#but it's somewhat comforting that even when we change as people some things will stay the same in between

[rockunderriver]

what a joy how we have watched ourselves change and grow up.

i remember how my friends text me late at night, "i just found..." i find old pictures captioned "player one" and suddenly winter break feels lonely without them. there was a summer me and him stopped talking, and we came back different people. to me, he seemed happier. to him, "you've changed."

there are great halls in my head painted with murals of the people i love. historic monuments are dedicated to everything they have ever done for me. oil-painted birds soar the ceiling and perch on oil-painted branches, their calls bouncing off the marble dome vault. i recognize the sounds and call their names back to them as i pass. behind me i close the door on a boy who loves trees and ahead i see an empty chamber, its walls blank canvas.

my brush is light in my hand and i begin to paint my new favorite bird—a bearded vulture.

welcome to the world, atlas!

[shtern-and-art]

ON COGS, BUTTERFLIES, AND THE NATURE OF THE SHARED DREAM

#JayvikLived and why it makes the most sense

What if saving you will doom me and the entire world, but I will still do it anyway, in every universe in every timeline, always. What if I do it again and again until I find the one where you can save me back. Because I don't want to do it without you.

---

In all timelines including the one we saw in the show, Jayce keeps fucking up, making mistakes and wrong calls. Oftentimes because of his fixation on the miracle that happened to him in his childhood. And in all timelines, in all realities Viktor keeps saving him. With that miracle.

Their recursive dream is always collapsing on itself. Viktor saved Jayce because they had the hextech dream already, and in doing so gave Jayce this dream. They are infinite in their paradox. And they managed to walk away from it only when they did it together.

Because their actual dream, the real one, was not the hextech itself, not a cog (in the system that's bringing money for the people in power), but a butterfly. A living thing. The man, not the machine.

It was never about the tech, two ways of using it, never about two sides of the cog and choosing between one or the other. It was about two wings learning to work together.

See, Jayce got his (somewhat naive) dream of saving the world because he was saved as a child. But Viktor saved him then because their dream was always, from the very start - to help and save each other.

It was the butterfly all along.

It was there when Jayce opened his eyes in the field. Not an omen of death, but of the human soul, rebirth. Of infinite consequences unraveling into the future.

---

The way the butterfly was corrupted through focusing on the technology, and the way technology eroded, reshaped itself into what it actually strives to be.

The way Jayce put hexcore into Viktor, even though it would change him, and derail his life. Even though it would doom Viktor and them both. Because Jayce couldn't do anything else. Because Jayce would love him anyway.

The way Viktor kept coming back to save Jayce when he was a child, kept giving him the crystal. Even though it would change him irrevocably, derail his life forever. Even though it would doom Jayce and them both. Because Viktor couldn't do anything else. Because Viktor loves him anyway.

And in the end we saw that holding on to that love, like a lifeline, through all the mistakes they've made along the way, can save them both from the endless cycle of death and pain.

It was affection that held them together. Held them both from breaking into pieces and losing themselves.

---

I know people keep saying that it is left ambiguous if Jayce and Viktor died, or became celestial beings together, or teleported into some other time and space. But I think it is explicitly narratively clear that they didn't die in the end.

And maybe, if Jayce left, and Viktor tried to activate the rune on his own they both would've died, yes.

But their whole story is about how they help each other choose life. Literally and figuratively. By giving inspiration, by force, by just asking. It is about the butterfly coming together, and actually flying on its own, without the magic or technology.

(mookhead_mcspazatron_ @ tiktok)

Viktor saved Jayce on the mountain and gave him his dream. Viktor took Jayce off the ledge, and gave him his dream again.

Jayce took Viktor off the ledge, when he also wanted to go. Comforted him and showed him that he can stay, even if it hurts right now. Jayce literally tore Viktor's death away from him, thrusting the new life and new fate into his hands.

And this cycle kept repeating over and over, because they refused to let each other go, yes.

But in the end Jayce clawed and tore himself to pieces to get into Viktor's soul to once again say "Your life is precious to me, no matter how bad things can get. Please see how valuable it is".

---

And this time, in this timeline, of all the possible (sometimes, I bet, deadly) purposes their rune was the rune of acceleration. Of, you know. Moving somewhere. Through time and space.

And it wouldn't have work if they didn't activate it together.

And to do it they had to, symbolically, choose to walk away. Move on. Together.

Not from life, like Jinx tried after her inner-Silco's monologue. She was wrong in thinking her death will stop the disasters she brings, it would've just added to this cycle, keeping her within it instead.

And similarly, Jayce and Viktor choosing to die, and then actually dying to save everyone would've been antithetical to everything we were told beforehand.

(And oh, one day I'll compile all my notes on Jinx-Viktor/timebomb-jayvik parallels I've been clocking since season 1. This season just polished it all into crystal clear shining thread that ties the story's themes together.)

They chose to move on from the pain, the pride, the insecurities, from everything that didn't let them choose life. Everything, that pushed them away from it and towards the ledge.

Viktor was ready to let Jayce walk away, and then throw his own life on the barricades to make up for what he has done. And Jayce said "No. You don't have to do it alone".

Viktor accepting Jayce's care and love, accepting that Jayce is staying with him, was Viktor accepting that he's worth it. That his life is worth it.

(Choosing to move on from the pain and trauma, that's what got me so strongly in the finale of the season, ugh.)

What they did wasn't a sacrifice, it was proof of life. That's what saved the world. And that's why they could only do it together.

(And with Ekko and Jinx going through the similar journey parallel to them. I'll get to that post, because fr)

Perhaps, they thought they might die. But narratively, thematically, and within their universe's established laws they actually did the opposite.

Because it was never about single individuals breaking the cycle, the wheel, the cog spinning it all. Never about one person stopping it, and saving everyone who needs it, be it through progress, through evolution, through war, or dang capitalism and politics. It was about finding the courage to trust and rely on others, to keep caring about each other. To work together like one, like two wings. To create a community, however small, that will allow you to make choices outside of the pressure the cycle of death and oppression is grinding you under. And how that brings actual meaningful change to the world, the fact that we make it happen together, and care for each other throughout.

It was about the butterfly, in the end.

P.S.

Jokes about gay situationship destroying the world and then saving it after are fun and all.

But there is SOMETHING in how it would've been so much simpler for Viktor to let Jayce die on that mountain. To let himself die of his illness later. To let the world be safe from both of them. To spare them both the pain of what will happen in the rest of their lives.

And yet Viktor comes back, and tries again and again to find a timeline where they both survive, and stay human, and don't destroy the world.

Even if it will be almost too late, even if a lot of mistakes still happen.

How about that - from the terminally ill suicidal man the world tried to convince that he's better off dead? (Yes, we're judging Heimerbitch hard in this house)

Anyways. #JayvikLived, love wins, see you all later ✨

[vonev]

Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself. 

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly. 

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence. 

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind. 

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential. 

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building. 

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums. 

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop. 

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense. 

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval. 

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance. 

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?” 

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

 He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though. 

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation. 

Maybe you are. 

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything. 

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct. 

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you. 

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary. 

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared. 

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.” 

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web. 

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized. 

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.  

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely. 

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings. 

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you. 

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls. 

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground. 

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt. 

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right? 

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight. 

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated. 

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

-

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.” 

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files. 

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.” 

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day. 

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you. 

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums. 

Food, water, sleep, you name it all. 

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried. 

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours. 

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere. 

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed. 

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves. 

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was. 

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed. 

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain. 

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture. 

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face. 

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too. 

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing. 

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive. 

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen. 

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”  

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma. 

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.” 

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him. 

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back. 

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive. 

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here. 

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him. 

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others. 

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered. 

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks. 

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking. 

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep. 

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man. 

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks. 

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class. 

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be. 

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other. 

“I love you.” 

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true? 

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never. 

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate. 

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his. 

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst. 

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always. 

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming. 

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape. 

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in. 

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“  

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up. 

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth. 

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins. 

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life. 

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

Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

[rootedinrevisions]

Twisted Fate: Part 2

SUMMARY: As she navigates the aftermath of the storm, Lexi must confront the lingering emotions and unspoken words that have haunted her since their breakup. Bound by the twist of fate that brought them together again, they must decide if their reunion is merely a consequence of circumstance or the universe's way of telling them something else.

WARNINGS: Angst. Violence/Blood (Storm Damage & Injuries)

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

PART 1

The first aid tent was bustling with activity, a haven of controlled chaos in the aftermath of the storm. Medics moved swiftly, tending to the injured, offering comfort and care. I sat on a cot as a medic carefully bandaged the cut on my head. The pain was dull but persistent, a reminder of the ordeal I had just survived.

"There we go," the medic said, securing the bandage. "That should hold for now. You'll want to change it at least once a day until it's healed. You've got a mild concussion, but otherwise, you're in good shape considering everything. Take it easy for the next few days, okay?"

You nodded, offering a small smile of gratitude. "Thank you."

"You're all clear to leave. If you need any supplies or a place to stay there's a red tent next to us that has blankets, clothing, food, and water. They're also helping get people a place to stay for the night if you need it," the medic continued before she moved on to the next person.

As I gathered my things and prepared to leave the tent, my eyes wandered, taking in the scene around me. That's when I saw him - Tyler - on the other side of the tent. He was talking to a girl with blonde hair pulled up with a claw clip. Her face was streaked with dried blood. She looked pretty banged up, her clothes torn and dirty.

I watched as Tyler reached down and gently brushed a piece of hair from the woman's face, tucking it behind her ear with a familiarity that sent a pang through my chest. My mind immediately flashed back to the days when he used to do that for me, a simple gesture that had always made me felt cared for.

Who is she? I wondered. Clearly, he knows her, but to what extent? Is this just someone he helped out of their destroyed home earlier? Probably not, I reasoned. It's a small town, and I know just about everyone. And a hair tuck behind the ear seemed a little personal for someone he would have just met.

My mind spiraled further. Was she a new fling? That month's flavor? Or maybe she was something more serious - a girlfriend? The thought gnawed at me, a mix of curiosity and jealousy twisted in my gut. I looked away, trying to push the thoughts from my mind.

As I stepped out of the tent, the late evening air hit me. The devastation around me was immense, but the resilience of the people here was palpable. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the fact that I had survived and that I was safe, at least for now.

Later that night I sat in a hotel room. It was modest but clean, a temporary refuge arranged by the volunteers. They had set me up in a hotel the next town over, giving me a place to stay while I figured things out. The American Red Cross had provided me with a change of clean clothes and some toiletries, small comforts after the harrowing day I'd endured.

I stood under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water wash away the grime and stress of the day. The heat soothed my sore muscles, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax. But the relief was short-lived. My mind kept drifting back to Phoebe, my beloved cat, and the worry gnawed at me. Where was she? Was she safe?

After the shower, I dressed in the clean clothes provided, feeling somewhat refreshed but still weighed down by the enormity of my situation. I sat on the edge of the bed, the unfamiliar surroundings making everything feel more surreal.

How do I even begin to pick up the pieces of my life after something like this? I didn't have any family. My parents were gone and I was an only child. I suppose I could try to reach out to my aunts or uncles. See if they could provide any sort of help.

The loss of my home, the uncertainty of the future - it all felt overwhelming.

And then there was Tyler. I couldn't stop thinking about him and the blonde woman I'd seen him with at the first aid tent. The image of him tucking her hair behind her ear played on a loop in my mind. Who was she to him? Why did it matter so much to me?

I sighed, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Everything felt tangled and confused. The day's events had left me emotionally and physically drained, yet sleep seemed a distant possibility with my mind racing like this.

As I lay there, the worries and questions swirled around me. Phoebe, Tyler, the future - everything felt so uncertain. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to keep going, one step at a time, and somehow had to find a way to start again.

Later that night, I lay in my hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything kept sleep at bay. The clock on the nightstand showed just after 10 PM, and I couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in my mind - Phoebe's whereabouts, the uncertainty of my future, and the lingering image of Tyler with the blonde woman.

A knock on the door interrupted my restless thoughts. I rolled out of bed, immediately assuming it was probably some kid running up and down the hallway, knocking on random doors. However, when I opened the door I was surprised to see Tyler standing there.

He held a cardboard box in his hands, and beside him on the ground was something I couldn't quite make out in the dim hallway light. I opened the door wider, curiosity piqued.

"Hey," Tyler said, his voice soft. "I've got something for you." I could see the grin forming on his face as he motioned to the thing on the ground beside him. Then a soft meow emerged from within.

"Phoebe!" I said excitedly as I knelt to look into the pet carrier.

"I found her," Tyler explained, setting the box down and opening the carrier. Phoebe stepped out cautiously, looking around the unfamiliar room before rubbing up against me. Relief washed over me as I scooped her up, holding her close.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

Tyler nodded, his eyes warm. "Someone found her and turned her into the animal tent. I claimed her after the veterinarians assured me she was okay.

He then gestured to the box. "I also managed to get a few things from your home before they declared it unsafe to enter. Just some photos and sentimental items I thought you might want. There wasn't a lot that I found, but it's better than nothing, right?"

Tears began to well up in my eyes, gratitude mixing with the sadness of everything I'd lost. One box. That's all that I had left of my life.

"And," Tyler continued. "I stopped by Walmart and got you a new litter box and food bowl for Phoebe. There's some food and litter in there too for you. Thought she might need them while you're here."

I couldn't find the words to express how much this meant to me. Tyler's kindness, his thoughtfulness - it was almost overwhelming. I managed a shaky smile, looking up at him. "Thank you, Tyler. Really."

He smiled back at me, his gaze softening. "It's the least I could do. I'm just glad you're both safe."

There was a short pause after he spoke. A moment of silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Tyler shifted slightly, breaking the stillness "I'm going to go get the cat supplies from my truck. I'll be right back."

Before he could move a woman's voice interrupted. "I have them."

I turned to see the blond woman from the first aid tent stopping in front of my door, holding the items Tyler had mentioned. I went to thank her, only to realize I didn't know her name.

"Thank you-" I began, hesitating.

"Kate," she replied with a warm smile. "I'm Kate."

"Thank you, Kate," I said sincerely, taking the supplies from her.

"No problem," she responded. She then turned to Tyler. "Javi and I are heading for the hotel for the night. Do you want us to wait in the car for you?"

Tyler thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I'll catch up with you later."

Kate nodded a hint of concern in her eyes. "Alright. Just don't stay up too late. There's another storm system rolling in north of here tomorrow. We'll want to get up early to start chasing."

So she was a storm chaser. I began to wonder if she was part of Tyler's crew or just someone he had come to know working in the field.

Kate left, and as the door closed behind her, I turned to Tyler, curiosity gnawing at me.

"She seems great," I said, trying to sound casual.

Tyler grinned, and I noticed a certain look in his eye. I knew that look. It was clear he had feelings for her, even if she wasn't his girlfriend. "Yeah, she's great," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that told me everything I needed to know.

He didn't offer any additional information, and I didn't ask. It wasn't my place, and there were more pressing matters to focus on. Still, a small pang of something - jealousy, maybe - twisted in my chest.

It then began to dawn on me. This would probably be the last time I saw Tyler. Tomorrow, he would go back to storm chasing and being a YouTube star with his one million fans. The realization stung, knowing that the brief reconnection we had was just that. Brief.

I turned back to Tyler, who was looking at me with a mix of emotions in his eyes. "Well, I should get going," he said softly.

I nodded, trying to muster a smile. "Thank you again, for everything. And good luck with that storm tomorrow."

Tyler hesitated, then reached out and gave your should a gentle squeeze. "Take care of yourself, Lex. And Phoebe too."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there, the weight of everything pressing down on me once more. I closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed, Phoebe curling up next to me. As I stroked her fur, I couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and sadness. The future was uncertain, but at least for tonight, I had a roof over my head and my beloved cat by my side.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting to spend a night out with a guy?

I'm twenty, study in university and still live with my parents. I've been planning to move out since I was eighteen, but they told me to keep living at home and not get a job so I could focus on studying while they take care of me financially. This arrangement has worked mostly well in the past years save for a few small conflicts, but it's escalated in the past 3-4 months.

The issue is my time schedule. I have a very active social life, am active in the local art scene, do political work and a lot of extracurricular stuff for university (I'm a straight A student, I might add!). Because of this, and because I'm a natural night owl, I usually come home late several days a week (between 10pm and 2am) and stay out all day for most of the week. This means I can't do a lot of chores, and usually there's a lot of housework because my mum has a bit of a cleaning anxiety and wants to make sure everything is spotless 24/7.

Enter this guy, I'll call him Tim. I met him at a festival last summer and we became long distance friends. Tim has visited me for a day several times before, but this weekend he offered to come over for two days and we agreed to spend the night stargazing together without sleeping. I loved the idea and immediately said yes. It was gonna be just us, a couple energy drinks, and some bench in the city center, and I was really looking forward to it.

The thing is, my mum does not like Tim. Like, at all. She thinks he seems very sleazy and generally distrusts him because he feels "too nice" for her. Mind you, he's just a somewhat shady looking guy who is generally pretty anxious he might make a bad impression, so he overperforms the whole "respectable member of society" act a bit around new people. I've introduced him to my friend group and even the more sceptical people absolutely love him and think he's a very sweet, helpful person. In basically every stressful situation I've ever seen him in he's been deescalating, protective and helpful, and he has on several occasions been my first source of comfort when things went to hell.

Today I told my mum in an offhanded comment that I won't come home between Sunday and Monday and the situation escalated completely. She was crying, accusing me of ruining her month, saying I didn't care about this family, it got ugly. The main point she had was that I was staying out all night with someone who's a total stranger to her and she doesn't trust him at all. In the end we compromised that Tim and I would spend the night awake, but not in the city, at home.

I feel really humiliated by this whole situation and honestly, kind of betrayed, because I was promised stuff like this wouldn't happen, and it just hits in a much safer situation than ones I've been in before (I used to get blackout drunk and sleep at parties a lot.). I'm a legal adult, have been for years now and it's so disappointing that my parents still treat me like a child sometimes and are so judgy towards my friends too. At the same time, I'm wondering whether I've acted wrong too by not telling her about this earlier and not taking her concerns that seriously. I forget sometimes that I talk to Tim every day for hours, but my parents only briefly ran into him once, so of course their view of him is skewed.

PS: I should add that when I told him about this, he immediately apologized, asked if I needed anything or wanted to change the plan and decided to dig out the least offensive outfit he could find so he'd make a good impression on my parents. So he's definitely trying his best.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

❧ 𝔽𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝

Michael Corleone x Reader (gender neutral), 700 words

In the wake of Fredo's death, with his wife gone and his family in shambles, Michael reluctantly talks to you about what he has lost.

TW: grief, hurt/no-comfort adjacent (reader tries to comfort him but somewhat fails)

Image Source

The leaves are moving over the grounds of Michael Corleone’s home. An unseen force of northern wind hurries them away, where they will tumble over the wooden dock, and then into the lake. The master of the house sits watching them, and watching nothing. He’s not even smoking his cigarette.

Fredo Corleone is dead.

“Michael.” His name is an address, a well-worn and star-studded thing. It isn’t like other people’s names, it isn’t like other words. It has become a title. But a man still lives inside it.

He doesn’t look at you.

��Will you tell me what you’re thinking about?”

It confuses him that you’re addressing the man and not the title. He has forgotten how to answer as a man. He clears his throat. “No.”

You stay silent until the no becomes a yes.

“My father’s birthday in 1941. We were all gathered, all of the brothers and Connie too. They bought this big…this big cake, and we were all talking about the Bombing of Pearl Harbor, the soldiers there... And Sonny told me something I’ll never forget, he said: ‘They’re saps because they risk their lives for strangers. Your country ain’t your blood, you remember that.’ And that’s when I told ‘em I enlisted in the marines.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Just got too quiet. Sonny even tried to knock some sense into me but he got held back. And then they all filed out and there I was.”

Another silence that you spend not saying the wrong thing until he speaks again. “The only one who said a kind word to me was Fredo. Too stupid to know any better.”

"You wanted to follow your own path. I get it. It's not like you knew where it would lead."

He twitches, a fraction of a movement, like he’s responding to something internal that’s so unpleasant he has to physically shy away from it. He looks so old.

You say the one thing that has to be said: “I’m sorry about Fredo.”

He flicks at his cigarette so hard you think it’s going to break in half. You know exactly what happened, of course. It’s obvious to anyone who knows the intricacies of the situation. His own damn kids will know. “That’s rich. Apologizing to the devil for the fall of man.”

And now you’re out of words. You can’t exactly say it’s not his fault. The best you can do is, “I’m sorry things turned out this way.”

Finally, he looks at you, and it’s with those too-wide eyes, that look that proves he’s held a gun before. Suddenly he’s yelling. “SORRY FOR WHAT!? Sorry I lost everything? Sorry I RUINED everything?”

“Yes.” That shuts him up. Your frankness – that’s the one thing you have that can disarm him when all else fails. “You’re a good man. You love your family, and that has never changed. It’s a tragedy, how things got torn apart. I want to do something for you. I want to make this hurt less.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“I know. You need your family. And I’m…not. But this isn't about me. I'm just somebody.” You were never really a part of that circle. Not like Kay, and even then, even for her, even before she did everything wrong…she wasn’t enough. She didn’t pull him back.

Still. Doesn’t it mean something, that somebody sits beside him now? Anyone at all. He puts his head in his hands. Maybe if you hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have bothered to do that. Maybe he would have just kept staring at those leaves until the sun went down, or until there was work to be done.

Instead, his head is resting in his hands, and there is a hand on his shoulder, too. “You’re not alone, Michael.” He can’t take it. He’s sobbing, because he is alone in every way that matters. You do not matter to him. So be it.

So be it if you cannot help him. You will die trying. So be it if you’re not enough to stop the pain. You live to make sure that someone, anyone, sees him.

You do not matter to him. But he leans into you anyway.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Eight - Use

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Masterlist

The closer you get to the Keep, the more your leg bounces anxiously in the cabin of the carriage. 

Seungmin has fallen woefully silent with his chin cupped in his hand, dulled eyes staring out the window. If he has any choice words to share with you, he keeps them to himself. 

What do you need once you get back to the Keep? Your weapons and armor are in your room. You’ll go there, change first, then head down to the kitchen to get some food for traveling. 

What are the odds the Jarl will lend you a horse? On your way out of the city, you can stop by that potion seller to pick up a few things. 

You would get them from Felix, but it would be better if you didn’t see him before you left. This way you could save yourself from that lecture. 

A few rolls of gauze wouldn’t hurt. But would it weigh down your p—

“Y/N.” Seungmin’s voice brings you out of your mental checklist. You look up and meet his eyes. 

He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, lips are pulled in a thin line.

“I have a feeling as soon as this carriage is in front of the Keep, you will become the unstoppable force,” he teases. That tilt of sarcasm always needs to make itself known. “So, I will say my goodbye to you now.”

Seungmin reaches forward and grabs your hand between both of his. You lean forward to mirror his position on the comfortable sofa seat. 

“Please, be safe, Y/N. I know your heart aches to get yourself on the battlefield to fight for your people, but your leg is still healing. I am sure Felix will try to give you this speech again, but it’s important that you remember you are not at full power.”

Shifting in your seat, you reach your other hand forward to grasp at Seungmin’s. In between the two of you is just a tangle of warm hands grasping onto their last moments alone together.

“I will do everything in my power to stay safe, Seungmin.”

“Promise me that you will look out for yourself first.”

Those big, brown eyes beg with their own second voice. They’re piercing. You’re so used to them being sharp and somewhat cold, but lately they look more like smoldering coals in a fire. 

You swallow. 

To look out for yourself first would be against everything you’ve learned on the battlefield. 

Jeongin’s face flashes through your mind. His alarmed eyes frantically flashing the one time he quickly became overwhelmed by enemy soldiers. 

Did Seungmin expect you to not dive into action were that to happen again?

“I cannot do that.” Your answer is weak, but sure. 

His eyebrows twitch, the corners of his mouth pull a bit while his jaw clenches and unclenches a few times. 

Seungmin looks away from you for a second. His tongue darts out and wets his lips while he swallows thickly. 

He nods shallowly, his hands squeezing yours so tightly. 

Seungmin, whose face you can write a book on how to read him, attempts to stay stoic and keep his feelings stamped down. But, they leak through through a small, imperceptible movement. 

His nose twitches. 

“We all care for you so much, mercenary. If I am the first one to explain this to you, I apologize it took so long for you to hear it. The entire court— we all care so deeply about you.”

Outside, the trees of the road begin to thin and are replaced by stone buildings. 

Any second now, you’ll be going through Miroh’s capital gate. Then, within a few minutes, you’ll be home. 

Your heart aches in your chest. 

“If you, or anyone on the frontlines: Hyunjin, Changbin, Jeongin,” his voice is hoarse when he mentions Jeongin, “do not return. I… I do not want to even imagine what would happen to the court.”

The carriage rattles on the stone street. 

You reach up with your one hand and cup the side of Seungmin’s face gently. 

He looks over at you with wide eyes. This show of soft affection is not something that either of you expected. Truthfully, your body acted on its own. 

The skin underneath your hand flushes softly. 

“I do not know when, but I will return to you all. That I can promise.”

Your thumb rubs under his eye. Seungmin leans into your touch, his one hand coming up to hold your hand to his face. 

“Please make sure you are alive when you return.” 

“I will.”

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

The keep is a blur of stone as you make your way through the hallways towards your room. With the way you’re running up the stairs, you would think something was chasing you.  

Get ready first, then leave. 

You’ll check in with Chan on your way out. There’s no time to stop and do anything else. 

Seungmin will update Chan and Minho on everything you learned. He’ll tell them all about how the Mercy division plans on slaughtering the camps in just a few days' time. 

They’ll understand why you need to leave. 

Chan will understand. 

And he’ll let you leave, right? Right?

Not that you’ll even give him a choice. You’re leaving within the next fifteen minutes with or without his blessing. 

Nothing was keeping you here. 

He was going to have to throw you in the dungeons before you willingly stayed here while your fellow soldiers were slaughtered by living creatures from the Void. 

You’ve never strapped your armor to your body faster before in your life. Every buckle was secured to your body in record time. 

Stuffing everything in your travel pack, you fish out Felix’s medical kit and place it in the bag before making your way out of your room without a second thought. 

Your sword is a comfortable weight on your hip. 

The walk to the throne room is when your nerves kick in. The last time you felt this nervous marching towards Chan was when you first met him. 

Your armor clinks ring down the empty halls with every step. 

Muffled voices from the throne room get louder and louder the closer you get. 

“… battalions to the northern border. Leave no keep unprotected. I want healers recruited from the neighboring villages to be stationed just outside camps to heal wounds.”

Chan’s voice is commanding and even. 

He’s in Jarl mode. 

You round the corner after descending the steps. 

There he sits on his throne, thinking of orders and sending them to guards who will listen. 

You don’t stop, you continue to walk up to his throne down the center aisle of the grand room. 

Chan’s head snaps over to you and his eyes rake up and down your body, taking in your armor and traveling gear. 

Minho stands off to the side looking over maps and talking to other head guards before sending them off. 

Jisung and Felix are shoulder to shoulder off to the side waiting for instruction. Seungmin is directly in front of the throne. 

When the rogue notices the Jarl’s gaze, he peers at you over his shoulder at you, looks back at Chan, and then shakes his head while moving off to the side with his hands clasped behind his back. 

You waste no time.

“My lord, I require a horse from your stables,” you say, speed walking up to him. 

Chan balls his fists on the arms of his throne. 

His face is completely unreadable, his expression solid as stone. Slowly, his chin dips down while his eyes stay locked on you. 

“You will receive no such thing.” The low tone that comes from his tight lips sends a bolt of fear down your spine. It’s slow and calculated; at the end it cracks. 

You knew this was a possibility. 

You do not stop moving until you’re at your usual place in front of his throne.

“My lord, I require a horse from your stables,” you repeat your request while maintaining eye contact with him. 

Jisung and Felix both shift around uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye. Minho cuts off his conversation with the guards around him and sends them off. 

Everyone is silent. Only members of the court remain in the throne room.

Chan slowly rises from his throne. 

“You are still injured. You will stay here, Y/N.”

Every instinct within you screams to back down, but you don’t. You keep your chest puffed and shoulders back.

“I will not.” You say it so casually. “A horse will get me to Fore Mire faster than foot, my lord.”

Chan descends each of the three steps one at a time, taking everything slowly. Each move is calculated and achingly slow.

Never, in the time you’ve known Chan, has he ever looked at you like this. Not even the day you were brought before him as a criminal. 

Your knuckles itch to be cracked. 

“If I cannot take a horse, then I best be on my way. It is a three day journey on foot.”

Chan’s eyebrow twitches. He continues to stalk towards you like a jungle cat. 

“You will stay here, Y/N.”

“With all due respect, my lord, I will not.”

His head turns to the side– his nervous tick– and he sucks his teeth.

“I am your Jarl, Y/N.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “I care not.” Jisung’s stance falters out of the corner of your eye from your strong voice. “Why do you deny another soldier to fight for you?”

With two more steps, Chan is directly in front of you, looking down at you with dangerous eyes. 

The few inches he has on your height seem like miles in this moment; he appears meters taller than you. His regality makes him feel taller.

Your unwavering confidence falters internally, but you do not let it show. 

Every single set of eyes in the room rest on your two powerful forms. A clash of titans occurring on center stage.

Several unspoken conversations happen in the span of the thirty seconds you are silent. Over and over again he tells you with his eyes that he wants you to stay here, in Miroh, where it’s safe.

And on the other hand, you repeatedly tell him that you will not.

His word has been your gospel for two months, but not today. Not with this. 

“You are not just another soldier. You are a member of Miroh’s court.”

“And I would like to fight for our people.”

“No.”

“I am going to the front lines, my lord.”

Chan’s hands reach up and grab your shoulders before you’re able to react. His strong knee jerks up and slams directly onto your injured thigh.

The pain that shoots through your body is instant. It blossoms through your entire leg and shoots down into your foot and up through your chest.

Somehow, you feel it in your fingertips. 

A loud screech of anguish tears from your throat as you crumble to the ground in a heap of agony.

“And what use would you be?” your jarl bellows down. His voice bounces off the walls of the room and ricochets through your skull.  

“Y/N!” Felix yells and runs towards you. 

Without looking away from you, Chan holds out his arm to stop Felix from getting any closer.

“Chan, what has gotten into you?” Felix yells at him, but he stops in place. 

Disbelief pairs with the pain. 

Why? Why did he need to do that? To prove a point? 

Tears well up in your eyes as you curl in on yourself, clutching at your leg as if it would stop the pain.

Throb after throb of agony bursts through your body with your injury at the source. Pitiful grunts through your teeth come out involuntarily as you breathe through the suffering. 

“And if we were on the battlefield, you would be dead, Y/N.” Chan reaches out and grabs your head firmly. “Your head would already be rolling on the ground; just another death to add to the toll.”

You grit your teeth to stop the tears. 

“Why do you do this, Y/N? Why do you insist on trying to kill yourself? Why can you not just listen to me on this?”

Finally, you look up at Chan– mustering every ounce of venom within your body.

He doesn’t understand? Fine. You’ll make him understand. 

“Do you even know what it’s like to hear your family slaughtered with only the floorboards to stop the sound?” 

Reaching up, you grab Chan’s hand with yours tightly on your head. 

“To be nine years of age and hear the sounds of your mother being defiled by a gang of men? To hear your father scream for mercy as his skin is separated from his body? To feel their blood seep through the wood above your head and drip onto your skin. Those noises do not fade from your memory– they wake you up in the middle of the night when you least expect it.”

Chan swallows thickly and his skin pales considerably, but he maintains his stony expression. 

“I walked on eggshells my entire life because of these people; the only sound of my mother’s voice that I remember are her sobs. If anyone knows what sort of attack is coming to our soldiers, it’s me. I care not if my head comes off my shoulders or if my innards are gutted from my body while I have to sit and watch with my own eyes. You know nothing of the pain that the Elves of Erbus have had to endure at the Mercy Division’s hands.”

Hot anger yanks at your heart, it boils your blood and turns your stomach. Every muscle in your body is taut like a rubber band waiting to snap. 

“You are my Jarl, yes, and I respect you, my lord. But you will have to chain me to a wall to keep me away from the war. If my purpose is to be a human shield, then that is what The Six have decided for me. I finally have a chance to fight back, a chance to help the ghosts that haunt me every day, and you are stopping me. ”

Chan’s face twists up in emotional agony. The hand on your head shakes. His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a deep frown.

You can’t tell if it’s anger, frustration, denial, or a combination of all three. 

“I cannot keep doing this dance with you, my lord. I am leaving for the front lines, and if this is my last memory of you, do not sully it with your stubbornness.”

His jaw drops open.

 A gasp mixed with a sob sounds from somewhere to your left. 

Chan releases your head slowly, the ghost of his touch remains on your skull even after it’s gone. 

“Go.” His voice is weak, it cracks dryly. 

He stares down at you for a long moment. Maybe only five seconds pass, but somehow it feels like an eternity. 

“My lord–”

“Take my horse and get to Fort Mire. Tell Changbin what is coming. Reinforcements are being sent to our northern borders.”

Slowly, you push yourself to your feet, ignoring every single on-fire nerve ending in your leg. You don’t even allow yourself to flinch. 

“Y/N–” Felix starts again, Jisung grabs his wrist. No one else in the room makes a move.

The yelling had come to a screaming halt and nothing but emotional silence filled the void. 

Chan takes one last look at your face.

He scans over each detail, every curve, every scar and imperfection. He memorizes the way your eyes sit a tad unevenly on your face, the natural tint to your skin, the tilt of your nose, the thickness of your lips.

He makes sure he can remember exactly what color your eyes are. The way the light hits your bone structure and glows in an ethereal way. The way your chin has a small, faded scar on the very bottom.

The way that your hair is finally tucked behind your pierced, gently pointed ears.

And then he turns away. 

“Ch–”

“ Go. ”

You didn’t get to say it.

The veins in his neck are popping, his throat bobbing as he swallows his emotions repeatedly through a constricted pipe. 

He looks down at the floor, then up at the ceiling, then turns to the back wall. The back of his head is all you’re left to remember him by.

You bow your head even though he doesn’t see it.

Taking one last look around the room, you make sure to keep extended eye contact with each member of the court.

With Seungmin, who looks more content than anyone else in the room.

With Minho, who has a taut jaw, both hands are held behind his back.

With Jisung, who has his own tears forming and pouring over his round cheeks.

With Felix, who is pale and unable to find his voice to say goodbye.

And then you turn around, march down the center aisle of the throne room, and you shut the grand door behind you.

[dumbdomb]

Read my pinned post BEFORE you interact: like, reblog, reply, dm, ask, or follow. Must be over twenty-five years of age to interact. 25+ only. You do not have my consent to "Like" this post without reading my pinned first. MDNI.

Men: Hard BLOCK ME right now if you're "mostly straight" or "attracted to women" or "like whatever you're into" (including "just posting stuff you like" and "posting whatever you want to" and other variations of this statement) and your blog is mostly about M/F relationships, thin white and nude women, unrealistically large ass and breasted women, female nudes, rule 34 underage cartoon anime girls in nude or sexual scenarios, or mostly just imagery of women, only going to like or reblog visuals of my body, or following my blog after liking or reblogging visual content of my body, don't know much of anything about gender and sexuality, pretend to not be an allocishet male by using inaccurate labels and keywords you don't even understand the definition of in order to hopefully avoid getting blocked or to receive nudes from people who clearly have boundaries against allo cis het men interacting with them (like i do), or if you have "women dni" in your description or pinned.

helping my friend get over their nerves for an upcoming exam on proper techniques when using a speculum on really tight patients... (of course, they'd ask me for help.) we try to keep things as professional as possible, but in a safe and comfortable environment. just the two of us friends, studying together like we always do. they place each of my soft, recently pedicured feet in the makeshift stirrups- making me jump and pull my leg back when they accidentally tickle my foot. we both laugh briefly and move on. they place a bedsheet over my legs for privacy, and awkwardly- yet firmly- reposition my hips low over the table's edge. (which makes me suddenly feels very exposed in front of my friend, but they're so gentle and kind about it.) they put on gloves and, cautiously, almost hesitantly, carefully graze past my thighs and softly pull at my outer labia. letting everything bounce back into place as they inspect different parts of my vulva. my breathing has already changed, but i try to keep calm. they ask if it's ok to begin checking me internally, and i nod affirmatively. they get some lube on one hand and use the other to place on my lower tummy, sliding one finger inside my hole- and for a moment, i swear they had held their breath... they lubricate my opening and slide another finger in, nearly filling my small, tight cunt. i try to focus on staying calm, breathing, meditating, but i notice a slight, subtle, side smile as my friend slides their fingers in and out of my hole- occasionally pressing down on my tummy. they remove their fingers and begin cleaning up... confused, i reassure them it's ok to continue (somewhat missing the feeling of them inside me). they've wiped some of the lube off my vulva and removed their gloves already, placing each hand on my hips as they casually hover over me, asking, "are you sure?" saying i looked a little nervous, their eyes glancing over me as they lean back. i didn't mean to, but i felt my cunt twitch hard with an ache to be touched again, right when they glanced down. (i hoped they hadn't noticed, and kinda wish they did!) they looked off to the side, over study materials, and sat back down in front of me. their hands running over my thighs, hips, and holding at my waist as i watch the top of their head lower under the sheets still covering me. suddenly, i feel their breath on my vulva- quickly followed by their incredibly warm and soft lips, slowly, planting a big kiss on my clit!! (omg. i was so shocked, there's no way i could've stopped my cunt from immediately throbbing hard and clenching in need for more... i've never felt more embarrassed and vulnerable in my life!) i just heard them laugh, holding my thighs firmly in place like a big hug, and then felt their slimy, hot tongue widely licking over my entire vulva. 😵‍💫

Read My Pinned BEFORE you interact! 25+ only.

NO: lurkers, likes only, inactive, empty, or blank blogs. DO NOT LIKE MY CONTENT. DNI. ♥️

[quigzahhutt]

💘 + lialex for the ask game

(If you still write them ofc)

(Their tag is so deprived and I miss them😭)

I love your fics btw, hope you have a nice day!

for the kisses ask game💋

of COURSE I still write lialex are u KIDDING they r my favorites ever ..... I am glad to be of assistance to the lialex cause

💘 - fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

thoughts and feelings on.... royalty AU? :)

"Do you think anyone even buys the whole arranged marriage thing?" Liam asks out of the blue, flowery blouse hanging absentmindedly from his hands as they get dressed for yet another formal.

As Alex stares at Liam's bare back, he can't help but think that maybe Liam should start wearing things more fitted, items that accentuate and elongate his figure, like corseted gowns, or other things of that sort.

He would never say it out loud, of course; the way Liam dresses doesn't really matter to him all that much, but it does make his heart swell a little bit every time Liam comes to him with two different options in hand, like he actually cares all that much whether Alex likes the green or the beige more.

"Like, do they think we're, er, happy? Because probably not. They all pretty much know that it's just for political gain," It kind of sucks having to state it so bluntly, run the facts through straighter than straight, but over the last few months, Alex has learnt that Liam doesn't like when people beat around the bush. Perfectly so, because Alex hates it equally as much.

"Mm, well, it's good that we get on as much as we do, yeah?" Liam mumbles, speech as informal as ever. He obviously cleans it up around the servants and guests, but with Alex, he's never bothered; it's endearing.

It's somewhat helped Alex with his own odd mannerisms. All throughout his childhood, his parents were working their heads off trying to fix and correct him every time he stumbled over his words, or when he would construct a sentence in the wrong order. Liam never seems to care; it's a refreshing change.

They got relatively lucky with each other. Arranged relationships like this never usually work out; the pair either end up causing some sort of unnecessary conflict that stirs up a whole new issue for their Kingdoms, which is exactly what they're trying not to do.

Or, they stay married for a while, before one of them winds up vanishing, running off and never coming back, or being found dead just a few weeks later, an assassins knife sticking out of their back; a gruesome discouragement.

So, Alex feels lucky. They like each other, their age difference isn't bad– sure, it's a wider gap than Alex would typically feel comfortable with, but Liam doesn't seem to care all that much, and Alex understands that he's getting a bit too old to still be a bachelor– his position is becoming more and more at risk every day, so he tries not to worry about it.

It's easy to be with each other. They both understand that they have their roles, and they're doing their best to execute those roles properly; it isn't necessary to think about the actual intricacies of their relationship, the things or feelings that may or may not be as traditional.

They share each other's proximity in front of the floor length mirror in their shared bedroom, checking themselves over to make sure that their shirts are tucked and their cuffs are properly rolled.

Alex has opted for a clean, green and gold vest, layered over a plain, cream colored blouse, and then a creased pair of slacks– he's sure his parents would fret over it, before furiously trying to smooth it down; the mental image makes Alex huff.

Liam has taken a somewhat different approach; a similarly colored blouse, but his is accented with delicate pink embroidery around the seams, paired with a dark brown waistcoat, and slacks of a similar color, although they're significantly less wrinkly than Alex's, and also rolled up at the ankle.

Alex snorts. "You have to cuff your trousers?" He teases, bumping his shoulder against Liam's to really make a point.

"Hey! I have to because-" Liam starts before suddenly cutting himself off once he realizes what Alex was doing, and that he has already succeeded in winding him up, "ugh, you're so annoying,"

Liam frantically gestures towards the large clock in their room. "Look, we're already late because you've been insulting my stupid- whatever, let's go, ball starts in half an hour," Liam huffs, but Alex can see the small cleft in his mouth, a crooked smile teasing at his lips; if they were in front of an audience, Alex would probably lean down and place a solid kiss on his cheek.

--- --- ---

They have a system; they've been together long enough that it's muscle memory to grab each other's hands and bow their heads to the servants and waitresses. There's a rhythm to the way Alex wraps his hand around Liam's waist and how Liam drapes his hands across Alex's shoulders as they sway, moving across the ballroom floor with practiced ease.

It used to be significantly more awkward. Alex had been with Max a few years ago, so coming back to date his younger brother, albeit arranged this time, was still weird. And on top of that, their height difference made for an... odd situation when it came to dancing.

But Alex quickly learned that, just like Max, Liam had a loud personality, unique quirks and odd mannerisms that made it all too easy to fall in love with. Figuratively, obviously. Alex found himself meshing with Liam with ease, bodies moving together with practiced simplicity.

So now, instead of repeatedly apologizing for tripping over each other, they can chat idly while dancing, striking playful conversation while also making good public face.

"Do you see what the Baroness is wearing?" Liam mumbles into Alex's collar, gesturing with his head towards one of the other noble women from a Kingdom that Alex can't be bothered to remember.

When his eyes eventually drift over, Alex almost chokes. "Oh- wow, alright. I know there wasn't a specified palette but... You have to look around and realize that blue may not have been the right move," he whispers, voice strained as he tries not to be too obvious.

Liam cackles between their bodies. "I mean, it's a good look, but uh, wow. Yeah, not sure if that would have been my choice," he tucks himself closer into Alex's chest to hide his smile, genuine and far too much teeth for a formal of this measure.

"All the jewels too, it almost looks bad," Liam squeaks, slowly losing his composure the longer he thinks about it.

Their conversation is put on hold as Alex effortlessly twirls Liam around, tucking him underneath his arm before spinning him back into their initial position.

"Mm, I don't know," Alex elongates the last vowel, really make it annoying, "I think you'd look good in the jewels," he teases, grin tucked into his cheeks, sly and trained.

That's something that he likes about Liam– he isn't quite as taught as Alex is. He hasn't had as many years to refine his technique, hone his expression in until he's perfect and princely. Alex loves taking advantage of it.

Because Liam's face quickly drops into something personal, something indignant and definitely not appropriate for a ball, and his face turns beet red; Alex almost wants to pinch his cheeks.

But Alex instead notices how open the floor has become, pairs beginning to filter out until only the two of them are left, arms locked and bodies swaying together in sync to the quieting orchestra.

"Liam," Alex whispers sharply to get Liam's attention, squeezing his hip extra hard just for good measure, and the action successfully makes Liam lift his head from where he had been hiding it against Alex's collarbone.

Liam hums before looking up, and his eyes travel slowly around the room, collecting all of the information that Alex gathered some ten seconds ago.

And, like a bell has just tolled, Liams eyes reign back in on Alex's face as he sighs, because they're both acutely aware of what has to happen next.

As the music rumbles into a slow hum, Alex trails one of his hands up and up until he reaches Liam's face, cupping his jaw as they continue to gently sway back and forth.

Their bodies finally come to a stop when Alex drags Liam up into a kiss, and he grins into it when he feels Liam stand on his toes to breach the final distance. It's a small thing that Alex has experienced plenty before, but it never fails to make him chuckle, just how hard Liam has to work to reach his lips.

Just like everything else with Liam, kissing is easy. It doesn't make Alex's stomach roil or his teeth clench like it has with previous partners; he tries not to think about why that is, the implications behind it, why Liam is the exception to every rule Alex has set for himself.

But when they separate and the world around them begins fading back in, Liam smiles up at him, close-lipped and knowing, and Alex remembers why he never has to worry.

[0-amateur-writer-0]

Lines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford pines.

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Character study.

Wordcount: 1,810

Summary:

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

#

He’s home. He’s actually home. Back in his Earth—in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Hard to believe that a few days ago, he was at the precipice of life and death. About to end things once, and for all with Bill. That’s how it was supposed to be. One way or another, everything was supposed end that day. But now he’s honest to God walking through his house. Opening cupboards, and drawers. Studying every nook, and cranny. Observing how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

The house definitely had seen better days. Everything was aged, and weathered. You could even spot some awkward patch jobs here, and there. The ones you do on your own to save money, instead of by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Indeed, Stan must’ve been a stingy on the upkeep. He could hear a lot of new creaks, and sounds now. But…the house is somewhat neat, and tidy at least.

He supposes he should be thankful if for that. That his home is still here after all this time. Still standing. Still livable. When he already made peace long ago, that his house would be left to rot—reduced to a pile of would-be firewood.

Ford rounded a corner, and stops in his tracks. Any feelings of gratitude he had had quickly went down the drain.

Now this is a change he could really do without.

The house doubles as a hokey tourist trap now. One that’s entire gimmick was based on showcasing a variety of very made-up anomalies.

Being in this room is already starting to royally piss him off. Though for some reason that escapes him, he decided to stay and look around. Making his way the first exhibit that caught his eye.

Ford glares at the taxidermized monstrosity before him. It was obviously meant to resemble sasquatch, or even bigfoot. Brown fur, big feet, and ape-like features, though a striking difference could be seen on how it’s…wearing an underwear.

(Why even? What evolutionary need could it possibly fulfill by wearing one?)

“Sascrotch,” He sneers. “I can’t believe people actually—"

“Yeah, ya don’t like the Shack. We get it. Keep steppin’, and move on already.” A gruff voice piped up from his left.

Ford turns his head to the source of said voice, to find Stan leaning against the counter—counting the money he made off from the last group of tourists.

(Has he always been there?)

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He challenges.

Stan muttered something under his breath, but otherwise did nothing but continue to count the money in his hands. The sound of paper bills being shuffled seemed to fill the empty gift shop. It grated on his nerves. Then again, everything that Stan does seem to grate on his nerves these days.

Ford made his way to the next set of exhibits. The Six Pack O’ Lope. The Cornicorn. He swears some of them looked more like one of Mabel’s arts and crafts projects.

“I have spent most of my life studying the weird. Trying to make sense of the nonsense. Trying to prove their existence to the scientific community.”

“I had to take on twelve PhDs to get people to take me seriously. Twelve. And that wasn’t even accounting the number of favors, and good standing I had to build up just so I could get my grant approved by the committee.”

Of course, I could’ve avoided all that if I had gone to West Coast Tech instead. He almost wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue.

“Well, that’s kinda’ dumb.” Stan comments.

(If his ears weren’t mistaken, Ford could’ve sworn there was a note of genuine sympathy in Stan’s voice.)

Ford just shook his head. “The committee didn’t see my want to research anomalies as top priority. Especially when compared to things like researching the cure for cancer, or alternative energy, or artificial intelligence and whatnot.”

“But one way, or another. I managed to show them my worth. I gave them reason, after reason as to how my research could be beneficial. And eventually, they decided to give me a chance.”

Ford wrinkled his nose when he passes by some shelves filled with tacky souvenirs. One lined with snow globes, another with Mr. Mystery bobbleheads, and another filled with…ugh, those horrific Burpin’ Stanford Pines figurines. Though he stops when he comes across a nearly empty shelf lined with empty glass jars. A sign nearby tells him that these are ‘invisible fairy companions! Only $35!’.

His attention wasn’t on the obvious scam in front of him. Instead, Ford watches his face being reflected on the glass jars.

“I thought,” he says. “If I did all of that, then…maybe I could finally change the way people view them.”

“I wasn’t hoping to change everyone’s minds, but if I could get a few people to stop looking at them like something to be afraid of. Like something to be pointed, and gawked at…” He pauses, and then turns to look at Stan. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Stan just stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

(Dear Tesla, does he really have to spell this out?)

Ford took a deep calming breath, before saying: “What you’re doing here with the Mystery Shack. Not only is it a mockery of my life’s work, it’s a mockery of me.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ford could feel the threads of his self-control being cut. “Do you really not realize what you’re doing here!? You’re bringing all sorts of people in here, and teaching them it’s okay to point, and laugh at things they don’t understand. You’re teaching them to point, and laugh at things like me!”

Ford clicked his tongue. Whether Stan’s earlier confusion was genuine, or an act mattered little to him at the moment. The damage was done. To his house. To his reputation. To his life’s work.

--You’re a six-fingered freak!

And they would be right. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

He’d lost the chance to ever prove them wrong.

“Be honest,” Ford demanded. “All those times you told me that I wasn’t a freak was a lie, wasn’t it?” He gestures towards the various exhibits in the Shack. “This is how you actually feel about me.”

“Do you also have stuffed six-fingered hand lying around? I’m surprised I haven’t seen it yet. An exhibit like that will surely—"

“You think I’d do that?” Stan asks.

Ford pauses, and then turns to Stan. And once his eyes landed on his brother, the red mist that clouded his vision seemed to dissipate at that moment.

Stan was staring at him, and though his expression was blank—there was a gamut of emotions swirling in the depths of his brother’s eyes. Raw and honest emotions that Ford didn’t want to look too closely into.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” Stan asks again. His voice quiet.

Ford opens his mouth, but he quickly finds that no words could come out. Something in Stan’s eyes. Something in the way his brother spoke, seemed to sap all the remaining fight and anger in him.

“I used to beat up every single punk who bad-mouthed you when we were kids. And ya really think that I’m gonna’ turn around, and start doin’ all that crap they did to you?” A pause. “You really think that I’m no better than guys like Crampelter?”

Ford’s looks down—suddenly finding it hard to look Stan in the eyes. “That isn’t what I…”

He tries to find something to defend himself with, but nothing kept coming up. After all, that was essentially what he had just implied wasn’t it?

The silence hung between them until Stan took several steps forward, only stopping when he’s at an arms-length in front of Ford.

“…Y’know,” Stan says. “I got a lotta reasons for starting the Mystery Shack. And that thing you just said… You think that folks come through here to point and laugh at all these arts and crafts rejects. But the only thing being pointed and laughed at in here…is me.”

“Cause you wanna’ know something?” He jabbed a finger onto Ford’s chest. “Just because you got no problems callin’ me worthless, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ stoop to your level and start callin’ you a…”

It took everything in him to not look away—to return Stan’s glare head on. On the outside, one might mistake him for being the picture of indifference. The only thing anyone could see was a mask of cold, hard disapproval plastered on his face

But on the inside, in the deepest parts of him where no one was privy to—part of him dreaded of what’s to come. The part of him that used to go on adventures with Stan on the beach. The part of him that used to spend whatever free time available, to work on an old derelict sailboat. The part of him that used stay up to the late hours of the night talking, and planning about the places they’d sail away to one day.

That part of him was terrified of his twin brother calling him that word.

But he knew it was coming. It’s only a matter of time. He braces himself and…

…nothing happened.

Stan just looks down, his hand falling limply back to his side. And Ford found himself letting out a breath he didn’t even knew he was holding.

Both men stood at the middle of the empty gift shop. Stan kept looking down at the floor, and Ford couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from his brother—at how tired, and defeated he looked. His right-hand twitches, and then starts to lift and inch itself closer towards Stan.

He didn’t really know what he was trying to do. He just…has a sudden urge to reach out. But before he could make any contact, Stan took a step back from him.

“Believe it or not, I actually got lines I ain’t never gonna’ cross.” Was all Stan said to him, before he made his way outside.

The front door slammed shut.

Ford watches the door for a moment. Before his gaze, inexplicably, wanders back to the shelf lined with those Burpin’ Stanford Pines toys. It was an insult. It was his name being printed on those boxes, but looking at those figurines again—at how it was wearing a bright red fez, and a black tuxedo…the similarities that he somehow hadn’t seen before became so clear.

It was Stan.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

[gvtted-ratz]

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What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?

Edward Nashton (The Riddler) x Ghostface!Trans!M!Reader

Last Edited: 06/04/2023

TW: gore, blood, murder, stalking, dead bodies, transphobia, foul language, body dysphoria, phone harassment

Requested: no

Word Count: 2,381

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: literally rewatching the batman 2022 as i make this lel. also, kinda think of the ghosftface from dead by daylight as i love that costume/look so the outfit that’s described. i finished this shit on 1 hour of sleep btw so hope u enjoy

He’s an odd man. His schedule used to remain constant until it didn’t. You’re unsure of what changed. He’s still a forensic account by all means. He forged those documents to get the job so of course he wouldn’t simply just quit. That part stayed the same. It’s after work when he deviates from his original schedule. Going out at night, spying on people, and getting odd information. There’s also his online presence getting stronger. You see him on his computer more and more. Sometimes he’s typing, other times he has some sort of outfit on to do live streams.

No matter what, he’s always busy with something. That something has gotten more and more odd these past few weeks. He’s obsessing over a vigilante. A man dressed in black who goes around beating people down until they cannot get up to fight anymore. A “Batman” is what they call him. For someone so many fear, little ol’ Eddie surely loves him. It makes your stomach twist in disgust. How can this man obsess over this random vigilante? Sure, he fights crime but he’s not going for the bigger people. He lets cops run around, nabbing the criminals only to let them go after a bit of bribing. Some saviour he is. Plus, to see this somewhat nerdy and dainty-looking man go for a man who appears to be jacked screws with your head.

You can’t help but want to maul your own skin at this observation. The mousey man wanting the dark, mysterious, and bulky body type makes you think of your own figure. You don’t have the exact body type so may want after all the struggles to so much as get the medicine you needed for your transition. It takes time, ranging from months to years. And the first man you see him obsess over is the usual “jacked” and “hot” man makes you angry. That original figure you had has changed over time, into something you’re more comfortable with. While some changes haven’t been made yet due to the lack of money, you feel better; like you can actually live in your own skin now after so long of feeling like your body was out to destroy you.

But that feeling does fade now and then, especially when you see someone you’ve been watching and pinning over for months wanting the one thing you feel like you can’t be at times. Sometimes it’s your mind, other times it's old words from people you knew. The majority is the people you see online spouting nasty things, all ranging from hatred to fetishizing; there are even times when it’s a mixture of the two. A “real” man is what they want. For some reason as well, a “real” man isn’t someone who takes hormones or changes their body. A “real” man isn’t someone who says they are a man, even if they don’t transition. If they don’t pass their assessments, they’re not a “real man”. But how can they be one? How do they know what a “real” man is? They call those bulky hunks in bars real men. They’ll call the men from the army real men. The men from the gym are real men. But the moment a man so much as acts, looks, sounds different or doesn’t have the “right” body, they’re fake. And to you, it’s all bullshit. No one has any right to tell someone they’re not a “real” man, especially when they themselves know nothing about you or others in the same boat.

So to suddenly see such people in his streams? You can feel yourself losing it. While you wouldn’t kill them for such a thing unless they preached or even tried to kill people for being different or “unreal”, it’s the fact that so many were actual shitbags added to it. From people who wanted to simply kill innocent people, to people wanting to do awful acts to those they hate, you can’t allow that. Spying from the rooftops and alleyways turns into watching him from his very own streams.

Your username on the streams is Gh0stFac3, read as GhostFace, is usually caught in the streams, never saying a word. You let yourself lurk while he’s online, letting out passionate rants about Gotham and some sort of “renewal plan”. You don’t necessarily watch him on these streams. You do listen though, taking down notes on his words. You do have other people to watch and kill later on, of course. Some from his streams, others from night outs. A few are even from your times at bars, hearing their nasty talking or genuine disgust about certain groups of people who’ve done nothing but live their lives.

Another name is jotted down in your notebook, a multitude of pictures clipped to the page with the target. You scratch at your neck from under the mask, sighing. It’s just another asshole really. This one is from one of Edward’s streams. From what you found out, the guy had been sending nasty messages to a coworker who rejected him. Pathetic in your case. But you can feel that itchy feeling creeping up under your skin. You’ll have to kill again soon. It’s like a drug and it makes you feel powerful in a way. From people seeing you as some dainty girl back in the day, nothing more than something to be used for bearing kids and eye candy to look at, to feeling like a man after treatment, meds, and eye-opening articles; along with blogs talking about their own experiences, you feel like you can actually feel and do the things you felt you deserved to do. The people who looked down on you or disowned you disappeared in just a blink. All you needed was time away to find yourself, who you truly are, before returning and dealing out the same amount of pain to them they forced you to go through for so many years.

You snap the notebook closed, rubbing at the face under your mask. All this thinking about how your body is, alongside was, is giving you a headache. It doesn’t help that you have more than just that man as the next victim either. You’re not sure who to choose just yet. Or, well, you do. However, all the constant thinking, together with your inner voice reminding you of all the transphobia you’ve faced thus far, is killing your mood. A snort leaves you. Killing your mood. You’re truly a riot with your own jokes.

You grab the flip phone closest to you, flicking it open. It’s a burner you picked up a bit ago. There were plenty of others but the satisfaction of snapping the phone shut after a call is enough for you to keep it around. You look at Edward’s stream; he’s still going. You give a sharp grin under your scream mask before dialling his number.

You can hear it ring from the stream. Seeing him go silent immediately is satisfying. He looks like a mouse again; a confused one at that. He starts up his rant again, seemingly going to ignore it. Narrowing your eyes, you end the call before texting him. The ding he gets is ignored. Another ding. Another. Another. His hands are shaking, eyes wide and crazed. Finally, you type in chat.

> Hello, Mouse.

The chat, usually fast, stops for a moment. They seem to notice something is off.

> Will you answer your phone?

> I’m calling.

> I’m texting you, Mouse.

People in the chat start to type, sending in a multitude of messages. Some are asking Edward if he knows you. Others are asking if you know him. You don’t answer them at all.

> Answer. I won’t stop calling.

He looks mad, grabbing his computer. “Who do you think you are? You know nothing! You’ve said nothing until now! You’re just someone trying to bring me down aren’t you?! You’re trying to destroy everything I’ve been working for to help Gotham!”

> Answer the phone, Eddie.

Everything stops. It’s like the entire chat froze as well as Edward. You know no one has any idea what his name is. The fact that you know it and suddenly type it with no hesitation only shows you know more than does. With shaking hands, he lets go of the computer and sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry everyone… But it looks like we have a leak. I’ll be making sure to get rid of the mole and that they are dealt with accordingly. I’ll host another stream next week after all of this is fixed.” His voice is eerily blank, almost like he’s bored or in shock. With those final words, the entire stream ends. You sit for a moment before calling him once more. Edwards finally picks up this time.

“Oh, Eddie… Did you really have to take that long?” The voice changer in your mask disguises your voice. From what you’ve been told by many victims before, you sound like a very attractive young man.

“Who are you?” His question, asked in a cold way, makes you hum.

“Ghostface. What about you, Eddie? Are you Edward Nashton? The Riddler? Who are you?” His breathing has changed; he’s panicked. You’ve heard that type of breathing so much that you don’t do much beside coo at him. “Don’t worry, Dear Eddie. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to destroy all that you’ve been working on. After all, you’ve changed your schedule to fit this odd thing now…” You sigh, leaning forwards in your chair. You prop your masked head on your gloved hand. “After all, you spent so much time and resources on it. It’s honestly been the most interesting thing I’ve seen in years.”

“Why are you calling, Ghostface?” He asks, wanting to get this call over with. You don’t want that though. You like how he sounds in your ear. You like how you can make his breathing change with just a few words.

“What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?” The teasing way you say it only adds character, or that’s what you tell yourself. You want Eddie to like you. You want him to obsess over you as he does Batman. You want him.

“I’m not playing your games!” He’s stressed, practically about to cry from the frustration. You’ve ruined his stream, teased him over the phone, and called him Eddie in front of people who don’t know his name. In his eyes, you’re out to destroy him.

“Eddie…” You feel slightly bad. You really do want him to like you and this is the only thing you had thought of. It’s clearly not working. “I like you, Eddie. You’re doing what others can’t or won’t… How about a deal?” The idea of a deal to possibly end this talk seems to get to him.

“What’s the deal, then? Or are you going to keep talking to me in circles and messing with me?”

“I wasn’t trying to mess with you. As I said before. I like you. You’re the only person who went from a possible victim to something else entirely… You should be proud! No one has ever gotten that far! Usually, I’d be in their home by now, hiding and waiting for the right moment to strike…” As you talk, it seems he’s intently listening to you with genuine intrigue. “The fighting is always hard but so, so fun. And the moment my knife meets their flesh and blood spills? It’s beautiful.” You let out a sigh, one could almost call it dreamy with how you talk about your deadly hobby. “The screams are a bit much, not going to lie there, Eddie. They’re so loud.. But the moment the life is gone from those shitbags, I can make them oh so pretty.” You’re out of your chair, pacing around your apartment. Your combat boots are heavy against the wooden floors of your home. One of your hands moves as you ramble, giving more passion despite the other man unable to see it. “A few more cuts, maybe some mutilation, a bit of stabbing.. Then I have to set them up how I want and take a few selfies. The selfies are always fun… I can send you a few if you’d like. They always turn out great, I make sure of it.”

The silence on the other end snaps you out of whatever state you had been in when talking about your hobby. You don’t hear anything, not even Edward’s breathing. Your hidden lips pull into a frown. Here you are, pouring your heart out and he’s said nothing! No congratulations. No good job. Nothing. The squeaking of your gloves is heard as you tighten your grip on the burner.

“How does this help me? How are you going to help me with some pictures of your pinned-up dead bodies?” You grit your teeth, hating this call more and more.

“I’m saying that I can be your blade, dammit! You can sit in your messy lil’ apartment, talking, coding, streaming! I’ll hunt down whoever you want! I’ll mutilate them! I’ll leave clues or riddles, I don’t care!” You’re yelling into the receiver, finally tired of listening to the man’s complaining. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself. “I do all the killing and you continue doing whatever it is your doing.”

“But what are you looking for? What do you get out of it?” A hum leaves you, letting all that rage go. A nasty smirk crawls over your features.

“I get to watch you work… I love seeing you put your pretty lil’ head to use after all, Baby.” You practically purr, the distorted warmth filling you. It’s unhealthy how much you like him paired with how much you want him to like you. Unhealthy or not, you don’t care. If he can have unhealthy views and plans, so can you.

You hear the end of his line go dead, having hung up on you. You give a mocking put from behind the scream mask. Quickly, you let your thumb fly over the numbers. You snap the phone closed, happy to see that this is the start of something very exciting.

> Can’t wait to work with you, Sweetheart ;))

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 27 ~ New Beginnings

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 3

✧ Word Count : 6.1k

In this chapter ~ Months had passed as the group had found no real sanctuary, wandering around aimlessly together and bouncing from place to place just trying to stay alive. Although, just when they were close to losing hope, they found something that was only proven to be some kind of miracle. Their safe haven.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ROSE POV *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eight months. That's how long we've been trying to find a place to stay. Eight long months.

We had been close to all over the place since we began to travel east, picking apart houses we came across and staying there for only a night or two before we were on the move again. It wasn't easy and ever since Rick's big, ruthless speech; things haven't been the same. Everyone only grew closer with one another as we seemed to spend nearly every waking minute together in close quarters. But it always seemed different whenever Rick was also present in the room. It's as if they were all too uneasy to breathe a word around him, only speaking if it was absolutely necessary.

I continuously tried to talk to him a few times at first after the whole incident, attempting to speak with him like we used to, but he would either get irritable with me or just plain ignore me. There was never an in between. So after a while, I stopped trying. I didn't want to give up the idea that someday he would be okay, but watching him slowly slip away and ignore the people he once cared so much for, it was hard to keep that idea alive.

Winter was rough this year and if I was being completely honest with myself, sometimes I questioned if we would even make it through. You could easily tell just by looking at us just how much of our spirits had crumbled since our time on the farm. Which now seemed like a lifetime ago. But somehow, we always found a way to keep pushing on.

Though throughout the cold and harsh weather, Daryl somehow got very sick at one point and that lasted far much longer than I would've ever liked. But I stayed by his side at all times, getting him anything he needed as he slowly recovered. It nearly made me laugh at how needy he became when he finally admitted he wasn't feeling good, he never seemed to want me to leave. But lucky for him, I never wanted to.

And Lori alone had her many ups and downs through the long season. She was dealing with a pretty rough pregnancy and was constantly feeling tired and sick even now when she's about to pop. I had gotten a little closer with her than I would've guessed in the past, reassuring her that I would be there if she ever needed something, and she was always grateful for that. I also helped her and Rick out by keeping an extra eye on Carl every once in a while, though I knew he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

He had changed a lot more than the rest of us, more than I ever could've imagined. He had gotten colder. He still liked to joke around with me every once and a while, but he was mostly quiet and was in a constant mood.

It was a lot to get comfortable with, the different things we had to adjust to. But again, that's how we managed to get by.

Currently, we were making our way towards a house that he hadn't checked out yet in a somewhat new area, following behind a few of the guys while the rest stayed outside until we gave the okay that it was safe. I pulled out my bow and loaded an arrow in place, aiming it as we approached closer to the door. Oh yeah that's another thing that happened.

Within the first month of being on the road, I had come across a store filled to the brim with weapons, spotting a bow and arrows sitting in the corner and I thanked my lucky stars. I loved my throwing knives, but I thought it was time for a change. Of course, I let Daryl show me how to shoot it and he was a pretty good teacher...well, when we were actually focused on practicing.

We slowly made our way into the house, opening the front door quietly as I started heading upstairs with Carl to check out the bedrooms. He nodded at me, letting me know that he was going to look in the first door on the right as he slowly stepped towards the entrance. I went towards the left, swinging the door open somewhat loudly with my weapon raised and my eyes scanning the space. I was met with only a lone walker in the corner of the room, and I didn't hesitate to pull back and shoot it quickly before it even turned around to face me.

I walked in further and took a glance around for anything that could be useful but was left with nothing as per usual. Sighing quietly to myself, I pulled my arrow out of its head and placed it in the quiver on my back with the others. I slowly made my way back downstairs and by the time I got there, everyone else was gathered in the living room sitting down and getting settled for however long we planned to stay.

I spotted Daryl sitting in the corner of the room, walking over to sit next to him on the floor as he plucked feathers from a dead owl, and my brows furrowed slightly as I eyed the thing. I wasn't going to ask. My eyes simply lingered on the others, watching them talk quietly to themselves even though the house was completely clear. My mind wandered involuntarily when I suddenly felt something fluffy touch my face.

I glanced over and Daryl was smirking at me with feathers flying around my face, tickling my nose as he threw more at me. I gave him a playful glare and pushed his arm lightly as he chuckled to himself, thinking he was absolutely hilarious. He then pulled me closer to him with one hand and kissed the top of my head, before turning back to defeathering the owl.

Carl's fast footsteps rushed back into the room seconds later with an excited look on his face, glancing down in his arms to see that he had found some canned food. I leaned in closer to look at the label, before quickly realizing that it was dog food. My heart sank at the thought of him being that hungry, he was willing to eat practically anything.

Rick noticed this as well from across the room and before Carl could even do anything, he took one of the cans and threw it against the wall without a word. We all stayed silent as we watched the scene in front of us, not muttering a single word like usual.

But T-Dog giving out a single whistle from where he sat by the window, made us all jump up fast, knowing now that there were walkers making their way towards us. We all quickly gathered our things and made our way out of the back door towards the vehicles parked near the trees. I rushed over and placed my stuff in the trunk of one of the cars along with my bow and arrows with Hershel slamming it right behind me.

I then quickly jogged towards Daryl's bike and hopped on behind him, taking his crossbow to slip on my back while I wrapped my arms around his waist. After he knew I was on safely he started it up and took off with the rest of them following close behind, the dead slowly trailing behind us.

After we drove for a few minutes, the house now long gone in the distance, we eventually pulled over to look at our map, planning on where to hit next. It remained quiet as all of us scanned the areas to see where the next best stop was, with Carl and Beth standing watch in front and behind us for anything in the trees around the area. I noticed pretty much right away that there was hardly anything new that we hadn't already been through, but I wasn't going to lose hope. We were all tired of running around, but that didn't mean we were going to give up anytime soon.

"We got no place left to go." Hershel was the first to state out loud.

"When this herd meets up with this one, we'll be cut off. We'll never make it south." Maggie said.

Daryl came up next to me, pointing to the map as he asked, "What would you say? That was about one hundred-fifty head?"

"That was last week," Glenn confirmed, "It could be twice that by now."

"This river could've delayed them. If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here."Hershel pointed.

I nodded, "Yeah but if this group joins with that one, they could spill out this way." I muttered as I drew a line from the nearby herd, to right where we were moving towards.

"So, we're blocked." Maggie concluded.

"The only thing to do is double back at 27 and swing towards Greenville." Rick said.

T-Dog shook his head with a click of his tongue, "Yeah, we picked through that already. It's like we spent the winter going in circles."

My eyes almost rolled to the back of my head in frustration, "We did spend the whole winter going in circles." I said, feeling him place a hand on my shoulder in agreement.

"Yeah, I know, I know. At Newnan we'll push west. Haven't been through there yet. We can't keep going house to house, need to find somewhere to hole up for a couple weeks." Rick said, glancing back at Lori who was still sitting in one of the cars.

"Alright," T-Dog nodded, "Is it cool if we get to the creek before we head out? It won't take long, gotta fill up on water we can boil later."

"Knock yourself out." Rick replied.

Everyone dispersed after that to do their own thing while I continued to stare at the map for a few more seconds. We'd be stuck here for a little while as we filled up the waters and searched nearby for some food, I hoped the herd wouldn't catch up to us as we didn't have a choice but to stay here for a few hours at least. With where we were at, we had to think through every decision thoughtfully, otherwise shit could hit the fan.

Pushing myself off the hood of the car after a few seconds, I felt an arm gently wrap around my waist and I looked up to see Daryl smiling down at me sweetly, "Hi." I greeted.

"Hi." he muttered while quickly kissing my cheek, "M' gonna go scope the area quick, you wanna come with?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm going to keep an eye on Lori. But maybe take Rick with you? Maybe it'll help ease his mind."

We both seemed to turn at the same time to see the man anxiously pacing back and forth, unsure of where we had parked ourselves for a little while. "Alright," Daryl agreed quickly, "I'll see ya in a bit." he promised while squeezing my hip lightly.

I nodded and watched him walk off towards Rick, subtly glancing down at his ass for a few seconds before heading over to the car Lori was in. In my defense, it was hard to miss and I'm not a saint.

I walked right up to the passenger side door knocked on the window a few times to bring her attention towards me, glancing up as she rolled down the window so we could talk.

"How're you feeling?" I asked her.

She sighed, "I don't know, physically right now I feel fine. But I'm just-" she stopped for a minute, "What if we don't find a place?"

My eyes softened as soon as I heard the slight crack to her voice, "We will. And anyway, that's for us to worry about. You just worry about keeping you and that little peanut safe."

She smiled at the nickname, rubbing a hand over her stomach before her smile turned sour once again, "I can't help but worry Ro. I'm scared for this baby and what's going to happen if we don't find a safe place before..." she trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought.

"We will," I reassured her, "We'll find it soon, I can feel it."

Just as those final words left my mouth, we heard rustling coming from the bushes in front of us and I instantly took out my knife, only to see it was Daryl and Rick already returning. They carried nothing more in their hands, and I was beyond surprised to see Rick with a huge unreal smile on his face, looking the most hopeful he had in months.

"...What's up?" I asked cautiously.

Daryl smiled small before nodding back to where they had just came from, "Yer gonna want to see this."

Seeing their sudden happiness the two seemed to bring back with them, it caused the others to anxiously gather their things and move to follow them to whatever they seemed to find. I didn't know what to really expect, but I can genuinely say I never in a million years expected this.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of large gates that led to an overrun prison, instantly seeing why the guys were so excited about this. It needed a lot of work, but this could be the perfect place for Lori to safely have her baby without drawing attention to ourselves. The perfect place where we could actually start building a life behind the safe and sturdy walls. I felt a smile creep onto my face at the possibilities as Rick was cutting the fence so we could easily sneak in. I didn't know what the plan was, but I would do whatever it took to guarantee a safe place for us to stay for a long, long time.

All of us made it through the hole in the gate and were now running down towards another, noting the number of walkers that filled the grassy field just on the other side. I knew someone would have to go in there blindly to kill as many as possible to make it to the other side, leading us one step closer to the main building. We needed to get the farthest gate closed that led to the cell blocks so more walkers wouldn't spill in, leaving us to take one small herd at a time instead of all at once. There were many of them scattered across the land, but in my mind we could easily take them all on. We just had to be careful.

"It's perfect," Rick breathed, "If we can shut that gate, prevent more from filling the yard, we can pick off these walkers and be in the field by tonight."

"So how do we shut the gate?" Hershel asked.

I was about to speak up, but Glenn quickly beat me to it, "I'll do it you guys cover me." he said.

But Maggie shook her head and protested quickly, "No, it's a suicide run."

"I'm the fastest." he argued.

"In your dreams." I stepped in with a scoff, "I'm definitely the fastest and you know it."

An annoyed look crossed his features as he turned towards me, "It's not a competition Ro."

"I never said it was," I replied, "I'm saying if anyone should go in there to close the gate it's me."

"Nah, ya ain't going alone." Daryl protested immediately.

"She's not," Rick stepped in, "I'll go with her."

I glanced up at him with narrowed eyes, "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know Ro, but we'll help cover you. It's the safest way, just let me help you." Rick nearly pleaded in a softer voice than before.

His just his tone by itself made me stop and look at him seriously. This was the first time in a very long time Rick had actually shown that he cared about me, or anything for that matter. Seeing him be so sure of something, the light slowly coming back into his eyes, I felt I couldn't argue further. So I nodded my head once as he quickly began telling the others what to do, while I looked back out to the many walkers, counting how many I would have to take down.

"Be safe." Daryl's voice whispered as he gently turned me around to face him.

I smirked, "Always am." I replied, repeating his own words back to him.

He gave me a small smile before turning around to go back to one of the watchtowers with Carol, having an advantage from higher up. I watched everyone else spread out, heading towards the gates to bang on the metal fence and distract them while Rick and I slowly made our way into the lions den. While others headed up into the watchtowers, taking out their guns to kill the ones in the distance.

"You ready?" Rick asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded my head and pulled my gun out to have at my side. We opened the main gate slowly and tried to quietly make our way up the gravel path without drawing too much attention, though the small rocks crunched heavily under our feet. I ran a little ways ahead of him and shot the walkers that were getting too close to me while he covered me, making sure none of them were sneaking up on us from behind.

I heard gunshots come from the towers where our people were slowly picking them off, but the noise began to draw more their attention towards us faster than I would've liked. I started to notice more of the walkers were making their way over to us, now not caring about the people behind the gates. The two of us then booked it towards the main gate that led to the prison, now not caring about being silent, but wanting to be fast.

I rushed up to it first, attempting to shut it while kicking a walker back in the chest that was trying to make its way out. Rick came up right behind me as I held it shut, taking clamps to hook it onto the fence, bonding them tightly to close it. We then shot at a few more walkers piling up behind us before making a break for it towards the watchtower to our right just before they could reach us as we slammed the door shut.

We rushed towards the top in a flash, hearing Daryl yell, "Light it up!" the second he noticed we were safe.

The group then didn't hesitate to shoot the rest of the walkers scattered across the field, Rick and I aiming our weapons to help out with the side that we had. And before we knew it, the last walker dropped dead to the ground, and we had the whole field cleared. I turned to Rick with a smile on my face and to my surprise, he was smiling too, amazed at what we had just accomplished. I held up my hand to him and he gladly took it in his own, while looking out at the progress we just made.

The two of us then made our way back down as the rest entered through the gates, amazing positive energy filling the entire now empty space.

"We haven't had this much space since the farm!" Carol yelled as she held her arms out running further into the field with a delirious laugh.

I watched slightly further back from everyone as they carried their things tightly to their backs, finding a good place to set up for the night. The gates being built up around us just gave us all this new sense of hope that I couldn't quite describe, a feeling that we would finally be safe after all this time of running constantly. Finally, being able to breathe.

Darkness now coated the sky as a few hours had passed since we got settled. The group sat around the big fire we had built, having something to eat while Rick and Daryl kept watch on either end of the large field. Small, hushed chatter filled the air around us, the most we had talked in a very long time, and genuine laughter that followed.

Glenn finished eating from beside me and tossed the can to the ground, "Mmm just like mom used to make." he muttered sarcastically.

I laughed quietly to myself before turning towards Lori as if it was a routine, and offered her the rest of the food still on my plate. She immediately declined, like she did every single time, but I didn't budge or move my hand away until she finally took the food away from me with a sigh. I couldn't help but worry that the woman wasn't eating enough along with everyone else, occasionally taking turns in giving her more food each night.

After finally finishing up, I stood to my feet and grabbed a spare plate, piling on the remaining food on it for Daryl who was standing tall on a bus that laid on its side on the far side of the grass. Walking over there was a workout within itself, but the man noticed rather quickly as he placed his weapon down beside him. He held out a hand for me once I was close enough, pulling me up with ease so I could stand with him alone for a while as he ate.

"What's for dinner tonight?" he asked as he glanced down at the food, now looking more like mush.

"Well," I sighed, "The options were either ravioli or ravioli...tough choice but I went with ravioli." I said as I handed him the plate.

"Ah." he muttered as he took it from me, "You eat yet?" he asked before even taking a bite.

I nodded my head, "Yeah."

He narrowed his eyes a little at me, taking a bite silently before muttering, "Yer a liar." I tilted my head in confusion, "I ain't blind, I saw ya give the rest of your food to Lori." he stated.

I rolled my eyes, "Well, she needs it more than I do right now."

He stared at me silently before finishing only half of his food before handing the rest over to me, "No." I immediately declined.

"Yes." he said with a crooked grin on his face.

"Daryl." I warned.

"Rosie." he mocked my tone, "Eat. Ya need it more than I do right now." he repeated back to me with knowing eyes.

I sighed, "Fine. We'll split it." I caved as I ate half of the half and handed it right back over to him.

"Nah." he said immediately.

"Look, it's called a compromise, I know you're not familiar. But everyone wins in this scenario." I stated while placing the plate in his hands.

He scoffed, "I ain't winnin, I wanted ya to eat all of it."

"I ate some of it, now you eat the rest. You're not getting exactly what you want, but kind of at the same time," I explained as if he were a child. Though he didn't respond to me, only giving me a blank stare, "If you want me to eat that you'll have to shove it down my throat." I finished.

He smirked a little, before finally eating what was left on the plate, "Kinky." he muttered.

"Oh my God." I huffed, slightly laughing as I looked down at my shoes, though I could feel his eyes on me. I eventually glanced up and leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, kissing his lips softly and pulled back to watch his cheeks tint a deep red.

"So, how are you feeling, love?" I asked him.

He shrugged, "Hopeful I guess... considerin we found this place. How you doin?"

"I'm good, I'm just kind of worried." he raised an eyebrow at me, so I continued, "What if this place is too good to be true? I just don't want to get my hopes up." I said, looking back towards the small group.

He lifted his hand and placed it on my cheek to get me to look back at him when he spoke, "Ya don't gotta worry bout that. I think this place is safe and if it isn't, I'll protect ya. You know that." he finished, kissing my forehead.

I sighed and took his hand that was holding my face and kissed his palm, before holding it down at my side, "I know you will, I just... can't help but overthink, you know?"

He nodded in response and we both seemed to turn back to look at our group in front of us, huddled close together by the fire. My eyes then wandered up to Rick for a moment who was still pacing back and forth by the fence as if something would suddenly pop out of the woods, and I furrowed my eyebrows in concern. He hadn't stopped by to eat something or even give us an update on how things looked on the north side of the fence that he had been guarding.

He still wasn't okay by any means, but I was hoping since we found this place, it would lift his spirits a bit. Maybe give him some peace of mind for Lori, even if things between them weren't the best. He still loved her more than she even realized.

My shoulder then twitched involuntarily from the pain it was constantly in, causing me to roll it back and forth a little in an attempt to ease the soreness.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, just my shoulder, I don't know it's been hurting recently. Probably from sleeping on hardwood floors for God only knows how long." I joked.

His brows furrowed, "Why didn't ya say somethin?" he asked.

I looked at him confused, "I don't know?"

He chuckled, "Turn around." he muttered with a nod of his head.

I did what he asked and then felt his hands go to my shoulders and rubbed them, not too hard but just the perfect amount of pressure and I sighed in content as my eyes fluttered closed.

"Am I hurtin ya?" he asked softly.

"God no." I said as I let my head lean to the side.

I heard a deep chuckle escape him as he continued to work his fingers into my sore muscles. His hands then slowly moved towards the sides of my neck, traveling his way all the way down my back before landing back up on my shoulders again. I felt chills run down my spine at the feeling of relief washing over me, but then he stopped after only a few minutes much to my dismay. I groaned at the loss of contact the second he took his hands away, hearing him chuckle again to himself.

"Better?" he asked.

"No," I muttered, shaking my head, "I think you need to keep doing that for like...a few hours at least." I said as I turned back around to face him again.

He smiled a bit with a tilt of his head, "Don't worry, we'll get some alone time and then I'll do whatever ya want." he winked.

I raised my eyebrows at him, "Really? Okay, but I am definitely not having sex up against a tree again." I joked.

He smiled and shrugged, "Hey, we can check it off the bucket list."

"You have a bucket list for our sex life?" I asked with furrowed brows.

"Nah but I should." he said, before I felt him reach down to pinch my ass. I gasped and hit him playfully in the chest as he just laughed at his own actions.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help but smile a little at his more positive demeanor. "We should be getting back." I reminded.

"Yeah, yer probably right." he agreed as he turned to grab his crossbow, before cautiously jumping off of the bus.

My eyes followed him before glancing back down to the ground nervously, watching him turn around and see my hesitation, "Don't worry, I'll catch ya." he assured.

"It looks so much higher up from right here." I voiced, and he held out his arms in response.

I felt myself smile before carefully slipping off the bus, feeling him catching me around my waist to bring me back down on my feet slowly. His hands stayed firmly on my waist for a moment, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before turning around and picking his weapon up off the ground.

We then walked back to the others hand in hand, overhearing Beth say something when we got close enough.

"No one wants to hear." she muttered with a shy shake of her head.

"No one wants to hear what?" I asked her while Daryl and I sat down on the grass.

Glenn looked over at me, "Hershel wants her to sing, set the mood, but she thinks no one wants to listen."

I looked back over at Beth, "That's not true, hon we want to hear, sing us something."

She glanced up at me with a small smile on her face, "I'll sing...if you sing with me." she suggested.

I felt my cheeks get hot from embarrassment as everyone around me looked towards me with a certain glint in their eyes. I couldn't even bring myself to look over at the man next to me as I groaned internally. Why? I swallowed the lump that seemed to form in my throat, waving the girl off as I laughed nervously, the group expecting me to say something.

"I don't know." I muttered.

"I didn't know you could sing." Carol said with a smile on her face.

I shrugged, "I don't really...I haven't much the past few years."

"Oh, are you kidding? You sounded spectacular the last time I heard you." Hershel complimented.

I could feel the anxiety slowly creeping back up as Glenn prodded me again, "Come on, just one song. I've been wanting to hear you sing." he tried to convince.

I closed my eyes momentarily as I tried to keep my cool. None of them realized the severity I had behind this whole thing, they had no idea that singing just brought back horrible memories of the past. To them it was all in good fun, a talent that perhaps I shouldn't keep hidden just for myself, but the truth was it wasn't a talent. It was a coping mechanism. Something to distract me while my mother was on her fifth rampage of the day. Some trauma that was still built up and tucked away from when I was young.

"Ya don't have to if ya don't want to." Daryl said suddenly, whispering close to my ear so only I would hear, "Just say the word and I'll yell at em to stop." he joked, though I knew he was completely serious.

I huffed out a laugh as I shook my head, silently telling him that it was okay. I could tell how much the young girl didn't want to do this alone, and at some point I had to get it through my thick head that these people weren't here to hurt me. They weren't here to degrade me or mistreat me like my mother did, they were here to support me and applaud me for even the smallest accomplishments.

I sighed to myself with almost regret in my tone as I asked, "What song are we singing?"

Beth smiled wide, "You pick." she said in excitement.

I thought to myself for a moment before deciding on a Tom Petty song, Free Fallin. That specific song offered me some type of comfort that I couldn't exactly describe, but I knew it would help at least a little when it came to singing in front of everyone. It felt odd, having all those eyes on you as you tried desperately not to think about it, but I was only really doing it for Beth. With the day that we just had after all those hard months, I felt like I couldn't let her down.

Although it got better towards the end, Beth signaling for everyone to join in at the last part so we would all come in together. Our voices all mixed together softly and quietly, still somewhat aware of the things outside the fences, but laughing softly and enjoying it nonetheless. In the end it turned out to be a sweet moment, and one that we would all surely remember.

As it came to a close, soft applause came from everywhere, "Beautiful." Hershel complimented once we were done.

Everyone else muttered something in agreement, filling the silence with compliments about how great it was, especially hearing it on such a calm quiet night. One that we hadn't had in a long time.

Beth reached over to squeeze my hand as they continued to chat in the background, "I'm proud of you." she whispered with a smile.

I squeezed her hand, "Thanks, hon." I said genuinely, knowing that she had no clue how much those words truly meant to me.

She nodded and opened her mouth to say something else, but Rick's presence suddenly came back to join the rest of us, "Better all turn in, I'll take watch over there. Got a big day tomorrow." he announced.

He then continued when nobody spoke up, "I know we're all exhausted, this was a great win. But we have to push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners, looks like this place fell pretty early. It could mean the supplies may be intact, they would have an infirmary, a commissary."

"An armory?" Daryl questioned.

"That would be outside the prison itself but not too far away. Warden's office would have info on the location. Weapons, food, medicine. This place could be a gold mine."

Hershel then voiced his worry, "We're dangerously low on ammo. We'd run out before we could make a dent."

"That's why we go in there, hand to hand. After all we've been through, we can handle it. I know it. These assholes don't stand a chance." Rick said with a nod of his head, turning back to check the perimeter one last time.

I sighed quietly to myself before standing up to find my backpack, to try and get some sleep before tomorrow came quicker than I wanted. I laid down flat on my back in the soft grass, resting my arms behind my head as I looked up at the stars, hearing the others get situated as they too got ready to sleep. I felt someone come and lay down slightly next to me, looking over to see Carl resting on his stomach as he sent me a small smile.

"You sounded good." he said quietly.

I playfully rolled my eyes as I scoffed, "Yeah, thanks kid," I muttered before reaching up to tip his hat down so it would cover his eyes, "Try and get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded and laid down on his back, pulling his hat completely over his eyes to block out anything else as he tried to fall asleep. I followed his actions, seeing as I was barely able to keep my eyes open from the exhaustion, before I felt someone's arm wrap around me and pull me in closer. Smiling in content, I leaned in closer to rest my head on his chest, feeling him breathe in and out deeply.

"You amaze me every day, darlin." he suddenly spoke softly.

I peeled my eyes open and looked up at him, "What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.

He shook his head, "Had no idea ya could sing like that." he said, tracing circles on my back lightly.

My face flushed as his words left a tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach, thinking back to how his gaze was burning into me the whole time I sang softly with Beth. I had noticed it almost instantly, but tried not to let my mind linger too much on it as I focused on the lyrics. Though the feeling rushed back to me in an instant, thinking how no one had ever looked at me like that before him. But I liked it, maybe even a little more than I let on.

But I didn't say anything in response to him as I buried my face in his chest from slight embarrassment, hearing him chuckle before placing his hand on the side of my face to get me to look at him.

"Nah, don't try and escape from it now." he joked, "How come ya never told me?" he asked, lightly rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

"To be fair, I only told Glenn and then his big mouth told everyone else," I said to which he nodded, "And I don't know...it's kind of hard to explain. More like something from my past that I just...want to ignore forever."

His face dropped slightly upon hearing that, somewhat knowing what I meant and didn't say anything else, but only brought me closer to him. I sighed in content as I scooted closer, hearing the steady sound of his heart beating, and feeling him place a kiss on top of my head.

I knew I never needed to explain myself to him, because somehow, he always knew. He always knew without me having to say a single word, and I loved that about him. He didn't pry, he didn't assume, he just held me close as if he wanted to take away the painful memories it brought me.

~ Thanks for reading!

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (3)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: ambiguous relationship, slow burn, big sibling dynamic with gwen stacy

Word Count: 3,106

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

A/n: For the one full Spanish sentence I used spanishdict upon recommendation from more fluent speakers, as my own Spanish barely qualifies as basic (but I am actively studying! hooray). If you are interested in being a language beta/translator, let me know!

“I miss Miles sometimes,” Gwen admits, pushing around a few stray beans on her dish.

You look at her, softening in understanding. “Peter talks about him sometimes. He sounds like a good kid.”

Gwen sighs. “Yeah.”

“Hey,” you say after a moment, leaning across the table a bit. “I don’t blame you. If I had a friend like that, after what you’ve been through? I’d miss him too.” You shrug nonchalantly as images of you holding Miguel, of Miguel holding you, zip through your mind.

She lifts her eyes, looking into yours. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I think they’re too hard on you about it. It’s not like friendship falls into the laps of people like us.”

“Yeah,” she lets out a small puff of air that would barely even qualify as a chuckle if it weren’t for the lopsided, somewhat forced smile on her face.

You let the silence linger, and then; “That’s a lot of half-hearted ‘Yeahs,’ kid. You wanna go get a treat and web up some idiots?”

Gwen laughs. Success.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

And so you do. The two of you suit up and leave for the afternoon to do your spidery duties, swinging and helping and stopping people where needed. You make good on your promise to get treats when the sun begins to set, the two of you walking into a charming ice-cream parlor in full Spider-Person get-up and leaving with milkshakes (“Your world uses printed ceramic for takeout containers?” “Yeah? What do you use?” “We mostly use plastic.” “Dude. That’s so bad for the environment.”) and fresh stamp cards.

You find a place to perch and drink them, somewhere up high where you can take your masks off and relax. Your legs dangle over the ledge and the city is spread out before you, the glass windows of the buildings glittering under the low angle of the sun like a mess of craft store glitter someone tried, and failed, to clean up.

“How do you do it?” Gwen asks, lifting the soft blanket of silence.

You finish your sip, turning to look at her. “Do what?”

“The two lives thing,” she says, looking down at the ceramic takeout cup she holds in her lap.

You look out over the city, blowing air through your lips. “Honestly? I was never great at multitasking.” You pause, watching a crow soar by. “I probably ruined a lot of relationships by prioritizing being the Spider.” She’s lifted her gaze now, staring at you with big round eyes. “And…” you shrug. “I think some things that happened, some choices I made, cost me some people in my life. And… not just socially.”

“Your aunt,” Gwen says softly.

You nod slowly. “I think if she had known, if I hadn’t been so afraid to tell her… I think there’s a chance things could have gone differently.”

Gwen looks at you for a long, long moment.

“But,” you say, voice lighter. “There’s no changing the past. We just gotta do our best with what we have in the present.” You nudge her shoulder. “Even if there’s some things we can’t change, we can still make the most of the rest. Y’know?”

She gives you a small, sad smile, before turning to look at the city. “Yeah. That’s probably a good way of looking at it.”

You swing your legs in the open air over the building’s edge, thumping softly against the brick in slow rhythm as you return to sucking down your shake. You put the cup back down, only dregs left, and look at her again.

She sighs, looking at you once more. “Stop that.”

“Wh-!” You do an exaggerated double take, throwing your hands in the air. “Stop what? I’m not doing anything!”

“The whole ‘sad, sympathetic older-sibling’ look you’re giving me,” she kicks her dangling foot towards your swinging ones, and the two of you get into a mini foot fight that dissolves into easy laughter.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” you raise your hands again, this time in surrender. “Teens, man, so touchy about normal human emotions and bonding,” you push her shoulder and stand, pulling on your mask. “C’mon then. Finish up your shake and we’ll go web up some more doofuses.” With that you web your empty drink into one hand, and with the other you shoot a web to swing off back into the depths of the city.

Gwen shakes her head with a little smile, takes one last sip, and follows on her own rope of web.

“Ready to go? Got all your stuff?”

“Yup!” Gwen replies, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

You lift your wrist, tapping the golden-yellow screen, and your living room turns to molten gold as the portal opens up.

“Alright, get through quick. There’s no way this is good for the houseplants,” you usher Gwen past you into the portal, glancing around the room as she steps through, and then follow close behind.

The portal spits you out at the entrance to the lobby where numerous other Spider-People mingle and wave, greeting you as you make your way through, a chorus of hellos followed by Gwen’s name and your own.

“Spider-Teacher’s in today, yeah?” You ask one particularly young Peter Parker as the two of you cross paths.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he nods rapidly. “I just left his office.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.

“Great. Good to see ya,” you wave as you pass and continue further into HQ. When you and Gwen come to a crossroads, you stop. “I’ll leave you to it,” you say. “I'm gonna see if Peter’s around with Mayday.”

“He’s probably with Miguel,” Gwen says, ever so slightly emphasizing his name and dragging out the L.

“Uh-huh,” you say, pretending not to notice her pointed look and teasing smirk. “Maybe.”

Gwen gives a little wave and then she’s off, swinging through the walkway beams towards where Spider-Teacher’s office is.

You move to the side, out of the way of foot-traffic to stand on a wall, and call Peter B. on your watch.

His head and shoulders appear, floating above the screen.

“Garden Spider!” His enthusiastic voice greets you, and you chuckle at the nickname. “How are you? I sure hope this is a social call or I’ll be suuuper bummed out.”

His smile is contagious, so you laugh. “Yeah, yeah it's a social call. Are you at HQ? I have some time to kill and figured I could say hi to you and the baby.”

“Absolutely! You know, I was just showing Miguel some pictures, she had her first apricot last week, and–” Peter’s cut off by something, and he glances over his shoulder. “You’re doing fine, just a sec.” He looks back to you and lowers his voice. “I’m in Miguel’s lab, you wanna come by? He’s a little cranky today, though, so you might wanna bring a peace offering from the caf.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Great! See ya soon.”

“See ya.”

The holo call ends and you swing off to the cafeteria, figuring you might as well get lunch for all three of you, and maybe a snack for Gwen too for when she's done. So you order her a burrito, Miguel the usual empanadas and–

Your eye catches on a new menu item.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes way,” a random Spider-Man next to you in line replies, seeing what you’re looking at. “And they’re actually pretty good.”

You grin, turning to the cashier. “Two of the special, please.”

Peter greets you by name and wide open arms when you reach the lab. You return it with one arm, your other holding the food you’ve brought from the cafeteria.

“Hey Peter,” you pat his back companionably. “I didn't know if you were hungry or not so I brought some food for you too, just in case.”

“Excellent,” he releases you and rubs his hands together in a show of exaggerated excitement. When he glances over his shoulder into the main lab behind him like an unplugged bouncy castle.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s been overworking the last few days. Probably not getting enough sleep again, too,” he says quietly as the two of you begin to walk down the hall.

Guilt wraps its hands around your ribs, pulling them tight to squeeze around your lungs.

“Oh,” you manage to say. “Well, maybe we can get him to take a break for long enough to eat with us.”

Peter pats your shoulder, and then the hallway gives way to Miguel’s lab. You’ve been here enough times in a professional capacity that you should be used to the dim light, and your eyes are at least, but it still strikes you as rather Draculaic.

You’re sure if you mentioned that, he’d go on another one of his ‘I don’t understand why everyone continues to compare me to a vampire, they all know the fangs are a spider mutation and I don’t drink blood-’ rants.

The first thing you note is that his working platform is already lowered, his back to the hallway as he works, a gloved hand moving through the air across the yellow holo screens. The second thing you notice is the sleeping, redheaded, chubby baby cradled in his arm and drooling on his suit.

Something new rattles against the inside of your ribcage, elbowing the guilt aside.

“Miguel!” Peter calls. “Garden Spider brought lunch, take a break and eat with us!”

Miguel turns, his eyes land on Peter and then immediately flick to you.

“You are overdue for lunch,” Lyla says by his shoulder.

“Hey,” you smile and lift the bag of food. “I brought you two of those empanadas that Jess always gives you grief about.”

His eyes flick to the bag, then back to your face. The ghost of a frown tugs the corners of his mouth down. “They’re good empanadas.”

“You don't gotta defend ‘em to us man,” Peter says. “Now are you gonna get down from there and eat with us, or what?”

Miguel jumps down from the platform, using his free hand to keep May secure against his chest. She sleeps through the drop, something you’d find surprising with any other kid, but with what she and Peter get up to…

As Miguel walks to Peter to hand May back to him, you move to perch on one of the clear level surfaces and set the food down, taking the containers out from the to-go bag. Peter and Miguel join you after May is securely back in the baby carrier perpetually strapped to her father’s chest.

“Empanadas for you,” you pass Miguel the first takeout box, offering a small smile. He accepts, pausing minutely when your eyes meet, before looking away and taking one of his gloves off with his teeth. “A burger for Peter,” you say when you manage to pull your eyes away, and hand him the next box. “Aaand one for me.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. You know I love burgers. You know, when I first met—Woah. Oh my god,” he bursts into laughter. “What is this?”

“What is what?” Miguel asks dryly, opening his food with his now ungloved hand.

“Dude, they made you into a burger!” Peter places a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, holding out his open food container of burger and fries.

Miguel turns his head to look. He wrinkles his nose, eyes snapping to Peter who doesn’t even flinch. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s the Spidey Special,” you say with as best of a straight face as you can muster, opening your own box.

Miguel looks at you, eyes flicking down to your own open container and back to your face before he looks up into the air exasperatedly. “Dios mío, me convirtieron en una hamburguesa… You’re killing me here.”

“I take it you had no idea?” A bit of your smile escapes your efforts to contain it.

Miguel rolls his head to look at you. “Do you really think I would have allowed it if I did?”

You smile fully. “Fair enough.” You look towards Peter, who’s already started to eat, and ask; “How is it?”

“‘S d’lish’ss.”

“Wonderful.” Miguel remarks, voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes a bite of his empanada.

“C’mon,” Peter says, holding the burger out towards Miguel. “Try yourself! You taste great.”

You nearly choke on your first bite of your own burger, Miguel turning his head to look at you with a slightly furrowed brow. You wave him off. “”M fine, ‘m fine,” you say, patting your chest.”

“C’mon,” Peter says again, waving the burger towards Miguel again, who can barely repress his wrinkled nose.

Knowing Peter won’t give up, you interrupt.

“You can always have a bite of mine if you don’t want Peter’s half-eaten mess,” you say, nerves suddenly dancing in your chest when Miguel looks you directly in the eye.

“Oy!” Peter says.

Miguel looks at the box you offer to him, your burger sitting neatly inside with only a single bite taken out. His eyes sweep back up to yours, and he sets his takeout box aside. When he accepts your food his fingers brush over your knuckles with all the gentleness and warmth of a sleepy cat’s tail.

The gaze is finally broken when he turns forward to take the burger out of the box, and something high in your chest jumps and heats like a firework smoke-bomb on a chilly summer night as his mouth closes over where your own single bite had been. His eyes return to yours, flicking down and back up so quickly that if you didn’t have your radioactive spider induced super-senses you’d think you were mistaken.

“‘S fine,” he says, swallows, and places the burger back into the box. He passes it back to you, lowering his gaze.

Peter scoffs and mumbles: “Uh-huh. No taste.”

Miguel eats, occasionally watching while you and Peter catch up. You show him pictures of your largest plant’s newest leaf and he shows you pictures of May, who wakes up part way through the meal and climbs into your arms.

“Hi sweet l’il Mayday,” you coo, bouncing her in your arms, sending her into a fit of giggles while Peter takes pictures.

“I should get back to work,” Miguel says, abruptly standing from his seat.

You, Peter, and even May both stop and look at him.

“Oh, um–”

“Thank you for the meal.” Miguel leaps back up to his platform.

Your stomach sinks.

“I… should probably get Mayday home,” Peter says, making meaningful eye contact with you and gently taking a once again giggling May from your arms and sliding her into the carrier. He nods his head towards Miguel, widening his eyes pointedly at you. “I’ll see ya later boss!”

Miguel doesn't reply as his platform starts to move back upwards, so Peter slips out, leaving the two of you alone.

“Miguel?” You ask from your seat by the empty food boxes.

He doesn't reply, the acknowledging tilt of his head is the only indication he’s heard you.

You pick under your nails and glance around the room before standing to brush off any crumbs that might have landed on your suit. You take a breath to beat back the hands once again grabbing and squeezing your ribs, and shoot a web that swings you up to his platform. His shoulders tense at the sounds of your feet landing on the metal.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Are you-?” you reach out a hand to touch his back, the muscles that cover his shoulder blade, too short to reach his shoulder-proper without encroaching much too close into his space.

Your watch beeps, Gwen’s holo appears out of the screen, and you pull your hand back before it reaches home.

“Shit,” you mumble, then at a normal volume; “Hey Gwen!”

“Hey,” she smiles. “I just finished up with teacher Spidey, where are you?”

“Oh, I just finished lunch with Peter and Miguel–”

Even in miniature holo form you can see the suppressed smirk and raised eyebrows.

“Cool, cool,” she says with pretended nonchalance. “Do you want to just meet me back at your place?”

“I, uh–” you glance at Miguel’s tense, slumped shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah I’ll see you in just a bit.”

“No rush!” She says with a cheeky grin.

You open your mouth to reply, but her holo is already gone.

“...Cheeky.”

Your eyes snap to Miguel, who's quirking an eyebrow over his shoulder at you. Your face warms. He turns back to his screens, and you cross your arms, wrapping them around your middle in an approximation of a hug. You rock back and forth a few times on the balls of your feet. “Sooo… Peter said you've been working a lot.”

Miguel’s hand pauses in its path through the air from one screen to the next before it continues. “I always work a lot. It's kind of my whole thing.”

You sigh through your nose. “Yeah.”

Silence sits like a fat cat uncomfortably kneading on one's kidneys until he speaks again.

“How is your work going? Your day job, I mean. At the paper.”

You blink. “Oh, uh it's fine. I'm ahead of schedule so I'm taking a day or two between stories.”

He nods. “Good. That’s uh, good.”

Silence, again.

“Do you… Do you want some company while you work?”

Miguel turns to look at you, something soft and vulnerable in his eyes. This Miguel you recognize all too well. So you offer a small smile, tilting your head to the side.

“Yeah. Alright.”

You perk up. “Can I help at all, then?”

He quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his slight smile. “Leave it to me and Lyla for now.”

You chuckle slightly, leaning against one of the consoles carefully so as to not press any buttons. “Yeah… Probably better if I don’t.”

He frowns. “Don’t do that.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do what?”

He gestures his hand vaguely, crossing his arms in a reflection of your own. “Say that all… self deprecatingly.”

“Oh, I didn’t–”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” you lift your hands in surrender, laughing lightly. “Point taken.”

“Good,” he smiles, turning back to his own console. “Lyla.”

“Hiii,” the virtual personal assistant pops into existence in the space by his right shoulder. “And hiiii to you too!” She says in a singsong voice, wiggling her fingers at you in greeting.

“Hi Lyla,” you give a little smile and wave back, and then settle in to observe while Miguel works.

This time the silence sits like it usually does with you two: gently, like a warm blanket.

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[libraford]

Photo studio is on my mind because this is when school starts gearing up again.

Yes, I was a little argumentative because when instructions are given to me in a confusing or inconsistent manner, I push back. Because it is often that my memory is my worst enemy, so when I am in the habit of writing things down and double checking my notes to make sure- it is somewhat crazy-making to be told that both my memory and my guiding resources are incorrect.

But I also got push-back: not only when I asked for accommodations for my memory problems, but when I suggested that I could make my own accommodations where none were available to me.

"If you think that I require more guidance, then I think it's not a bad idea to have me come in with the beginners to brush up on training week" was met with "No returning photographers ever come back for training- it's just not done." "But things change every season, and we'll be having a whole new system soon- I don't want to be working with outdated info." "Nothing has changed in the ten years I've been here!" "They changed the starting light settings just last year." "No, that was before you worked here." "Obviously it was not."

"You need to be better about taking criticism. You always seem to fight back during reviews." "I find some of the critique and training suggestions to be lacking in tact." "I will tell the supervisor to provide more concise criticism." "Tactful...I asked for tact."

"Some of the photographers are unhappy about their pay rate and I think a cost of living increase might encourage people to stay." "You're the highest paid non-salary in the company- why are you asking for a raise?" "...I was asking it on their behalf." "Well, they can ask me themselves." "They felt more comfortable asking me." "Why wouldn't they ask me themselves?" "You see how this conversation is going so far."

"If your problem isn't about the quality of the photos but the fact that I go too fast, then maybe I should have a minute timer to make sure I'm giving them the full 60 seconds." "No, do not put yourself on a timer." "Why not?" "You should know how to use the full minute properly by now and shouldn't need a timer." "I have time-blindness. Youre saying I can't self-advocate?" "That's not what I said." "Then how can I make sure we're going at the proper pace without a cue to help me know how much time has passed?" "You should know how long a minute is by now."

"If I could just do candids, I think I'd be happy." "Well, we can't have a person who just does candids, that position doesn't exist." "The district I subbed for last spring has a candids person." "Well, they're not supposed to." (And then I threaten to quit.) "What if we took you put of schools and had you just do candids?"

So it's like... yeah, I argue. Because I'm making reasonable requests, that would help me be more compliant, and am being told that they can't be made... or having words get put in my mouth.

That and the comments about my appearance. That I wear inappropriate clothes (the uniform is cut for a different body type than mine.) Sometimes people can see my belly button. People commenting on my body. Parents who never even SEE me commenting that my 'bare midriff' is inappropriate for a school setting. People claiming that I smell bad (a comment usually given to fat people, as if I haven't smelled sweat, urine, or menstrual smell coming from school employees and students.)

All of this is just emotional outgassing. The candids position will have me in minimal contact with the company. I get my assignment, I go to assignment, I do assignment, I upload work to the cloud. If she gives me equipment, it's fucking over.

[naomi121406]

🌕 Lunar Melody 🌕

🌕 A pop-culture spell to strengthen your psychic abilities (such as clairaudience, claircognizance, etc), inspired by Fatal Frame IV 🌕

A Lunar Melody is someone's unique tone, tied to their identity and gifts, their very soul. This Lunar Melody can change pitch according to the person's emotional state and general health. We all hear it unconsciously, and not being able to hear your own Lunar Melody (according to the games) can cause a foggy mind, partial or complete memory loss, dizziness, headaches, emotional distress, among other things. It is also said that people with stronger lunar melodies have a stronger connection to the spiritual realms, the Afterlife, and are often mediums. According to lore, Lunar Eclipses are times when the veil between worlds are thinner and in the games, the Lunar Melodies of people are more receptive, for good or for bad, during this time. So let's try to use that in our favor! Doing this following exercise at a time when the veil is thinner will help you identify what gifts you have but maybe didn't know about, and strengthen the psychic abilities that you already know of. Kind of like stretching a muscle that's been atrophied, with the Moon's help.

⚠️ An older version of this spell was posted by me a long time ago and now seems to be lost. I'm posting this new (and somewhat improved) version as someone asked for it, and it may be of use to others aswell.

🌕 You'll need:

A lunar eclipse, ha. If it wasn't obvious by the title and inspiration, you'll be performing this ritual under a lunar eclipse. Partial or total, your choice, but I think it's safer to do it for the first time under a partial eclipse.

A consecrated mask. Preferably of some organic material (thick paper or wood). Paint it entirely with black ink/paint, that has been previously mixed with a drop of your blood. If you don't feel comfortable working with blood, saliva can work as a substitute (as a personal concern of yours, a tie to you) or even better, tears, as they relate to your sight. After you've painted it, let it dry outside under a Full Moon, asking for the Moon's blessing.

Five white candles.

A bowl of water (preferably a dark bowl, or some scrying bowl)

Music player and a song of choice.

A notebook and pen to take notes.

🌕 Steps:

🌕 First you'll have to define your workspace. I recommend that you create a circular sacred space with a radius of at least 60-70 cm around you. You can use a rope to mark the circle or not, that's up to you. Then set up your five candles on this circle, forming a five-pointed star. Open sacred space as you normally would (if you call on the elements, deities, etc, this would be the time to do that)

🌕 Set before you, inside the circle, the scrying bowl. Best if you can see the Moon's reflection on the water (doing this outside is best but not necessary). Call on the Moon God/Goddess of your choice, and ask them to bless the water and guide your sight.

🌕 Using your music player, play the song you've chosen to meditate with. You can use the Moonsong from the games (said to calm people's soul) or some other that resonates with you (see what I did there?). When you do, first say "Spirits of Song, of chimes, drums, flute, piano and string, lend me your guidance tonight".

🌕 Then, the meditation. Or the frenzy. Put on the mask. You can choose to stay still or dance. If you stay seated, gaze into the water, and try to make out shapes, pay attention to any sounds, emotions, smell, word or image that comes to your mind. Write them down when you're done. If you dance, offer your dance to the Moon and let it guide your steps. Placing the bowl on the center of the circle, dance around it and pay attention to the sensations of it, without judgement. What do you see in your mind's eye? pay attention to what you hear, smell, feel. Don't overthink it in the moment, just let it move through you and only care to remember it for later, so you can write it all down, and you can analize it all you want after it's over.

🌕 After you've written down your notes, you can close your sacred space as you normally would, give thanks to the Spirits you've called to aid you, and even leave a small offering out for the Moon afterwards if you wish.

🌕With Love, Nao🌕