward.

[cherry-smokes]

I Want You So Bad

AKA the time you got tired of waiting. Based off of I Want You So Bad by Heart. Pairing: Steve Harrington x bassist!reader Word count: 1.5K Warnings: Sugar is uncharacteristically soft for a man.

Two dates. You've been on two dates with Steve and he's been perfect.

On your first one he took out to dinner. A fancy restaurant that you would never take yourself to. Steve insisted you order whatever you want, when you blushed at the price he just brushed you off.

"Steve this is...very expensive."

"You deserve expensive."

You learned a lot about Steve across the fancy table cloth. He's witty, he doesn't flinch when you bite back at a quip. Which you found undeniably attractive. Excluding Buckley, one of his closest friends is a high-schooler, Dustin, who you've heard about through Eddie. He calls him a dork, and a nuisance. The way he smiles when talking about how 'annoying' it was when Dustin and his friends would make him sneak them into the theater lets you know he loves the kid. When you ask about his parents he dodges the question. You don't press, but you can only assume he isn't close with them. You find yourself sad when he asks about you, just because you want to know so much more about him. You want to know what his favorite songs are, what side of the bed he sleeps on, how he takes his coffee, what he was scared of as a child. You want to know exactly how many moles he has and what his hair would feel like if you were to run your hands through it.

He said all the right things. Asked the prefect questions and clung to every word you said. Opened every door for you, he even let you pick what tape you wanted to listen to in the car! Then, he walked you to your door, and kissed you on the cheek. Which was sweet! At the time you assumed it meant he wasn't just looking for a hookup.

Then the second date came around. You walked around town, and went to the record store. You shared headphones in the listening booth. He listened to your favorite albums, never said an ill word about them even though you could tell he wasn't particularly enjoying Metallica. He even bought a Zeppelin tape to play in the car for you. Afterwards, he drove you home, walked you to your door with an arm around your waist, and he kissed you. On your cheek. Again.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't starting to feel frustrated. After he left, you freaked out for about an hour. It made you feel silly, and ridiculous because it’s just not something you do! You’ve never let yourself lose sleep over a guy. Then again you’ve never liked someone the way you like Steve.

He's sending every signal that he's into you, but why won't he just kiss you? Steve doesn't have the reputation of a guy who takes things slow. It’s hypocritical of you. You know better than to base his actions off of who he used to be. Yet, there’s this ridiculous part of you that likes him so much you can’t help but overthink every single move he makes, or doesn’t make. Was he not as into you as you thought? Maybe he wasn't looking for a relationship? Maybe he's just a really...attentive friend?

You plagued yourself with doubts until he called you up and asked you if you wanted to go see a movie. You said yes, obviously. How else are you supposed to figure out if he’s trying to be more than friendly with you?

So now you're standing in front of your mirror wondering if you should wear jeans or a skirt. You hate that the question of what he would like most even crosses your mind.

When he knocks at your door you almost trip over your feet as you rush to open it and you have to take a moment to get your shit together.

Your hands shake as you grab the handle and open the door.

The cold autumn air hits your face as you swing it open. It works in your favor as it cools your flushed face when you see Steve. His hair looks as perfect as always. His sweater wraps around his arms in a way that makes you feel warm inside. You feel jealous of it as you wish you could wrap yourself around them like it does. Worst of all he smiles at you, and seems so genuinely happy to see you. Friends don’t do that right?

“Hey.”

You gasp for air. “Hi!”

This is ridiculous. You sound more excited than you’d like to. Any air of mystery you wanted to keep is gone.

“Uh- let me just grab my shoes I’ll be out in a second.”

“Take your time, I’m in no rush.”

You quickly lace up your boots. The door stays open and you try not to fumble over your laces as you feel Steve’s gaze on you. When you stumble onto your feet and walk out towards him, he lays his hand on the small of your back as you lock your door.

You try to ignore the shiver that crawls up your spine but it’s impossible when you can feel his warmth pressed against you and the smell of his shampoo reaching your nose. Even the hairspray isn’t enough to turn you off, everything about him is intoxicating. Dizzying. He makes you feel so foggy it’s embarrassing.

“This is a really nice sweater.”

His hand dips to the hem, he fiddles with it as he speaks. “It’s soft.”

You turn your face him, he doesn’t move his hand.

“Thanks.”

His lips quirk up as he tugs at your sweater to guide you to the car.

You’re so fucked.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He insisted he didn't mind sharing a straw, and put his arm around your shoulder. He leaned in and whispered soft jokes and comments about the movie in your ear and you felt his arm tense up when you giggled at his words. An attentive friend doesn't do that.

A friend doesn't tell you he doesn't want you to go home yet. He doesn't play Heart in the car while he drives you both to lovers lake. He sure as hell doesn't look at you like that when you're talking.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

You give him a disbelieving look. “You’re looking at me weird.”

“I’m just looking at you. Nothing weird about it.”

You lean against the headrest facing him. You smile at him like you did when you first met him. Hoping to make him blush the way he did then. “You’re looking at me like you like me or something.”

“I do like you…or something”

His words are quiet. If you weren’t listening so intently you might have missed them as they flew under the music from the radio. His car is warm, the heat is on and you can still smell popcorn on him. He’s so close but not close enough and the way the moonlight hits his face makes you desperate to touch him.

“Then why haven’t you kissed me?”

There it is. It’s too dark to see him blush, but you see the way his shoulders tense. He looks down and cowers into himself. He’s so curious to you. He can be so sure of himself, so cocky. He’ll grab at your clothes and whisper sweet nothings to you in the dark of a theater. Yet, the moment you force him out of that shell he turns so shy.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He chuckles and you see his fingers start to fidget against his steering wheel.

“I just- I wanted to earn it I guess.”

“I think you earned it the moment you called me sweet Steve.”

He looks up at you then. His fingers tense around the steering wheel again and his gaze gets so intense you hold your breath. It must have been seconds but it feels like ages when he leans in. He hovers, and you can feel his eyelashes kissing your cheeks.

Suddenly. You feel like yourself again, and you reach your hand up to the back of his head. His hair feels just as soft as you imagined it between your fingers as you pull him in. His lips are soft against yours and you feel him gasp softly as you press against him. His hand finally leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh. It sends sparks through you as he digs his fingers softly into the flesh there. Not intrusive or invasive, almost like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

You never believed people when they said they felt fireworks when they kissed. You don’t now. Kissing Steve is tender. It feels more like a bonfire after you’ve been in the snow too long. It envelops you like a weighted blanket and you curse whatever power created you to need oxygen to survive when you have to pull away for air.

His hand travels up to cover yours behind his head. He holds it there, like he’s scared you’ll pull away.

“Have I earned another one yet?”

Friends definitely don’t ask that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: Sugar and Steve are so back. This was shorter than I wanted it to be but I’ll have my asks open for anyone who wants to send in requests or questions. I’m so thankful for everyone who shared their support for my last post! This is a project I want to continue and expand and I would love to hear from y’all:)

the images used are from Pinterest once again!

[more-than-a-princess]

Ah, he seemed to misunderstand, Sonia thought as she smiled. An honest mistake, but one she should probably explain before he met the rest of the family. They likely wouldn't find it quite as amusing as she did. "The bias against America is primarily due to the fact that your country rejected monarchy," She replied with a shake of her head. "Not necessarily safety: despite America's deep love of firearms, every able-bodied and able-minded Novosonian is trained how to operate them for military duty, so they are less fearful of Americans in that regard. Your right-wing conservatives are much more vocal than ours, though, but I imagine some of the restrictions on royalty that trickle down to the rest of the aristocracy might please people with those values anyway."

But she seemed to misunderstand as well, and while Wylan's was an easy mistake to make, hers wasn't. Sonia knew, to some degree, what his life's work entailed and that he didn't likely take holidays off for fun: he likely couldn't afford to, for the very same reason she guessed was behind her staff's own worries. Safety concerns. Sonia briefly wondered how many people were currently out for his blood, if they could identify him and track him down, and she shivered. At least she could write it off as the weather's responsibility.

"Sorry, I should have realized you would be traveling there for...erm, work," Sonia apologized. She hadn't meant to stress that particular word but it just slipped out, a casual admittance of her worries for him. About so many things: keeping him alive was only one of them. It would be a test to see who was more risky to his health: his past employers or enemies, or her own family.

Thankfully he changed the subject to something else, anything else. "Rock climbing walls? Like in The Princess Diaries?" She piped up before turning pink in embarrassment. "It is not my usual film choice but, when my floormates heard during my first year of Uni that I hadn't seen those films, they insisted that needed to be rectified. As an actual princess with a certain disdain for the Disneyfied versions, they were not too terrible." The second one in particular was resonant: a Royal Council's obsession with finding the crown princess a husband as God forbid she try to reign alone.

A topic a little too close to home, and therefore Sonia would do what she always did during times of anxiety: briefly chew at her mouth before diverting the conversation elsewhere.

"Well, if it is anything like the film then I trust you," She assured him, "But as I remember last night with some amount of clarity, watching my ass means you will have to give my thighs a respite. It may prove too taxing to keep both areas of my body in your sights at the same time."

If he was going to start with banter, she'd be sure to have the last word. At least, that was her intention by purposely reminding him of what her ass was attached to. "I am not sure that the Galeries Lafayette sells pet and pet care items," She admitted as they began to descend the stairs back into the department store proper. "Barring something from Louis Vuitton or Gucci. Does a luxury designer leash and collar have the same effect?" In short, nothing cheap.

Then again, nothing in the grand department store composed of three different buildings in one was cheap. Something Wylan would have to get used to. Something Sonia quietly hoped he never did. They re-entered the men's building and while he entrusted her to pick out something she wanted to see him in, what Sonia really wanted for him was for him to not lose himself in it all. The wealth. The pomp. The familial pressure to acclimate and perform in the manner of tradition he hadn't been indoctrinated into since the day of his birth, like the other peers he would soon be surrounded by. They'd have a leg up on him in every possible way, save two.

The ability to take a life, and the ability to keep her heart.

"You'll need a good coat, especially for the current season," She began. Perhaps best to start with outerwear and work her way in. Or under, she thought briefly as she blushed at the idea of picking out undergarments for him. Hopefully he could handle that himself. "Truth be told, I am often just given clothes to wear and do not often have the luxury to choose anything I wish. And um...I am rather more used to undressing men rather than dressing them. So this is a first for me, really: But I shall do my best. Even though I would love you even if you just wearing a paper bag, Wylan."

Something that could be interpreted as another challenge, Sonia thought as she guessed at his sizes, pulling out a deep gray wool overcoat, two blazers, three pairs of trousers and a pair of jeans, five button down shirts, and two pullover sweaters. Besides the gray, she'd mostly chosen shades of dark blue, navy, and green: they coordinated with or matched his eyes, as well as the usual colors the family wore. Accessories, shoes, sportswear, and sleepwear were whole other categories that needed their own focus and devotion.

"Perhaps try these on for the sizing and feel," She suggested once several workers arranged them all in a dressing room. "I should've asked, I suppose, if wool irritates you. I think you might appreciate it, alongside the cotton and silk blends, for this part of the world at this time of year. I cannot imagine that Las Vegas is conducive to cold winters at all.

"Too much of a security risk? With how you guys talk about America I thought that'd be a bigger deal. I think a social media guy just rented out space, you gotta have more power than him." A strange circumstance, almost jarring enough to brush past the slew of questions she'd thrown at him all the while disregarding his totally cool attempt at a flirt. "And no, I didn't climb the pyramids or go in them or any of that. It was a... different kind of trip. Don't even worry about it. Besides my point anyway." Hand flickers in the air. The whole tangent a dizzying one. But then, this was Sonia, wasn't it?

His arms cross gently with the coffee, considering the other alternatives. Considering actually climbing the Great Pyramid. Or just a pyramid. There was one in Vegas. Much less plausible of course. Zero blind spots and they had helicopters all over the damn place. Better to just see it. Alas.

"So. Failing that critical building block of upbringing. We start you on rock climbing walls. That's safe. Good for working out. I help you learn. Spend the day watching your ass while holding your rope. Practice for plenty of other things, right?" As the double entendre built up in his once-honest banter, he couldn't help but smile deeper. She seemed intent on seeing him make a fool of himself, he was intent on seeing her embrace some of the fool in herself.

Nobody else was going to do that, after all. Or not productively. Maybe one of the cousins? She seemed to take them far less seriously than he- however.

"Heheheh. This will be your turn to hold the rope, though. Taking me clothes shopping. See what all you want me to wear. Oh. Careful we don't pass a shop with pet stuff." Otherwise he will add a leash and collar to the basket. And Sonia will not survive the conversation about the 'pet' they're buying it for. One last swig of his drink before he finds somewhere to drop it, pulling Sonia by the hand with the ever present grin before descending back into the shopping area. A final glance to the tower before they dropped.

[kyseya]

How would the farm brothers react if reader was an artist or if they liked to sing and they caught them singing to themselves while they worked?

If reader enjoyed singing (feat. the dogs)

Lucas’ ears perked up. He’d picked up on a strange sound- number of sounds, if one wanted to be specific. The were muffled and he couldn’t hear them clearly but it was definitely human speech. Had someone managed to get into the farm? Why had the dogs not warned them? Godamnit, they would have to be trained again and should be prepared to lose their treat privileges.

The young man put down the hammer he was working with. Both him and Weston had agreed it would be best to reinforce the walls of the barn.

Despite there being little to no chance they’d get out or even get very far, the brothers couldn’t risk anyone getting lose.

If it was an ordinary citizen they would be easily driven away or..taken care of- if that’s what it takes. However, should it be an officer there were chances of real trouble. Before Lucas took another step in the direction of his brother, he cast the hammer a second glance. Thoughful for a moment, he picked it up again. It was sturdy in his calloused hands. It felt safe. It felt right. You can never be too careful, after all.

He quickly went to find his brother. Weston’s back was turned to him whilst he was chopping wood. He made it seem so easy; only one swing and the log fell into two distinct pieces. A small bead of sweat rolled down Weston’s forehead. One might say ‘oh, so he is human after all. See, he sweats!’ , but Lucas knew how long he’d been out there and it wasn’t until now a sign of exhaustion showed.

“Weston!” He said alarmingly. The older brother looked up from his work, a worried expression taking over his once neutral face. “I heard talking, I thinks someone’s at the farm- near the main house.”

Weston’s whole body tensed up. “Where is (Y/n)?”

Oh no. In the past he was always used to going directly to his brother if he suspected the slightest thing. It was so far drilled into his mind you could call it an instinct. He had done it so many times he didn’t think at all of the little woman they’d made part of their family. She was so fragile compared to them, how would she be able to fare on her own.

The two of them immediately rushed to where Lucas had heard the sounds(Weston also had the notion of bringing his working tool). The closer they got, the clearer the noise got. Eventually they realised it was song. Someone was singing. If they hadn’t been so focused on finding their beloved and ridding their home of the intruder, they would have stopped to consider how wonderful it sounded.

As they got near the source, both realised the voice was actually somewhat familiar. Very familiar, in fact. They slowed down and peeked around the corner.

On the porch of the main house sat you. You had this calm aura around you and a bright smile. You were the one singing. The song was light and happy, just like you. Clearly, the farm dogs were feeling it too because they were simply melting in your hands. You gently took one’s head in your palms and massaged its face. You chuckled and gave it a kiss. The dog happily wagged its tail at the gesture and licked you on the cheek in return.

So the pups were the ones you were singing for.

The Callaghan brothers instantly relaxed. Great, there were no danger. Weston gave Lucas a slight glare, who responded with a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. I-I haven’t heard her sing before and it was actually from a distance! You can’t fault me for making a mistake.” He quickly excused himself and went back to work. He felt a chill down his back and as he walked, he could stil feel his older brothers stink eye following him.

Weston sighed when lucas was out of sight. What an idiot. It seemed like they’d gotten worked up over nothing. He looked over at you once more before leaving to continue his labour. You were so beautiful as you sat there in the afternoon sun, playing with the dogs. Now you had started on a new song and some of the pups were becoming jealous with the amount of attention the other one was getting.

Weston smiled to himself. Perhaps he’d get you to sing in front of him live one day.

[aspenmissing]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɪᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 1382 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ (ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɴ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴢᴀᴜɴ, ʏ/ɴ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ ɪɴ ᴘɪʟᴛᴏᴠᴇʀ, ɢᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ɪɴɴᴏᴠᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ, ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ, ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟꜱ ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴꜱ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅꜰᴀꜱᴛ, ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱɪɴɢ ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

The lights of Piltover gleamed in the distance, a stark contrast to the industrial fumes and oppressive fog of Zaun. It had been a year since she had left the underbelly of the city, the place where she had learned how to manipulate both metal and people, where her skills had been used and abused by Silco. Now, as the woman in the papers, she had found a new purpose. She was no longer bound to the power struggles of Zaun; instead, she had learned to thrive in Piltover’s streets, quietly ascending to a status that many would envy. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, and no one knew that better than she did.

Her name had become synonymous with innovation. "The woman from Zaun takes Piltover by storm," the papers read. "Her creations disrupt industries." In the year since her arrival, she had proven herself to be an unstoppable force in the world of engineering. Her designs—simple yet revolutionary—were making waves. Her ideas were sought after by the most prestigious houses, and her name was whispered in the halls of the council.

She hadn’t forgotten Zaun, though. It was always there, lurking in the background. But here, in Piltover, she was in control. No longer just a tool, no longer just another pawn in a man’s game. She had built something—herself, for once—and it was something she wasn’t willing to lose.

She was in her workshop, as usual, her hands deep in the guts of a new project. The metallic scent of freshly cut steel and burning oil filled the air, and the steady hum of machinery surrounded her like a symphony. The delicate movements of her fingers seemed effortless, each action deliberate, as if every piece of this world had been designed for her. It had taken years, but now the skills she had honed in Zaun were finally being recognized, respected, even celebrated. It was a far cry from the day Silco had scorned her, abandoning her as another tool he had no use for.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to him. Silco. He hadn’t crossed her mind in weeks, but the thought of him was always there, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. The guilt she’d felt when she left Zaun—the ache of leaving behind everything, including the one person she had truly believed in—had dulled with time. But deep down, a small part of her still wondered. Would he ever regret what he had said? Would he ever understand why she had left?

It didn’t matter. She was free. She was doing what she was meant to do.

The clang of a metal tool hitting the floor snapped her out of her thoughts. She sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear and bending to pick it up, but then a sudden, familiar scent cut through the air—a smell she could never mistake.

The distinct scent of smoke.

Her hand immediately went for the knife at her waist, and without hesitation, she hurled it toward the doorway, the blade sinking deep into the wooden wall with a sharp crack. The sound of his footsteps faltered as the knife quivered inches from his head.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She hadn’t even turned to face him yet.

Silco stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He looked almost the same as she remembered, though his clothes were more refined, the edges of his coat sharp, the scars on his face a permanent reminder of the battle that had defined him. His piercing eyes scanned her as though he had just walked into a lion’s den, and for a moment, he didn’t speak.

"You always did have a way with knives," he finally said, his voice smooth, almost too calm for her liking.

She turned, setting down the wrench in her hand. "You’re lucky I don’t use them more often."

The silence stretched between them like a thin, brittle thread, both of them standing in the midst of it—him, unsure of how to proceed, and her, calculating every second. It had been a long time since she’d seen him, and it showed in the way he looked at her. She wasn’t the same woman who had cowered in his presence. No, she was someone else now. Someone powerful. Someone who didn’t need him anymore.

Silco’s eyes narrowed as he stepped into the room, his gaze flicking to the knife embedded in the wall. "That could’ve been a fatal mistake."

She tilted her head slightly, watching him, before her lips curled into a small smirk. "You know me. I don’t miss."

He took a step closer, but she didn’t flinch. She was done flinching. "I’ve seen your work," he said, his voice tinged with something like admiration. "It’s impressive. Piltover’s taken notice of you."

Her expression shifted, the smallest of smiles crossing her lips. "I told you, I didn’t need you to make a name for myself." Her words were laced with an edge, but there was no anger in them. It was a fact. He had abandoned her when she was no longer useful to him, and now, it was clear that she had found her own path.

Silco stopped in front of her, studying her face. She could see the conflict in his eyes. The guilt. The shame. "I never meant for you to leave," he said quietly, the words seemingly coming from deep within.

She cocked an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest. "Didn’t you?"

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop, the two of them standing in a kind of suspended silence. He took another step toward her, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I didn’t mean to push you away. But you were more than just a tool to me. I never wanted to lose you."

She looked at him, her eyes scanning his face for any trace of sincerity. She’d seen it all before—the manipulation, the promises, the lies. She had trusted him once, and look where that had gotten her. But this… this was different. She could see the vulnerability in his posture, in the way his hands twitched at his sides, as though unsure of what to do with himself.

"I left because I wasn’t going to waste my life under your thumb," she said, her voice steady and cold. "I had to leave to find out who I really was, not just what you needed me to be."

The guilt that had been gnawing at Silco’s insides seemed to deepen. "I never wanted to control you. You’re… different. But I was afraid of what might happen if you became more powerful than I could manage."

Her eyes softened, just for a moment. "I was never your possession, Silco. I was a person. And it took me too long to realize that."

He nodded, his eyes avoiding hers. "I’m sorry."

The apology hung in the air between them, fragile and uncertain. She didn’t know what to say to it. She didn’t know if she even wanted to respond. It wasn’t that she was angry anymore. She had long since buried that part of herself, knowing it wasn’t worth her energy. What bothered her was the fact that he had only come to this conclusion now, when it was too late.

"You should go," she said, her tone no longer as harsh, but still firm.

Silco seemed to hesitate, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. "I didn’t think you’d be this far gone," he said softly, almost to himself.

She looked at him one last time, a mixture of pity and indifference crossing her features. "You made sure of it."

With that, she turned her back to him, returning to her workbench. The clink of metal against metal filled the room once more, drowning out the silence that had settled between them.

And Silco, standing in the doorway, knew there was no going back. Not for him. Not for her.

"Goodbye," he whispered, though she couldn’t hear him over the noise of her creations.

And with that, he left her—just another casualty of his own making.

[hoiststowline]

into the mystery

part one prologue

Temptation floods a disorientated mind as to where it would be best to rest trembling fingers, other than numbly atop your lap as you survey the fast-moving scenery. Having not quite met Streetwise in its entirety, you fear he’d lose his cooler façade if you even as much as brushed his armrests. Such a reaction would be contradictory to his initial character, but a nagging voice chided that he didn’t give off that vibe, not at all. But as you encroached new territory, the outsider feeling never passed you by, understanding that any small thing you did could give them an untrue impression of yourself. Streetwise was friendly, overly so at some points, but you could not trust so easily, especially just hours after your heart nearly leaped from your chest. The trip hadn’t been very arduous, but curiosity got the best of you once you had entered the skirts of the forest, wondering aloud what this so-called talk was going to be about.

“I’m not sure of the specifics. Just wants to make sure you’ll keep your word and all that on-the-books scrap.” For some unreliable reason, that eased some of your rampaging nerves, sniffling quietly as he began to trail down a man-made path between the dense trees. “I tried to get you out of it, but he was pretty serious about at least having a quick talk. Don’t worry, he isn’t going to threaten you or anything.”

For some subconscious reason, you find you owe him thanks for trying anyway. “That’s okay,” You hum, straightening your shoulders before they deflate again, steadily losing your calm yet attempting once more to snuff it out. “I’ll just suck it up, get it over with, and we’ll all pretend like it never happened.”

Streetwise makes a noise of acknowledgment, but it isn’t a chipper one as if agreeable to your goal. Though you were very adamant about forgetting all of this after the chat with Hot Spot, he can’t find it in himself to agree, silently frustrated by your overall insistence. He wasn’t about to beg for you to stay, but he would voice that he wasn’t happy about your wanted departure. Admirable to your traits, he was growing fond of your company, be as little time you’ve shared as a gentle reminder of his outward irrationality. Often, he’s left to his own devices, finding it difficult to keep his head up when every desperate plan fails, not seeing a light in the never-ending tunnel.

“Right,” He drawls, dragging out each syllable. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Streetwise catches you shake off the confusion from a mildly exasperated expression, opting to push onwards without acknowledging his exchange, rightfully pensive. “So, is it just the three of you then?” You ask to avoid any unknown revelations; uncertain your already fast-beating heart could handle any more than three.

“No,” He doesn’t think it’s best to disclose such information, thinking if he spooked you enough, most of this would just be futile as the base was just ahead. “But the only bots here now are Hot Spot, Groove, and me. The others are elsewhere right now, likely completing their duties for the rotation. Hot Spot asked them to give us the space, he did not want you to be...”

He trails off, unsure what word is best. “Afraid?” You venture, a fair guess, but when you’ve realized what he just said, you balk, eyes wide. “More than three? How many?”  

“Doesn’t matter, at least right now,” The reply was a little too curt than he’s used to, but he must steer this conversation back on track and not flare your vacillation any further. “We’re here,”

Streetwise pulls up to an area that runs up against the side of a cliff, rock encasing a large clearing almost on three sides in one large swoop, a massive hunk of metal sheathed with greenery and brush as if to camouflage it. It was blended in well enough, most certainly from above, and you couldn’t think of a time that anyone risked it this far into the desolate wilderness unless it was an outstanding hunting year, a feat that hasn’t occurred in twenty-five years.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, a familiar fear crawling up from the pits of a nauseated stomach to settle in your throat, nerves high. “I don’t think I can do this.” Never thinking in the first place that you could, it all became glaringly real the instant he began to slow down, realizing here is where you would walk into a harsh unknown.

“Of ’course you can,” The wheels come to a halt, stopping just shy of the entrance as the passenger door on your right swings open, wordlessly beckoning you out of the cabin. “You made it this far. If anything, I’m sure Groove wants to say hi. He hasn’t really shut the frag up about you since last night,” He would never tell him what he just witnessed, for it would only boost the motorcycle's already dangerously encouraged ego, but you turn back to the center console, eyes just a tad brighter, less petrified.

“Really?” You swallow, watching the seatbelt retract across your waist to settle against the side of the seat, swinging your legs over to the right to exit. “I guess so…”

Groove truthfully had not stopped talking since his arrival back to base, unable to keep the secret to himself and running his mouth to his roommate, Rook. Then, who in turn was annoyed he wasn’t informed about it, wanted to meet you and discern every detail from beginning to end. “Because it was supposed to be a secret!” Streetwise had huffed, unimpressed with Groove’s inability to shut the hell up. But to be completely honest, in the least with himself, his processor was wide awake with play-by-plays of your conversations and furthermore, the one that was to come with Hot Spot. With the confirmation that he had done the correct thing in some strange roundabout way, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing with ideas of how to get you to collaborate, or at the very least feel less distressed.

When you’ve hopped out of the vehicle and taken a dozen or so steps forward, Streetwise moves his transformation cog slowly, converting from his alt-mode to his bi-pedal mode languidly but promptly. “Besides, we haven’t met yet. Officially, anyhow,”

At the loud thud, you hastily swivel around, looking straight ahead for the police cruiser only to find it was no longer there, anxious that what you had guessed was about to occur was truthful. In place of the car, your neck tilts further and further back until you meet a set of unguarded cerulean eyes mortified that, somehow, he was larger than Groove. While somewhere in your distorted thoughts, it made strangely perfect sense, as the car was much bigger than the motorcycle, you suppose at the given moment, unexpected disbelief got the better of you. Staggering, you take three steps rearward until you can collect your spiraling mind, palm raising to cover your rapidly beating heart.

Streetwise tilts his helm to the side, unsure as to why you still looked so startled and terrified, thinking this was far more rational than a talking car. “What’s the matter? I really have an uglier mug than Groove?”

Thinking he’s serious, you hastily shake your head in disagreement, before swallowing the incoming round of tears to stutter a comeback. “No, no! I just…Hi, Streetwise,” You decide on, going to say it was nice to meet him formally, you suppose, when he visibly deflates, as if patiently awaiting your approval.

“Good.” It was foolish of you to assume that the exchange would end there because the next sentence he utters has all the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright. “I’ll be sure to tell him you think he has an ugly face-plate,”

Gasping, you scramble after him, trying but failing to keep up with his long stride. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant-”

“I know,” He laughs, pressing a few buttons until the panel slinks over with an automatic hiss, himself grandly gesturing you inside first. “Just kidding,”

 Taking his offer but demonstrating your hesitation, you shuffle into the expansive but uncannily well-lit space, eyes still glassy and a straining uncomfortableness running rampant. You have no expectations of the room, going to scan its contents when your gaze falls on a looming presence at the furthest wall, a full head and shoulder taller than Streetwise.

A shuddery exhale escapes you, hand coming to cradle your elbows as the mech at your rear takes in your horrified body language, unsettled by something. He follows your stare, finding your discontentment was from Hot Spot, the bot who’d sooner rip his servo off than cause you any harm, but you didn’t know that. The only idea you had of him was your own imprecise explanation of him, that and the short contact from the other night, at which he was arguably at his most overwrought, still not even toeing the line of being cross. Streetwise can only recall one time that he's ever seen him livid, even in all the epochs he’s known him, and that was when Blades did something careless that got him seriously injured.

Seemingly at your gulp, the figure turns around, eyes an intense crimson that gives off the impression he is nowhere near laidback, as Streetwise had so insouciantly called him. You cannot see his mouth, the same as you cannot see Groove’s eyes, but when you try to retreat, Streetwise had leaned down, prodding your back with a bent digit, escape route quickly seized from your line of sight. “Spots, this is y/n,”

To your dismay, he comes to a knee, still far too intimidating, a voice you would not associate with the bot rumbling from deep within his chest. “Hello,” It’s outrageously affable, not approaching any further as to give you ample room, only for you to close the outstanding distance whenever you felt the courage to do so.

Another round of tears brims to the surface, unable to do anything but offer a short wave in greeting. With a beat of silence, you fear this is all a setup, though you falter considerably when he restarts once more. “Streetwise, may I have a word with y/n in privacy?”

Streetwise pauses, digit still hovering above your spine as if to be a comforting notion, feeling his spark sink simultaneously. You seemed so scared, even if you didn’t understand you had no true reason to be, lest of Hot Spot, and it didn’t feel right to abandon you in a moment like this when he worked so hard to gain a sliver of your trust the entire ride here. Yet, Spots looks at him pleadingly, a soundless appeal to let him handle this, to get back on course without more unnecessary delays.

At his question, your shoulders jump to your ears, about to beg him to stay, but to your heavy dismay, he sighs behind you, standing up to his full height once more. “Yeah,” He can’t glance your way, because he knows the moment he sees your pleading eyes, he won’t be able to maintain his composure and abide by the leader’s request.

With a floundering stare, you watch as he moves down a hallway to your left, taps a button on a panel just right of the door, and disappears as the metal slides right back over. As if the snap of a finger, the only two that remain in the room are you and the daunting company just about thirty-five yards away, bowed, entirely still.

“I only asked him to leave because I fear I will be entirely transparent with you, y/n.” Hot Spot appears tired, an exhaustion present in his voice and frame that you had not perceived when meeting Groove or Streetwise. The boss appears to carry the weight and severity of the situation on his broad shoulders, a vast contrast to the optimistic attitudes the other two mechs had in your previous communications. You’ve yet to say anything, unconfident in how to approach him, but he carries onwards for the both of you. “I doubt that either of them has explained much to you, but that may be partially my fault.”

Injudiciously, you shake your head, sniffling some before finding your voice, albeit unstable. “No, I can’t say anything has been cleared up,” A hoarseness overtakes your words, causing you to clear your throat before continuing. “But why do you wanna talk to me? I swear, I won’t tell anybody, I hardly believe this is real and not a dream.”

You stiffen as he chuckles, sincere but soft all the same, a somewhat bolstering impulse. “Ah, well, though I must implore you to keep our secret safe, the intention of this meeting was not for that purpose,”

He speaks so gently, so carefully as if trying to console you all while having a simple chat, a multitasking clandestine. When you do not immediately reply, he tugs free one of his hands that was previously atop his knee, undoubtedly an awkward position for a mech so big, but remains inert. You shamelessly stare at it, surveying his every move, but only come to find he is extending a motion to you, vying to close the overkill distance set between your bodies.

It takes unfathomable courage to peel your shoes off the tile, eventually relenting and answering his call, notwithstanding unhurriedly. When you finally stand before him, swallowed by his shadow, you think he’s presenting a handshake as Groove did, but instead, ever so gently, he raises a finger to your face to push aside tears you had no indication were flowing freely, unbeknownst among the whirlwind. His touch is his featherlight as if used to being benign and dealing with rosy skin, but it all fades far too fast as his servo comes back to the perch he’d pulled it from.

“You have every right to be afraid.” That is almost validating, but you won’t proposition him the satisfaction of knowing that just yet. “But if I may be honest with you, y/n, we are in a very precarious situation. I don’t wish to implore such a heavy burden upon you, but if you would consider it, we may require your assistance every now and then.”

Blinking wildly, your hand comes to graze the cheek he’d just warmed, comprehensively perplexed. “Assistance? I don’t really follow you.”

Taking your riposte as not an immediate no, Hot Spot continues without a second thought, treading meticulous waters. “Our resources are cripplingly depleted. We have been on Earth for roughly three years with virtually no contact from our home, our mission is vaguely understood to us. If we do not find supplies soon, I am afraid we will have to enter emergency stasis.”

You don’t know exactly what ‘emergency stasis’ means, but the context clues are bold enough to grasp a quick conception. “But how can I help? This was all an accident, and I still can’t believe this is happening-” Stopping short, you pause to realign your tone as you wildly approach being loud and vexed.

“This is merely a…request, by no means an obligation,” Genuine, and effortlessly exhibiting that he’s not frustrated in your outburst. “Trust that I would not ask something of you if it was not my last resort. When Streetwise had disclosed to me of Groove’s misfortune, he did not see it as such. He saw you as a potential friend and ally, one that did not blow our cover the moment you spotted us.”

“What are you doing?” Streetwise freezes in place, leaning up against the door as Groove rounds the corner, apparently caught in the act of trying to listen in on the very lengthy conversation. It was entirely futile, unable to hear a single thing, audials strained greatly as Hot Spot must be whispering and your voice level was not loud enough to be picked up by his sensors. “Who’s in there?”

“Shut up,” He seethes, motioning him to be quiet, keeping his own voice at a hushed balance. “Hot Spot is talking with y/n, and-”

“y/n’s here?” Groove has no idea what stealth means, his shout causing Streetwise to lunge forward to cover the motorcycle's mouth with a servo before dragging him back over to the door, now in a headlock against his chassis.

The whole notion was causing your head to spin, feeling torn as you were in no position to deny them help, but feeling a demanding awareness of hesitance in immediately agreeing to do so. “I just need a moment to think about it…it’s not a no, it’s just a…maybe.” You decide, posture losing some of its left-over rigidity, thinking it best to go over your options, in the security of your own home and not here.

“Certainly.” He hums, overall pleased, an idea that sends a balminess to your chest, ambiguous as to why. “I thank you greatly, and I truthfully appreciate you even considering it. I will have Streetwise take you home.”

Alongside a deep breath, you nod, looking up at him with a small smile. “Sounds good.”

Just when everything began to settle, both Hot Spot and you advert your gazes to the door Streetwise had departed down, a lurid noise followed by a shout echoing, bouncing off the metal walls. You cannot see the blue mech’s mouth, but you could gather when he was smiling and when he was frowning, just by the lines beneath his eyes, and at this very instance, he was no longer pleased.

“What was-” You go to ask, but then the door slams over, meaning someone has pressed the button from the other side as Groove and Streetwise tumble out and clumsily hit the ground with a callous thud. Gasping, you can only stare as the cruiser keeps the motorcycle tangled in a stranglehold, Groove splaying a hand over Streetwise’s chin to try and keep him at bay, struggling to break free.  

“y/n, hi!” As if they weren’t wrestling each other, Groove perks up considerably when his optics fall to you just across the room. Streetwise immediately relents, realizing that they were had, trying to scramble to stand, but it appears he couldn’t quite shove the bot from him as in an awkward position.

Dumfounded, you wave hello, but Hot Spot vestiges, unenthusiastic. “I do not recall either of you being told to stand there,”

Eventually, Groove lands on the floor with an oof, having been successfully tossed off Streetwise’s lap with little placidness. “Yeah, about that. I-”

He’s interrupted, but he can’t say he’s galled about it, almost overjoyed to find you terribly suppressing laughter, and not like the sarcastic one he heard last night. It’s light, giggles grappling to break free as a palm comes to your lips, not even correctly covering them as top teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Sorry, sorry!” You try, but it’s futile, as a round of amusement erupts, the three of them staring at you mostly in incredulity, unconfident as to what you find funny, but they all relax when you provide some sort of explanation. “I just wasn’t expecting that, I- are you okay?”

When you look between the two of them, Groove is the first to recover, hopping to his feet and dusting imaginary specks off his plating, suddenly unable to look your way. “Yeah, totally fine.”

“All good,” Streetwise confirms, hauling himself back onto his feet. “So. Ready to go?”

You nod, a more permanent smile sticking on your face. “Yeah. I think so.” Turning briefly to address the still crouched Hot Spot, you wave tenderly, meaning the next sentence earnestly. “It was nice to meet you. I will get back to you, I promise.”

“Likewise. And I do implore you take as much time as you need,” He speaks so professionally, that you fleetingly wonder if he ever swears, but you’re charmed, nonetheless. “I look forward to hearing from you, either way.”

For some otherworldly reason, you know he means it. Proffering a thumbs up, you cross the floor over towards the exit, hands tucked within your sweatshirt pocket as Streetwise and Groove exchange a glance. Still not quite understanding your sudden shift in mood, the police cruiser shuffles after you, shrugging to himself as you wave goodbye to the white and gold mech on your way out.

“I wasn’t listening, just so you know.” Groove says trying to wiggle his way out of an incoming lecture, sensing it was a very high possibility. “I couldn’t hear a word you said. Was mostly getting my aft kicked that whole time.” Massaging at his side as if it would add to his unlikely story, a sheepish expression adorning his face.

Hot Spot only hauls himself off the ground, standing fully upright once you are entirely gone from immediate sight, his joints protesting harshly with audible creaks. It must’ve been no good on his junctions to hunch on himself like that but tried to make himself less unapproachable, for only your sake.

“I’m sure,” The leader muses, a sunnier air to his manner, yet addresses the motorcycle circumspectly, apathetic to his declination. “Although, I am shocked you did not fight Streetwise to take y/n home,”

“A definite brawl that would not be worth it, for starters,” He answers, a ghost of a smile on his face-plate. Firmly watching the exit after the door slides back over, alerting them both they had departed from the base, now outside. “And besides, I owe him one.”

“See? He wasn’t so bad, right?” Now out of earshot, the two of you now stand on the grass outside, yourself presenting a little less anxious, at least no longer quivering. Streetwise was right, he ostensibly always is, finding ways to relax your nerves even if you were doing the absolute most to keep them suppressed and not brought to the surface. “Makes Groove and I look like slagheads,”

“He was very nice,” You affirm, finding casual conversation no longer an insane feat. At a random bend of wind, you turn to the left towards the horizon, attempting to evade the strong squall. But by the time you turn around, the black and white sedan was in the spot Streetwise previously was, purportedly having not heard him. “But I don’t think he makes either of you look bad, you’re both cordial, in your own ways.” 

“I wasn’t looking for a compliment, but I will absolutely take that one,” He laughs, passenger door propped open. “So, you’ll think about it?”

While he hadn’t heard what Hot Spot specifically said, he understood generally what he was going to ask, just by the conversation they had the previous rotation. It was a crapshoot, they all somberly knew that, especially with how largely jumpy you’d seemed, apprehension high. Something had changed, even if only marginally, and though kept to himself, he was proud you were to the lowest degree of uneasiness around him. But he could blame that on the sole reason that he’s had the most communication with you, yakked your ear off and you hadn’t shied away from it, at least not today.

“I will.” You slide inside the interior once more, taking immediate notice of how every action appears to be equable, the seatbelt clicking over and the door swinging shut. It’s like he took a crash course on the subject after he drove you home yesterday, with actions more calmer and less forceful. “I promised him I would.”

“That’s all I could ever ask for. I appreciate you even thinking it over,” An engine turns over, and he begins back down the path from whence you came, somehow in a cheerier mood. “Now it’s time to hold up my end of the deal. To take you to the store, as promised.”

“Thank you.” Hushed, but not out of anything other than a sudden gradual tiredness that has overtaken your mind. You want to fill the silence but can’t find anything more to continue, your head tilting gingerly against the heavily tinted glass.

“No need for thanks, it’s the least I can do.” The interior dashboard alights with his words, and this time, you catch the rearview mirror as it slides in your direction. “I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer,”

“That’s okay,” Completely stunned by your answer, he isn’t given time to recover before you continue. “You’re not a bother. I appreciate all the precautions you put into this,”

He can’t find a singular word in his internal dictionary that would convey his truest reaction, other than a stammered cough and a mumbled reply. “H-hey, no problem. Anytime.” Wholeheartedly meaning it, every single word.

[transmechatrist]

Sverre glances briefly at the papers as they are mentioned. Quirks a sympathetic, tired smile at his comment. “Yeah, I can imagine,” they muse for a quiet moment, before decidedly sitting up. They stretch, take a deep breath, feel their joints crackle and pop.

“Alright,” they declare, mostly to themselves, and swivel back towards their screen. Time to get started.

Zoning in on his code comes easily to them; naturally. And even without his earlier suggestion, their notepad would have immediately been pulled close- they had never in their life seen something like this.

The errors would have confused them, without the information they had come to put together; now they were just fascinating. They scroll along, clicking their way around, absorbing whatever knowledge they could glean, all the while their pencil scratches away incessantly at their side.

Very often, they take pictures. Resolve to study it in more depth later, compare it to the notes they were given, alongside the ones they were taking themselves.

Security and other uniquenesses of working on him would be something to consider in the time until they next saw him again, alongside the wealth of knowledge they were sure to find in his modder’s comments. For now, they were trying to form a picture of their own. Get a feeling for him, for his internal workings.

There had been an update, the engineer notes, and they were sure they could find specifics in the papers given to them. They flip through them briefly, compare the writing to what they’d observed themselves. There were distinct changes in coding - some incompatible configurations overlapping in errors, quite a bit of corruption - but most of it seemed to have settled adequately in replacement of the old. Either way, such clear hammond formatting, and it was almost a familiar comfort, the way they recognised the structures cradling Revenant’s mind and body.

It was also very clear however, how old the sim was. Newer models the engineer had worked with had way more optimised integration of systems, and while his code surely once gleamed with functionality, there were countless signs of editing, many quite simply sloppy.

His code was a worn down patchwork of creation, and they were distinctly impressed by his sheer functionality in spite of this. Felt a certain respect quite simply for the fact that he was still alive.

…And wanted to get hammered, apparently. Yeah, no wonder.

They couldn’t have said how long they’re under, but by the time their brain stops forming proper thoughts and disrupts them from their fervour, the little clock hand had made its way past 11pm.

“Al’ight, I’m done for today,” they declare, laying down their pencil; and certainly sound the part, as a yawn rips out of them. They rub their face, feeling distinctly groggy now that they’d snapped out of his code, and their throat was practically screaming for water. How they always managed to lose their own bodily senses when doing work would forever be a mystery to them.

They stand swiftly, balance at the corner for a moment as their circulation sways, then grab a cup of water from the sink. Drink it down, fill another. And another. Put it down after with a sigh of pure relief. Gods, had they needed that.

They stride back towards their desk, “I’m gonna unplug you now, yea? I’ve gotten a decent feel for your systems, but I’ll want to review all the notes n’ such. How do I contact you for a follow up?” They speak as they move, and he is unplugged by now- with them having stood in front of where he’d been sitting, holding out his cable back to him with a quirk of their head.

"No," Revenant answered, nonchalant. He wasn't kidding.

He didn't expect it would be enough to turn them away from the job, or his modder would have recommended SOMEBODY ELSE - or otherwise committed to the task herself. Nonetheless, he knew it was a hard pill to swallow. "Screenshots, no. Pictures, sure." Revenant gestured for the folder of notes. "Should be some pages about security in there." The facets of his system he could override and those he could not. What was an obstacle and what could be worked around.

The simulacrum held Sverre's gaze at their final query. "Not my first rodeo," he drawled.

[cath-lic]

if i think about the garden of eden too much i start transforming into john milton

[turtleblogatlast]

Fun little silly thought I had about the Lair Games and specifically Leo deliberately losing is all the reasons he could have for doing so.

My favorite headcanon for his main motivation is that Splinter wasn’t proud of him anymore.

I imagine that, in the beginning, winning the Lair Games was Leo’s opportunity to shine. He wasn’t artistic or the baby of the family like Mikey, wasn’t a tech genius who created amazing inventions like Donnie, wasn’t the eldest who was insanely strong and dependable like Raph. So he had to shine somewhere else- anywhere else- and what better way to get attention than to be a winner? A champion?

And then he won too much. And it wasn’t special anymore. He got too big headed, too cocky, he knew this was his element and he ran with it.

Splinter’s words of congratulations slowly petered out. Suddenly, there was no real reason to win.

Winning feels empty when the only one cheering you on is yourself.

So- Leo schemed. And he’s a great schemer, fooling his whole family (and Donnie did deserve a win- people were way happier when he won.)

He even gave up his prized possession! His room!

Though he knows his brothers probably think it’s a bad prize. A terrible one, even.

Leo doesn’t sleep much as is, though. So Dad’s snores were more comforting than anything. It was reassuring to hear him so clearly alive and close by.

Even if the distance between them was larger than Leo’d like.

He’d just have to find something else, something more to show his dad that Leo was someone to trust, to be proud of, to love.

He gets his chance soon after, when he needs to pull off a plan against Big Mama at his dad’s side. Leo can only hope this victory is one that has a lasting effect when his father looks at him with pride once more.

Victory, for Leo, is a pretty loaded term.

[bumblingbabooshka]

When the only person who might understand what happened- understand. Not sympathize or empathize or comfort you but understand what happened, isn't there anymore. Or: 'A Man Made Me Do Something I Didn't Want To', for when you can't talk about it or look it in the eye [Patreon | Commissions]