#because I don’t want to say that! but I don’t want to be vague but if I’m specific it becomes really clear that I don’t know what I’m doing

[salemlunaa]

ஐ NOTHING IS ALL YOU NEED TO BE ஐ

the secret to inducing pure consciousness

the secret to inducing pure consciousness? when i say there’s a secret do you want to know what i mean?

drum roll please

🥁🥁🥁🥁

nothing, absolutely nothing, do not let other people tell you some bullshit, you don't need all these methods, all you need is to be.

And I know that sounds so vague, but here me out. Take deep breaths, let your mind wander, you don't have to repeat an affirmation till your brain hurts if you don't want to, just let your mind trail off, let your consciousness travel through different thoughts and feelings, you don't have to focus if that’s not what you want. all you need is relaxation, aka doing nothing.

And it's nothing, it sounds too good to be true l know, having everything you ever wanted by doing nothing sounds unrealistic but it is the truth and always will be. Think about all the people who have been inducing pure consciousness and shifting awareness long before the time of social media, they couldnt overconsume information, have methods shoved down their throats and overcomplicate things. They still did it because guess what? it’s that simple, you could’ve had everything you ever wanted an hour ago, 15 minutes ago, heck even a few seconds ago, but you’re too scared to “let yourself down”, you’re afraid you’ll “fail” and let yourself down.

This is effortless, breathe, let your mind wander or focus whatever you want and you’ll have pure consciousness induced. You don’t need any elaborate methods, all you need is nothing, just be, allow yourself to take in your thoughts and feelings, immerse yourself in the darkness of your closed eyes and you have induced pure consciousness, there is no if ands or buts about it, there’s no “it didn’t work for me” or “i tried but-”, but what?

There is no trial and error for a god. If you are an operant power there is no such thing as trying, you just be, you just are. There is no failing this “method”, it’s you who fails to believe in themselves.

That is all you need, nothing, there is nothing you need to do in order to get all that you dream of, just breathe and be.

Yes, it is as easy as breathing, yes it is a basic ability!!

[joannasprose]

ellie williams x nervous!reader

content warning: slight insecurity, a nervous girl who doesn’t know what to do with herself, fluff, comfort (as always), vague angst, proofread this time! (proofread but not edited, sorry I’m lazy!)

note: I found this in my drafts, I didn’t even know I made something like this and decided to post it :) also you can thank my mind (in good ways and bad), because I have another Ellie post that will be ready soon 👀 trying so badly not to post back to back though 💜 (this one is a little rushed and not as good as my others because I completely forgot what it was about 🫡)

| ellie can tell that there’s something up with you. when you finally tell her, she can’t help but be slightly amused.

———

ellie’s hand has yet to leave the small of your back. as the two of you walk through the unfamiliar bar, you cling onto her a little more tightly.

she watches you—unbeknownst to you—as your brows furrow, as you begin to chew the flesh of your cheek. “you okay,” she questions, now leading you over to what you assumed to be the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind you.

her hand moves slowly to the side of your waist, pulling you closely towards her, holding you gently. you smile, a nervous one as your arms nervously wrap around the sides of her shoulders and loop around her. “yeah. i’m okay, i’m just…” but you’ve stopped yourself.

it had now been four months since both you and ellie had started dating. even then, before she knew of your feelings—her actions had never failed to make you nervous. sure, she had her moments where she would stumble over her words while a rosy hue coated her cheeks. but the moment she had figured you out, the teasing became relentless. not that you minded it, though.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” you say, eyes once leaving every inch of her figure and darting to the tiled floors, the decorative picture frames—anything but her.

“Y/N,” ellie says, the softness of her eyes never leaving as she spoke, “tell me what’s on your mind. you know I won’t judge.” her hand abandons your waist, now grazing over the skin of your cheek, holding you gently.

“It’s stupid. It’s nothing really,” you begin. this time ellie doesn’t interrupt, practically forcing you continue on with your ramble. “the people. they make me nervous. and you—“ you say but interrupt yourself. you almost don’t see it. the way ellie’s eyes flicker in guilt, the way her grip on you loosens subtly, as if to free you from the overwhelming feeling of her presence.

“no-no. that’s not what I meant.” you say as you scramble for words. abruptly, you pull her closer to you, a tightening hug that she embraces with you when the feeling subsides. slightly.

“you just. when I’m around you, I don’t know what to do with myself. you make me nervous, it’s just embarrassing. and yeah, I know we’ve been dating for a couple of months now,” ellie watches as you continue with your ramble, the words falling from your tongue mindlessly. she just waits, watches, “but I don’t know. It’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

ellie pauses, and she looks at you, pulling away just to see your face. you look away, eyes finding the hem of her shirt but she pulls her hand to your cheek, making you look at her now. “I make you nervous?” even if you hadn’t looked at her, you could practically hear the smile on her lips. you push her away, now embarrassed.

“ellie, stop,” you say, dragging out the letter p when you say it. You try to sound irritated, but you find yourself fighting away a smile.

“What? I like seeing my girl smile,” she begins, grabbing your waist, pulling you closer to her as the music from the house becomes distorted, slowing becoming nothing but background noise. “And, I don’t want you worrying about anything okay?” ellie backtracks, nearly cringing at her words, “not that, I could just make you not worry, you know? Like I’m not forcing you or anything. I hope it didn’t come out that way.” this time, you find comfort in ellie’s loosely put words.

And as you smile, when you smile, she stops, watching you like she always has.

“It’s okay ellie. I get it.” You pull her closer to you, and this time you don’t hesitate when you push your lips against hers. for a moment, her lips are still, presumably in slight shock—but she quickly recuperates and kisses you back.

after a moment, you pull away and speaks, “you’re not shy anymore? you can kiss me now?”

you shove ellie playfully away from you, muttering asshole, under your breath.

In the height of the night, even with your undying anxiety, you’d always known ellie would be there to comfort you no matter what.



[inkdrinkerworld]

ok ok I‘m obsessed with spencer x bau!reader in a secret relationship!!

like imagine s2!spencer and reader and how reader always keeps their eyes on him during cases after tobias, trying to help him with his mood swings (caused by the withdrawals) in subtle ways

or s6!spencer dealing with his migraines and reader trying to be there for him, subtly helping him relax on the plane by playing with his hair or whatever and all that while trying to hide their relationship (the others probably already noticed but just keep their mouth shut and smile to themselves whenever they have a sweet little moment)

gets my mind running!!

Cw: withdrawal symptoms, vague mentioning that spencer is taking drugs, fluff

You’re worried about him. You can’t stop chewing your nails as you look at him.

You know the team knows, and you know Spencer knows you all know but you can’t say anything.

If you say anything, tell him to get help, he’ll need to report it and if he reports it he’ll lose his job.

So you do what you can.

There’s Gatorade in the fridge, all stocked with the purple grape flavored stuff you’d learnt through trial and error that Spencer preferred.

He drinks a few a day, suffering through it because he knows it will help. He also knows you’re doing this because you care about him.

He hopes you still love him after all of this.

You do.

“I got you a soup, Spence.” Your words are quiet and saved for when you reach his desk, setting the hot styrofoam container on his desk with a smaller box next to it.

He looks up at you, pupils blown wide and sweat beading on his eyebrows.

You don’t even hesitate to use your shirt sleeve to dab away the sweat. Spencer fights the urge to push your hands away.

He hates to disappoint you. “This has to be disappointing. I have to be disappointing.” His words are sudden you nearly jerk back.

“What?”

“This. I’m pitiful.”

You shake your head, stooping down so you’re eye level with him. “What happened was not your fault. I hate seeing you like this because you didn’t deserve it; not because you’re pitiful.”

Your words are so forceful and sincere that it stuns him for a little bit. In his shock, you walk away from him and Spencer panics when you go to the stairs to Hotch’s office.

His heart is pounding so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t blacked out yet.

Maybe he has because a couple seconds later you’re helping him stand and holding the container of soup and your bag.

“Let’s go.”

Spencer’s eyebrows tug together, his lips unconsciously falling into a pout.

“But we have reports to finish.”

You shake your head, for his protestations, Spencer follows you with his own satchel all the way to your car.

“I told Hotch you were feeling faint and you had a fever so he’s let us go home.”

Spencer is speechless. He’s even more so when you turn on the heater on his seat and keep the ac high.

“You don’t have to do all this.” He stammers out, holding the containers as you reverse.

“I want to take care of you and help you get better Spence. It’s as simple as that,” he nods, unable to help it.

You’re like his personal angel. He hopes you know how he feels about you. Hopes you know that he’s grateful and he’ll always be. Hopes that the flush in his cheek can be blamed on what his body is going through right now and not your next words.

“We’re going to my place, I’ve got a better bed and I can mess with the heating. You don’t have to do it alone, Spence.”

[lightseoul]

#12 please🫶🫶

12, coming right up! tagging also @tsunderelover07, thank you sm for playing <3

(this is lightseoul’s 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i’ll whip something up!)

12. "I COULD USE A HUG RIGHT NOW." (1.6k)

you’re startled to attention when your phone pings from where you unknowingly dropped it beside you on the couch.

apparently, it has slid by the edge of your butt in the few minutes of you staring blankly at the off-white wall, and the brief vibration right to your ass is enough to snap you back to reality.

your now sucky-ass reality.

picking it up, your frown deepens even more when you see the text.

(7:04 PM) bestie #1 (mina)💞: i’m so sorry i can’t be there with you rn!!!! i got called in last minute to cover for momo. i really am sorry :(((

you know it’s not mina’s fault, but your heart drops in disappointment nevertheless. not wanting to make her feel bad, however, you quickly type in a reply.

(7:05 PM) you: no worries, mina. i understand :) stay safe out there!

sighing, you’re about to place your phone on the small coffee table in front of you when your phone chimes again.

(7:05 PM) bestie #1 (mina)💞: i’ll make it up to you, promise!! can i send someone there to accompany you in my stead??

you feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion. you vaguely remember kaminari and sero talking about their patrol schedules shifting, and how they complained that they now have to cover friday nights.

kirishima’s currently overseas on a classified mission, although you guess it’s not as classified now, seeing as how he told you and the rest of the squad about being drafted in it.

which only leaves…

you shake your head. it can’t be.

mina knows you better than that—knows that out of the friend group, bakugou’s the one you’re the least close to, and you’re even convinced that the man hates you. you’re not entirely sure, but you’re starting to think he’s purposefully avoiding you—always choosing the farthest seat from you, and never attending hangouts when it was just the two of you and one other person.

he may be making it a point not to smile or laugh around you, too. which hurts, because of the unfortunate realization that mina arrived at a few weeks ago before you can even say hold up.

the realization that you may or may not have a stupidly embarrassing crush on bakugou katsuki.

so… scratching him out, who else could it be?

you’re in the middle of unlocking your phone to ask who she’s sending (because knowing her, she may be asking for permission now, but she for sure has already sent someone), when, as if on cue, a barrage of heavy knocks echo from your doorway.

you freeze.

that can’t be a mutual gal friend of mina and yours. not with the aggressive-ass knocking.

your butt remains stuck on the seat for a few seconds of silence, at least until the rapping comes back on and again, and you stumble your way towards your apartment unit’s front door.

it’s moments like this that make you wish you have a fucking peephole, but oh, well.

patting down your hair in a last-minute, desperate attempt to look presentable, you finally reach for the knob and open the door.

only to be met face-to-face with bakugou ‘it can’t be’ katsuki.

you literally feel your soul leave your body as you lock eyes with the man, who, from the get-go, is already frowning at you.

his eyes rove over your face. “don’t you look like shit?”

you can’t help but return his scowl to him even if you tried. “well, hello to you, too.”

the quip doesn’t seem to bother him, though, who only continues to study you. when they get to your eyes, however, his frown intensifies. “have you been crying?”

shit.

you forgot to check your reflection before you answered the door, but you bet there’s no lying out of this one, what with you crying non-stop ever since you got home—the second you closed the door behind you.

“yeah, well…” you start, rubbing your nape awkwardly. “i’m not sure if mina told you, but i got—”

“laid off,” he finishes for you, nodding. “i know.”

hearing it from another person’s mouth, let alone bakugou’s, sends a pang of pain straight to your chest all over again, and you have to fight the tears that are threatening to well up around the corners of your eyes.

“well,” he speaks up after a beat of silence, “are ya gonna let me in or not?”

you roll your eyes, although it’s more playful than anything, and bakugou catches you, to which he just scoffs. he enters as you hold the slab of wood open for him, closing it promptly as he crosses the distance to the kitchen in just a few strides, already familiar with the floorplan from the countless hangouts you’ve hosted for the squad.

and as he opens the freezer, you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when, as if reading your mind, he holds up two pints of what looks like ice cream for you to see. “brought your favorite.”

you beam at him. “aww, that’s so sweet of mina! thank you.”

at that, his face contorts in a look of offense as if you just unceremoniously pinched his armpit.

you frown. “what?”

he only shakes his head, although that pained expression remains on his face. “‘s nothing. sure, thank mina.”

“…okay? i just did, but okay.”

he tosses you a glare, which you just try to shake off. you’re sure comforting someone isn’t exactly part of bakugou’s repertoire, so you conclude it’s better to cut the guy some slack.

“you’ve eaten dinner?” he asks as he rummages through the rest of your refrigerator, most likely judging you for the lack of ingredients and fresh produce.

“yeah,” you respond. he doesn’t have to know that dinner was a cup of instant noodles you pathetically scarfed down in the convenience store on the way home. you figured you could treat yourself to a grand pity meal for getting laid off, but thought better against it. if anything, you needed to save money, at least until you get hired by another hero agency.

straightening up, he eyes you suspiciously as if sensing you’re hiding something. “you sure?”

you nod decisively, which you can only do because you’re technically not lying.

bakugou stares you down for a couple more seconds before nodding curtly himself, now looking absolutely stiff in the middle of your kitchen.

and as you observe the man, it hits you that you may have just robbed him of the only thing he knows when it comes to consoling a grieving person.

by cooking for them.

you’re not exactly hungry, but you can’t help but feel bad for the pro-hero as he stands there seemingly deep in thought, probably trying to figure out what to do with himself now.

you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you’re about to say.

“but you can cook—” you start.

“come work for us.”

“what?” you ask, the same time he goes: “huh?”

he’s the first one to regain his bearings. “thought you had dinner already? changed your mind, huh, dumbass?”

you ignore his snide pet name. “what do you mean come work for you?”

at that, bakugou shifts on his feet, shrugging. “you know what i mean. come work at ground riot. we have a vacancy that fits you.”

you gape at him. “you’re kidding me?”

to that, bakugou tosses you a deadpan look. “does it look like i’m kidding?”

you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s looking constipated, like he always does, so you keep your mouth shut. instead, you only stand there a few feet away from him, twitching as you desperately tamp down the visceral urge to kiss the man in glee.

he must be getting weirded out, because he only looks at you with an eyebrow raised. “the fuck is going on with you?”

“i—” you begin, clenching your fists.

here goes nothing.

“—just—i could use a hug right now, bakugou.”

“a what?”

you try to ignore the incredulous expression on his face, let alone the scarlet that’s starting to creep up his neck. “as a thank you. for the offer. and you came all the way here to comfort me, right? i could really use a hug.”

it takes him a beat to reply, mouth opening and closing and then opening again, until he settles with: “that’s pushing it, dumbass.”

despite yourself, you deflate at his rejection. you got too carried away by his generous offer and the fact that he’s here—that he went out of his way to accompany you and even bring you your favorite ice cream—that you ended up crossing a line you’ve never dared to cross until now.

you try to deny it, but it stings.

still, you muster as much of a good-natured smile as you can, adding a light-hearted chuckle to boot. “i was just joking…” you mutter under your breath.

at that, you turn your back against him, face flaming in embarrassment as you start to head toward the living room to fetch your phone when you hear him heave a deep sigh behind you.

and before you can even comprehend what’s going on, you feel something tug at your wrist, spinning you on your heel until you collide with a firm chest that can only belong to one person.

your eyes are wide as saucers when you feel his arms gently wrap around your back, pressing you further against him.

“happy?” he grunts, voice low and reverberating against you.

it takes you a second, but you can only nod from where you’re plastered right onto him, his cologne completely flooding your senses, sending your heart into a total frenzy.

so much so that you almost miss the way his is hammering like crazy, too.

[revelboo]

Stop, we're too full of your delicious meals. We can't take anymore of it. 😫 (still have room for anything masterpiece of a fanfiction you have blessed us for today and more. 🤭) I don't think I've seen you done rodimus or not. Think you can whip him up one? 😗

I did, but also haven’t updated the Masterlist since it’s a pain on my phone. Here’s part two, though

Attractive Today Pt 2

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

• “Nothing broken, but probably a concussion,” Ratchet grumbles, drawing back from the limp form sprawled on a Cybertronian sized exam table to lightly smack the scanner against his other palm. Like he’s thinking about hitting him with it, even though this isn’t his fault. How can he possibly know what everyone on the ship is doing all the time? Co-captain doesn’t mean watching the crew all the time to make sure no one’s doing something stupid. It shouldn’t anyway. “How many of them are there?”

• Spreading his hands in a shrug makes Ratchet’s servos tighten on the scanner. “Brainstorm was a bit vague on that part,” Rodimus says, attention dropping to the human. They’re tiny, but surely if there were more, they’d have been noticed already. He hadn’t brought up Brainstorm’s vague and oddly threatening ‘not on the ship,’ either. Because he’s not at all happy with the implications of that. “I don’t suppose you might-“

• “Absolutely not,” Ratchet cuts him off, now brandishing the scanner like a weapon. “That isn’t my problem, captain.”

“Co-captain,” he mutters, gingerly picking the human up and trying to not shudder at how disconcertingly limp it is in his hand. Megatron was supposed to be the one handling the boring, responsible stuff. Like reports and making sure stuff like this isn’t happening.

• Whirl had wanted it, but actually handing over a very small, very helpless thing to that lunatic? Almost as bad as the idea of more humans left behind on planets or ships they’d interacted with or passed too near. Or just floating out in space like horrifying, frozen markers behind the ship. That he refuses to think about. Maybe Mags will take it? He likes humans. Possibly. Striding out of the Medbay in search of Magnus, he starts running through possible alternate human sitters. Swerve?

• Head pounding, you squint your eyes open with a groan and lift a hand to touch your temple. Or try to. Your arms are pinned at your sides and whatever’s restraining you is warm, shifting slightly against you. And with dawning horror you remember that awful metal chicken-legged abomination snatching at you with those claws while the other one egged him on. Chasing you. There’s been a third one, right? Right, turning your head you stare up at the red and yellow nightmare staring down at you in surprise. “Hey,” it says, flashing a lot of big teeth in a big mouth.

• And you’re screaming again, and Primus, you have some volume. “Don’t eat me!” You wail, thumping your tiny fists against his servos like you think you can fend him off from… eating you? Well, that explains a lot of the panicked run straight into a wall. But where had you gotten the ideal that Cybertronians eat humans from? Growling under his breath, he tightens his grip as you try to squirm right out of his hand, completely oblivious to the possible fall. Fragging Whirl.

Previous

[ronearoundblindly]

a kiss out of envy + ari 🤭

As promised, love, I give you...

frat boy!Ari Levinson x reader, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024 (yes, you read that correctly, and no, I don't want to talk about it. 🥲 It's been a rough year lol.)

Summary: You and Ari want each other for all the wrong reasons.

Warnings (regarding both parts of the story) for drinking and partying, language, shitty behavior from...yeah everyone is a bit of a mess in this ngl (it's college), vaguely taboo mutual pining, and not-really cheating/implied cheating (applies to multiple people). This is an angsty weird fluffy sorta romance with an ambiguous ending because no one can communicate to save their f**king lives...BUT HEY! KISSES. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for younger readers on my Light Masterlist, but not here! WC 3.9k

A/N: This is the first half from Reader's perspective.

College is…predictable.

You spent the first weeks of your freshman year faking self-assurance you didn’t actually feel because confidence is sexy—or whatever the saying is,—and if you had to start from scratch, you might as well start from a place you’re proud of.

You made friends. You went out with your roommate. You stayed out late with lots of people you don’t know, and you smiled. Holy shit, did you smile…

The attempt to ‘get out there’ brought constant stress; you wanted to define your social life right off the bat, but good people are hard to find.

You officially decided you were looking in the wrong place for any good people while at the Lawn Party three-quarters of the way through your first semester.

Finally, you’d tried. You pulled out all the stops. You wore the nicer, trendier clothes that you splurged on for events just like this. You put on extra makeup, brought some with you in your little purse to touch it up, and when you smiled in the mirror seconds before running out of the dorm with your roomie, you really were self-assured. You felt sexy.

Though the party was outdoors, you stuck with just the one layer of a light-colored, flowy top, something whimsical and fun, something less useful and more useless, but that’s the idea of fashion, you suppose.

When the breeze caught the fabric, you imagined you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine is about to get noticed by the man of her dreams.

That is exactly the opposite of what happened.

You’d been there all of half an hour, your roommate off to get drinks (after you whined and waited and stalled, hoping to strike up some conversation without partaking in the shared, bad decisions of the swath of 18-22 year olds meandering across a grass field behind the sports complex), when you heard a really loud, shrill laugh behind you and turned.

A red Solo cup crumpled against your boob and beer exploded across your chest, drenching your shirt and dripping grossly down your stomach.

“Wooooah,” the big guy still gripping shredded plastic drawled, eyes glued to your see-through blouse as it clung to your front. “Sorry.”

The girl who laughed with him put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh. My god.” Yet she just laughed more.

That was it. That was the sum total acknowledgment of your destroyed outfit and evaporated dignity.

“Ari,” someone called, startling your assailant to look away with his unresponsive, blown pupils.

You noticed a few drops of beer on his letterman jacket, so, sure, in comparison to your entire front half being soaked, that seemed a fair-and-equal trade for your embarrassment.

Then he was gone, the laughing girl following the asshole, Ari, and his idiot friends as they recapped the football game from…whenever.

You left the party once the waistband of your jeans felt soggy.

You spent longer washing your beer-sponge bra in the dorm sink than you did on the lawn.

Now you know college is a fucking joke. That party became a defining moment in your social life. You realized men—no, boys—like Ari will never care about you as you really are, and finally, you’ve accepted that you don’t want them to.

They don’t deserve to know you.

Sophomore year. Women’s Studies. Of all the fucking classes…

On day one Ari plopped down in the desk next to you.

He plopped because his whole left leg was strapped into a thick brace that kept it straight and jutted out, unable to fit in the tiny seat. He’s so tall his thonged foot tapped at yours beneath your own chair.

In your utter frustration and irritation (since the professor had already started talking), you automatically muttered an apology—to Ari, like some pushover—and moved your legs.

“Not your fault,” the footballer softly chuckled, taking another long moment to settle his crutches on the floor.

Were there no other seats?

You sighed and knew, you just knew down in your bones, that this would be a long damn semester. You also had every faith, however, that this fuck-boy classmate would do just about anything to stay in the course dedicated to his favorite pastime: women.

Though that was an assumption, Ari proved you right, and it sucked.

It took all your innate kindness and compassion not to spit on him. Honestly, the guy is just…dumb. When your eyes wandered every so often, you always found him looking confused, but he wouldn’t ask questions. Several times you caught him sneaking peeks at your notes. You just couldn’t take it.

He fell asleep in one class!

With the course final mere weeks away, the OCD part of your brain kicked in and shoved several sheets of important points you’d written down into his lap before he fully woke up.

His brace was off by then, but Ari still moved slowly.

Again, he looked so confused.

“I expect them back on Wednesday,” you said with a tight jaw, barely restraining the choice names you’d wanted to call him.

You’d been conditioned so heavily to be nice that you smiled at him. A small smile, yeah, but you smiled at the coddled asshole who did not deserve to pass the class. You should have let him fail. You should have let him lean harder on that damn scholarship.

Football held his dead-weight up this long; what’s a few more years?

Nearly the end of your Senior year. Off-campus. You’ve tried.

Socializing is a hit-and-miss game, and you’re learning that sometimes the miss happens slowly, without failed plays, with all the effort you could muster.

“Look, if we’re not doing anything here, then I’m going to the party. You coming? The house is two blocks away.”

Your boyfriend, Billy, stands with his apartment door open and his roommates calling to him from down the hall. He’s frustrated, you know that, but his frustration doesn’t negate the uneasy twist in your gut you get whenever he tries to take things further than making out.

Billy is perfect on paper. He studies hard, has a job already lined up for summer, is driven to achieve…and desperately wants to get laid.

He’s cute, totally adequate in that department, yet still, you can’t force yourself to let him touch you any more than absolutely necessary. You two have excellent conversations, multiple shared interests, and you have no words to describe your lack of…want. It eats you up right along with that twisting aversion to fuck him—because it is specific to him.

You don’t lack for interest in men, even if these are still boys around you. You’re attracted. Kinda. You thought attraction could grow from affection, too, but it hasn’t in months with Billy. It doesn’t make you think he lacks in some way; you feel lacking.

Maybe you lack sympathy. Maybe you lack understanding. Maybe you are just as superficial as those slutty girls you hate, the ones sure to be at this party. Maybe Billy thinks those girls will rub off on you if you’re surrounded.

There’s no one thing, no quantifiable logic; he just doesn’t do it for you. That won’t change.

Your relationship has an expiration date, and you feel it approaching.

Unsurprisingly, you can’t bring yourself to be mean and tell him an outright ‘no.’ It’s rude to say ‘I’m not attracted to you,’ right? You’re a nice person, and it’s not nice to hurt someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

The heavy pain in your belly grows dense, but still, nothing changes.

The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to touch you, but it doesn’t matter. He walks a few feet ahead to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.

The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver past the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.

Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.

Asshole.

He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.

“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.

Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.

His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her chest covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.

What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.

He’s so sexy though.

His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone beneath him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved at the very least.

“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”

Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs, a room with no space to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either. That’s not even a trusting him problem; for all you someone else made the drinks for Billy, and then you absolutely don’t trust it.

If he can’t manage to notice your reticence, why should Billy care if you’re comfortable?

You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets whisked away for the next partnered game, and relief washes over you.

The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You take a detour to dump your cup in the crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.

Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe, welcome, or seen. College is predictable this way.

You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.

Looking to your right, you don’t see anyone paying attention, and looking to your left you see a sloped wall.

He’s looking directly at you.

“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.

You wave it off with a polite ‘no, thank you,’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.

Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.

Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and Coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly Coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”

You can’t help but blurt, “you live here.”

“That is an astute observation, smartie pants,” he adds with a proud smile. Those, you imagine, might be the biggest words the guy knows.

You also imagine he wouldn’t drug himself with anything,, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.

You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand, your pinky running the length of his forefinger in the process, knuckles hard beneath callused skin, and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.

His smile softens. Your pinky tingles even after you return his drink.

“Where’s whats-his-face?” Ari scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”

You can’t help but frown and sigh as he takes another swig of soda, pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump. He only had stubble in class two years ago. You shouldn’t be thinking about what those lips might feel like. Hell, you shouldn’t be sharing a drink with anyone because that’s more intimate than anything you’ve enjoyed doing with Billy recently.

Billy is pushy and inexperienced. Every time he goes to touch you, it reminds you that he’s desperate for it, but…not in a flattering way. It’s difficult to describe.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw out loudly, keeping your guess silent. Perhaps hugging the toilet bowl?

Though a simple question, Ari looks somewhere between giddy and chided while contemplating his answer. He’s so dumb, poor thing. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.

“What?”

He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ow, rough gig bandana girl. That’s a little harsh: being fobbed off mid-party. Although, you aren’t exactly replacing her. Ari is just talking to you. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s sitting beside you, only a little closer than Women’s Studies, sharing a sip of soda. That’s all.

“So, genius—”Ari elbows you gently, taking advantage to stay arm-to-arm this time “—how you been?”

You notice you’ve been shrinking against the wall and straighten as best you can without looking as if you’re pushing your boobs out.

“Fine. Just…busy with school work.”

Internally, you groan, hating to sound so boring and feeding into this idea you are nothing but a bookworm.

Ari swallows the last of his drink, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs lewdly—at least, it should be considered lewd with how the motion leads your eye down to the matching dark chest hair peeking behind the shirt collar. He scrunches his nose when the bubbles hit the back of his palate.

“Good. You always seemed happy. Bet you’re top of our class.” He emphasizes the year because he should have graduated already. Originally, he was a year ahead, but then he took a red-shirt year while injured. Ari doesn’t appear to mind that’s something else you share.

You bite your lip and wonder if he’s baiting you. If there’s one thing you’ve heard consistently in your whole young adult life, it’s that you ‘look angry’ and could ‘benefit’ from smiling more.

“I’m…somewhere up there, yeah,” you allow.

He points over his other shoulder and shimmies the empty cup in front of him. “You want one? What’s your favorite?”

For the first time all night, what you want has been considered. Not only if you want a drink, but which one do you want. Such a small thing, and yet the twist in your stomach unfurls a little. The drink itself doesn’t matter; the thought does. That, and being comfortable near him.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Ari flashes that megawatt smile of his and says he’ll be back in a jiffy.

The true value of a beautiful idiot is you don’t have to be on edge. Your basic knowledge of any subject (save sports) would read as genius to a guy like him…which is also why it feels so unbelievable Ari’s choosing to hang in this corner with you. He’s friends with everyone. He could get anything from anybody here. It’s nice to be wanted, not needed.

He returns with two cups, one with a couple shots worth of Jack Daniels, the other full of CocaCola. He looks at you for approval, hesitating in case you want just plain soda, and then makes a huge show of his ‘mixing’ skills.

Absolute moron did not consider the carbonation exploding with every pour back and forth.

It’s a horrible mess of foam and splashing liquid. Both his hands are dripping and sticky, but you laugh freely by the end. You never thought you’d see the day Ari Levinson spilling a drink wouldn’t be triggering.

Not even a fleeting image of that ruined blouse crosses your mind while you weakly clinkthe plastic cups together. It’s the epitome of the college experience in your eyes. For once, you aren’t upset by that fact.

You keep smiling, wrinkling your nose at the fizz bursting on the back of your tongue. You can’t help it.

Ari is a happy drunk, and he starts talking, joking with you, tucked away in your own little bubble.

It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He’s self-deprecating about the same, drunken party behavior that you have watched him participate in for years, and yet you dismiss that as nothing, normal even, and unconsciously nudge closer to Ari, your side flush with his as you bend to see the person he’s bad-mouthing now.

He seems to like the irony in that and chuckles as he says someone over there is getting sloppy, lifting his Solo to his mouth with a dainty pinky raised in defiance. He’s a goofball. You haven’t been so relaxed with someone in…months.

Both drinks are finished quickly, and Ari offers to grab more.

The warm buzz humming beneath your skin tells you ‘yes,’ but your higher brain function steadfastly puts a foot down.

“I shouldn’t,” you mutter, sounding undecided.

He shrugs. For whatever reason, you appreciate that Ari isn’t pushing for anything from you, but that’s exactly what makes you want more from him. He stacks the empty cups and mentions walking you home. He could use some fresh air, he says.

“I should find Billy…”

Ari rolls his shoulders and thinks, his eyes follow suit, scraping his peripheral vision for an alternative that never presents. He stands up, arms akimbo, dramatically squinting to ‘think’ harder.

“He was wearing that red ball cap, right?”

“What?” You’ve never seen your boyfriend don a hat once but suddenly remember the pong partner who pulled him over. “No, that’s Leo,” you scream over the noise now that Ari is standing a few paces away. “Billy’s in, like, a neutral t-shirt.”

Ari smirks, scanning. “One beige Billy, coming up!”

Off he darts into the crowd, much faster than you’ve ever seen a drunk man move, and you skitter behind, realizing Ari stops at the kitchen only when you slam into his back.

He throws the empty cups into the trash and turns to the sink, washing his hands with dish soap, drying them on his shirt, leaving darker streaks of blue.

“Okay, not sticky,” Ari beams, “so now we go.”

Easily, naturally, his hand scoops up yours, and Ari leads you deftly through the throng.

He’s holding your hand. It’s damp and rough and cool and warm all at once. And you grasp it. You’re holding his hand back.

Though tall enough to see over most heads, Ari takes a good long while to notice everyone because they keep moving about. 

Pointing with your still-joined hands, you shout to check the beer pong room, but no Billy.

You two amble through the entire lower floor, stopped several times by people greeting Ari, and he introduces you automatically. You hope none of these other drunk frat boys remembers seeing you hold his hand while asking where your damn boyfriend is.

Without fail, each friend asks if you two are together, and to his credit, Ari quickly changes to “have you seen a guy…” and describes Billy.

“Dunno, man. Check upstairs?”

Ari thanks them and glances at you, a look of defeat creasing his forehead.

He drums his free fingers on the banister. He hesitates.

“Wait here?” he offers but drops your hand and doesn’t pause for your reply.

Using a football drill tactic, Ari bolts expertly up the stairs while you get waylaid by some girls holding up a selfie-stick to make a video. They bitch at the angle, ignoring you, and have to reshoot. You can’t get past.

Yelling.

Suddenly, there’s lots of yelling coming from the packed second floor and a door slams. Half the people in the stairway and hall look up.

More crashing and thudding noises ring out.

With everyone frozen, you shove your way through.

“What the fuck,” you hear just as some guy backs away, almost knocking you down. “Who the hell do you think you are, man?”

Your legs take you inside though your heart lodges in your throat.

Ari’s got Billy pinned over a wrecked desk on the other side of the room while the girl with the bandana top stands by a bed, pulling down her mini skirt. She snaps for Ari to mind his own business, and Ari immediately shoots a glare at her over his shoulder, keeping Billy pinned beneath him.

“Beks, for fuck’s sake,” Ari starts, but quickly, the guy who pushed you in the hall cusses her out louder than anyone else.

“Serves you right for getting back with Erin,” Bandana Girl snaps.

“Eat shit, Rebekah. You don’t actually care!”

What…is going on? These people are nuts.

At least four more bodies squeeze through the door, all looking blazing-mad while you get pushed farther into the suffocating room. You’re bewildered and overwhelmed.

Blocker Guy lunges forward and shoves Ari off of Billy.

Your hands are up, claiming space to breathe, but there’s way too much going on. No one—not even you—can hear your voice crying to be let out.

Funny thing is, you aren’t crying for Billy to help you. Only after you yell for Ari does your brain process that your boyfriend’s fly is down, his jeans unbuttoned, too.

A large, rough hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the door, barreling you both through the crowd to another room down the hall. It’s surreal to see the group descend on the fight like moths to a flame, drawn to watch what horrible thing these students will do next.

Ari man-handles you inside without hitting a light switch. It’s pitch black, but the closed door at your back muffles only a fraction of the commotion.

From the other side, you hear Billy calling your name, but Ari’s soft, panting breath steals your focus as it gusts across your neck.

His lips shift close to your ear.

“Don’t do it, smartie,” he whispers. “Leave him.”

The stale smell of beer wafts forward when you lean farther into that letterman jacket Ari keeps prominently hung. You feel the ribs of the cuffs against your bare arms until, suddenly, it’s the ridges of Ari’s rough fingers ghosting over your skin.

If Billy’s still screaming, you can’t tell. Your heart thunders in your chest as the hot breath rolling over you moves up your neck and over your jaw.

He’s right there.

He’s right there. He’s drunk. He’s stupid. He doesn’t matter. You don’t matter to him. It’ll never work and it doesn’t have to. This could be so simple.

You envy how easy this is for him, always another girl around the corner, in the next room, who will want him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about wanting to use him. He’s right there, willingly, single or not, sober or not, and so you grip the soft linen of his shirt collar and tug him straight to you.

It doesn’t matter how sloppy you are, how shy or how forceful you get, because you live like him in this moment.

Ari doesn’t care about anything. Self-assured. Confident. Sexy. Popular. He doesn’t have to care.

Now, neither do you.

[Next Part]

⬅️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[thealogie]

Thea, thanks for being such a thoughtful interlocutor on all…this (gestures vaguely). To your non-US askers, I want to say, with all kindness, lots of people have made that argument about how better economic policies would pull American voters away from the far right, and the evidence just has not borne that out. His base is middle class people who drive $90,000 trucks, not people in the bottom quintile of income. People on FB talking about how their student loans have been forgiven and instead of being happy saying it’s “sus” and how Biden can’t buy their vote: so like, these are people who are so ill-informed they don’t know it’s not Biden on the ballot but also—they were never going to give any credit to a Democrat. They are convinced gas was cheaper four years ago. They align themselves with oligarchs because they fantasize about becoming one someday. I agree with Thea: some people want someone in power to authorize their worst impulses. They want to know what it’s like to touch a hot stove, and now we all get to find out.

Right. I think people keep thinking “oh if we only truly listen to white conservatives then we will see they are not animated by hatred but by these neutral and legitimate concerns” and we’ve been saying that as long as I’ve been sentient and the Democratic Party keeps bending backwards to attract these voters, but like…all evidence from detailed on the ground reporting is that people hear the right wing messages Trump espouses and they like it.

I actually do also think the Democratic Party could have swayed people and gotten left turnout by running on actually traditionally Democratic social policy but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a sizable group of people who are just sexist and racist

[in1-nutshell]

IN1-NUTSHELL DROP TFONE OPHELIA AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

Introducing TFONE Ophelia!

Hope you enjoy!

TF1 Version of Ophelia

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Mention of injury, Angst, Cybertronian reader

TF1

It was rare for a sparkling to end up down in the mines.

Most who did ended up running away or getting crushed.

The ‘luckier’ ones were found by supervisors and taken away.

None of the miners ever saw them again.

But this one was special.

Not just because they were probably one of the smallest sparklings they had ever seen.

But because they had lifted up a full cart of energon over their helm and threw it.

The miners were vaguely aware that 1 percenters existed, but never actually seen one.

There was no telling what the supervisors would do.

For once, the miners agreed to keep the 1 percenter with them.

Maybe they would help out around when they got older and taller.

Strength was needed in the mines.

After a bit of babysitting, the sparkling finally found the bots she liked the most.

Two miners, D-16 and Orion Pax.

Well, more D-16, but Orion was always with him, so they were a package deal.

D does not know why the sparkling chose him, but he isn’t complaining.

She could fit in his servo easy, adorable optics and the cutest smile he had ever seen.

Orion was also her favorite.

Orion was the bot who actively played with her.

It was a little rough for D’s liking.

D-16 walking into the hall. D-16: “Orion I need—PAX WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” The sparkling was on top of one of the higher bunks with Orion at the bottom with his servos ready to catch the sparkling if she fell. Orion: “Relax D, she’s just a bit curious.” D-16: “That does not explain why she is so high! Move I’m getting her!” Orion grabs D’s shoulder. Orion: “Ophelia’s fine D, but you scaring her is going to make her fall.” D-16: “Ophelia?” Orion: “Yeah, I tried out some names while you were out. She seems to like that name. Isn’t that right Ophelia!” Ophelia’s helm turned to the two bots and immediately starts chirping at them both happily. D-16: “I was thinking on Maxima or Ironhold… but Ophelia does sound better.” Orion puffs his chassis a bit with pride as he goes to pick up the sparkling and giving her to D. D-16 smiles at her. D-16: “You miss me, Ophelia?” Ophelia: “D!” Both mech’s jump at the sound. Orion: “Did she just…” Ophelia: “D! D! D!” D-16 smiles even more, cuddling the sparkling closer to his chassis.

As the years passed by, Ophelia grew a bit before stopping shortly around their knee joints.

Safe to say it was official, Ophelia was a minibot.

As she grew older, she ended up persuading D, and Orion to let her help out with the mines.

She wanted to help.

Elita soon caught wind of this and immediately took the mini under her wing and squad.

Minibot or not, Ophelia was a 1 percenter and could help in big ways.

Ophelia ended up working with cargo placements and on the occasion helped with the entrance of tunnels collapsing.

Give the minibot a jetpack and a sturdy rock, she could stabilize the tunnel’s entrance for almost a whole minute before crashing down.

D hated whenever she had those jobs.

Even more when supervisors ordered it and not Elita.

Elita at least understood that Ophelia had limitations, the guards couldn’t care less.

Ophelia and D end up teaming up on Orion many times whenever he tries to bring up some sort of crazy idea.

In response, Orion brings the minibot with him.

D has near spark attacks when this happens.

D-16 is standing in front of Orion and Ophelia; his arms crossed and had a disappointed look on his face. D-16: “I told you both going after those slugs was more trouble than what it’s worth.” Ophelia: “But—” D-16 look makes her stop. The mech’s attention turns to Orion. D-16: “She could have gotten hurt Pax. She’s still a youngling and doesn’t know any better.” Orion: “I was watching her D. Do you think I’d let something bad happen to her?” D-16: “Its not that I don’t trust you—” Orion: “Then what is it?” D-16: “I’m just worried my daughter is going to pick up your bad influence of jumping off building and messing with protocol!” The words sink in for all three bots. Ophelia: “…Do… do you really see me like that D?” D-16 considers lying for a second but decides against it. D-16: “Yes… I understand if—OOF!” Ophelia, though barely reaching the bots knee joints, hugged his legs tightly. D-16 blinks before gently rubbing her helm with his servo. Orion: “Primus I wish I could take a picture. This is adorable.” D-16: “And you ruined the moment.”

From then on, D-16 makes it a rule that if Ophelia were to go with Orion, to let him know.

He knows roughly about half of the outings.

Orion just wants some quality time with his niece, trying to get her out of her shell.

Orion while he goes through the archives, always brings back data slugs or chips on Cybertron’s history for Ophelia.

Even picks up little Megatronus Prime or Micronus Prime decals.

The day of the race arrives.

Ophelia was told to go find some seats by D before the pair left.

She never makes it to the stands because she gets called to the cargo hold to help load some cargo.

Ophelia stops her work seeing the screen with her father and uncle in the race.

Her optics do not leave the screen.

Too bad she couldn’t see the rest of it before someone pushed her into a nearby trash shoot.

Screaming all the way down while trying to grab onto something.

She was stuck in the scrap until something pulled her out.

It was a yellow bot, not too older than her.

He was just as surprised as her seeing a bot down here.

Ophelia explained that she needed to get back to her family.

The bot, B-127, suggested waiting for a supervisor, but they rarely came down to sublevel 50.

Ophelia, feeling literally down in the dumps, figured talking to him wouldn’t be so bad.

After a couple of hours there is more crashing.

B-127 keeps Ophelia behind him as he goes to look.

It was Orion and D-16.

Ophelia spots them and runs over. Ophelia: “Dad! Orion!” Ophelia jumps straight into D’s arms hugging him. D-16: “Ophelia? What are you doing here?” Orion: “How did you get down here?” B-127: “She said some bot upstairs pushed her in. Hi! I’m Ophelia’s friend! I’m B-127!”

Alpha Trion’s message is found and the quest to the surface has been made.

Ophelia, as much as she was scared of the surface, put on a brave face and claimed she wanted to go.

D-16, surprisingly agrees, but it wasn’t like he was going to leave her by herself.

Ophelia clings between D and Orion’s back.

She is clinging for dear life during the entirety of the train scene.

Only let’s go and stands up like everyone else once they all reach the surface.

Then the mountain starts coming to the train.

B picks up Ophelia like a football and runs.

Everyone gets flung from the train.

B-127, D-16, Elita and Orion groan as they stand up and get ready to follow the map. D-16 suddenly looks around. D-16: “Wait! Where’s Ophelia!?” Ophelia: “Up here!” The group looks up to one of the taller rock formations. Ophelia is clinging on the edge to dear life. D-16: “Ophelia!” B-127: “How did you get up there?” Ophelia: “I grew a T-cog and turns out I’m a Seeker.” B-127: “Really?” Ophelia: “OBVIOUSLY NOT! SOMEONE GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!”

It takes a good couple of minutes to get her down.

Reveal of the Quintessons.

Grips D’s servo a bit too hard as Orion and B nearly get caught by the scanner.

Finding the Prime’s.

Ophelia consoles D as they both kneel in front of the fallen helm of Megatronus Prime.

Meeting Alpha Trion.

Witnessing what happened to the Primes and what Sentinel had been doing.

Ophelia stays by Alpha Trion’s side when D talks about off-lining Sentinel.

It got her a bit nervous.

Floored when she hears about Sentinel stealing their cogs and in return, they all get cogs.

Going downhill, everyone is trying out their transformations. D-16: “How do we use these things!” Ophelia tries using her cog. She feels something happening. Ophelia: “I think I got—” CLANK! Ophelia’s helm got tucked in. Ophelia: “I CAN’T SEE!” Orion in the same position: “ME NEITHER!”

Ophelia is still small (she got Micronus’s cog) but could feel the cog in her chassis.

Transforms into a small rover.

Feels something wrong with her father the way he talked slowly to Orion.

Reassures Orion that she would fix him.

The group gets kidnapped by the High Guard.

Fangirls with B seeing and naming each guard member she can see.

Screams when D starts fighting Starscream.

She ended up getting pushed and shoved everywhere until a pair of servos picked her up.

It was Soundwave.

He had perched her up on his shoulder so she could have a better view.

She didn’t know whether to be grateful or not seeing the canon now shoved at Starscream’s face.

She shared the same scared look that Orion had.

Arachnid and her army arrived.

Ophelia fair well, catching many bots off guard with her strength.

Even managing to save some of the High Guard’s members in the process.

But ultimately gets tased and captured with D and B.

Ophelia is placed with much heavier sets of cuffs than the energy binds the others had.

Internally screaming for D to get back down once he stands up.

Sentinel is about to slap him, until his optics land on her.

The Prime roughly grabs her by the back of the neck cables and drags her to the front of the room.

Ophelia tries to raise her helm, but a harsh punch sends it back down.

D yells and tries to get her.

He is restrained.

Ophelia’s audials are a bit muffled, but the distinct sound of a sword being retracted is clear.

The Prime enjoys brandishing his sword and letting it drag slowly to the shaking minibot.

D-16: “Leave her out of this Sentinel! She has nothing to do with this!” Sentinel raises his sword. Sentinel: “Oh but my Dear D-16. In my perfect world, there is no need for 1 percenters.” The false Prime then goes to strike. D-16: “NO!” The sword had stopped centimeters away from her face. The sword instead cuts her bindings. Ophelia tries to stand on her bad pede. D-16: “Wh-what?” Sentinel: “I’m letting her go.” The crowd looked at him in surprise. Ophelia finally manages to stand up straight. Sentinel: “Kidding!” With that Sentinel Prime kicked the minibot with full force out the balcony. It happened so fast no one heard the minibot scream. D-16: “OPHELIA!”

Ophelia falls out of the balcony and straight to the city below.

D yells in anguish as he sees Ophelia disappear from view and more when Sentinel brandishes him.

Thankfully, Ophelia had managed to stick a servo on the side of a nearby building, stopping her rough decent.

Her servos and pedes were dented but at least she was alive.

She tried to climb back up but nearly fell again as the building shook.

Did a train crash into it?

She tries climbing again but spots two other figures fall out.

It was D and Sentinel.

With enough bravery that would make Orion proud, she jumped on the false Prime’s back as the three of them began to tumble down.

Ophelia made sure to punch holes straight into his dense armor.

Suddenly she was flung backwards and into the sea of spectators.

She looked up and briefly made eye contact with D, who looked so relief before a murderous look overcame him.

He started for the Prime.

What could she do?

Ophelia tried to make her way to the stage when Orion had arrived to intervene.

She stared in horror as D-16 shot to Sentinel before Orion took the hit.

Ophelia couldn’t believe what was happening.

But thankfully D was there to catch him.

Everything was going to be okay.

…

Ophelia didn’t remember screaming, nor did she remember hitting several bots feet away as they tried to get her from going to close to the edge.

She followed Elita and B to try and stop him from doing any more harm after ripping Sentinel in half.

After naming himself Megatron.

The blast from Optimus’s ascension made her go back into the crowd with Elita and B.

Ophelia tried to run back to Megatron and Optimus, but the crowds were panicked and wild.

She was even lucky enough to remain in one piece.

The minibot witnessed Optimus banishing Megatron from Iacon.

She could see the slight tears coming from Megatron’s face.

To witness him call the High Guard to follow him.

No mentions of her name.

Not even an attempt to ask where she was.

A part of Ophelia wanted to go with him.

Of course she did, he was still her Dad.

She didn’t want to leave him alone.

… But somewhere deep in her spark told her to stop.

Not to take another step.

…Ophelia could only hope that listening to the feeling was the right thing…

Later that evening Ophelia was walking past her old recharging station. She carefully traced the Megatronus decal on D-16’s pod. Optimus: “Ophelia?” Ophelia jumped a bit, not used to Orion—no, Optimus’s voice. Ophelia: “Optimus.” The Prime stood next to her, both looking sadly at the decals. Ophelia couldn’t take it anymore and crumbled on the ground letting out a sob. Optimus knelt and scooped her into his arms. Ophelia knew she probably dented the new Prime’s frame a bit with her hug, but right now she didn’t care. Ophelia: “I want him back! I want him back! Orion please!” The minibot could feel the Prime’s tears on her helm and a gently shake. Maybe someday he would come back… Meanwhile Megatron had finished his little shrine in his habsuite. A shrine for Ophelia. His sparkling that was murdered by the Prime. Megatron whispers: “Sleep well Ophelia. We will meet again; I swear to you.”

[lvmoure]

When I Was Your Man CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

Summary: In which Carlos realized that it was his lost.

Warnings: break-up, angst, cheater

The room was silent except for the quiet hum of the city lights through the window. Carlos sat across from you on the plush couch, his posture as stiff as his gaze. He looked at you, but it felt as if he was staring through you, his expression cold and unreadable. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the emptiness echo through the large, beautiful room that you both once shared.

"I just don’t understand, Carlos." Your voice was barely a whisper, yet it hung heavy in the air. "All I ever wanted was…something real. Just us. Simple things."

Carlos looked away, his jaw tight. "You knew how it would be from the beginning," he said, his voice flat, distant. “With my schedule, the travel, the life…you knew.”

You felt a pang in your chest. "I did know. I accepted all of it because I believed in us. But it feels like I don’t even know you anymore. I wanted you, Carlos. Not your career, not your lifestyle. Just…you."

A long, strained silence followed. You watched as he shifted in his seat, finally meeting your eyes with a flicker of something — perhaps regret, perhaps sadness — before it disappeared.

"What did you expect, then?" he asked quietly, almost defensively. “I told you from the start…I don’t do… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if “this” was something foreign, strange. "All this hand-holding and flowers, it’s not me."

You looked down at your hands, fingers nervously twisting together. "I expected that maybe…just maybe…you'd try. Maybe care about what I want. Just small things, like holding my hand, talking to me at the end of the day. It’s never been about grand gestures, Carlos."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s not even about what you did with her. It’s about feeling like I was never enough. Like I was just…there.”

He stiffened, his eyes darkening, but he stayed silent. The absence of words weighed heavier than any argument. It was as if he was already gone, the connection that once held you two together severed.

“Carlos…are you even sorry?” you finally asked, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, he seemed taken aback. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but then he looked away, his gaze falling back to the ground. “I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

A bitter smile crept onto your face. “Sometimes silence says more than anything, doesn’t it?” You stood up, taking one last look at him. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for you. And that was when you knew — he wasn’t going to fight for this.

A few months had passed, and in many ways, you felt freer than ever. It was strange to think that such simplicity could bring such happiness. And then, there was Timothée.

Timothée was different. He was warm, gentle, attentive — all the things you had longed for, the things Carlos had seemed incapable of giving. Tonight, as you both walked out of a small café, the warmth of his hand in yours was almost surreal. You glanced down, a smile touching your lips. It was such a small gesture, but it meant the world.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you with a soft concern that had become second nature to him. He always asked how you were, always noticed the little shifts in your mood.

You nodded, smiling up at him. "I’m good. Really."

He grinned, squeezing your hand. “Good. Because I have something for you.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bouquet of wildflowers. You laughed in surprise, a happy, genuine laugh. "Timothée…"

“They’re simple,” he said, smiling shyly. “But I thought you might like them.”

You took the flowers, your heart swelling with warmth. "They’re perfect."

He lifted your hand and kissed it softly. “Perfect for you, then.”

The flash of cameras brought you back to reality, and you blinked as the paparazzi swarmed around you. Timothée kept a firm grip on your hand, pulling you close and shielding you from the crowd. Unlike before, the attention didn’t feel invasive or stressful. With Timothée, it felt safe.

Later that night, as you lay next to him, you couldn’t help but think about how everything you had longed for with Carlos was finally here. Timothée’s arm was wrapped around you, his breathing soft and even. And for the first time in a long time, you felt seen, cherished.

Carlos sat in his dimly lit apartment, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table beside him. The photo on his phone screen showed you laughing, hand-in-hand with Timothée. You looked…happy. Really, truly happy.

The realization hit him harder than he expected. There was a pang of something sharp, bitter, clawing its way through him. Regret. He knew it now, more acutely than he ever had. He had taken you for granted, assumed you would always be there, no matter how cold or distant he’d been.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. Memories flooded back — moments when he could have held your hand, spoken to you, made you feel cherished. All the small things you’d wanted, the things he thought were meaningless, suddenly felt monumental.

“Carlos?” His teammate’s voice cut through the haze, but Carlos barely registered it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, brushing him off. “I need a minute.”

He turned back to the photo, something heavy settling in his chest. He thought of all the times he could have been there for you, the moments he missed out on because he was too focused on his career, too wrapped up in his own world to see you slipping away.

Another photo appeared in his feed — this one of Timothée with his arm around you, a small bouquet in your hands. He remembered you asking him, once, to bring you flowers. Just once. He’d laughed, brushed it off, called it “silly.” But now, seeing the way your face lit up for someone else, he understood.

As days passed, Carlos found himself haunted by the memories — your laughter, the way you’d always looked at him with such hope. It was the simple things that had mattered to you. All you had wanted was to hold hands, to feel connected, to know that he was there for you. And he’d let it all slip through his fingers.

He stared at his phone, re-reading your last text before the breakup. "I just wanted you, Carlos. Nothing more." He realized now, painfully, how simple that request had been, how much he had failed you by not seeing it.

Carlos closed his eyes, the regret pooling in his chest like a weight. You had been everything, and he hadn’t realized it until now — until it was too late. The cold, distant man he had been, the one who’d never truly understood your worth, had lost you to someone who cherished every part of you, someone who held your hand and brought you flowers.

He took a shaky breath, whispering into the empty room. "I’m sorry." But he knew it was too late. And he was left with nothing but the hollow echo of what could have been.

[bougiebutchbinch]

I’m back to talk about transfemme Wade (who I think would refuse to go by Wanda bc “we already have one of them, don’t wanna confuse the fans!”) but in an embarrassing amount of thought so anon-

I feel like she has so many wigs that sit along the wall of their room, one for every occasion (Logan talked her out of getting a massive Miku length one bc she would never take care of it Well enough-), her favorite is the Barbie of just a cute blonde ponytail that sometimes she’d clip colorful strips into. Sometimes she showers wearing a wig for the Euphoria of her bf being pissed there’s a bunch of plastic in the drain- she goes through so many phases of what style she likes, their living room was full of amazon boxes at some point and Logan was ‘forced’ to sit through a fashion show and give his opinions, and while he doesn’t know the difference between Lolita (THE STYLE THE STYLE!!!!) and Harijuku, all he knows is his girl is beaming and rambling a mile a minute and he can’t make himself veto any outfit she shows off. Unfortunately his real favorite look of hers involves the same t shirts and boxers she wore before coming out, no makeup, no wig, face mushed into his chest and just Content as can be. He doesn’t care about her putting on a big effort to look femme (though will always lovingly praise looks so the RSD doesn’t trigger), as long as she’s happy and safe, he’s so lucky to have her 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 anyways I go ESPLODE NOW thinking of my self ship with her-

WAILS AND RUBS MY FACE ALL OVER THIS LIKE A HAPPY CAT

AWHHHHHHH

she is everything to me. EVERYTHINGGGGG

[UNDER A CUT for discussions of bottom dysphoria - as well as related self-inflicted violence, but in a Poolverine way where violence is consensual and sexy and fun for everyone involved!]

I need her to be happy and to find joy and to have a million wigs and for Logan to love her just as much with them as without them, while bitching something rotten while he pulls the gross wads of plastic faux-hair out the drain

I need her to drape herself over Logan's lap like a happy housecat only Logan's the one who starts (embarrassedly) purring as he strokes her because he's so delighted and comfortable in his life right now~ And Wade is just being VIBRATED by the very loud proof of her boyfriend's love of her.... And she is smiling the GOOFIEST grin while Logan turns bright red!

I need her to turn to Logan after a long day of murder and they start pulling voraciously at each other's clothes - only Logan freezes STARSTRUCK because. Damn. And Wade's kinda confused and a bit self conscious, but tries to hide it under jokes until Logan says in this gruff, choked voice - "You look so fucking good in red" and she looks down to see where she's pulling off her costume and she's just fucking covered in this glossy red satin dress of her own blood ❤️

(And Logan maybe buys her a long red evening dress that she's probably never gonna have occasion to wear, but he's flushing so much when he presents it that he almost matches the colour, and he wants to see her in it so bad, and whenever Wade wears it around the house just casually, she gets picked up and fucked against the nearest wall lmao)

I need Logan dipping her effortlessly in a kiss, and she feels so fucking weightless in his arms ❤️

I need them baking together before Laura comes around and they both keep burning shit but they're laughing and having a good time and there's a smudge of flour on Wade's nose and Logan is imploding internally over how cute she is

I also need her to casually say to Logan one day when the Bottom Dysphoria is particularly bad, 'hey can you chop off my dick while fucking me and then just keep chopping it off whenever it tries to grow back??' and Logan is like 'what the fuck babe' and 'I have a vague sense that I shouldn't enable this' and 'babe are you fucking sure' and Wade is like 'yeah I get off on pain and that would make me very very happy, plus it will do no lasting damage <3' and Logan is like 'OOKAY I GUESS' and then they have fun horrific bloody mutilation sex that would look absolutely awful to anyone else but is actually very tender and affirming and cute

[zekeyboy]

I love apprentice adam as much as the next guy. Probably more than the next guy to be honest considering i want him to be alive so badly. HOWEVER. Let’s be real. Apprentice adam is so unlikely to exist for many many reasons.

Adam is not like Lawrence ideology-wise. Lawrence is an upper class white guy who like. he views his life to be ruined by these scum. these people lesser than him (ex. adam, for stalking him & photographing him, tapp, for going off the edge, so on and so forth) and its expanded on when we see the deleted scene from saw 7 where kramer talks to gordon about how like the bottom rung of society will always pull the good men down with them or whatever. like the fact that there was one trap where kramer puts a homeless man in the glass coffin and he has to like. eat shards of glass that got cut. really hammers in how kramer really views people - and in turn, the ideologies he pushes onto Lawrence. Adam is a highschool drop-out who’s, presumably, very involved in punk culture. He was originally supposed to have a huge photo of a Cuban revolutionary on the wall of his apartment. He’s probably never had a real job. In the original script, he’s very open about hating cops. He is the complete opposite of “Important White Male” Lawrence Gordon - and the perfect counter to Lawrence’s game (because, let’s be real - it was always Lawrence centric. I will come back to this later.)

Adam has always been considered the lower level of society. A “bottom-feeder.” He’s a drop-out, his line of work is very illegal, and - judging from the Scott Tibbs documentary, he’s been in that kind of crowd for a while and has forced himself to adapt to it. Trying to keep my personal view of Adam out of this analysis, he’s definitely spent a lot of time around the kind of people that kramer views as scum. He’s also, unsurprisingly, very sweet at his core. Look at how he talks to Amanda in the deleted SAW III scene, how he jokes around with those ladies. He’s like. A nice guy. Scott Tibbs even says so. Lawrence, however, isn’t the kindest. He might put on a face of nice, good guy, but he’s.. What people might expect Adam to be at their core.

Lawrence had his life together, and was dragged down by a bad decision. Adam has a different view and perspective on the world than Lawrence does. he was never at the top and pulled down. he’s been at the bottom and he works with what he has and i really like. i dont think that surviving his trap would change his perspective. i don’t think he would suddenly realize why kramer does what he does. It really wouldn’t help him. However, even if he was going to change his view of the world…

John Kramer does NOT like that guy. Like it’s very clear how biased he is here. Adam’s tape doesn’t even have rules. He doesn’t have a goal. He’s simply told that he might die, that he’s pathetic, and that he needs to ‘do something about it.’ He isn’t given rules, he isn’t given a consequence, he’s given such vague instructions. Lawrence, however, gets clear rules. Kill Adam by 6, or you and your family die.

The kicker, to me, is the fact that Lawrence fails his test. He doesn’t kill Adam by 6. He fails his test. Adam, however, is still alive at 6 - which would imply that he won. Now, I understand that the key was in the tub and that’s how he was supposed to get out. But even without that aspect of it going down the drain and him being doomed from the start, Kramer has a clear biased perspective on the two of them.

Lawrence failed, and is going to die. Adam didn’t fail - it was a design flaw, if anything, and he’s paying for it. Why does John save Lawrence, but not Adam?

It’s not Adam’s test, is the reason. It’s very focused on Lawrence. Anybody could’ve been in Adam’s place - he just had the bad luck of being selected as the photographer by Tapp. Adam was only used as a tool to counteract Lawrence - similar to the janitor in Saw VI for Easton. Adam was never intended to survive, but more to be used as a tool to teach.

Kramer, also, isn’t very fond of impoverished people. Amanda is a special case - but she’s almost more of a trophy if anything. If I got into John and Amanda’s relationship it’d have to be a completely new post, but he’s the kind of person who thinks that you just have to pick yourself up by the bootstraps i think. The fact that he, as I mentioned before, has a deleted trap where he puts a homeless person in the original glass coffin…. Is enough for me to figure out how he really views people below him.

I could probably go on. I probably will go on in my head. I’m very bad at organizing my thoughts. I hope this was comprehensive. I did my best to not accidentally mix in my own personal Adam thoughts that aren’t canon to the films (i have a lot.)

[kusanagihaku]

and everything you do

⭢ haku x mc, 2.5k

y is for yellow. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3 insp by this haku fanart!

The doors of the Galaxy Express hiss open, and you stumble in. 

You feel Haku’s weight slip off your shoulders as you gently lower him onto the plush of the closest red seat. He collapses, unceremoniously, onto the worn velvet, blinking slowly up at you with unfocused eyes as you right him. 

“Nearly there,” you murmur. You brush his hair away from his forehead. “On the train home now.” 

He closes his eyes in response. 

At least the bleeding seems to have stopped, you think. The cut on his cheekbone is no longer beading with fresh blood, dried smear instead catching on the pad of your thumb as you run it over the soft of his cheek. Small wins. 

You make sure he’s sitting semi-upright before moving to sit next to him. Before you can, however, his hand shoots up to stop you. 

With surprising strength, his arm winds around your waist, tugging you to him so hard you can’t help but lose your balance, knees buckling and tumbling into his lap. 

You yelp softly in shock, but Haku’s arms stay firmly anchored around you. His other hand comes up to grasp at the front of your blazer, holding you in place as he tips his head forward to rest on your shoulder. 

You soften. 

He must be really exhausted. 

Unsurprising, really, with the number of all-nighters he must have pulled over the last week. Where the missions of the other houses are often action-heavy and return you battered and bruised to the drafty embrace of the cathedral, Hotarubi’s missions are instead research-heavy, requiring Haku and Subaru to stay up nights on end in preparation. You’ve seen first-hand the amount of work Haku pours into every mission they go on, flipping through tomes of books way past moonset. Sometimes Subaru walks you back to the cathedral when your work ends past midnight, and you return the next morning to see Haku still in the same spot you left him. 

It’s partially why you find yourself gravitating towards Hotarubi missions – you’re more useful hitting the books for Haku than you are hitting… well, hitting anything with your fists. 

(The other half of the reason remains shrouded in a vague mist of Hotarubi nice, Subaru sweet, biggest fucking crush on Haku, Zenji fun… you try not to think too much about it.) 

You reach up to pat his head gently. “I’ll text Jiro to come take a look at your ankle, alright?” 

“Mmph,” Haku says. He shifts slightly, so that his chin is tucked into the crook of your neck instead. The grip on your blazer loosens. “No need, I’ll be alright.” 

Any closer his lips get to you and he’d be able to read the race of your heart through the thrum of your skin alone; you hope he doesn’t notice. 

You tsk, instead. “I know you ghouls heal at like, double the speed or whatever, but I still want to make sure it’ll heal properly.” 

Haku snorts. It sounds pained, still. His breath tickles your ear lobe as he says, “You don’t have to. I have you to lean on, don’t I?” 

You sigh. The ghouls may have double the strength, but they have double the stubbornness, too. “I’ll just get Jiro to bring the salve that Professor Nicolas used on me on my first day, alright?” 

Haku’s arms tighten around you at that. There is a small smile in his voice as he says, “How the tables have turned.” 

You tilt your head.

“Me bringing you to Darkwick on the Galaxy Express way back then because of your injured ankle…” Haku continues, laugh breathy against your ear. “Now it’s your turn to bring me home, huh?” 

You think you may be imagining it, but there is a gentle press of lips against the curve of your neck. It sends a warm shiver down your spine and a warm flush up your cheeks; you hurry to cover it up by shifting your arm and reaching into your pocket for your phone. 

“Wish you were sitting on my lap the first time, though,” Haku murmurs, and your brain short-circuits. 

“Um,” you say, intelligently. Your fingers fumble the password to your phone, failing to unlock it, and Haku snorts again. 

“Sorry, princess.” 

He doesn’t move though. You start to think he’s not sorry at all.

“I’ll, um.” You swipe at your phone screen again, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and the sudden overwhelming awareness of Haku’s arms holding you flush against him. “I’ll just.” 

You navigate to your texting app, with some difficulty, and as soon as your app opens Haku laughs, drowsily. “My chat is pinned.” 

Right. You forgot you did that. 

You bite your lip. “I, um, pinned it for the mission.” 

You didn’t, and you know Haku knows it too. 

There’s no mistaking it this time – you feel the soft of Haku’s lips smile against the spot where your neck meets your collar. “Mmhmm.” 

You don’t know if you’re going to combust first from embarrassment or from the way his breath is fanning out against your neck. 

But it’s a good reminder that he’s still alive, albeit in pain, and his breath evens out, eventually, as you tap out a quick missive to Jiro to meet you at the train station…

The Galaxy Express announces its arrival at the station with a soft chime. 

You awake with a start – you must have dozed off for a few minutes in the warmth of Haku’s embrace, lulled to sleep by the steady rocking of the train. Oh, to fall asleep in Haku’s arms under other circumstances– 

The train chimes again, and you stand up, gently pulling yourself free from the lock of his arms around you, before turning around to help Haku stand as the train pulls into the station. 

As soon as you get Haku to his feet, his weight warm against your shoulder, you spot the ever-reliable bird’s nest of hair hovering outside the train station, and the even-more-reliable ghoul floating behind him. “Jiro!” 

Zenji floats immediately to your side as you help Haku out of the train. “My goodness, Haku! What have you gotten yourself into!” 

You bite your lip and shoot him an apologetic glance. Can’t answer him now, with Jiro so close, but Zenji just nods in understanding, choosing instead to fret over Haku’s injuries. 

It takes a moment to navigate out of the Galaxy Express and down the steps of the train station to the sound of Zenji’s chatter, but the two of you soon stand in front of Jiro as he surveys your mess.

“Honour student,” Jiro nods. “Kusanagi.” 

His eyes sweep over the surface cut on Haku’s cheek, before choosing to attend to the ankle injury. The bottle of whitish-green salve is already in his hand as he kneels down. He prods a little, with the cold tips of his fingers, then spreads the salve around where you think (?) Haku’s ankle is swollen. 

Jiro stands up at last, capping the bottle of salve. “It doesn’t look too bad. The swelling isn’t as bad as you made it out to be; it looks like he should be able to walk back by himself.” 

You sigh in relief. “Thanks, Jiro.” 

Jiro just shrugs, tucking the bottle into your hand. “If you didn’t say he was limping I wouldn’t have known it was injured at all.” 

You narrow your eyes as the pieces click together in your head, but before you can turn to Haku Jiro retrieves a few bandages from his pocket and thrusts them at you. 

“Some bandages for his face,” Jiro says. “Normally I’d put them on for patients, but he seems like he’d vastly prefer you doing it for him.” 

You turn to glare at Haku, but he just grins, brightly. “Spot-on as always, Jiro.” 

Jiro merely nods, before turning to stride away. 

“Thanks, Jiro!” You call out after the ghoul, before turning to Haku with a huff. 

“You–“

“I told you not to call him,” Haku points out, eyes twinkling, and you huff again. 

“I thought you were injured!” 

“I am!” He grins, and leans against you. “God, I’m so tired, it’s so hard to walk, my ankle hurts–“

You burst out laughing, in spite of yourself. “You’re so annoying.” 

And if you slowly make your way back with Haku’s arm still wound around your shoulder and his laugh brushing against your ear, limping closer and closer to the grey drizzle of Hotarubi, well– that’s nobody’s business but your own. 

(Neither of you notice Zenji fading back into transparency, adoring smile gracing his face as he watches the two of you bicker. He has a new idea for a love story to write, after all, and a brother to tail.)

-

Haku winces in pain the moment the antiseptic hits his skin. 

You bite your lip, pulling the cotton gauze away from his cheek. “Sorry.” 

He shakes his head minutely from where he is laid in your lap. “It’s alright. I can take it.” 

You dab around the wound, gentler this time. “You’re gonna have to keep the bandage on for at least a day.” 

“As long as it doesn’t scar,” Haku responds. He blinks slowly up at you, lazy smile spreading across his face. “Damn, if I knew all I needed to do to lay on your lap was to get a little scratch on my cheek I would have done it sooner.” 

You flush, and bop his nose with your index finger. “Stop smiling. I can’t clean your wound.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and bites down on his lips. The twinkle of mirth in his eyes don’t disappear, though, and it is only a matter of seconds before he opens his mouth again. “Will you give it a kiss after?” 

Startled, you press a little harder on his wound than you intend to, and he hisses in response. “Sorry!” 

Haku groans, hand coming up to brush his cheek before looking up at you like a wounded puppy. “That much against giving me a kiss? I’m hurt.” 

You bite back the thrum of your heart and will your eyes not to flicker to the soft pink of his lips, warm in the bruise-blue of Hotarubi evening. 

“If you’re well enough to flirt, you’re well enough to clean your own wound,” you threaten lightly, instead, and watch as Haku’s eyes crinkle up in a golden smile that sinks right into the butterfly swirl of your stomach. 

You can’t help the responding smile that surfaces on your own cheeks either – there has always been something in the sunlight of his laugh that bubbles through the map of your veins, bright and warm and magnetic. 

God, you’re so gone for him. 

You hastily drop his gaze and drop the gauze, and unwrap the large plaster Jiro gave you. “Stay still.” 

“As you say,” Haku murmurs, then much to the relief of your one remaining braincell, shuts his eyes. 

As you manoeuvre the length of the plaster onto the scratch on his cheek, you thank your past self for turning on the small lamp near the foot of his futon mattress. The scratch looks deeper than you thought in the warm light, an angry red that will scab over only in a few days. You’ll have to grab some hydrocolloid cream from your own stash to make sure it heals well. Maybe you can bring it over tomorrow. 

You run your fingers over the edges of the plaster, gently pressing the adhesive into place before brushing his fringe away from his eyelashes. He still looks exhausted, to be honest, purplish-grey bruising under his eyes both a haunting of sleepless nights past and a promise of sleepless nights to come.

You wonder, for the thousandth time, if there is anything else you can do to help shoulder his burden just as much as he is trying to shoulder yours. 

“If you stare so much you gotta start paying me in kisses, princess,” Haku says softly, smiling, eyes still closed. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm against his injured cheek. 

“I wasn’t–“ 

Haku hums, amusement threading through exhaustion. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Liar.” 

He intertwines his fingers with yours, shifting your hand so he can press his lips against your palm. The light brush of his kiss against your skin sends your heart racing; the fond gesture fuels the sudden whirlwind that has grown its new home in your throat. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but come up empty. God, you thought you were subtle, but everyone and their mothers and apparently Haku himself knows about your big fat crush on him. 

So much for keeping it a secret and living out a quiet rest of the year, really.

His voice is low, words sleep-warm and slurring as he continues, “I could love you like that, you know. I want to. If you’d let me.” 

The drum of the rain against the wooden veranda outside intensifies, filling the space between the both of you. The creaks in the Hotarubi ceilings expand between you and what you are too afraid to have. 

Can you? Can you really, with the sword of your curse hanging over your head? It already feels like you’re taking too much from him, just like this, wrapped in the secret moments you share and tucked into liminal pockets of time you steal between missions. His head on your lap, your hand in his. It feels too greedy, to take what he so readily offers. To agree with him feels like you’re reaching for too much. 

And yet you do not move your hand. 

Haku breathes out. It is too light to be a sigh, too heavy to be anything else but letting go. “Sing me a lullaby, will you?” 

You blink. “Uh-“ 

He settles your interlaced fingers on his stomach. His wrist is still mottled yellow and green from where he blocked an anomaly from flying at you two missions ago; you resist the urge to run your free hand over the bruising. His voice is slow and sleepy as he mumbles a, “Just want to hear your voice, princess. Please?” 

How easily you fold, whenever it is Haku asking. 

When you begin humming your voice is a little shaky, a build of uncertainty and self-consciousness, and you nearly stop if not for the reassuring squeeze of Haku’s hand on yours. You hum through the opening bars of a song whose name you cannot quite remember but is familiar all the same, a star-dusted melody has been trodden into the paths of your brain long before its lyrics floated away. 

The slightly off-tune off-time of your humming melts into the grey of the rain and the warmth of the room; you feel Haku slowly slipping out of consciousness, barely aware of how your hand has come up to rest against the green silken threads of his hair.  

And you know, you know I love you so. 

Haku’s breathing evens out. You skim your thumb over the back of his hand. 

You know I love you so. 

[dakota1435]

Moonlight Blood – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

Word Count: 2.8k

tags: NSFW!!, blood mention, sylus is consent king

(Previous chapters on my page)

Chapter 5

For the rest of the time, you don’t see Sylus nor the twins. It astonished you a bit, how much they left you alone. Given such privacy, you decided to wander down the same hallways, same corridors. There were definitely parts of the mansion you haven’t seen yet, but maybe that was for the best. You enter a broad common room, one that actually has a large glass window. The sun was rising, you noticed. Your sense of time has been skewed since you’ve arrived, considering there were a lack of windows, and mostly saw Sylus at night. Oddly enough, you didn’t really feel different.

As you stare out of the window, watching the sky blend with colors, you hear a low voice behind you.

“Do you miss the sun?” Sylus asked. You turned around, a little unphased at his sudden appearance. He lounges comfortably in a large leather chair.

“I do,” you answered honestly, “but I never saw the night sky as much. It is beautiful and comforting in some way.” Sylus takes a glance at you as you spoke, but doesn’t respond. “Where were you?” You spoke again, hoping to fill the thick silence in the air.

“Wrapping up some loose ends from the auction earlier.” He smirks, his canines flashing. You didn’t know what to say to that.

“The sun is coming up, shouldn’t you…be away?” You said, choosing your words carefully.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No! No I—”

“The sun isn’t going to kill me, kitten, it probably takes a lot more than that,” he interrupted, finding entertainment in your anxiety. “But, I don’t like it either. I was going to leave soon,” he admitted. It made you realize you just didn’t know anything about Sylus. Mysterious as ever. He stands up and calmly walks towards you. It takes a few paces before his height is towering over you. You don’t move, unsure if it was fear or curiosity that kept you rooted in your spot. He tucks your thick, long hair behind your ear. He looked down at you as if you weren’t real, that touching your hair brought him back to reality.

“Can I ask you something?” You felt a dash of courage reach up to you. So far, you’ve been able to speak freely in front of Sylus. But you were never going to push the limit.

“Speak.”

You take a breath, as if preparing your question. “How often do you need to… feed?” The last word barely came out. You averted your gaze, almost embarrassed you were asking such a question. It felt too personal for someone like Sylus. Much to your surprise, he snickers.

“I take care of myself when I need to.” His words were a bit vague. A thought popped in your mind and you blurted it out without thinking.

“Are you feeding from other people?” As the question leaves your lips, you feel something uneasy in your gut. Your heartbeat begins to pick up, no doubt Sylus wouldn’t notice. You don’t know why you would feel uncomfortable with Sylus feeding from someone other than you. Sure, you didn’t want him to hurt innocent people. But that’s what he bought you for, right? In the two weeks you’ve been here, he’s fed once. It keeps you on edge constantly, always mentally preparing yourself for Sylus. When did you become so submissive?

You feel Sylus standing deathly still. It doesn’t help the growing anxiety in your chest. “It’s not easy to control myself with someone like you. But it hurts, doesn’t it? The bite. I don’t exactly want to scare you off, kitten. I paid good money for you.” He places a soft hand under your chin, compelling you to look into his eyes. You realized he didn’t exactly answer your question, which was an answer itself. His touch was comforting, but his words reminded you of what you were to him. Just blood. That’s the only reason why he bought you. He’s taking care of you, because you are blood. Something churns in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You can’t scare me off.” A lie, but you wanted to come off stronger. That you weren’t weak, even if that meant willingly submitting yourself. You hold the eye contact between you two, standing your ground. A smirk teases his lips.

“I suppose you’re stronger than I’d like to think.” It sounded like an insult. He lowers his head close to yourself, his lips inches away from your ear. “Tell me, then…” his voice grew darker, huskier. It gave you goosebumps. “If I bit you right now, would you resist? Would you squirm in the pain I give to you?” His sudden change in demeanor makes you hold your breath. He slowly lowers his hand down to your wrist before firmly grabbing it. A soft gasp escapes from your mouth from the rough contact. He stands himself up, looking back at you again. Still holding your wrist, he brings it up near his mouth. You watch, silently, as he touches his lips against the pale of your skin. Not exactly a kiss, but something else entirely. It’s…Intimate.

“It doesn’t have to hurt so much, you know,” he said, dropping your arm back down.

“It doesn’t?” You questioned, trying to find the answer before he gave it to you.

“Give yourself to me. Give me all of you,” he urged. He slightly bows and extends his hand out to you. He was inviting you. “Let me guide you through the pain. Let me take care of everything.” The pink morning glow started to fill the room. You take a look outside before back at Sylus. His palm, face up, is waiting for you. Beckoning you, in a way. His tone was seductive and sweet like warm honey. You realized he was telling you to trust him. You feel your mind hesitate, but your fingertips tingle with anticipation for what’s to come. Sylus was difficult to read, but you knew that he was trying to be gentle with you. In his own way, at least. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing for what’s to come. If the pain won’t be as bad…then surely it can be more bearable. You take a deep breath as Sylus’ unwavering stare burns into you.

He won. Steadily, you reach back out to him. A wicked smile flashes his lips, his white fangs reminding you of what was to come. Your hand just barely rests above his.

“Come,” he commanded. Without warning, you are instantly transported into a dark, windowless room. You still grip onto his hand, afraid you’ll trip. A few warm lights emit in the room, giving it a visible glow so that you could see. Sylus doesn’t take his stare off of you. It was like he was observing every part of you, every reaction and movement. Taking a look around, you found yourself to be in the same room you woke up in after being bit the first time. Given on Sylus’ choosing, you assumed this was his personal room. “I hear your heart pounding. You are still frightened,” he pointed out. You didn’t realize your heart has been pulsating since you grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure why you were even apologizing in the first place. Everything about this situation was unpredictable. You didn’t know what to think, let alone feel.

“Relax,” he commanded again, “you can handle it.” His confidence in you was harsh, but mildly comforting. He slowly closes the distance between you two, his close proximity causing you to be still. He caresses your jaw, his touch feather-light. It felt like electricity, his touch lingering with a buzz.

“Tell me,” he says. You look up at him, a little puzzled. He takes a step closer, your bodies almost touching. The back of your legs were close to the edge of the bed. If Sylus comes any closer, you’d have to sit yourself back on the bed. “Tell me that you’ll give yourself to me. All of you.” He lowers his head and places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

Oh.

You can feel the rapid heat swell in your cheeks. If your heart was already pounding, you weren’t sure if it was going to keep beating much longer. Sylus doesn’t move another inch as he awaits your response. You swallow, preparing for the words about to leave your mouth.

“I…I give myself to you, Sylus.” You whispered. He shifts forward a bit, causing you to sit on the bed below you. His body now hovered above you, his leg placed deliberately between yours, causing you to open up a bit more. Never, in your life, have you thought this is where you would be. Your head swam with racing thoughts of what was about to come. But, there was something in his touch that made you feel warm all over. It soothed you, like a heavy-weight blanket. You felt dizzy, your nerves tingling where he touched. It felt like fire and ice at the same time. He places another kiss on your neck, the sensitivity makes you want to squirm.

“Be a good girl. I’ll take care of you,” he reassures you again, sensing your nervousness. His lips brush against your ear before you feel his hot, wet tongue trace up the skin. The sudden feeling betrayed the breath you were holding, causing you to sigh out loud. “Don’t hide anything from me. You said you would give me all of you.” His tone turns darker, possessive even. You had no idea how to process any of this, it all felt like it was moving too fast. Your body and mind were at war with each other. You craved more, desired more, but your mind told you this was still a predator. A very big, hungry monster. His body presses closer against you, one hand embracing the side of your neck while the other grasps just above your hip bone. Another kiss to your neck.

You haven’t experienced another experience this close. Sure, there were people you flirted with. Talked dirty with, made out with. But this? It was something on another level. It felt ethereal, as if Sylus was a fallen angel made for you. Each touch, each kiss felt like liquid sin. It was rather intoxicating and since you were this far, you already decided you would give yourself wholly. You feel yourself become softer as his touch continues. You wrap your free arm around him, holding his head as you let him continue. Your reciprocation gives Sylus a silent permission to go further. He lifts his head to stare at you, his crimson eyes filled with desire like you have never seen. You find yourself already breathing hard, knowing your cheeks are red and eyes glossy.

At this moment, this was the point of no return. Holding the side of your face, Sylus lowers himself to kiss you. It’s soft and gentle, but as you return the kiss it becomes more greedy. His grasp on you tightens and you’re both moving with uncontrollable desire. You feel his tongue over your lips and without hesitation you open your mouth more. You didn’t care you were at the mercy of your buyer, a blood thirsty vampire. Dangerous and a killer. You numbed the thoughts with the current pleasure. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you told yourself. You feel your body becoming hot all over, a dampness forming in between your legs. A soft moan escapes your lips when they aren't occupied with Sylus’.

“Do you want more?” He breaks the kiss, his voice husky and deep. Your lips tingle from the kissing that you didn’t want to stop. Unconsciously you graze your fingers over your lips, feeling them plump and wet. You nod in response. “I need to hear you say it,” he said darkly. Sure enough, he didn’t move until he heard you speak again,

“...Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, flustered at his teasing behavior. “I want more.” On cue, Sylus leans back down to kiss you with passion. You feel his hand trace down your chest, over your stomach, and stopping right above your core. With ease, he slips his hand under your clothes. Your breath is caught in your throat as he begins to touch you. You hold onto him tighter, as if you could seep through the floor. He begins kissing your neck again, along with your jaw.

“Already so wet, are you?” Sylus snickers under his breath. You wish you could bury your face, a little embarrassed at your extreme sensitivity. His hand teases you below, causing you to whimper. Without a doubt, you were utterly soaked. He sits himself up, still playing with you. His brows were a little furrowed and his breathing labored. It turned you on more, to see that he had the same desire. You could tell from his piercing gaze he loved to watch you twitch under his touch. He wanted to see all the faces you could make, all the sounds coming from your pretty little throat. Sylus teases your entrance before putting a finger in. You gasp, looking up where his hand is. It was just one finger…yet it felt already enough. It slips in with ease, prompting Sylus to slowly move in and out. You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore as he thumbs your clit, lazily rubbing in circles.

If this is what heaven felt like, you were ready to go.

He added another finger and you felt full. You couldn’t imagine anything more than that. You dramatically reach out to him, desperate to hold and cling to. You take your courage and crash your lips to his again. Your lead takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t falter. His hand is working harder now, your moans slipping in your kisses. The pleasure made your mind blank, only focusing on one thing only; Sylus. Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

“...Please.” You mumble. You could barely think straight. Sylus lifts his head, and his hand works harder.

“Please, what? Speak sweetheart.” You were already drunk on your own pleasure. Words pop in your mind but fade as you feel yourself getting closer. It’s as if he knew every sweet spot about you. Everything about his touch was perfect and it made your muscles feel like jelly. He takes his two fingers out for a moment, earning a whine from you, before he slicks them against your throbbing clit. He slips them in again, back to their original position. Feeling wet all over, a new form of pleasure overtakes you. You feel your core tightening.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, trying to concentrate on every single thrust and touch he gave you. You were becoming undone so easily beneath his touch. Your eyes glazed over him, seeing his starving expression. You think, now, it was time. You put your head to the side, exposing your neck as best as you could. You could feel your legs tremble, knowing you were close. “Bite,” you barely managed to get out. Your moans were uncontrollable, it was a miracle you weren’t hyperventilating.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Sylus said, his voice dark with lust. His mouth was slightly parted as he breathed fast, his fangs slightly exposed.

“Mmmf– Bite!” You yelled out. Sylus doesn’t hesitate after the words leave your lips. He licks up your neck before sinking his teeth down. While he still fingered you, his bite created a new form of pleasure like you have never experienced. Instantaneously, you come on his hand. Your thighs shake as you dig your nails into the back of Sylus. He cautiously removes his hand as he still drinks from you. Your breath was rapid, a light headedness coming in heavy. Well, you thought to yourself, it didn’t really hurt. Your grip on Sylus loosens, causing him to pull away from you. He looks at you with wide eyes, a drop of blood falling past his lips. He must’ve thought he went too far, but seeing you were still conscious, he gives you a rare, soft smile. A sheen of sweat wears on you, your cheeks still flushed. You were glowing from the after pleasure. As your breathing becomes more in control, Sylus speaks.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked plainly. You can’t help but laugh, feeling sheepish knowing you came just from his hand and bite.

“Yes.” You smile back at him, feeling your muscles worn with exhaustion. As you calm down from the orgasm, you can feel your eyelids getting heavy.

“You did well,” he praised, tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. Something about his constant praise made you blush. “I’ll draw you a bath,” he said, before promptly lifting himself up off of you. The physical absence made you ache in a new way, a way you never felt before. He goes into the master bathroom before you hear a rush of water pouring in. For the few seconds you have, you recall what happened. You feel your neck, the wounds already healed.

Something deep buries in you, and you knew this was just the beginning

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone, it is another Wednesday (my dudes)! Thanks to the lovely @umbracirrus and @hircines-hunter for tagging me <3

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @thequeenofthewinter @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark

@captain-of-silvenar @changelingsandothernonsense @lady-iizsil @bougainvillea-and-saltwater

This is going to be a long af post because I ran a poll trying to decide what to post, but I'm just gonna give y'all a bit of each because *gestures vaguely to the world* at least we have blorbos <3 First up is another bit from the family fic, then some smut under the cut from another wip that i will have done soon or i will end up on the news MDNI: PICK YOUR POISON BESTIES

“Happy to be free of the misery and dread of Winterhold?” He earns a playful punch before Ceri joins her boyfriend on a sofa.  

“You sound too much like Ata.”

“You say that now.” He reaches for something in his armour, a folded paper. “I’ve accepted an offer from a man in Skyrim, wants help going through some Nord tomb.” Walking over to his sister, he shows her the letter, distinctly pointing to the bottom. 

“May Talos guide you.” She laughs. “Oh, what would Ata say?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and besides, I do not get paid to care about religion. He could be Tiber Septim reborn for all I care. Might even be good actually, could charge him more.” 

“Well then, may Talos guide you Arthano. To Sovengarde!” He rapidly ruffles the top of her hair. 

“Shut up.” He laughs. 

It is a funny moment between them but Ralos can’t help but feel like he is missing something. He knew the worship of Talos had been a major point of contention between Altmer and Nords; particularly when the Thalmor were in operation. It seems their father would be especially concerned, no, upset, to learn of who his son was working for. But the way neither Arthano nor Ceri seemed to find it anything more than funny puzzled him. It can’t just be his Altmer beliefs…

The kisses are slow for a bit, enjoying the feeling of each other. Eventually, Ondolemar’s lips find their way to her neck. The marks he leaves will no doubt be difficult to cover tomorrow, but that is the furthest thing from her mind as she grinds her hips into his. 

“I’m going to miss you.” She hums. 

“And what will you miss most?” Hands move down to her thighs, creeping their way underneath her nightgown. 

“Unfortunately, you have me in a compromising position, my love. I cannot answer fairly at the moment.” Her own hands remove themselves and glide down his bare chest. 

“Then don’t.” She pulls the nightgown overhead, tossing it across the bedroom. There’s no time for him to react before she is sliding down, knees resting on the hardwood as she looks up at him. Even in the low candlelight, she can see his expression has changed; a deeper hunger written on his face. Head resting on one thigh while her hand makes its way up the other, tracing the outline of his erection through the thin pants. 

“Well. now I certainly cannot.” He groans as she removes his cock, stroking the flesh itself now. 

“I’m still waiting for an answer, love.”  

“Oh course you are. You want to hear all about how I’m going to miss you like this. How much I enjoy seeing you on your knees for me.” His left hand runs through her hair, smoothing through it as her strokes quicken. “I’ll even miss how you torture me, memories of you like this flashing through my mind at the most inconvenient times. So much has changed except for your ability to distract me from work.” 

[tales-of-wocdes]

Question: I’m assuming if MC has blade trauma that they’ll be able to work through it, since they become a silver protector when they’re older, is it like something mc will actually conquer or will it just be something mc learns to make small?

Because honestly, I don’t want Lexia to have to be bladeless forever, and I genuinely feel like it’d be so sweet if mc go to bond with her over swordsmanship (please, my heart 😭). And Lexia seems like the kind of person who would literally abandon the sword forever if it continued to unnerve mc, even if they got it to a manageable level (why is she so earnest 😭)

There have been a few posts with ideas about this one: here and here.

I would say MC will work on it :D There was also some suggestions for alternative weapons but that does not mean MC has to be afraid forever. It will probably depend on the MC of course!

And yes, Lexia would indeed give up her beloved sword if MC she deemed it necessary for MC's peace of mind... but she would like MC to like that part of her :D

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

"It's ok kid." Lexia said softly as she locked her beloved blade away in a container. "It bothers you, so now it's gone."

You stared at her, confused. But she... she liked the sword. Really, really liked it. Why would she?

"Don't worry about it. Let's go get snacks." Lexia beamed at you, and ruffled your hair.

You kept staring at her confused. Why would she do that? Put something she liked away.

Your face must be doing things again, because she smiles more softly at you.

"Kid, I like the sword but you are far more important."

That didn't make any sense to you. Swords were useful! You were just a broken thing that vaguely looked like a person.

"Don't look at me like that kid." Lexia said and leaned down to peer at you. "Your nose will stay scrunched up like that." She whispered.

Was that true? You stared at her trying to figure it out.

She laughed and picked you up.

"Come on kid, let's go to the kitchens. Or play in the garden."

You didn't get it.... but with a cookie in hand and Lexia helping you build fortress out of little wooden blocks that floated a bit in the air to avoid the grass, you soon forgot it.

[wickmitz]

you know rereading the comic got me thinking and i feel ur the best person for this. im very intrigued by mitzi and asa's dynamic pre, during, AND post atlas. i really wish we saw more of what happened before atlas' passing bc mitzi herself said asa used to be so nice to her and i'm just like YO WHAT HAPPENED anyways hi hello love ur blog

hi! i’m flattered you love my blog! and even more so by the fact you think i’m the best person to go to for this question! i’ve briefly talked about mitzi and asa before when analyzing the lunch scene in my long analysis for mitzi’s and wick’s relationship, where i said this on the matter :

to touch upon asa’s treatment of mitzi, even from as early as the phone call we see that mitzi is forced to have a conversation with asa on his terms rather than her own terms. mitzi sets out with a clear goal in mind -- learning why asa sweet would attack the lackadaisy in the way that he did -- and she's repeatedly talked over and threatened, with her questions remaining unanswered. it’s very clear very quickly that asa doesn’t respect mitzi nor view her as someone worthy of his time like atlas was, and almost appears to approach her in a misogynistic manner. he demeans something as simple as her ukulele as a ‘teeny little guitar’ and acts as though mitzi’s tears would be bothersome to him, some sort of burden he’d be forced to deal with rather than a valid emotional response to threats, degradation, and the likes. while asa is by no means wrong with some of his observations, he’s certainly rude and uncaring with how he goes about it. when he tells mitzi that he’s here to suggest that she step down, because he so generously has her interests in mind, she doesn’t buy it ; once again bringing up last nights events, where asa willingly armed the pig farmers with the lackadaisy’s arsenal and sent them over her way without so much as a warning. asa dismisses this coldly, once again dodging any fault and claiming it was ‘happenstance’ and entirely mitzi’s own doing. even now, when he’s actively threatening her and making it clear they won’t stay friendly if she keeps trying to make it in this business, he still won’t fully admit to any sort of responsibility for the disastrous night he helped put her through. while this seems rather typical of asa given his disrespectful streak ( something even mordecai, as valued and as useful as he is, suffers because of ) it’s worth noting that this side of him is new to mitzi and not one she was at all expecting. she even says as much here, in heartstrings.

we also know that mitzi only met atlas due to her performing at the marigold speakeasy first, and it’s likely asa was rather present in her life due to his bond with her now husband. asa even admits that mitzi may be confused because they’ve ’managed a friendly coexistence for so long,’ once again hammering home this idea that up until this point, asa was indeed kind to mitzi, or at the very least cordial. but with atlas out of the picture and mitzi trying to take his position, suddenly asa is more than okay with getting her killed or taking all she has left -- even his plan is nothing short of apathetic and cold, an afterthought, expecting her to give up something important to her and only offering a one time offer to play at the marigold room ‘sometime’ with that ‘old band of hers.’ what’s important here is that mitzi is ruthlessly betrayed by a man who used to like her and is treated as a lesser thing due to his view that she’s too incompetent to run a rumrunning business. he also brings up atlas to, in mitzi’s eyes, ‘intimidate ( her ) into agreeing with him,’ and towards the end of the lunch, she looks particularly kicked and undoubtedly hurt. she leaves this meeting that could’ve stayed a phone call with a potential enemy made and with the world on her shoulders, now more determined than ever to be someone people like asa would be forced to respect. instead of being dissuaded, she’s been encouraged, and it’s not hard to realize why.

so, i suppose those are my very brief thoughts about them post atlas! but as for pre and during, i don’t think there was ever anything really there outside of peaceful coexistence. as atlas’s wife, mitzi garnered respect she probably never had before as a traveling musician! asa wouldn’t dare insult her or belittle her once she became atlas’s wife and probably felt no need to do so in the first place. especially since, after all, asa’s the reason atlas found mitzi at all, back when she played for the marigold room where i assume she was treated well enough given asa’s rather friendly mask. he’s a jokester! he’s well meaning and goofy, always smiling and his eyes permanently upturned looking due to the patterns on his face … mitzi wouldn’t ever really see the asa that many other people deal with, and even when comparing asa to her rather quiet and eeire husband, well, he’d still seem leagues impressionable by default. asa purposely acts like he’s approachable and harmless, and while mitzi definitely knew he wasn’t some angel, i do think she fell for that mask more than she’d like to admit.

how i’ve always viewed their relationship is that the very nature of it was dictated by atlas may simply existing and owning her. his mere interest in mitzi was something phenomenal, and by default, something people had to respect. asa sweet was kind to her because she likely didn’t linger in the marigold room for too long before atlas snatched her up. he’s then very cordial to her, probably armed with compliments and generous gestures of interest because she’s atlas’s wife and asa can respect that role wholeheartedly. it’s only when atlas is removed and mitzi begins putting her paws where they ‘don’t belong’ that asa seems to drop the ruse, because there’s no need to keep it up anymore. even though mitzi isn’t harming anyone and hasn’t tried to step on asa’s toes once, he still steals from her and puts her in danger without care -- not once burdened by any real guilt as he continues to threaten her when she doesn’t back down immediately. with how clinical the removal of affection is here ( because even mordecai hasn’t managed to remove viktor, mitzi, or ivy in such a careful or ruthless way despite his awful actions and words ) i find it hard to believe he ever truly cared for mitzi as an individual person outside of atlas. the way he so casually oozes disrespect and belittles her without blinking an eye is … interesting!

all of this is to say that i don’t think asa and mitzi were ever personally close. they probably never knew each other deeply nor made any real steps to try. they’d see each other because asa had a habit of appearing in the lackadaisy just as much as atlas had the habit of being at the marigold room, and so they’d greet each other and asa would be excessively kind in that bumbling fool way he keenly presents himself and mitzi would be pleased by his presence. very simple ‘this is my friend’s wife’ vibes and nothing more. i doubt asa would even be interested in cozying up to mitzi due to atlas’s implied possessive behavior lol … but it was kindness and it was caring to an extent. it just wasn’t as deep or loyal as mitzi might’ve hoped it would be.