#endurance modes are my favorite

[cultistic-ann-aka-sannaliel]

REAL STORY

I decided to replay the cult of the lamb, but on a hard mode and with a new feature (where you need to eat and sleep). It was painful and hard, at the end I felt kind of sad and I said to myself "well, if my favorite cat will has terrible traits, I'm deleting this world" BUT-

Welp, see yourself..

YES, I CAN PET HIM, I CAN PET THIS CAT!!! HJFOFOFHSDSDH I WAS CRYING FOR 5 MINUTES!!! Doesn't even expected such a luck

I am ready to endure all this torment for him and the opportunity to pet him

also bonus:

[takami-takami]

Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments. 

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?" 

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth. 

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel. 

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case. 

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire? 

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening. 

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here." 

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support. 

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind. 

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course. 

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart. 

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it. 

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth. 

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core. 

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem. 

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch with their own.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs. 

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could— 

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips. 

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity. 

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan. 

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half. 

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms. 

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive. 

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation. 

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," Keigo warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you." 

He schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry. 

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion. 

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth. 

Ah, it hits you. 

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that." 

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?" 

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—" 

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips. 

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With Keigo kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants. 

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!" 

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth. 

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it. 

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face. 

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw." 

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please." 

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire. 

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch Keigo moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor. 

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance. 

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts." 

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt. 

"You're so wet for me," he reveres in awe, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit. 

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent. 

Until you shut the fuck up. 

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory. 

Keigo wants to hear you moan. 

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction. 

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals. 

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care. 

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd. 

Pulling out, that is. 

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end. 

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made. 

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?" 

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#7: How'd I Get So Lucky Finding You (S9E01)

Imagine feeling lucky in a fallen world. 🥹 Losing so much and still feeling like you won because you found the ultimate love of your life. 😭 It’s beautiful and powerful that Richonne’s love is so strong that it has them feeling fortunate even after enduring a series of unfortunate events. And in this stunning scene, we get to see so much of why Rick and Michonne have an everlasting love. This scene is an absolutely heartwarming delight and it features my favorite thing Rick has ever said to Michonne in TWD 😍...

I will forever love the state of Richonne’s relationship in s9. They finally had time to breathe and be a family with Judith, and I loved every moment they got to relish in being together.

I always knew Rick and Michonne wouldn't be the type of couple who were only compatible in fight and survival mode - they're equally compatible in just living and being mode. 

So I appreciate that this scene takes its time to just be as the two cuddle up and showcase yet again why they work so perfectly with each other. They truly belong together and fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. 🥰

Also, I will always like that this scene of Richonne snuggled up in bed takes place in the Sanctuary of all places. Just more proof that nothing, not even the oppressive reign of Negan, was going to break Richonne because now Rick and Michonne are up in that batty man's crib fully immersed in their sweet Richonne bubble. 🤗

They just feel so married with Rick washing up and then getting in bed with Michonne as the two just instinctively get wrapped up in each other. And the way Rick kisses her forehead. 🥹 It’s always so clear that they feel the most safe to completely decompress and let their guard down with each other and are so precious to each other.

And I’m just giddy every time I hear Michonne adorably and playfully call Rick “the famous Rick Grimes” with that shoulder shimmy while resting on his chest. Perfection. 👌🏽

I love their teasing banter and how she’s addressing the way Rick's a legend to the people. As he should be. And Rick’s playful, "don’t you start too" response to hearing her say that is just great. 😊

It’s adorable that she plays with his beard while noting that the reverence people have for him is sweet. She gets it. She says, “just don’t let it get to your head” and Richonne tones for the win once again in this scene. 😍

And again the two bring up Maggie and how they feel for her since she has to deal with losing that Hilltop kid, which is particularly sad too because R&M lost their own teenage son just about a year and a half ago.

Rick and Michonne then have this moment where they both just take a synchronized deep breath and these two seriously always feel like one, especially in the way they breathe in this moment. 

I like how Rick seems tired as he closes his eyes, but then Michonne says his name, and he can always be awake and alert for her when they need to talk.

I really like too how Michonne and Rick both get honest about the fact that they wonder if they should have just killed Negan. To which I was like, yes...

But I appreciate that Michonne says "we" when talking about this choice because she and Rick are a package deal. Saving Negan without consulting the others was Rick’s most controversial move among tf, and it clearly had some tf members feeling understandably upset. But it’s nice that, by saying "we," Michonne doesn’t make Rick feel like he was alone in that choice.

Rick thinks the Saviors just want food, not Negan back in charge, and Michonne reminds him they don’t know that for sure, which is valid, and it’s great they can communicate like this.

And then I love that Michonne lets him know she’s been thinking about an agreement between the communities and that she maps out the idea with her hand over his heart. Their closeness really is unparalleled.

Also the way Rick is looking at his wife throughout this scene is um...it's gold and damn near made me lose my train of thought so let me get myself back on track lol.

I love that Rick affirms Michonne's idea, telling her it’s good and smart, and how he looks right at her while saying it could bring people closer together. And the way Michonne touches him. I love that they really don’t take their hands off each other for pretty much the entire scene. 😊

And then Rick opens up and lets her know what's on his mind as he shares that Daryl isn’t happy, and it makes him worried about things breaking down. Scenes like this are why I believe Michonne is not just Rick's wife but truly his best friend. They always can confide in each other and express everything going on inside - their hopes, ideas, worries, and fears.

It’s sweet that Michonne acknowledges the validity of what Daryl feels. And Rick groans a bit and says Daryl cares too much sometimes. I appreciate that Michonne can sense Rick's headspace so clearly here and doesn’t want a divide to be caused between those two brothers (even tho it ends up being a bit too late sadly).

The way Michonne whispers 'hey' and then gently turns Rick's face towards her, it’s like a visible illustration of how she centers him and reminds him to stay focused on the good and how to move things forward. And of course, Rick is receptive to this redirection as he looks into her eyes. Love it. 😊

Michonne acknowledges that if Daryl is worried then there’s a reason. And again, because R&M are a package deal, she asks, "What do we do about it?" knowing however they handle it, it will be together. 

And then, like a well-oiled machine, Rick says he thinks they need to fix that bridge, and Michonne says she'll get the people to agree to a charter. Look at these leaders making big community decisions all while snuggling in bed together. 🥰

So then it’s Rick’s turn to do some teasing when he asks if it’ll be a "charter or constitution?" Again, I love how lines like these show Rick and Michonne know each other's humor as Michonne amusedly confirms it'll be a charter. And it's just sweet too cuz, while they're playing around, I'm sure Rick fully believes Michonne would be capable of drafting up a whole effective constitution for the new world lol.

Their synchronized smiles at this moment are seriously the best. 🙌🏽And then Rick kissing her three times is even better. The way Michonne smiles at him. The way he always has to come back for more. I live.😍

And I just absolutely love getting to see Rick and Michonne in such a relaxed happy state. Scenes like this make it so clear why Rick and Michonne haven't moved on from each other after all those years apart. You don't move on from a love like this.

Richonne gives each other joy like no other and this whole exchange shows how they work so effortlessly together as leaders and lovers. What a pair. 🤩 As Andy said, they truly are perfect partners in this imperfect world.

Plus it’s just always so sweet that two of the strongest, fiercest, most intimidating warriors in the world find each other so cute and cuddly. 😋

Y'all, Richonne + cars is a thing, and also Richonne + candle-lit scenes too, because they are always A1.

...But then the candles get blown out, and this scene proceeds to reach its peak of perfection. 🤩

As someone who loves a lengthy Richonne scene, I remember first watching this ep live and being so happy that they weren’t cutting away from them once the lights went out. I had no idea it was because we were in for something so heavenly. 😇

Cuz they turn off the lights and then immediately wrap their arms around each other again to go to sleep and it’s always so sweet seeing Rick softly touch her hair. All the little gestures just feel like this person in their arms is their treasure who has their whole heart. #ILoveEveryRichonneDetail

Then....y'all then Rick opens his eyes to utter the greatest thing he's ever said to Michonne thus far - “How’d I get so lucky finding you?”

BEAUTIFUL. Powerful, meaningful, romantic, fitting, perfect. I could go on. 👩🏽‍🍳💋

I love the delivery of the line because it really feels like it’s this reoccurring thought for Rick that, at this moment, his mind was thinking and just had to utter out loud.

It's fitting he’d say this after the convo they just had because it really did capture why Michonne is so perfect for him, and I love that he knows it and vocalizes it. Michonne is a genuinely phenomenal individual, so it makes perfect sense that Rick feels not just happy but lucky to have her.

And just to think about their journey and know that we’d arrive at a point where Rick reflects on when he met Michonne and feels so personally lucky to have found her. 😭 She’s his soulmate, and he knows it wholeheartedly. 

And I love that beyond literally finding each other, there’s something deep about the way Rick and Michonne found each other in their truest form. They saw each other in a deeper way and brought each other back from the lost state they were in. 

Also, I always think it’s sweet how Rick said this with zero other motives - this was just his abundant love for her pouring out. I’m so grateful that in Rick's final season, they didn’t give him and Michonne any tiffs or division, but rather showed that they have only grown closer and more in love since the last season. 

Like after one of the series' longest time jumps, I adore that we return to a Rick and Michonne who have clearly spent the last year and a half strengthening their bond even more, and healing, and fully enjoying their life together. They are really and truly an unbreakable unit who only fall more in love the more time they spend together.

When I think about all Rick and Michonne have been through together and all they’ve built, it’s just the absolute greatest thing to know Rick thinks about his life and feels so sincerely lucky that he found Michonne. We knew that the day they found each other at the prison fence was life-changing, and it's great to see them two know it too.

If you were to tell Season One Rick that he was going to eventually lose his son, Carl, but would still have family that made him feel like a lucky man, he'd probably think you were crazy. And yet, this is the power of Richonne. The family found between Rick and Michonne runs so deep and is so authentic that, even after the most painful loss imaginable, Rick knows he still has so much to live for because he has Michonne and Judith.

Then it’s so sweet that Michonne hears Rick say this heart-bursting line and takes his hand because she feels the same way, and is likely thinking that's the...

#DirectQuoteFromHerMind you already know. 😋

And then Michonne softly tells Rick, "We both lost enough, it’s time we won a little don’t you think?" My heart. 😭 This moment is everything.

And y’all, I had gone back and re-read one of my old Richonne in Retrospect posts from several years ago where I reflected on a s6 scene between Michonne and David, that Alexandrian who got bit in 6.03. In that 6.03 scene, David talks to Michonne about his love story which completely and intentionally mirrors Michonne's own love story with Rick. And in that old post, I wrote this: 

"Rick and Michonne finding each other in all this is really one of the best things that happened to them. And in this type of world people take a whole lot of L’s so it’s cool that they were actually able to find such a big win in finding each other…and if R&M ever verbally imply a similar sentiment to each other about how finding each other in all this was everything, this will literally be me…"

So the fact that over a year after I wrote that, Rick and Michonne express exactly this...😭🙌🏾😭 It is the best ever. And just as I predicted, that gif above was and still is me whenever I watch this scene. It is just so powerful for Rick and Michonne to feel like amid all their loss, they still won big time by finding each other and falling in love. 

And then Michonne so lovingly kisses his hand, and Rick is perfectly content with that exchange as he shuts his eyes. But then, once again, the gift that keeps on giving gives us even more. 🤩

Cuz Michonne turns to look at him and then Rick...y’all, I’ll never get over how he looks at her right here. Like he looks right at Michonne with a breathtaking look that says, “I’m wholly and completely yours” and so clearly shows that she seriously means everything to him.

(also! y'all, I wrote this whole post before that V-day trailer, and so the fact that we've now got to hear Rick directly say, "I am yours," before the show even officially premieres 😍😍😍 my goodness TOWL is just blessings on blessings)

So then they kiss and it wonderfully ramps up with Michonne getting on top of him and reiterating "the famous Rick Grimes." 😏

…except this time, i think sis means he’s famous for reasons only she knows about. and that’s their business. 😋

As Danai has noted before, Rick knows how to make Michonne vulnerable, and Michonne knows how to make Rick laugh, which is just sublime.

And the way Rick laughs at the close of this scene - you know that if there’s one person he likes being "the famous Rick Grimes" to it’s Mrs. Grimes. 😊

Y’all, this whole scene blessed us ten times over. Our ship has it all. And we really do get whatever we want lol. 💅🏽

(Side note: it's also important to note that we don't just get whatever we want as some sort of forced fan service from the show. (Considering Gimple was planting Richonne seeds before viewers had even seen the two on screen together, that fan-service take simply can't be true). The real reason we get what we want is because the very love story we want to see is also the very love story the show wanted to organically craft. These TWD writers, actors, producers, network/production companies etc, fully recognize Rick and Michonne's relationship as a special marriage with crazy love between two tethered soulmates, and we're just in agreement and alignment with that. And I feel fortunate that the canon story being told is as beautiful, romantic, and authentic as we wanted and knew it would be)

I’m so grateful for this tender scene and that these actors are so capable of playing every shade of Richonne perfectly. Like we got serious, playful, romantic, steamy, and utterly heartfelt all in this one scene. 🙌🏾

And while Rick has expressed feeling so lucky to have Michonne in the way he looks at her for many seasons, it was wonderful to hear him also outright verbalize that in finding her he found a true reward. He doesn’t take her for granted, and Michonne doesn’t either, knowing that he is her win in all this too. 

This moment is also beautiful because Rick and Michonne are two selfless individuals who have been put through the wringer on their individual and shared journeys yet still remained dedicated to giving their all to protect their people - And then the universe sent them each other and said ♡ you deserve to be taken care of too, ♡ you deserve to be held too, ♡ you deserve a gift that's just for you too. ♡ oh and also the gift that we're sending you is...

Rick and Michonne are each other's blessing. This scene solidified that beautifully.

They won because of each other, and we won with special scenes like this that contribute so much to Richonne’s perfect love story. 😌

[saekkas]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

[gojostan-doodles]

Your interpretation of Sebastian is my favorite 💖💖💖

Can I have a list of your headcanons for him queen 👑

Oh my gosh ADGHSGS THANK YOUU!! That means a lot homie! 💗💗 (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) As for headcanons;

🎮 He's very competitive! It doesn't matter if you're good friends, dating, or married. When it comes to games, especially pool, he's cooking you... and NOT feeling bad afterwards!!

🗡️ I've mentioned it recently, but he's familiar with the mines and is pretty decent at combat! He's not doing anything super crazy of course, he does spend a lot of time at his computer after all. But with how often he explores AND how far down he goes, (gifting the farmer void essence and obsidian means he's fighting every variation of shadow brute, and AT LEAST reaching level 81) I have to assume that he can handle himself well! It's probably his only source of exercise tbh.

If you marry him, I imagine that the time he spends helping on the farm would help a ton with his overall endurance and strength! And if you're ever in the mines, and gone later than usual, he'll go in to make sure you're okay. In general he wouldn't hesitate to accompany you in mines, or complete any tasks you have to do in there himself if you don't like going in there.

💜 Over the course of being married to him, he breaks out of his shell. Allowing himself to be comfortable, y'know? He'd start initiating physical affection with his spouse more often. I also feel like he'd be more comfortable with occasionally teasing the farmer, and overall being a little shit to them. Only while you're alone at home though, in public he pretends to be sane.

I still consider him to be introverted, but I imagine that over time he gets better at navigating social situations. (He would still prefer to be at home though.)

I like to imagine that his relationship with Maru improves too. There's a mod that I use, I think it's called Mal's Sebastian Expansion? But in that mod he and Maru interact a lot more. It's really nice seeing their relationship improve. They deserve to be siblings, RAAHH!! I really like the mod overall since it goes into stuff with his biological father as well. I pretty much apply it all to my interpretation of Seb!

ALSO! I feel like he has a very silly laugh, but it's rarely heard because he's so reserved. So while in the comfort of your home (and accidentally around Sam and Abigail occasionally) if something funny happens, he'll burst into laughter. It's SO different from he's normal "heh" that it catches everyone off guard.

🎹 He uses his synthesizer primarily for band practice/ concerts, and for the video game he's developing. When he's not doing that, he makes goofy ass beats for fun.

📍He has a high pain tolerance, so he's totally chill while getting piercings and tattoos!

🐻 And a sillier headcanon, he's beaten 50/20 mode in FNAF Ultimate Custom Night

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 28

PREVIOUS

FF does not like being on pain medication.

Everything feels floaty and it is so hard to focus on anything around him.

He’s almost glad that his Gran has given him something to focus on that something being helping her sell her lie to the Foxes that she only knows Polish. Coach Wymack must know but the man is a steel trap and FF finds himself envying his Gran that HER secret keeper is Coach Wymack.

“Smithy! My sweet beautiful idiot!” Nicky cries when Gran gives Wymack the OK for them to come back in. FF finds himself on the receiving end of 2 forehead kisses and a kiss to each of his cheeks from Nicky. “Next time you see a crazy mafia hitman looking to kidnap me you just grab me and RUN.” He orders pointedly, “No more cool guy shit where you take ‘em out in the weird sex alley.” He runs his fingers through FF’s hair and…

Yeah it’s okay that Nicky is the one that knows.

Nicky is so nice.

“What about Aaron?” FF asks.

“If Romero could grab Aaron when he is in whacky inflatable tube mode then I don’t think he’d be taken out by you and Andrew.” Nicky says with a watery smile.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is offended.

“Learn to dance at a club already. We’ve been going for years.” Nicky shoots back but never takes his eyes off of FF’s face.

“I dance just fine. I’m better than Kevin.” Aaron argues.

“Hey.” Kevin’s voice is offended.

“You are better than Kevin, but that’s not a real standard of good.” Nicky dismisses, “Regardless, next time grab me and I’ll grab Aaron and the three of us can hide literally anywhere other than the weird sex alley. We could go to the back room with Roland or, if it means you not ending up in the hospital with a stab wound, I would even tolerate hiding down in the straight swingers club in the basement.” Nicky says.

He sees Andrew and Captain Neil tense off to the side.

Oh, that’s right.

Oh fun another lie for him to focus on instead of feeling floaty. Gran always talked about the virtue of telling the truth but the only thing set free would be Nicky in a club that he’s not supposed to know about.

“I wouldn’t ask that of you Nicky.” FF says instead.

Nicky laughs and kisses his cheek one more time. “You’re my favorite family member now. Sorry Aaron, you’ve made me endure the horrors of a heterosexual relationship for too long.” Nicky says stroking  FF’s face as he looks up to where FF assumes Aaron is.

“Hey.” Aaron says in the exact same way he said earlier.

“Andrew-“ Nicky starts but is cut off.

“I don’t care.”

“That’s the spirit.” Nicky says, “Neil-“

“Nicky, I also don’t care.”

“At least you have one another to support each other.”

“Wait, what about me?” Kevin asks.

“You won’t even LEARN the family language Kevin, you were NEVER in the running for my favorite.” Nicky dismisses and doesn’t bother to turn back to the  “So Smithy is my favorite family member now with Aras coming in second.”

Two things strike FF in the wake of family conversation.

First, when in the world did Kevin get here? Why is he here? Is he going to ask the doctors to run tests on FF to figure out stealth mode?

Second, Nicky just used his Gran’s nickname. The nickname that causes FF no small amount of embarrassment. It was a youthful indiscretion! He had thought he understood Lithuanian quite well! He had wanted to impress his Great Gran and his Gran with his knowledge.

“You’re looking pale Smith, do you need more pain medication?” Captain Neil asks.

“No, I’m fine.” He is pretty sure that pain meds can’t numb the psychological pain of his friends hearing about his youthful mistakes and he doesn’t care how bad his stomach is going to hurt he wants to only take the absolute minimum amount of pain meds required to get through this so he can stop floating.

Having friends nearby makes it so much easier.

Conversations go on with him and around him. He’s tired still from everything and when a nurse comes in to try and give him more pain medication he declines. All present in the room except Gran try to convince him to take it but he declines all but the most minor amount to take the edge off.

He finally realizes that Kevin had not been with them and asks why the hell he’s here. He gets an answer that makes him reconsider being on any pain medication at all because it doesn’t really make any sense. Why in the world is Kevin telling him not to trust the nutritionist?

Neil lets him know that the FBI are going to be coming around at some point to talk to him. He says that Agent Browning is a dick but generally fine and that there will be a local agent Iruma Matsumoto stopping by before him, probably today. He looks right at Andrew and says “Yeah, I’ll talk with them about how Romero stabbed me.” Andrew lets out an amused puff of laughter that makes FF feel like he might be doing alright at this friendship thing.

He apologizes to Andrew that he can’t make the pie today and gets a flick to his ear.

He finds out that he slept through all of Saturday and that it is Sunday morning. Finds out that his Gran and Wymack had stayed over at the Columbia house last night and that Wymack has him excused from his classes this week. He also finds out that Nicky has given his grandma a key to the house in Columbia so she could stay there while she’s visiting him.

He apologizes to Nicky for messing up the clothes he’d let him borrow and earns another flick to the ear from Nicky.

Wymack hands him a new phone that Nicky has apparently set up for him. His lip quirks up slightly when he sees that Nicky registered it as ’Smithy’s phone’. Neil shows him some stuff since he has the same phone model but Andrew rolls his eyes.

“You’ve barely figured out how to set anything on your phone Junkie. You still haven’t even set a screen lock.” He says as he pulls Neil back from FF’s space.

“I’ve figured out how to change the notification ping.” Neil argues but lets himself be pulled away and if Andrew keeps his arm around Neil afterwards? No one comments on that.

He translates things for his Gran when it seems important for her to be able to respond to and helps Nicky with some pronunciations.

He falls asleep a couple times and wakes up to his friends and teammates in all sorts of different configurations. Nicky gets him some good sugar-free Jell-O from the nurses while Aaron smacks Kevin upside the head when Kevin complains that it’s not good for him and not part of the diet he’s making to get FF back on the Court ASAP. “He’s gotta be on a clear liquid diet for 24 hours after his surgery.” Aaron hisses.

“Why does it have to be clear? I can put it in a blender but it won’t be clear.” Kevin grumbles.

“He’s not going to be on puree’d food for at least two weeks idiot.” Aaron smacks his head again.

“Stop that.”

He hears from Wymack the other Freshman Dealer won’t be returning and that Sheena is now their only Dealer and she does not do defense well. Kevin’s disapproval for the Jell-O cups only grows stronger in light of this news. His grumbling only stops when Gran looks at him and says “Maybe someone should help you pull that stick out of your ass young man.” In her nicest most grandmotherly voice.

When Kevin turns to FF for a translation Nicky beats him to it, “She said a handsome young man like you shouldn’t ruin your face with worries.” He says without a hint that he’s lying.

Kevin preens at the grandmotherly approval of his looks and FF gets to know that he, Nicky and his grandma all have lying in common.

Eventually it’s lunch time and the natural hunger of college athlete boys trumps anything else. Kevin won’t eat anything at the cafeteria since he doesn’t trust the nutritionist so they agree to head out of the hospital to grab food. He’s more tired than hungry so he tells his Gran to go with them. She pats his face and promises she’ll be back with some clear soup for him per the Doctor’s order and despite Kevin’s grumbling that he could make a clear protein shake.

His Gran kisses his forehead and tells him that she’ll be back soon and that he should rest as much as he can.

***

FF can’t sleep.

He tried.

He really did.

But without the noise of everyone else his mind keeps going back to the last time he was in a hospital. He closes his eyes and he can see Gran’s pale face when she tells him that his dad didn’t make it and the tears when she tells him neither-

He can’t sleep.

So he gets up against medical advice and decides to go on a walk. He’s not been connected to any of the monitoring equipment since he had first woken up, just the IV keeping him hydrated. FF decides he wants to get his dad’s leather back because it would make him feel better. The leather jacket has weight that would keep his feet strictly on the ground and it’s something his Gran had given to him when he went off to college so that he could keep his dad close. He could call a nurse but it feels like he shouldn’t distract them with something as stupid as getting him his dad’s jacket so he doesn’t have a panic attack.

So he lets himself slip into the background and heads towards the nurse station. He thinks that might be where they’re holding his belongings. It’s a good first stop if nothing else.

He can’t help but notice a strange number of men in suits but figures that maybe they’re just there to talk to people who seem to have gotten caught up in some sort of mass casualty incident.

He makes it to the nurse station and when a whole 5 minutes goes by without a single nurse clocking that he exists he considers speaking up until he sees a nurse bagging up some clothes, slapping on a label, and heading away.

It’s nice when things work out for him.

Another suit wearing man comes up and a different nurse sees him there immediately and comes up, “What can I help you with?” She asks.

“I’m looking for someone with the last name Smith, he has a stab wound?” The man asks.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” The nurse responds with exasperation but FF is already almost out of earshot when he hears it because he’s following the nurse with the bag.

He follows her down the hallway and she thankfully takes an elevator instead of going down the stairs because FF doesn’t know how he would have gotten his IV stand down with him.

FF walks in with her and he watches her slump as the doors slide close. Relaxing like most people do when they think they’re alone. Her shoulders go straight back when the elevator opens again and he follows after her.

He follows her to a door that she unlocks and proceeds to enter and FF sees a room full of the same bags with belongs all tagged with a last name and a room number. “Christ, why are there so many fucking Smiths in here right now?” She grumbles but takes him straight to the S section and he sees his own ‘Smith’ and room number.

He grabs it and heads out the door before the nurse and heads into the elevator.

His phone pings with a text message. He opens it and sees a text from an unknown number.

“Come to the Cafeteria. - IM”

FF stares at his phone for a few minutes before the initials click.

Iruma Matsumoto, the local FBI agent who was coming to talk to him today according to Captain Neil. It’s weird to be texted like this but this is the first time he’s ever had to talk to the FBI. Maybe it’s normal? He doesn’t really want to bother Captain Neil about what getting interrogated by the FBI is like since Captain Neil is out at lunch.

He decides to go to the Cafeteria.

FF follows the directory in the elevator and then the arrows that point him towards the cafeteria. He takes a moment to pull his dad’s jacket out and it does help him feel better. He realizes the McDonald’s toy is still in his pocket and thinks that he really should probably turn that over to Agent Matsumoto.

When he gets to the cafeteria he sees even more of those guys in suits and then he sees a well dressed Japanese man sitting by himself at a table. FF has a moment where he thinks ‘Wow that FBI agent sure does look like a member of the Yakuza.’ Before he squashes it because ‘OMG that’s such a fucking racist thing to think. Thoughts from the abyss are the worst and Agent Matsumoto is probably a perfectly nice guy.’

He takes a seat in front of the man who is surrounded by two other of the men in black he’s seen. Oh that guy was probably looking for him to bring him here so they could have the talk.

None of the men seem to notice him and FF realizes that he’s still in stealth mode. He sets the bag with the rest of his clothes to the side and clears his throat.

Three sets of eyes are on him immediately and FF breathes through the anxiety as the two men at either side of Agent Matsumoto seem to reach for something at their holsters.

“Captain Neil said you wanted to talk to me.” He says.

Captain Matsumoto raises a hand and the two men on either side of him return to an at ease position.

***

Ichirou Moriyama could admit to himself that he had been startled when a young man seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of him without any warning. He sees a bulge in the man’s pocket that says that he’s armed and he could have done anything before bringing attention to himself. He had men throughout the hospital and no one has spotted Wesninski or any of his cohorts but they had their eyes peeled for the uninvolved civilian who had taken out Jackson on his own and had assisted Wesninski’s guard dog in taking out Romero.

Interesting.

Ichirou clasps his hands together in over the cafeteria table.

“Yes, let’s talk.” He agrees.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themundanemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupandfries​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​ @lesbian-blackbeard​ @lesbiansupernatural​ @silvermasquerade​ @thepeachfuzz​ @minniemariex​ @kazoo-the-demjin​ @gaypomegranate​ @ji-nk-ies​ @neilimfinejosten​ @omgrubelangel​ @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice​ @percabethotplove​ @cozyrosykay​ @foxyatlas​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @cindersapsecrets​

The  requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few  different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I  promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be  something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

If you didn’t get notified on the last part it’s probably because I used tumblr mobile to post and our most beloved garbage fire site just didn’t like that.

[theink-stainedfolk]

OC Deep Dive Tag☆

Thank you for the tag @willtheweaver

I'll take my new OCs from Twice Bound

---

Enra Dominic Niel & Monriur Ardan Estan

Do they have any pet peeves:

Enra has a deep, almost inexplicable fear of being forgotten or erased from memory.

Monriur has an underlying fear of stillness or being trapped—echoes from a life that once confined him to strict, immovable expectations. Silence makes him restless.

What uncommon fears/ phobias do they have:

He can’t stand when people dismiss Monriur as shallow or insincere. Anyone belittling or underestimating his intelligence really gets on Enra’s nerves, too.

Anyone who’s uptight or can’t keep up with his wit. He also can’t stand people who don’t keep their word.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom:

1. A well-worn dagger Monriur gifted him “just in case” that Enra keeps hidden in his nightstand.

2. A stack of Monriur’s letters (ones Monriur wrote and never sent; Enra found them by accident and holds onto them without mentioning it).

3. A silver ring with an inscription Monriur added when Enra wasn’t looking, something sentimental, though Enra keeps it safe rather than wearing it.

1. One of Enra’s shirts, carelessly left behind and “accidentally” never returned.

2. A decorative mask, half-broken and relic-like.

3. A collection of poems (including some Enra wrote). He keeps it tucked under his pillow.

What do they notice first in people:

Their presence—the way they carry themselves, the weight of their gaze, and their ability to hold a conversation.

Their posture and facial expressions, especially if they’re trying to hide something. He can read people like an open book.

What is their pain tolerance on a scale from 1 to 10:

Solid 8. Enra endures quietly, often without letting on.

Around a 6. He’ll make a fuss for small things but can take a hit if needed.

Do they go into fight or flight mode under pressure:

Fight, always. His protective instincts overpower any inclination to flee, especially if Monriur’s involved.

Flight… at first. He’s clever with his escape routes but won’t back down if cornered.

What animal represents them best:

A wolf. He’s strong-willed, fiercely loyal, and protective but with a solitary, watchful edge.

A fox—clever, elusive, and incredibly adaptable, with an air of playfulness that hides deeper instincts.

What is a smell they dislike and like:

Likes: Monriur’s natural scent; it’s grounding and has a subtle warmth that he finds comforting.

Dislikes: Strong, overly sweet perfumes.

Likes: Freshly rained earth and wildflowers, plus Enra’s scent, especially after a sparring match.

Dislikes: Anything sour or medicinal.

Have they broken any bones:

Yes, multiple times, particularly during his early training days. He sees scars and injuries as stories in themselves.

Yes, but usually the kind he tries to forget (like a wrist or two during some “failed” escape attempts).

How would a stranger describe them:

“Steady, reserved, but with a subtle intensity. Like he’s waiting for something.”

“Charming, a bit too clever for his own good. There’s something unsettling about his gaze—like he knows everything about you.”

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love:

Loves: Smoky flavors with depth, like spiced teas or roasted foods.

Hates: Anything too sweet.

Loves: Bitter, dark chocolate—there’s a certain depth and sophistication to it he admires.

Hates: Bland food; it’s a personal offense to his senses.

Do they have any favorite hobbies:

Enra practices archery in his free time, not just for skill but for the quiet focus it demands. He also has a habit of collecting interesting artifacts and is particularly fond of reading about ancient cultures.

Monriur loves sketching. He’s known for drawing caricatures of people around him, though he has a secret penchant for capturing genuine, tender moments. He’s also secretly excellent at herbalism.

Boom! Surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises:

He’d be reserved at first, a little wary, but after getting past the initial shock, he’d take a quiet joy in it. If Monriur organized it, he’d probably suspect something the whole time but play along for Monriur’s sake.

A surprise party would catch him off guard, but he’d dive into it, turning the attention to everyone else and reveling in the fun. Secretly, he’d be deeply touched.

Do they like to wear Jewelry:

Minimal, except for that silver ring Monriur inscribed for him, which he keeps close even though he doesn’t always wear it.

Absolutely—his favorite is the emerald earring that was his mother’s. He’d add rings and a simple necklace if he felt like it.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting:

Neat and controlled. Every letter is carefully placed, almost as if he’s writing with someone else’s eyes in mind.

Messy but elegant, with flourishes that show his personality. Sometimes hard to read, but undeniably his.

What are two emotions they feel the most:

Determination and protectiveness. He has a strong sense of responsibility, especially toward Monriur.

Curiosity and self-assurance, though a hidden vulnerability lingers beneath the surface.

Do they have any Favorite Fabric:

Wool—warm, comforting, and practical, just like him.

Velvet. It has a luxurious, tactile appeal that’s both bold and a bit mischievous, like him.

What kind of accent do they have:

Enra’s accent has a rich, authoritative tone, clear but soft-spoken, giving him a mysterious air.

Monriur’s accent is polished but has a subtle, almost musical lilt, making everything he says sound like an intriguing secret.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable

[purplekoop]

So Subnautica 2 got its first trailer today, after already having some teasers and interviews reveal its existence and main new feature of co-op multiplayer, and of course my excitement is right back at its usual highs when thinking about one of my favorite games ever. My friends I've shared the first game with are already hyped for the eventual multiplayer sessions, one even taking it as a sign to play the original on the spot for the first time. But in this excitement I checked the comments on the trailer, and saw some comments that... baffled me. Obviously looking at youtube comments for just about any game is going to worsen your mental health, but beyond the murmurs bemoaning and making edgy comments about Below Zero were people that are excited for the game, and listing what they hope a new Subnautica could offer. Such as... improved combat? New "enemies" and "bosses"? in... Subnautica??

Now, to some people this is probably just petty word choice that just puts Subnautica in line with almost any other game where things can attack you and you can attack them back. But to me, it conveys a misunderstanding of what Subnautica is, and what makes it so so special as a game, beyond just its worldbuilding and survival mechanics, but with its environment, its tone, its heart as a game made with the intention of doing more than just meet expectations.

So, here's:

A Brief Piece on Subnautica, Online Culture, and What Makes a Game Special

(note: this post will be free of any spoilers for Subnautica 1 or Below Zero, but does contain brief references to real world violence.)

If you took any number of people with a shared favorite game, and asked them why it is, it'd be bafflingly improbable to find they all like it for the exact same reasons. Most mediums of art are like this, but video games especially lend themselves to a greater number of different factors for what makes them enjoyable for different people. Not only can games have audio, visual, and narrative components capable of replicating or outright containing other mediums, but there is the added layer of interactivity and the art of creating a feel of gameplay adds a unique and extremely subjective element to a game as an experience.

Take Sonic the Hedgehog, a series that has a remarkably enduring fanbase for a franchise often panned by outside critics for the gameplay of some entries. While many fans love the series exclusively for the satisfying high-speed flow of some of the games, what draws just as many fans (if not more) is the impeccable soundtracks, or the charming and well-designed characters, or the stories that define those characters, or even the potential for further stories with them that fans realize themselves. A Sonic fan who hasn't even played a single game themselves but still loves the characters, style, music, or whatever other element has just as much reason to be called a "Sonic Fan" as someone who's played every game but never once interacted with the more character and story-oriented side of the fanbase. This dissonance between gameplay-biased fans and fans who enjoy the non-gameplay aspects isn't hard to find, but even within a gameplay focus there's a countless array of potential reasons someone enjoys a game. Minecraft fans for instance consist of speedrunners, minigame server grinders, hardcore challenge runners, people who play on peaceful because they're scared of the monsters, friend groups who goof around on a server playing normal survival badly, absolute mad lads making particle colliders or supercomputers, and your little cousin who just likes building roller coasters. Every single one of these is a valid way to play the game and enjoy it. Even if the core survival mode is the "intended" way to play, it'd be odd to say any of these other options are any less valid.

So... what about Subnautica? More specifically: why my frustration then, if those who see Subnautica's mechanics as a game with enemies and bosses to fight ought to be just as "correct" under this perspective as any other way to perceive the game?

Well, by my own logic, I can't dispute the traditional "fight enemies to win video game" approach as an objectively incorrect way to play the game. If you have Subnautica by whatever means, then you can certainly use the limited tools it offers you to kill any hazardous or non-hazardous creatures you deem fit. You could possibly even use the mods I presume exist that expand the arsenal of conventional weapons you have access to. You're taking an interactive medium and interacting with it how you personally deem fit, in a way that doesn't harm anyone else in any remotely realistic capacity. I can't stop you, or call you an objectively bad person, or even rightly think that much lesser than you.

I can still disagree though, and I'd like to elaborate on why.

Subnautica's lack of conventional weapons or general emphasis on combat is a very deliberate design choice with a very specific point of origin. According to the original game's director Charlie Cleveland, the game was first conceptualized around the time of the Sandy Hook shooting. While recognizing games aren't responsible for these real world atrocities, the idea of making another game that encouraged violent solutions and gun usage wasn't exactly appealing. Instead, Subnautica was made to be a game that encouraged other ways to solve problems. Even the worldbuilding within the game reflects this, as the PDA reveals a terrible massacare led to the banning of fabricating any weapons other than the bare essential survival knife.

This has been the one piece of developer insight on any game that's stuck with me the more than any other. Not to say that I think we should not make games with any kind of guns anymore, that'd be both fruitless and short-sighted. But it's hard for me now to see the world we live in and wonder how we choose to reflect it in the works we create.

For the unfamiliar, I have a few hopeful game projects of my own, one of which is a team-based shooter with the working title "War Bots". It exists as both a love letter to a subgenre I've sunk plenty of hours into enjoying, with the hope to expand and improve on the ideas they present. The violence is intended to be "cartoony", or at least disconnected from realistic violence due to its playable cast being robots and its enemies being hostile plant monsters. Most of their weapons are unrealistically fantastical in some form or function. The overarching story, as pathetically ironic as it may be to try and say, is meant to be a tale warning against mindless violence and mistrust, and that we can only survive by working together to not repeat the mistakes of our past.

I use the tag "war bots" to note my posts showcasing my art and writing about the project. Also using the tag is an entirely unrelated account... using it to discuss developments in drone warfare in the ongoing conflicts in Ukraine and the Middle East. I can't say it feels great knowing I'm sharing terminology and concepts with very real atrocities committed daily on real, innocent people, and using them to talk about a video game I want to make. It doesn't feel right to scrap the project after this much effort, but I don't know how much retroactively applying themes and a story will change the fact that it's. A shooter.

Maybe a bit dramatic, but all that is to say I very thoroughly respect and appreciate Subnautica's active design against violence as an intended solution. Beyond the external reasoning and in-universe backstory, the game also has a very palpable friction against using the tools of violence it does offer you. If you do decide to kill a creature much bigger than a Peeper, which is a tedious process that gets exponentially worse with large creatures, then all you're left with is a corpse. No meat, no materials, even if it's something like a Stalker that has some other means of reaping resources from it. It doesn't poof into a convenient cloud of dust, or dissolve into darkness that gives the deed an excuse as part of a grand war of objective "good" and "evil". It simply remains a limp, static body slowly floating down as a reminder of something that did not need to be done, and brought nothing of value from being done anyways. You could scan it more easily than ever, since it can't run away or fight back. What a reward, huh?

So then... why? If nothing is gained, then why is violence still such a popular and desired approach to play the game? And why does it only seem capable of escalating, with it becoming a contest to see what's the biggest creature you can take down, even if the process is just using a Stasis Rifle to stun it indefinitely while you hack away at it with a pocket knife, a grueling tedium that can't possibly bring any joy? Why did those comments reduce this game's unique approach to dealing with innocent animals to simply be a matter of "enemies" and "combat" in the same way that thousands of other games already offer? When the game down to its very heart and soul wants you to get by in any other way, why is there such a pull to take the path of most resistance anyways?

Well, I think one reason is kind of a natural trajectory that comes out of games as a medium, especially those that interact so heavily with online culture, to pressure players into exhausting every possibility a game can provide and then pushing them further. It feels presumptuous to call it "just human nature", as I think the drive to play games as exhaustively as possible doesn't seem to be a universal experience. Instead, I think it's more often prompted by circumstance. An obvious instance is that someone who doesn't play many different games (either by limitations or by choice) and thus would naturally try to get everything possible out of each one. But I think a more common example, especially for a game with a specific history like Subnautica's, is that it comes as a result of online culture. I recall at the end of playthroughs by the big youtubers that skyrocketed the game's popularity, like Markiplier or Jacksepticeye, one of the last things they did before ending their series was to take down the biggest Leviathans they could. Because after all, they did everything else, right? They reached the ending, had plenty of laughs and screams along the way, what's left to do that's worth doing? But viewers liked the video series, why end it if there's anything left to keep it going? And this isn't to say a big youtuber was the first to try and kill a leviathan, it was probably someone who wanted to got bored and/or wanted something to brag about on a subreddit or steam forum. And then with that community aspect, the cycle perpetuates: "if someone else did it, am I really done with the game until I do it too? Am I too much of a coward for not wanting to sink my time into this like other people already have?". And then after the greatest obstacle has been cleared with tedium but relative ease, the pursuit then becomes to go further. Bigger, badder monsters. better weapons. More rules to make it harder. More challenge. More bragging rights. More because More is all there is left to do.

And then so what we're left with is not only the modding scene of the game being so heavily biased towards these sorts of hyper-aggressive additions, but now the desires of many fans for the actual next game are simply just "More To Kill". Not because it's interesting in of itself, but because that's the expectation.

But is it wrong then for people to want this? Well, no, for reasons I already outlined. But I think it is tone deaf to the artistic intent behind the game, and also to what I think makes the game special.

To me, what makes Subnautica such a special game is how beautifully it surrounds you in a believable world that feels both so warmly familiar and yet so alien, without trying to push into an uncanny valley. The flora and fauna of this world look and move so organically similar to life in our own oceans, yet look distinct in a way that feels oddly more charming than offputting in most cases. I think there is some personal bias though, as I could only sleep most nights as a kid with Finding Nemo on my little bedroom TV, and as a result fell in love with marine life and the lovingly rendered ocean environments that Subnautica captures the feeling of so wonderfully. The way the light dances on the sandy sea floors, the vibrant fish and coral. And looking up from this ocean to see a window of light: which in the game is your guiding target as a lifeline to air in your most dire moments, but was just as much a sign of comfort in hardship and the endurance in life in the film. The very nature of light ties the game into some of my fondest memories in such a profound way.

Of course, for as many people who like me are endeared by the ocean environments the game lovingly recreates, just as many are deeply terrified of the endless, unknowable abyss of the ocean, let alone one with even more deliberately horrifying creatures. I think that sort of dichotomy between comfort and fear is something so unique about Subnautica in particular, where its genre is up for debate as a cozy and uniquely nostalgic survival game or a gut-turning horror game just based on your perspective.

I do think Subnautica's breadth of optional mechanics, while technically being what enables turning its creatures into mere "enemies", are another part of what cements it as one of my favorite games ever. The base building mechanics are so needlessly, gloriously in-depth, to where the inevitable bulk of any playthrough for me is working towards creating a comprehensive mega-aquarium of every species I can put in a tank or growbed. There's also the variety of tools that aren't useful enough to keep your precious inventory space open for at all times, but are so fun to play around with needlessly. Not to be a hypocrite, but it's so funny to breed Crashfish and then use the propulsion cannon on them to make an extremely inefficient rocket launcher that takes too much space to reasonably do any useful damage. Alternatively, you could accidentally hit a big angry fish with your car 47 times to where it's so pissed off it dies by its own fault. Highlight of my streaming career. Regardless, the expansive variety of ways the game lets you interact with it is endlessly endearing, both in spite of and because of the fact you're not required to utilize most of them.

But I think one more big reason Subnautica is special is because it defies a conventional game structure of seeing every living thing that opposes you as an "enemy" that's most efficiently dealt with by getting rid of it. Subnautica hopes you see its world as alive, filled with creatures living their lives in the same way you are. Some of them are meant to be food, for you and for other creatures, but that's part of life too. Every simulated ray of light, bed of sand, patch of coral, and motion of creature is delicately crafted to make this planet feel as believable as possible while still making a satisfying play experience. And by doing so, with just these subtle details, the game offers a question of how do you see this planet, and burdens you to consider the consequences of your presence.

I could absolutely go on further about Subnautica, going more broadly into just what I like about it, but I wanted to keep things ""brief"" just to focus on this more specific topic. I might have lost some nuance or couldn't quite elaborate on every little detail, but I didn't want to leave this tumblr post in production for too long. I was tempted to make an extensive Undertale comparison, as another chronically misunderstood game with the appeal of "these aren't just enemies" that gets boiled down by edgy teenage boys to "how much can I stroke my ego by styling and fixating on the hardest arbitrary challenges it can offer" while completely ignoring any kind of nuance or themes aside from maybe digging into Lore (tm) for the sake of Lore (tm), but it felt like too much of a tangent distracting from the actual subject. I do have a more specific post about Undertale/Deltarune's community and poorly aimed focus that I need to rewrite at some point, but that's for another time.

If you read this far, thank you so much for your time, and hopefully you got something out of my rambling here. I don't often do these long "essay" style posts unless I'm particularly inspired, and hoo boy were those trailer comments inspiring. But this took a bit to write out, so hopefully it was coherent enough to read.

All that said though SUBNAUTICA 2 WOOOOOOOO

[rubypasha1]

I’m going to be honest and say I had some bad experiences in the Transformers fandom. I wrote fics for it, admittedly very bad but they were my first. Had to learn somewhere. Thing is I enjoyed the writing, actually I loved it and it made me realize my passion for writing fiction.

But that didn’t stop the bad experiences. Mostly people. I won’t go into detail but for the love of god please don’t ask or encourage a 12 year old, who has clearly stated they are one, to write smut. And don’t send them very explicit, dead dove do not eat fics without at least staying “hey, there’s some messed up stuff in here so just be warned” instead of “Here’s some inspiration!” And constantly asking when smut will be written.

I swear Ao3 saved my creativity. I pretty completely left Wattpad after that, didn’t touch transformers content again till recently this year.

And I’ve made a decision. I’m going to write a transformers fic. Not now, only next year it’s my last year of school and stuff is hectic. But I’m going to write it. To prove to myself I can write a good transformers fic with good characterization. And a reader or oc that has a bit more depth.

Anywho, @ss-shitstorm fic “Breaking Bread” heavily inspired me and actually was the reason I got back into the Ttansforemrs fandom. I highly recommend it it’s one of my new top favorites and has a terrifying attention to detail. Great characterization, hilarious reader insert that’s basically a very stressed out certain magical princess who’s got a knack for science and baking. And a crazy dog. And sassy bird. Who likes Fluttershy. It’s amazing.

Did I mention there’s actual science stuff in it? Stochiometry my nemesis.

And it’s got me thinking about making my own. Maybe more of an oc fic but still written like ny other reader ones.

I’m thinking of doing one where a human is put in a cybertronian body, TFP universe. They have basic knowledge of TFP, watched it but couldn’t remember everything. But they knew enough. Definitely enough o know that cybertron being alive was before the war.

They’re placed in a cybertronian body before the deception uprising. Still around the time where Functionisin ruled and they were in a kind of ‘presenter’/‘video camera’ alt mode.

Except they have anxiety, often freeze up with a panic enduring lack of social skills driven from their natural personality and the fact they’re a human soul shoved into a metal body. Completely alone and forced to adapt to a society that bases value on an alt mode.

The were an artist while human and over time through constant stress and a lack of familiarity with materials on cybertronian, they loose their love of painting and creating art.

But it’s reignited. They find a underground club where mecs and Femmas of many alt modes come together to anonymously submit art ranging from poetry to music and more. And that’s when they find it, a piece of writing that captures their soul. Something so deep and beautiful they feel their own spark reigniting, and they try their hand at creating again. Even if small.

They keep going to the club, building up courage to place art pieces on view. They don’t get much attention, except for a mech who seems curious and stands beside them as they pick apart every little detail.

They talk for a bit. Share a few critics, nothing too crazy. Turns out he’s the one who wrote that lovely piece of writing that inspired them. They turn around, gasping and thanking him for creating something so inspiring-

Megatron stands before them.

Or rather, Megatronus.

The gladiator had just begun his days of battle in the arena but the end was inevitable, the reader knew who he was and fled in terror leaving a confused (and proud, it felt good to know his words inspired at least one person) Megatronus behind.

Readers in a panic, but it doesn’t end there. Their ‘job’ forces them to begin recording the gladiator fights, particularly the rising star Megatronus leading to the eventual meet up of the two again.

But it doesn’t stop there. Soundwave came soon after and, shockingly enough, Ratchet after some unfortunate events (who is far flirtier and leaves the reader thinking “Oh my god he’s so smooth but whyyyyy”)

And it gets worse. Megatronus clearly wishes to se ether atrworks, one of the few along with Soundwave who sees something more than just a waste of time or hobby.

A relationship is formed, tentive on the readers side. They see him and Soundwave less and less like the terrifying deceptions they would become but rather who stood before them. Mechs bashed by a cruel system, they’re creativity forced to writher in their sparks painfully, smothered by a need to fight for the entertainment of others or die by the claws of the system.

They care about them, they eventually realise in horror. And on an unfortunate night they broke down and revealed to Soundwave a horrible truth. War was coming, and they knew what he would become. What All of them would. They beg him, plead to not take things too far. Life was precious, organic or not and taking those of innocents . . .

Soundwave was an outlier himself, but he remained somewhat skeptical. It wa shard to not belive them, the raw emotions they displayed showcased fear and he was good at reading others frames.

The little cybertronian was odd, but intriguing. A friend he had grown to care for, to wish to protect as his closest companion Megatronus insisted, over time. But if there was truth to their words they must know things that could endanger all of cybertron. Soundwave didn’t see himself as a activist nor rebellious but even he couldn’t deny the waters were churning.

Things happen, yada yada yada, reader gets kidnapped and put into stasis just as the war starts and wakes up many years later to the face of a human child se knew very well from a certain TV series.

All out panic ensures

OR, the other fic idea:

Human wakes up as a vehicon . Says “nope”, tries to get away and accidentally becomes the leader of a vehicon rights movement.

The autobots it’s are confused, the decepticons are angry and the reader just wants to get some dogs or cats dammit.

Of course, a dog does gain interest in them. And by that I mean a terrifying metal dragon who decides this trembling little con would be the perfect way to help him attain details on how to resurrect his kin.

He is very mistaken. Reader can’t even be in the same room as one of the deception lieutenants without rattling like a tin can.

Honestly don’t know if it would be a Soundwave or Megatron x reader. Definitely will be friendship developing there. Maybe both? I’m a sucker for tall dark and creepy guys who have a soft spot for tiny

Second idea is just all the vehicons lining up to get names form reader. All very human ones. . “Bill” “John” Matthew” Thomas” “My names already Steve” “Jenny” “Bucket”

And Reader is just stressing cause they’re not running a rebellion or anything. They’re running a daycare for a bunch of guys who do not care about their own safety and lives at all and she constantly has to tell them, no you cannot go to the Autobits the will shoot you on site. No, wanting to sacrifice yourself isn’t a good idea- CANDICE GET AWAY FROM THE FRAGGING WRECKER GOD DAMMIT DO NONE OF YOH UAVE ANY WILL TO LIVE?

Chaos ensures

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 6 ("DECIDING IN YOUR YOUTH / ON THE POLICY OF TRUTH") EDITION

In segment 2/4 of this latest episode of Only Friends, Boston let us know what year the show's mind is on.

Some stuff was percolating around this time, some of it majorly important, and other stuff important maybe only to someone like myself, a baby born in the 1980s and raised in the 1990s who happens to have a thing for 20th-century British electronic rock.

In February 1997, the infamous "The One With The Morning After" episode of Friends came out -- when Rachel discovers that Ross had slept with someone else when, "WE WERE ON A BREAK!"

In September 1997, Linda Tripp begins recording her conversations with a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky, about Lewinsky's affair with the U.S. president of the time, Bill Clinton.

In January 1998, the first public news of the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal comes out.

And in 1998, one of my favorite songs ever, "Policy of Truth," is released by one of the greatest bands of all time, Depeche Mode (ya feel me, Sand?). I thought a lot about this song, about the meaning of truth in the hands of young folks, and I thought a LOT about politics, during this episode.

It's just time to pay the price / For not listening to advice / And deciding in your youth / On the policy of truth

Truth, Bill, Monica, cheating, Friends. It's a lot. To me, this episode dealt with politics, with the nature of what "truth" means, what truth means when it is created and/or revealed at a particular point in time, and how young people begin to learn about the correlation between truth and consequences in safe, unsafe, and enduring ways.

We meet Boston's dad, shown above. We see he's got a flavor about him. He's quite casual with his son ("Ton, you dipshit!"). He's borrowing help from his son's friend for campaign materials (ooookay, lol, where is your campaign manager), while smoochin' on a Scotch.

What are campaign materials? Campaign materials -- posters, mailers, policies, commercials, etc. -- are the selling of an image. A political campaign is not quite about truth. A political campaign is a selling of a story that candidates want voters to buy with their votes. It's reality....-ish. It's a kind of truth that is ultimately selective and marketed to a particular voting audience that will hopefully allow that candidate to win and gain power.

There was someone else playing a political game, until his game crumbled. Top was playing a political game.

Before Mew blew Top's shit UP (Mew would have made Linda Tripp proud, goddamn), Top thought his political game was selling. He thought his IMAGE was selling. He thought his secret about his sex with Boston, while him and Top had reset and were not officially boyfriends again ("we were on a break"), was safe.

We saw Top's true nature come out time and time again, to Boston, to Nick, to Sand. We saw his aggressiveness and his confidence, his assuredness about his success as a top-tier man, directed to everyone EXCEPT Mew, with whom Top had to play a different game -- a game of touch-and-go, a game of restraint, a game of change, and certainly a game of withholding and/or manipulating certain truths about himself (Top) in order to continue to win Mew's heart. Before the in-bed blow-up at the end of the episode, Top even planted a guilt trip on Mew -- digging into Mew's continued distrust of Top by asking Mew to PLEASE consider everything that Top had changed for Mew.

Someone else was called out for playing a dishonest political game. Boston calls out Ray for not being honest about his feelings for Mew. Boston says to Ray, as Ray looks on in shock, below:

In this scene, I realized something. The only person NOT playing a game of deception at this point is Boston. Boston -- while an absolute jerk and asshole -- KNOWS he is these things. He doesn't fight off allegations that he is "nasty." He knows what he likes. He is honest about how he acts. He is truthful to his feelings. He is a jerk -- but he doesn't lie. (Or at least, he hasn't lied, yet.) He happens to keep secrets and withhold truths, but he hasn't distorted his image to try to fool anyone -- the way that Top has, the way that Ray has. He is utterly direct about his intentions with Nick, and he leaves it up to Nick to deal with his (Boston's) brutal honesty.

(Before I unwind on Boston to bring together these thoughts on sex, politics, and truth, I want to note that we had two instances of advice from GROWN-UPS -- from the quartet's business professor, and from Sand's mom -- that playing with friendship, work, love, and business, can result in awkward consequences. Finally, we begin to see a creep of the grown-up Greek chorus offering its thoughts on the antics of this group of aloof students who are almost Seinfeld-ian in their disdain of how they may hurt each other, others, and even themselves with their behaviors. This group has decided right now, in its youth, on its policies of truth. And Seinfeld, along with Friends, was the aloof epitome of the 1990s.)

The reason why I interjected that thought on grown-ups and consequences here is that both Boston and Ray had different takes on "truth" in this episode than Top. Like I said: Top has an image that he had been selling to Mew until the very end of the episode.

Boston and Ray, on the other hand, have relationships with truth in which they are unaware of the consequences of their almost thoughtless honesty (and in Ray's case, his simultaneous dishonesty). What do I mean by that?

As I mentioned before: Boston isn't deceitful. He's just brutal. Boston is brutally honest about his feelings and intentions -- and he doesn't realize that people like Nick, or Gap (DRAKE) may interpret sex, and feelings that might come from or after sex, differently than him. And those different feelings, from different people, will almost always have consequences of a kind that Boston is clearly not prepared to deal with. The biological urge that many have to be close or clingy after sex? The implication that if you have sex with someone, that you might automatically be “dating”? The theory that maaaaannny people have that sex is a way INTO a relationship (and not the other way around)? All of these notions need communication. I posit that Boston’s been VERY clear in his communication that he is NOT into ANYTHING related to a relationship—but he’s not aware that others do not think like him, and that WILL have consequences for him.

Ray, in that drunk and high performance of a lifetime at YOLO (cc @liyazaki LOLLLLL), thinks that he's saving his friends with a round of truth-telling. By being so blind to the feelings of others -- and, really, to ignore the rights and privacy of others to deal with their own truths on their own time -- Ray BLASTS past any of consequences that he might face, and that his friends may face, as he reveals their secrets, one by one.

@lurkingshan noted in one of her meta posts yesterday that Mew punched Ray at the bar in part to control the release of the truth of Top cheating on Mew, to leave that little bit out, so that Mew could have his own "gotcha" moment later at home with Top.

You know what that was? That was politics, baby. That was a HELL of a power move, for Mew to literally PUNCH someone out of his way, so that Mew could clinch a win for himself -- vis à vis a brutal truth that very clearly hurt and impacted him, either through his love for Top, and/or through embarrassment for his own reputation, as Shan notes.

I'm gonna tie this ALL together in just a moment -- but I want to make one very last note about the truth and a character. Sand runs to Ray in the parking lot after Ray's blow-up. Sand admits his feelings to Ray. Ray pushes him away and gets behind the wheel. And Sand hops on his bike and follows Ray.

At this point in the series, I posit that Sand knows exactly what he is getting into. (I'm SMDH about it, but he knows what he's getting into, god fucking damn it, SAND, baka.)

He's NOT deceiving himself. He's being honest with his feelings, like Boston is -- but, unlike Boston, I believe Sand is very fully aware of the consequences that his feelings may lead him to face. Remember that Sand is not a part of the original aloof quartet. He's not one with the liars, like Cheum and Ray. He's not one with Boston, who doesn't think ahead. He's not one with Mew, who is insecure, conniving, and now potentially vengeful. Sand, the goddamn romantic, is caught beneath a landslide on a champagne supernova with his feelings, and will clearly ride them out, with intention. (I want to SHAKE HIS DAMN SHOULDERS, but anyway.) (GMMTV, why do you have to play First like this. I just finished Not Me. You took the anarchy outta my boy. Now he’s blubbering for another problematic dude. Can we just. Let. First. I dunno. Anyway.)

So.... whew. What of all of this?

I take this episode as one that says:

Truth is what you make of truth. Truth -- whether it's the presentable truth, the not-totally-complete truth, the whole and unedited truth, or in the words of Californians, your own truth -- will have consequences when it is revealed. And a huge part of maturity is in one's handling of those revelations when they are made.

When you are young, you don't have the benefit of years and years of time and life to recognize that your actions may have consequences, some that are fleeting, some that will last a lifetime. A huge point of one's young adulthood is how you are shaped by the consequences of your actions and your decisions -- and by seeing how your actions affect other people, either intentionally or unintentionally.

Sex and politics rarely, if ever, mix well. For Boston's dad.... what will be revealed about Boston is not gonna be good for his campaign. And Boston's own life may well be impacted for a good chunk of his lifetime.

But, more than anything else, this theme of politics that I saw in this episode reflected for me -- of course, as always -- a kind of ephemerality in this series. You know why?

Politics, unless it is INCREDIBLY corrupt, always has term limits. Unless you're Putin or Mugabe: power unto a leader, or a group of leaders, will almost always come to an end.

The image will fade. The rhetoric will wither out.

The politics will always change -- because people always change, ideas always change.

HOWEVER. The consequences of one's actions in politics may last a lifetime, or lifetimes. If you REALLY fuck up? You’ll be known for that for your life.

The OF quartet is heading into a dalliance between impermanence and permanence, as well as with consequences that their aloofness has not prepared them for, and it's bound to be devastating. Many of them tried to play games in this episode. Almost all of them are unaware that these games will have long-lasting effects. Some of them (like Nick and Sand) are still playing games. And these games, these risks, are bound to end in many of them ending up as losers.

The following rule is NOT ephemeral — it is a permanent truth: in politics, there will ALWAYS be losers. That is always the case, and will always be the case. There are going to be a lot of losers by the time this show ends.

(EPHEMERALITY SQUAD, HAPPY SUNDAY! Thanks for tagging me in your meta yesterday! @ranchthoughts @chickenstrangers @slayerkitty @twig-tea @clara-maybe-ontheroad @distant-screaming @lurkingshan @neuroticbookworm)

[brewed-pangolin]

Drabble request for Super Soap Sunday:

Origin story of the Soap MacTavish mohawk, 500 words or less...GO.

First Flight of the Scottish Hawk

Ooohhhh I love this!!! I may be one of the few that actually loves Soap's hawk, and this just gives me full range to go creatively nuts with this. Thank you!

Warnings: Mentions of loss at the end. Nothing more than ridiculous MacTavish household shenanigans throughout.

This turned into something I honestly didn't see coming. I couldn't stop writing, and I let the creativity flow through me. If you all like it enough I will expand on it more. Much love 💛

Massive thanks to @deadbranch and @d3athtr4psworld for your input.

Word count 1.4 k (Oops, got carried away again)

If there is one thing you should never do, don't ever dare John MacTavish to do anything. Period.

It's simple, really. All it takes is a few choice words and a push in the right (or wrong) direction and John MacTavish will go full beast mode.

You can thank his sister, Charlotte for the crested motif.

--

After completing basic training at the tender age of 16, John returned home with nothing but a triumphant chip on his shoulder and, more noticeably, a trimmed line of peach fuzz along his scalp.

While his mum and dad couldn't be more proud, his siblings on the other hand were chomping at the bit to get a rise out of him.

Hamish, the oldest of the boys, chimed in first.

"Ye look a'that, mum. Lil John's come back all growned up." He jabbed, before wrapping his arm around his neck forcing him into a tight headlock.

"Not n'the kitchen, Hamish! You'll break tha bloody cabinets!" Mum exclaimed while pushing her two oldest boys into the hall.

"Got'a test tha' strength ma! Can't..oofff" He was swiftly cutoff by John's elbow into his stomach. The two were now fully engulfed in a standing wrestling match.

"Fuck. Off. Hame!" Each of John's words were grittngly emphasized as he wrapped his hands around his older brothers arm.

"Gonnae be a whippin' fer the both a ya if ya donnae knock it off." Mum's warning fell on deaf ears, as this went on for another 10 minutes. By the end of it, both boys had endured the verbal wrath of a furious Catholic Scottish Maiden. (COs can't hold a candle to a pissed off mum)

The twins, Michael and David, couldn't be bothered with real world nonsense. They were too busy with the neighborhood boys playing their own version of 'modern warfare' deep in the backyard woods.

Albiet mildly gruesome in itself, fellow parents enforced a strict 'no guns' rule within the ranks. Imagination would rule the day once more. Sticks were a better option, anyway. And video games were non existent in the MacTavish household.

"Git out me sight, tha' lot'aya!" Patriarchal Rules over all.

Last, and on both ends of the birthing spectrum were Charlotte and Genevieve. John found them in their usual hiding place, the knitting room.

Genevieve, or Evie, as she was so lovingly referred to was only 4. A 'precious surprise' dubbed by mum, and the absolute light of John's eyes.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh Evie?" He could never strain above a whipser when he called to her. And as he knelt down his arms stretched out and awaited her usual 'mighty bear hug'.

But it never came. As she looked him over, her precious green eyes began to water, her face slowly began to contort into a seldom seen melancholy, and then she cried.

"Smooth, Johnny." The sarcastic venom in Charlotte's words was immeasurable, yet still held within it that familiar sibling banter.

"Ooh, no Evie. It's still me. Still yer Johnny." He pleaded as he quickly tried to console her.

"Git out ya arse! Ya makin it worse!" Charlotte chided him as she knelt down to pick up her now inconsolable sister.

"Ah, c'mon Char. Donnae be like that."

Heartbroken is the only word that came to her mind. And being the oldest, she now had two 'children' to console.

"Jus' giv'er a minute, Johnny. She's only seen ya at home. Not like, this." She waved her hand at him, accentuating the difference in his appearance and demeanor. She also lessened her tone, for both their sakes. She'd make a good mother one day.

"Ya think I look tha' different, Char?"

"T'me? Nah. But I knew why yer were gone, Johnny. Evie didn't."

Of course, he'd ask only her this question. Besides their usual sibling rivalry, John looked up to his oldest sister the most. Craved for her approval above all others. Even more so than his parents at times.

"Aye. Is it tha hair, ya think? Bit of a shock t'myself if ya ask me."

"It donnae help yer cause, Johnny. Ya do look like a fuzzy bowling ball."

"Haud yer wheesht, Char!"

The playful jesting slowly began to smooth the lot of them. Evie's sobs eased into soft whimpers as she turned to face her brother once more. Her forehead rested into Charlotte's neck as her eyes once again roamed over her brothers familiar face.

"I donnae like it, Johnny." The high-pitched quiver in her voice nearly broke him to tears. He swallowed hard, forcing those feelings down into the newly formed gullet deep within his chest.

"I know, Evie. It's only fer a little while." His soft blue eyes matched hers, glistening in the dim light as they continued their conversation in wordless speech.

A slow tremble began to form in her lower lip. Quickly she released her grasp around her sister's neck and stretched out to him. It may not have been the bear hug he was expecting, but the comfort of her on his chest more than soothed that aching heart within him.

"The people've spoken, Johnny. What'ya give'm, eh? A typical buzz cut, stylish pompadour, a fricken mohawk?" Charlotte's jab struck a nerve, the evidence all over John's face as his brows furrowed in utter bewilderment.

She answered with her own expression, that sly curl to her lip that John was all too familiar with.

"Donnae do it, Char. I'm warnin' ya."

She had to. In the presence of Evie, Charlotte knew not to speak such fowl language. Silently, she mouthed and provoked him.

'I. Fucking. Dare you.'

That's it. That's all it took. The right words in the wrong direction, by the right person. John couldn't refuse. And like a baited fish, Charlotte swung him in and quickly mounted her victory atop her mental walls.

Six months passed before John returned home again. Military life suited him well. So did his new hairstyle.

It was the typical MacTavish family reunion; mum and dad always the proudest parents in all of Glasgow, ridiculous hairdo aside.

Hamish greeted him with the classic headlock, which again was followed by the verbal chastising of their Iron Maiden mother. (John would tell her one day she'd make the perfect Drill Sargeant)

The twins were currently grounded in their room for saying 'naughty words' in school. John didn't poke too hard, but got this gist it was something about 'God forsaken homework.' The usual teenage behavior.

He sought out his two favorite lasses with overwhelming vigor, finding them yet again within the walls of the knitting room.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh!"

"JOHNNY!" Evie's squeal may have nearly burst his eardrums, but he would gladly go without all sound just to remember that beautiful voice.

He had barely crouched down before she swung her arms around his neck, throwing that much needed 'mighty bear hug' against him.

"Easy Evie, ya ain't such a lit'le lass anymore." His playful strain made her tighten the death grip around him, and he gleefully recipricated.

“Ha? Th’army turnin out softies now, eh?” Charlotte called from the corner as she effortlessly hung her newest knitted masterpiece on the wall, a large afghan in the most brilliant forest green hues.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid, Char.”

“Watch it, Johnny. Tha lit’le rapscallion on yer shoulder gotten a knack fer echoin th’lot of us. Gonnae be eatin soap fer dinner if she keeps it up, yeah.”

Evie strained her neck and forcefully stuck out her tongue in retaliation. The banter was a welcome grief to John. He’d never admit it, but he missed his daily chastising from his oldest sister during those hard days in the field. CO’s could learn a thing or two from the scolding mouths of a MacTavish woman. 

“Ya lookin good, Johnny. Besides the rooster crest. What’re they callin’ya, ‘Mornin Wood?’”

“That’s classified.” The bite in his retort didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohh, look a’mister fancy pants ov’r here.” Charlotte threw her hands up in taunting surprise. She’d never admit it, but she missed throwing those playful insults at him below the chest. It was an ebb and flow that no other seemed to be able to grasp.

“Donnae matter, Char. Only needs one approval, yeah. What’ya think, lass?” John turned to face the green-eyed angel within his grasp, her eyes slowly studying the features of him, finally focusing on the thick crest atop his head. 

“I like it.” 

“Thas’all I need. Gonnae keep it, yeah. Jus’ fer you, Evie.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Aye. Pinky swear.”

Her voice was the lullaby that tamed the savage beast. The silent tempest on the shores of a violent sea.

John wrapped his finger around hers and gave into the overwhelming power she had hung over him. Evie smiled, and buried her face within his neck. The vice-like grip around him doing nothing but melting that hard metallic soul growing within him.

“Ya gone’n don’it now, Johnny.” Charlotte’s quip was sharp, yet softened as it flowed freely through the air.

John responded in equal softness, an eerily reminiscent silent jab.

‘Fuck. You.’

25 years and a full military career later, Captain John ‘Soap’ MacTavish sat lonely at the bar, pondering the ice within its liqoured embrace and watched as the waves of liquid slowly melded within themselves. He was within pleasant company, something he had truly missed over the remaining years of his career.

He heard the cadence of footsteps first, their possesor non other than the legendary John Price himself. 

“Ya know ya got to drink it for it to work, yeah.” 

“Aye. Jus’ takin my time with it.”

A somberness flowed freely through them, no longer wanting or needing to keep old wounds bound and at bay. Price scanned the crowd once over before returning his gaze to the scarred and crested veteran, both looking more worse for wear within the golden age of their careers.

“Ya know, Soap. I’ve known ya for over 20 years. And somehow I never thought to ask.”

Price paused as Soap brought the cold and perspiring glass up to his lips.

“Why do ya keep the mohawk?”

Soap turned to face his war hardened comrade. A silent shock washed over him as the quiet memory of her surfaced into the realm of his periphery. He sat motionless for a moment, spinning the glass within his hands as her name gracefully returned to the soft tissue of his lips.

“Evie. I kept it for Evie.” It felt like a hymn, to speak her name again after so many years of silence. The sound of it wafting into the wooden rafters before cascading and disappearing into the boisterous cacophony around the bar.

“Who’s Evie?”

“She was my sister.” Soap’s chest tightened as the words fell out of his mouth. 

“Was?”

The slip of the tongue caught him off guard. Soap met Price’s gaze and held within it a cold blue steel. 

“Touchy subject.” Price titled his glass, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone again at the bar with his thoughts. 

An ache formed within his heart. A void that was filled with her memories and locked away from the world's prying eyes. 

His fingers slowly turned the tumbler on the weathered bar while his eyes slowly began to focus on the smallest finger of his hand. Bringing it up to his face he studied its features as a chemist studies the inner workings of molecular bonds.

The slightest curl of a smile formed on the corner of his mouth as the sound of her voice ricocheted within the recesses of his mind. And the green, those bright green eyes like the mossy hills of the Scottish highlands. 

Edited 2/5/24 to include remastered Soap Squad 🧼

“Pinky swear, Evie.”

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @ghosts-goldendoodle @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @sadstone-s @haurasha @mykneeshurt @designateddeadend @luismickydees @kkaaaagt

[11queensupreme11]

Everybody fucking minds and always doing it the no sexy way 😞😔

Do love no war babygirls

If we're very decided we can solve all of this in bed! The sexy way

Or play UNO and whoever wins is the top

Sincerely, after watching the dress... Totally would think they're doing some kinky shit 🤣

Beelzebub: we can hold hands if you want 🥺 totally platonic no second intentions here

Percy: *didn't hear anything, cared no shit for what's happening, wants a hot dog with meat that probably is from a rat* what did you say?

Percy watching Sally being happier without her, her friends being happy with some girl... Queen, totally trauma, I'd cry and beg my mom to hold me even if that makes us miserable

Beelzebub, your yandere tendencies are showing. Giving her traumas and comforting her after. Get a man that can do both (please don't get you a man that can do that)

(Give us moooooore I'm starving)

(Waiting for what you're going to do with that, Percy progress- maybe fall is the correct word- is showing queen. Love it)

Anyway, can someone please draw them on their date? 😭 That's so cute, they're literally so perfect together, like that couple that is the black cat boyfriend with his golden retriever girlfriend and they're precious 💞

(Beelzebub worrying about her suicidal thoughts and he admitting he doesn't want to die so much... *Cheff kiss* we love an emo boy that is self aware)

Now, Loki?

Loki, my boy, your panic is beautiful to watch, horrific to endure.

I'm wondering how they are going to deal with being in the same harem? Fight to be the favorite concubine? Seduce their way to Percy's bed?

Percy: you're just a pathetic simp pretending to be an alpha man and you just go destroy mode whenever you're confronted with your own emotions. You love me so much that is making you look pathetic

Loki:

Him switching sides in the moment he accepts he loves her is gold.

He may be crazy, sadistic and a psychopath, but by the gods he's not going to fool himself.

He loves the girl, now he needs to kill all the other people that love the same girl.

Assassination! His favorite hobby! She's so much fun and they haven't even had sex yet! Wonderful wife indeed

And starting with Beelzebub is a wise move, you know? From all of them he's the one that she's the most comfortable with, he could play the slow game he's the one she'd fall at the end (you know, once she forgets about the other world, that he could make happen too).

Right now Beelzebub is that best friend that is the one for her (the other, even if I love them, aren't so close to her). He just needs to wait, fool her and she'd be his

(as if the other are going to let that happen, but is the scent, you know?)

Loki is right to be jealous of him, no one (with a dick) is close to her like him, she's herself with him and is the only one that likes him with his depressive tendencies.

He could say: Percy, for medical reasons, undress yourself and let me study your body. It may end in sexy medical porn, depending on my self control

And she wouldn't see no wrong.

Is Beelzebub! Her bestie! She can trust him with her security (poor navy girl, you can't never trust a man that much). Even if he has feelings for her she wouldn't worry about him doing anything to her, just worry about the uncomfortable situation.

Wondering if they're going to guilty trappe her to stay (You made us love you! We are learning to be open and to accept love and you want to leave us? Leave us in a world where we're fated to yearn for you for eternity and be alone again?), Percy would suffer whatever if she thinks she's saving people, such a naive and dumb girl, too good to this world.

This whole situation is pure chaos, they're planning so many things just to crash with each other. Would be funny to see them working together but also don't know how that situation would happen.

Anyway, thanks for the amazing chapter Queen! 👑

im sorry but this part cracked me up 😭

"for medical reasons we may need to fuck 😔"

"yeah sure ok"

😭😭😭

IM SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER!!

i had a blast writing this chapter lmao, and im currently writing another chapter (not the next one) that's gonna be even better

maybe... idk. all i can say is that beel digs an even deeper grave in this one chapter and i just love watching him lose his shit

[winglesswriter]

OC Deep Dive Tag☆

I was tagged by the lovely @theink-stainedfolk. Thank you, darling!

I'm gonna do this for my currently abandoned sweethearts Auric Montes and Dante Pritchard from Which/Monk/Ghost

Do they have any pet peeves:

Auric hates it when people half-ass their job. He's also allergic to mess and disorder.

Dante hates fake politeness.

What uncommon fears/ phobias do they have:

Auric doesn't really have any. Dante is scared of his own powers eating him from the inside.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom:

Dante: scented oil used for you-know-what, discarded papers with sketches of sigils and ideas for new spells, some candy because Ginger keeps spoiling him

Auric: a prayer book, prayer beads, and a blessed candle

What do they notice first in people:

Dante: if they are comfortable in their own body, he judges people by the vibes

Auric: what clothes they are wearing and in what state those clothes are, he judges people by their station

What is their pain tolerance on a scale from 1 to 10:

Dante: will make a fuss over a paper cut, but he will clench his teeth after being stabbed. Overall 8

Auric was trained to endure anything, 10

Do they go into fight or flight mode under pressure:

Auric: Fight. It's hard to tell if it's natural or if it was trained

Dante: Flight. He used to be a scrawny child alone in the streets. Flight used to be his only option so even now when he's able to fight, his instincts say flight

What animal represents them best:

Auric: The red deer. Calm and majestic at first sight, but actually pretty dangerous

Dante: A wild cat

What is a smell they dislike and like:

Auric hates the smell of wet walls and mold, he likes spicy sweet smells like cinnamon or cardamom

Dante hates any smells that remind him of the dirty streets he grew up on. He likes sweet and fruity smells

Have they broken any bones:

A lot, both of them. Dante due to his rough childhood and Auric due to the rough training in the monastery

How would a stranger describe them:

Auric: Strong and handsome foreigner. Not a gentleman but a man with good manners. Not someone to mess up with.

Dante: Excentric young gentleman with a very pretty, friendly face but poor manners and questionable fashion sense

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love:

Dante hates licorice

Auric won't eat anything too sweet

Do they have any favorite hobbies:

They both enjoy riding

Boom! Surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises: Dante would be delighted. Auric would be horrified

Do they like to wear Jewelry:

Dante loves it and he wears too many. Auric doesn't wear any

Do they have neat or messy handwriting:

Dante's is hard to read but pretty. Auric's is simple and bold but easily legible

What are two emotions they feel the most:

Dante: excitement and anxiety

Auric is very good at suppressing his emotions

Do they have any Favorite Fabric:

They both enjoy Dante wearing luxurious fabric ;)

What kind of accent do they have:

Auric has a tiny hint of where the accent of the countryside he comes from. It makes his consonants sound hard

Dante tried hard to adopt the speech of the upper classes but his poor origin comes through with his open vowels.

No pressure tag for:

@blue-manuscript, @author-a-holmes, @capnmachete @kaylinalexanderbooks @starbuds-and-rosedust

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs, @whoevenknowswhatimwriting, @sergeantnarwhalwrites, @wintherlywords, @buffythevampirelover

+ OPEN TAG

[latoyalestrange]

enough

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: sebastian had gone to far. you didn't have it in you to turn him in, but you also couldn't look him in the eye. the boy learns a lesson of action and consequence, but is it too late?

words: 900

warnings: angst. ya'll i'm so sorry. i literally sobbed during this scene and i wanted to show you guys what the inside of my brain looked like in that moment lol. minors dni pls. not edited!

"sebastian! wait!" your feet were moving as quickly as they could to catch up with him as he weaved through the catacombs, ignoring your calls.

you hadn't really processed what had happened just yet. you'd seen someone die before on your way to hogwarts, but that was different. oslic was ripped out of the carriage by a dragon, for merlin's sake. it happened so quickly and your eyes were shut for most of it. this time is wasn't like that. you watched the life leave solomon's eyes and it was at your best friend's hand. all you knew in that moment was you needed to get to him, to make sure he was okay. in your heart you also knew that there was no possible way he was okay right now. either way, you needed to be there. you couldn't leave him.

"would you stop for a moment? p-please!" you could feel yourself beginning to lose your composure, your voice breaking as you begged him. you could hardly keep up with your feet as you raced after him. you nearly ran into him before you realized he had stopped dead in his tracks, a few feet away from the exit. he was scanning your face, his own twisted with concern and guilt. he saw the tears starting to pool in your eyes and lifted his hand to comfort you. instead of giving you the contact you desired, though, he quickly withdrew it, almost as if it were a painful action.

"don't cry...please?" his head hung low with shame, unable to meet your gaze like a guilty puppy. even if you could try, the wetness persisted down your cheeks, now flushed with both exhaustion and grief.

"how can i not?" his head perked up at your words. the look on his face made you feel like a terrible person.

"i did what i had to do!" his demeanor flipped like a switch. he was suddenly irate and in defense mode. "he attacked us! i had to protect us! i had to protect you--"

okay. no.

after everything you had done for him-- after he pressured you to lie to the keepers, put your education in jeopardy, and treated you like shit the entire time? he would not pretend like this was for you. none of it was for you. most of it wasn't even for anne. it was for him.

"don't you dare try to pretend that any of that was for me." with tears still rolling down your face, you had turned into the physical manifestation of reactive. "i have done everything that you have ever asked of me, sebastian. i have risked my life, my education, and my connection with the keepers for you." he looked petrified as you bore into him, but you weren't done.

"you know, i came here with no one. i thought maybe if i helped you, you would want to be my friend--"

"i am your friend!" it wasn't until he sobbed out those words that you realized he was crying. he was close to incoherent at this point.

"you are the furthest thing from a friend, sebastian. i have endured the way you treat me because i really needed someone. i needed someone, and--" you choked on your words, the lump in your throat becoming too prominent to continue.

"i'm sorry, y/n..." he sounded meek, almost like a whimper. you wiped your face and took a deep breath.

"it's too late for that, seb." his eyes finally met yours as he heard his favorite pet name from you. it broke him just a little bit more knowing that was the last time he'd ever hear you say it. he mirrored you and took a deep breath of his own.

"i know. i know i've treated you terribly and i admit to being blinded by my own desires to not realize what i already have. i understand if you want to turn me in and never see me again." his apology honestly made it worse. him showing remorse for his actions at the last possible second, when you finally show him you're serious, is something that you predicted from miles away. but that didn't make it any easier.

"sebastian, i could never turn you in..." he looked hopeful for a moment, but it was short lived. "but i think it's best if we don't speak." he closed his eyes, looking wounded.

"please," you instinctively turned to walk around him, you couldn't bare to hear his begging. "please, no wait--don't do this!" you almost plugged your ears as you trudged forward, ignoring his pleas.

"i can't do this without you!" deep down, you felt the same. going on without sebastian seemed impossible but you knew it was a necessity. the wizarding world rested in your hands, and at such a young age. you went from being a regular teenager with no responsibilities other than homework to an ancient-magic-wielding sorcerer who was solely responsible for not just one, but multiple repositories full of the most powerful magic known to wizard-kind. not to mention, an entire rebellion regime was after you. they didn't just want you for information or money or some material object. they wanted you dead.

so, you couldn't risk it. you didn't go through everything just to doom an entire world of people. even if your happiness was the price.

[chvoswxtch]

hi :) congratulations on 3k! can i ask for midnights (from the vault) with frank based on the lyric

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms

from enjoy the silence - depeche mode

thank you very much nonnie!

I love depeche mode. I hope you don't mind that I started with angst (it's just who I am as a person) and then ended it with some fluffiness (not exactly spicy, more like mild sauce) bc frankie is a hopeless romantic sometimes and that's just fact

as a reminder, from the vault means it's spicy! (minors dni)

blurb below the cut

enjoy the silence (frank's version) (from the vault)*

all i ever wanted / all i ever needed is here in my arms

Frank Castle had never truly known peace. He had been fighting internal battles long before he joined the Marines, and in the interludes between tours when he got to go home, he was still haunted and lost in combat in his mind. After losing his family, Frank sought bloodthirsty revenge against everyone involved. Discovering the betrayal of his best friend in the midst of his vengeance, he felt the lashes of treachery against his soul.

Even though his hands were stained with blood and he had personally made sure that everyone who played a part in his family’s murder had paid the price, he couldn’t stop. Frank continued to wage war against the wicked, and the Devil himself couldn’t help anyone who got in his way. But the amount of lives he collected did nothing to bring back those that were ripped away from him.

For years, Frank brutally slaughtered the wicked anywhere he went to try and tame the bloodthirsty thing inside of him. He thought combatting the evil he saw in the world would make him feel better, but it only made him feel more hollow. He was reckless, impulsive, and had no regard for his own life. He didn’t care if he made it out of a dangerous situation. He didn’t think he had anything left to live for, and was surviving purely out of spite.

Until Frank met you. 

Out of the endless corruption he had endured, he finally found something good. You were patient and gentle with him, and thoughtfully warm and loving. You saw him in the same light Maria had, and you were the only thing that had felt like home after losing his own years ago. With you, Frank felt like he could breathe again. There was no longer a demon in him demanding a taste of flesh. There were no more blooming bruises and crimson dripping wounds. He came home wearing marks on his body that you had made during an intimate moment of passion. When he woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare, you were there to hold him and lure him into a peaceful slumber with your nectarous words and the lullaby of your heart’s rhythm.

Piece by delicate piece, you helped put Frank back together. He started to recognize his own reflection again. All the heaviness he had felt over the years slowly started to melt away from his shoulders. Frank started to smile again. He laughed at your silly jokes. He offered to help with dinner, and then would interrupt the cooking to twirl you around the kitchen. He taught you his favorite songs on guitar, and even learned your favorites to surprise you with. Finally, Frank had a reason to live again.And he finally found peace. 

Everytime you let him inside your body, Frank felt like he was being granted the greatest gift. He was constantly grabbing at your pliable thighs and rubbing his rough palms along your silken skin, just to remind himself that you were real. He wrapped his hand around your throat, and felt your heart pounding against his fingers; tangible proof that you were here with him. He stared deeply into your eyes, watching the way your face contorted in pleasure when he pushed himself as deep within your warm walls as he could.If making love to you was as close to Heaven as he was ever going to get, he never wanted to stop. 

Because you were here in his arms, loving him unconditionally, trusting him with your body, and you were all he needed to be happy.

[bubblesreplies]

The Middle

Max Brinly X Female Reader

Oneshot

APPARENTLY IF YOU’RE READING THIS IN ANY DARK COLORED FORMAT ON TUMBLR (LIKE NIGHT MODE) IT LOOKS FUCKING WEIRD AND IDK HOW TO FIX IT I’M SO SORRY.

A/N: No, I'm not neglecting my other fics to write a random oneshot? Why would you even suggest---fuck it here it is besties. Anyways, this product of procrastination is dedicated and written for my bestie @house-of-kolchek, who loves Max as much as I do.

WARNINGS AND TAGS: NSFW 18+ ONLY, this is unedited and might be awful, Reader is Jacob's cousin, manipulative!Emma but like in a good way, BFF!Emma, Emma/Jacob, Abi/Nick, making Emma cooler than she is, sweetheart!Max, unrequited love (assumably), forced proximity, sex jokes, unsafe seating situations while driving DO NOT DO THIS PLEASE, lap-sitting, erections, staring down your shirt, teasing, love confessions, very very cheesy and idc anymore

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

“EMMA, that is the stupidest idea in seriously the entire world.”

You meant it, too; you already thought that this little impromptu camping trip was an awful idea; the last time that the group of you were out in the woods, it ended with werewolves, so, could anybody really be blamed for not wanting to tempt fate? And now hearing Emma’s latest plan, you couldn’t help but say fuck this whole entire trip and its mom, too. 

“Oh—come on!” Emma insisted with a pout across her face, leaning across her oversized suitcase—who in the world needed all of that space for a weekend camping trip? “Babes, you are my wing-woman here—my ultimate girl. Come on, please—Jacob won’t even look at me when we hang out. I really need your help with this!”

You sighed; a year ago, when the ten of you—eight, if you considered the fact that you hadn’t actually met two of the camp counselors until the end of the summer—worked at Hackett’s Quarry and endured that shitshow of a summer, you hadn’t even liked Emma. You didn’t like how she had your cousin, Jacob, mooning all over her like she owned the whole fucking Earth. You didn’t like the way that the nicest girl you’d ever met seemed to think she walked on water, too, and you did not appreciate the fact that she thought she was entitled to tell you all the ways that you were doing your makeup all wrong. 

But then, that night happened. The night of the full moon, when your idiot cousin sabotaged the van just to get another night with the woman he’d fallen in love with who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about him. The night where the ten of you had miraculously survived werewolves, and a crazy-ass family trying to kill you all night. That night was what changed everything. 

You’d gotten stranded with Emma running through the woods, and somehow landed yourself in a heated battle with Jacob—who had apparently been bitten by one of those things because he was now one of those things. He, obviously, tried to kill the two of you and Emma thought fast, using a piece of silver jewelry to save both of your lives and buy you enough time to get the hell out of there. 

And then, you’d been locked in a room with her and Abi, the three of you not knowing if you would survive the night, and something just…changed. You began to see her differently, and from that point on, throughout this entire past year, the three of you had been best friends. 

More you and Emma, if you were being honest, because Abi and Nick had just gotten engaged three months ago and most of her free time went to him.

Not that it hurt your feelings. If you somehow managed to bag the man of your dreams, you’d be spending every free moment with him, too. 

“Jacob just…needs time,” you informed her with a groan, throwing your tennis shoes across the room as you frantically looked for your favorite pair of leggings. “He’s still hurt, you know? You can’t just tell him you didn’t mean any of it and then expect him to forgive you and jump back into your arms, Emma.”

“Which is why I need you to get me into his cabin this weekend,” Emma pleaded, getting up from her place on your bed and digging through your drawers as she pulled out the very clothes you were looking for. You swore that sometimes, it was literally like she could read your mind. “All we have to do is fake a fight; I will refuse to sleep in the same cabin as you, and then the boys will offer to switch with us. I’ll get a whole night—and a whole, isolated cabin—with Jacob; and you? Well, let’s not pretend that you aren’t benefitting from my little plan.”

You snorted, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling your leggings up over your legs, smiling as Emma nodded towards your ass in approval. If she thought that you looked good, you could rest assured that you damn well did.

“And how will I benefit from getting into a fake fight with you and causing a scene?” You questioned, your head cocked as Emma passed you your shoes and you eagerly slipped them on. The rest of your group would be here at any minute, and you didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

“Because if I end up in Jacob’s cabin, you know who ends up in yours? Max.”

You whipped around and shot Emma a glare, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe that she would just mention his name all casually like that. You’d made her swear to never bring up your pathetic, unrequited crush on Max Brinly ever again, since the day she’d first found out that it even existed in the first place. 

You first met Max when the sun came up after that hellish night at Hackett’s Quarry. You and Emma had run back to the island to see if Jacob was there and if he was alive, and you ended up running into Max instead. After lots of screaming and confusion, the two of you finally allowed him to explain just how in the fuck he had gotten there and who he was, which is when you learned that your one night of hell had lasted two months for him and his girlfriend. 

Emma had found Jacob and ran after him, but you stayed behind with Max, talking and laughing at his jokes, attempting not to swoon at the adorableness that was his laugh. You had hoped, at the beginning of the summer, to find somebody just like him and have a summer romance. Somebody who was cute, who could make you laugh, and seemed to understand you instantly.

It didn’t work out that way, obviously—seeing as the summer had been over and Max Brinly had a girlfriend. 

Laura eventually came back for him and you parted ways, assuming that this would be the last time that you would ever see Max Brinly, attributing your budding feelings for him as some sort of trauma response to the night that you had just been through. 

Imagine your surprise when, a month after Hackett’s Quarry, the new co-worker that you were assigned to train at the coffee shop was none other than Max Brinly. You assumed right away that he wouldn’t even remember you—why would he?---but you were wrong. He knew exactly and immediately who you were, and the two of you hit it off just as well as you did the first time you had ever spoken to him. It wasn’t long before you were hanging out with him every single day, and he had slowly become your best friend. 

You went to movies together, you got dinner, he came to all of the track and field competitions you ran in at your local university, you helped him study hard enough to get into a new graduate school—literally, anything that you could think of, the two of you did it together.  You even stayed the night at each other’s apartments on occasion, both of you knowing what the other’s couch felt like pretty intimately. 

In fact, the only time the two of you weren’t together was when Laura came to town to visit her boyfriend. Before she dumped him, at least.

It was nearly a month and a half ago now, that you had sat on this very bed with Max as he sobbed, asking you just to hold him and not ask any questions when he told you that he and Laura had broken up. 

“Max isn’t into me, so that really doesn’t help your case,” you grumbled, your pissy mood only continuing to sour the more that you thought about it. After Max and Laura, you thought that you might actually stand a chance with him. After all, he spent all of his free time with you, and you knew that nobody in this world knew him as well as you did—and vice versa. But after the night that he’d sobbed with you, fallen asleep in your bed, and told you how he felt like years of his life were wasted with Laura, nothing ever happened. 

He just went right on back to being the same old Max, your friend.

“Do you seriously still think that that boy has no feelings for you whatsoever?” Emma shrieked, watching as Jacob’s car pulled up from the window, hurriedly throwing her hair up into a sexily-tossed messy bun. “‘Cause, if you do, you’re so wrong that it isn’t even funny anymore.”

“Em, if he had feelings for me, then why didn’t anything change after he and Laura broke up?!” You interjected, a frown pulling at your lips as you grabbed your tiny duffel bag and hiked it up over your shoulder. “And also, why would he date Laura for so long if he actually, secretly liked me instead? Your logic isn’t logic-ing,” you insisted, and Emma smirked.

“You are so naive that it’s actually kind of cute,” she responded, rolling her eyes as Jacob opted to honk instead of being a gentleman and coming to the door. Emma sauntered over to you, playing with the ends of your hoodie and eyeing it suspiciously. “Look, just—help me with this plan, and you’ll see, okay? And change into that sexy little top I bought you last month for the car ride.”

“Emma!”

“Just trust me!” Emma insisted, pulling the hoodie up and over your head for you and tossing you the lacey black crop top she’d bought you last month. “Put it on—good, yes, I would so bang you—oh, and just in case you find out that Max also wants to bang you, I snuck condoms into your bag.”

“You have got to be kidding me, Emma!” You shrieked, although it was with a large smile on your face as you were, once again, blown away by the antics of your friend. 

Emma only laughed as the two of you rushed down to the car, you having to help Emma with one half of her bag since she’d brought such a gigantic one. You’d barely made it to the door before there was a knock on it—apparently Jacob had decided to be a gentleman after all. Or he’d simply gotten impatient, which was the better bet of the two options.

“Keep your pants on cuz, we’re coming,” you hissed out, lowering your end of Emma’s bag to the ground as you ripped open the door to your apartment. Your annoyed glare dropped and your mouth fell open as you saw Max standing there, his cheeks red and running a hand through his freshly-cut red hair. “Max! I, uh, thought you were Jacob?”

Fuck, why did you sound so fucking awkward?! Your conversation with Emma had you paranoid and upset, and if you kept acting this way, Max would definitely notice. The two of you had crossed the awkward barrier a long time ago.

“Ah, nah,” Max answered, his signature smile flashing across his face and warming you up from the inside out. “Jake’s too possessive over that steering wheel to get his ass over to the door honestly.”

“That and he doesn’t want to have to speak to me,” Emma sighed, lugging her bag forward and hitting Max in the chest with it. You suppressed a giggle as he let out an “Oomph!”, but he caught your smile and playfully sneered at you. “Oh, what a gentleman! And damn, Max, I’ve never noticed how strong you are. Have you, Y/n?! Have you ever noticed those biceps?” 

“Cut it out, Emma,” you hissed under your breath, grateful that Max had already turned around and was heaving her oversized bag to the trunk of the car. “I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work on me.”

“What am I doing?” Emma asked with faux innocence, batting her eyelashes heavily down at you before she winked. “Just use it as fuel for our fake fire, if you want, babes. Besides—would it really kill you to admit in front of him that he looks good?! Give the boy a win, Y/n!”

“He does not think of me that way—”

“Hey, um, Emma?” Max called out as you were locking your front door behind you, and you turned and ran over to where he was pursing his lips behind the trunk. “Maybe we should’ve brought a bigger car, but, your bag is not going to fit back here.”

Emma turned to look and her lips, too, were pursed. 

“Well, where’s everyone sitting?” She asked, peering her head into the car to check out the situation. 

“Well, uh, Jacob’s driving—obviously—Abi and Nick are in the row of two seats behind him, and then he wants you to sit back in the last row with me while Y/n takes the passenger seat,” Max explained, using his hands to gesture to each person. Abi turned around to look at you from her place in the car, Nick’s head in her lap as he slept, and she waved. You waved back, grimacing at the large bag that was seated at your feet. 

“Hmm, no, that won’t do,” Emma insisted with a wave of her hand, using all of her strength to heave her bag up and over the full trunk of the car and into the last row of seats. “It’s going to have to go here—and oh, I really didn’t sleep well last night, so if I don’t sit in the passenger seat, I’ll get sick.” 

Max’s jaw dropped and he scoffed lightly, looking between the two of you as you held in a large groan. 

“I don’t really see how that makes any sense?” He questioned.

“So Y/n will have to sit in the back, with you!” Emma finished with a gleeful squeal, hurrying to shut the trunk and turning to make her way to the passenger seat of the car. 

“Um—hold on a minute, just where the fuck in the back will I sit?!” You barked out, gesturing incredulously to the monstrosity that was her luggage all over the back seat of the car. “Your bag is taking up the entire row—all but one seat, Em! And it’s way too fucking big to go down at our feet!” 

Emma put a daintly little finger to her chin, and you could tell that she was only pretending to think about the predicament.

“Well, it’s only about a forty-five minute drive,” she informed you, a wicked smile pushing its way onto her lips. “It’s not that long, so, just sit on Max’s lap?”

Your eyes widened and you felt sweat beading on the back of your neck, your heart beating at an intensely quick pace just at the mere thought of having to sit on Max. One look at Max’s face showed he heard her suggestion, too, because it was unnaturally blank and pale. 

You walked closer to Emma, pulling her into you as you said, “You better be fucking for real with your next suggestion, or we will get in an actual fight, Emma,” you warned her, your voice low enough that Max couldn’t hear it. You noticed that he was already ushering Nick and Abi out of the car, hurrying to his seat in the back, and the three of them were just waiting on you. 

“Oh my g—will you just trust me, for once in your life?!” Emma begged dramatically, clinging onto your arm and giving you a little push towards Max. “Thank me later, hoe.”

Oh no, I will not be thanking you later, you sneaky little she-devil, you thought to yourself, climbing over Abi’s seat and landing ungracefully into Max’s lap. He caught you much more elegantly than you fell, luckily, and he helped you right yourself so that your back was facing his chest. 

You turned your face towards him despite the fact that it was burning, and you brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear. 

“You know, I could always just sit on her bag instead of on you,” you offered, geturing weakly over to the big problem that Emma had handed over to the two of you with a private sneer at her back. “That way I won’t crush your legs into tiny pieces of ash.”

Max actually laughed out loud at that and your heart swelled with a feeling of accomplishment; Max was funny, he had probably always been funny, and anytime that you had gotten him to laugh, you took it as a personal achievement. 

“Please sweetheart, as if you could,” Max retorted, winding an arm around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his chest, leaving his arm to rest across your stomach and his fingers splayed across your hipbone. You closed your eyes, holding in a sigh as you prayed that he couldn’t see the way that your face had reddened from this angle. “Besides, this is probably the…safer option of the two.”

You heartily disagreed with that. 

Still, you positioned yourself against him, awkwardly playing with your fingers on your lap as you had no idea where to rest your hands. You and Max were close, yes, but you had never physically been close, aside from a few silly moments of teasing tickles, accidentally falling asleep on his shoulder, or him resting his legs on your lap as the two of you watched a movie together. This was entirely new territory, and you had no idea what to do with it, and you knew that if Emma hadn’t forced this to happen, that Max wouldn’t have chosen to even be in this situation with you. Probably. 

“Jacob, the drive is forty-five minutes?” You called up to him, wincing as you watched your cousin’s teeth grit in the rearview mirror as he attempted to ignore Emma completely.

“An hour, if traffic’s bad,” Jacob called back and you groaned, your leg shaking furiously in your nervousness. As if Max could sense that you were on edge—fuck, with the way that you were bouncing around he probably could feel it—his other hand landed on your thigh, rubbing calming circles around as he successfully got it to stop shaking.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so anxious today,” you sighed, rubbing a hand down your face and leaning back into Max. You could hear his groan and you winced, assuming you had hurt him, as you instantly tried to reposition yourself to take some of the weight off of him.

After a few minutes of frantic wiggling, Max’s hands harshly gripped onto your waist, his fingernails digging into you as he held you tightly into place and you froze, your eyes wide and breath held. 

“Y/n, please—stop.” Max’s voice was incredibly hoarse, coming out in a groan and you winced again, mortified that you had hurt him enough to elicit this sort of response. 

“Oh shit, Max! I am so sorry—I was trying not to hurt you and then I did hurt you and—”

“Y/n!” Max interrupted, clearing his throat so that his voice sounded a lot more normal and less husky. “Honey, you’re not hurting me, just—don’t wiggle around right—there.”

Your eyebrows raised in confusion at his words and your brain couldn’t process what the hell he was saying, so you just opted to nod, leaning forward as far as you could and beginning a conversation with Abi as you tried with every ounce of your being to not put much weight on Max. It took every ounce of concentration that you had to not think about the fact that you were touching the love of your life and focus on Abi’s words about wedding planning, but somehow, you did it. 

“Hey, uh, Jake?” Max suddenly called out, and you noticed that his voice had gone hoarse again and that his tone was tight and clipped. Higher than normal. You frowned; in your conversation with Abi, you had slipped a little further backwards than you’d realized, back into his lap. “How much longer?”

“Thirty minutes,” Jacob growled, and you noticed Emma looking a little offput herself. “It’s looking closer to an hour total at this point.”

“Alright then, we need to stop,” Max insisted and you stifled a pathetic whine, embarrassed that you were this hard to bear just sitting on his lap. It probably didn’t help that you were still actively avoiding any and all contact with him, practically leaving him here in the backseat to talk to himself as you ignored him, anxious and letting Emma’s words get to your head.

You needed to stop. You and Max were friends. Good friends, and you were being absolutely ridiculous about this whole thing. 

Three minutes later, Jacob pulled off at a reststop and you lifted off of Max instantly, watching him scamper out of the car after Abi and Nick and hurrying into the men’s restroom. With everyone out of the car but you and Emma, you climbed over the seats and sat between her seat and the driver’s seat, staring at her with wide eyes.

“So,” you started out, pointedly ignoring the tears in her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t want to talk about it right now. “Your plan to make me sit on Max is not working; I can barely say two words to the guy, and his poor legs are getting crushed by me. He probably can’t think of anything but leg cramps!” 

“Oh, please,” Emma scoffed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissued and waving your worries away with a flick of her hand. “Look at him, and look at you; there must be some other reason he needs a break.”

“Oh yeah?” You fought back, crossing your arms over your chest as you frowned at your friend. “Like what, exactly? It’s not working Emma, you’re miserable up here, and I am back there; we should just switch places. You’re smaller than me.”

“I am not,” Emma sighed.

“All I know is one minute, I can’t sit still, and the next minute, he’s grabbing my hips and telling me to stop wiggling around,” you continued on, as if Emma hadn’t even interjected. “What else could it be if not that I was—”

You instantly stopped talking as Emma looked over to you, mouth opened and eyes glinting with excitement. 

“You poor naive little thing!” She giggled, pulling your arms so that you were practically sitting on her lap. “Y/n, you aren’t hurting him—you’re turning him on and he doesn’t want you to feel it!” 

You felt pinpricks across your face as the entire thing turned white, and you were suddenly feeling a little nauseous. 

“What?” You questioned, shaking your head lutching nervously at your hair. “What? I—no, Max isn’t—he wasn’t—”

“Oh, yes, yes he was,” Emma argued, and there was a light in her eyes that replaced whatever sadness she had been feeling before you came up there to talk to her. “Okay, do exactly as I say; when Max comes back out to the car, sit back on him just like you were that first time. Wiggle around a bit again—”

“What? No!”

“Just trust me—wiggle around a little bit again, then ask him if he wants to watch something with you on your phone. When you turn it on, lean back against him so that your back is arched and he gets a good, full view down your—”

“Okay, and this is where I officially stop you, you are crazy,” you intoned, shaking your head and leaning away from your friend. “Max is not into me—in case you managed to forget about that, babes—and besides, I can’t just show him my boobs, Emma! They’re my—boobs. They’re, like, private.”

“Holy fuck, how are you not a virgin,” Emma groaned, shoving you back towards your seat as she pointed eagerly out of the car. “Okay, babes, here he comes—just trust me, okay?! Do it!” 

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the words fell from your lips as the car door opened and Max poked his head inside, grinning over at you as his eyes darted back and forth between you and Emma. 

“What, uh, what’s going on here?” He asked, and you shot a glare at Emma as she giggled, hiding her face in her shirt and sending an ominous wink your way. You tried as well as you could to tell her to shut up with your eyes, but she ignored you in typical Emma fashion. 

“Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head and sending him a smile. “I was just feeling nervous about getting away this weekend and Emma was talking me down. That’s it.”

“Ah,” Max yawned, heading back to his seat and patting his lap for you to join him. You blushed. “Is that why you’re acting so weird? You haven’t spoken to me for the last, like twenty-five minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry, just nervous,” you insisted, climbing back over Abi’s seat and settling yourself on top of Max’s lap. As you looked up after readjusting, your eyes met Emma’s in the rearview mirror and she nodded, looking from you to Max’s…well…yeah. 

You cleared your throat, feeling the burn of your phone in your pocket as you stared widely back at her, conveying that she was being way too obvious, here. Regardless, a part of you was…curious, now, and with Laura out of the picture and Max completely single, it’s not like a little testing of the waters was inappropriate anymore. What could it hurt, really? Max was too nice to reject you, so if he wasn’t into it, he just wouldn’t say anything and you’d let it go forever. But, if he really was into it—

Well that was the best-case scenario, wasn’t it?

So, you shifted; nothing crazy and nowhere close to grinding—just a small, flick of the hips that brushed right up against his crotch. Max’s breath hitched and you froze, wondering if you’d truly heard that right, completely distracted from the fact that Abi and Nick were re-entering the car and that Jacob was starting it again, getting ready to head on the road once more. 

A hitch of a breath wasn’t enough of a confirmation for you, so you shifted once again, and then again and then again, and this time Max’s hands lifted back up to your hips, grasping for dear life as you settled your ass back down to his crotch, turning your head to watch as his eyes shut tight and he bit his lip.

“Y/n—”

“Do you want to watch part of a movie with me?” You interrupted, watching as Max’s eyes flashed open, a glint of pain underneath them that had you second-guessing what had just happened. Max smiled down at you, though—that brilliant smile that God had blessed him with—and nodded.

You had no idea what you were going to watch, but your fingers worked anyway, hurriedly typing some stupid TikTok compilation that you hoped he wouldn’t get too distracted by. Max laid his chin on your shoulder, his hands that were gripping your waist winding around your front and interlocking as he held you, his face snuggling slightly into your neck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, your mind reiterated as you slowly breathed out, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you silently prayed that Max couldn’t hear it, and that he couldn’t feel the way that your skin had suddenly heated up and become sweaty. It wasn’t even that cuddling with Max was anything new—as a person, he was a fucking lapdog—but it was the fact that you had never sat on his fucking lap before while cuddling. Never had intentions to turn him on, never gave him this much of a glance down your lowcut shirt—

Y/n, don’t be a pussy, your inner Emma chastised and you shut your eyes tight and sucked in a breath, desperately trying to convince yourself not to go through with this. But damn it—you sort of wanted to and, so far, Max hadn’t shown a single sign that he’d wanted you to sit anywhere else. 

It was halfway through the video that you forgot the rest of the people in the car and arched backward without a minute to second guess yourself, pretending to stretch your arms above your head as you knew you were, successfully, letting Max have a perfect show of your black lacy bra underneath your shirt, and under that, the perfectly rounded mounds of breasts that it pushed up.

You heard a sharp inhale and dared a look at his face; he was as white as a ghost, and even his perfectly placed freckles had gone impossibly paler—and yet his eyes, those gorgeously sea-colored orbs, were still staring down your shirt, transfixed, as he studied your figure. 

“Alright, everybody out!” Jacob suddenly called out, and the two of you jumped, Max’s eyes meeting yours as he was brought back to reality. His eyes, no longer clouded over with lust, widened and a blush spread unevenly across his face as he realized that he’d been caught watching you. “We’re here!”

“Y/n,” Max breathed out, whipping his arms away from you and running nervous hands through his newly cut hair. “Shit, Y/n, I’m so sorry, I—I wasn’t—I mean I was but…” You smiled as he stuttered along, a giggle framing your mouth and escaping out of your lip, causing Max’s gaze to whip back onto you. You couldn’t help it; he was always so damn cute when he was flustered.

“Does it make it any less creepy if I’m aware that staring down your shirt is creepy?” Max asked, equal parts timid and teasing. You laughed aloud at that, the two of you lingering in the backseat of the car while the rest of the party headed out. 

“It’s fine, Max,” you insisted with a shrug and a wink, conveying in every way possible that you weren’t completely innocent here either. “No one wears a bra like this for it not to be seen, sweetheart.” 

The words coming out of your mouth shocked even you, and Max’s entire jaw fell open as he stared at you in complete and utter disbelief. 

“Whoa, Y/n,” he reared away from you, just to get a better look at your face, testing to see if you were saying what he thought that you were saying. His hands found their way to your waist again and he touched you softly, his thumbs running up and down the curves of your hipbones as he stared in wonder down at you. “Are you saying that you wanted me to—”

“Are you two gonna get out of the car, or do you plan on freezing your little asses off all night?!” Jacob called out as he forced open the trunk of the car, staring in disbelief at the two of you still sitting there. You both jumped, eyes turning to Jacob with guilty blushes, and you didn’t waste another second climbing off of Max and over the seats, pushing your way past Jacob and onto the dirt-clodded driveway. 

Taking your bag from your cousin and asking a hurried, “Where’s our cabin again?” You received directions and hurried off in the direction of the cabin that you and Emma were supposed to share, attempting to outrun Max so that he couldn’t question you any further.

What the hell had you been thinking?! You hadn’t, obviously, and you’d let Emma’s skewed opinion get to you. Now, you had to come up with a solution for some serious damage control before Max got to you with his, What’s gotten into you today? And his, Look, I know you must have been kidding, or his I’m sorry Y/n, I’m just not attracted to you that way—

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, throwing open the door to the cabin and chucking your suitcase onto the empty bed. Emma was standing on the other side of the room, facing the bathrooms, but she jumped and turned around when she heard the slam of the front door. “Fuck this whole plan, Emma, and fuck my stupid self too. I can’t believe that I actually let myself believe that Max was really into me and I—holy shit, are you crying?!?”

Emma’s pretty hazel eyes were red-rimmed, but the telltale giveaway that she’d been sobbing was the tear tracks of black mascara spreading down her cheeks and clumping up near her pointy chin.

Once her mind had registered your question, she began sobbing once again, her hands coming up to cover her eyes and you ran to her, throwing your arms around her neck and feeling her own arms go around your waist as she sobbed into your neck heartily. 

“Honey, what happened?” You asked, but your voice was muffled by your much taller friend’s collarbone. You pulled away from her and sat her down on her bed, sitting down next to her and taking her hand in yours. “Emma, what did my idiot cousin say to you? You know that big dummy acts completely on emotions, so whatever he said, I’m sure it was just in the heat of the—”

“He meant it,” Emma interrupted you, pulling her hand out of yours and using it to wipe her eyes. “But I don’t even want to talk about it right now, so—tell me what happened with Max.” You opened your mouth to protest but she shot you her “Emma” look—the look that told you that arguing would quite literally be pointless. So, you sighed, letting yourself fall backward onto the bed and groaning as your head hit the awfully lumpy mattress she’d been provided tonight.

“I don’t know what happened, Emma,” you admitted with a whine, feeling her lay down beside you and cuddle her head into yours comfortingly. “It was like I had this sudden, insane boost of confidence and I was like…grinding on him and giving him a full show of my boobs—”

“You do have great boobs—”

“And then when he noticed that I caught him staring at my breasts, I kindofsortofmaybe insinuated that I wanted him to look down my shirt and then he was about to ask me if I really meant that I wanted him to see me naked and then Jacob interrupted us and I freaked out and ran away.”

Emma just stared back at you, blinking occasionally, as if she were really confused.

“Why?” She finally asked, staring down at you in confusion. You blinked back at her, shaking your head bewilderedly. 

“Wait, why what?”

“Why did you run away, you fucking dumbass!” Emma insulted, but it was loving and the two of you laughed as she pushed you off the bed and you squealed. “Seriously, Y/n, what the fuck? You ran away? After doing all of that you just ran?”

“I was scared!” You defend your actions with a hiss, pulling yourself up off of the floor and planting down next to her again. “Fuck, Emma, Max is my best friend. I cannot risk freaking him out and losing him, okay? I just…can’t, okay, he means…he means everything to me, Emma, he’s the most important person in the whole world. He’s my best friend.”

“Ouch,” Emma responded, but there was a fond smile on her face and a happy gleam in her eyes as she gazed down at you. “Babes, you know that you’re the most important thing in the world to him too, right? Even if he didn’t feel the same way about you, he wouldn’t let this ruin your friendship. You know that, right?” 

You shrugged and looked away from her, playing with your hands as you avoided the question. Did you know that? No, not really. Yeah, the two of you were really close, and yeah, he spent most of his free time with you, but that didn’t mean that this wasn’t something that would freak him out enough to ghost you.

“Shit, if I was going to do something as fucking ridiculous as this, I should have just bit the and told him how I felt,” you finally responded with a sigh, pushing yourself off of the bed and shuffling your feet over the cold, hardwood floor. “But you know, maybe this way, there’s some way that I can play it off?”

“Okay babes, I’m just going to say this once and I’m going to say it outright,” Emma cut you off, standing in front of you and forcing your chin up to look your much taller friend in the eyes. “I know why they broke up, Y/n. The real reason, and if you just fucking ask me I will tell you right here, right now.”

The offer was, obviously, tempting; and two or three years ago you’d probably be a lesser person and taken that offer. As it was, though, you valued Max and his privacy, and if he’d wanted you to know, he would have told you himself. 

“No, I don’t want to know,” you insisted, pursing your lips and pulling away from Emma. “It isn’t any of my business, and Max made that abundantly clear by not telling me inthe first place.”

“Of fucking course,” Emma groaned with a shake of her head, rolling her eyes at you and then fixing you with a glare. “The two of you are both so stupid.”

“Gee, thanks Em.” Your words fell flat as you shot her your own sharp look and she gulped, having the common decency to at least look like she felt bad for saying what she did. “Besides, why do you even know the reason Laura dumped him?”

“Laura didn’t dump Max—Max dumped Laura,” Emma clarified and your heart dropped into your stomach. The piece of news, realistically, probably should have made you feel better, but it didn’t. It only made you feel worse, like your heart had been stomped on and used up. Because—if that was true—if Max had dumped Laura—then why had he been so upset that night when he came over to your house? And why the fuck had he lied to you about it?

“What?” You asked, your voice tiny and fragile, and Emma looked back at you, confused. 

“Max broke up with Laura,” Emma repeated, and was somehow completely missing the broken, wounded look that was written all over your face. “He dumped her, because he wasn’t in love with her, Y/n, he realized that he was—”

“Emma.” 

Jacob’s voice pierced through the air, and the two of you jumped towards the sound, to where your cousin was currently glaring daggers towards your best friend. Emma immediately shut up, shooting you a guilty look as she moved farther away from you and towards Jacob. 

“Y/n, can you please give us a moment?” Jacob asked, his throat froggy and having to clear it as he continued staring at Emma. When you saw the raw, heated look pass between them you excused yourself quickly, knowing that whatever feud they were having was about to be made up in tenfold. You forgot to bring your suitcase with you—not even thinking that you’d effectively be kicked out of your cabin for the night—as you ran outside, outside to the nothingness that awaited you.

No, seriously.

There was not a soul out here, Abi and Nick notably missing and Max even nowhere to be seen—not that you even wanted to see him right now anyways. Your heart was barely beating in your chest at the revelation that he’d lied to you—you, supposedly his closest friend—about something that was so huge. Then again, maybe he had no idea how huge it was to you. He didn’t at all, actually, because he had no idea that you were so annoyingly and stupidly in love with him. 

“Fuck this day, and fuck everyone else,” you groaned to yourself as you plopped down on a metal bench under a canopy, covering your eyes with your hands as you whined. 

“That an invitation?” 

Max’s voice sent your blood running cold and you jumped, shocked, turning yourself towards him as he stood slightly behind you, watching you warily. His face was red, but he was smiling at you, and he made his way over and sat at the bench opposite you slowly. 

The two of you stared at each other for a while—one of you, optimistically nervous, and the other of you having had your heart shattered into a million little pieces just ten minutes ago. Neither of you said anything, unsure of what exactly you should say, for a long time until finally, Max broke the silence.

“Y/n,” Max spoke, clearing his throat from the nervousness that threatened to choke and overtake him. “About what you said in the car—”

“You lied to me.” 

You hadn’t intended for it to come out like that, but there it was, and there was no taking it back now. 

Max reared back, astonishment registering across his perfect features. 

“I—what?” He shook his head back and forth, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “I lied about—about the car?”

“No Max, not about the fucking car!” You swore, rising from your seat in your anger. Max followed quickly, a gentle hand on your elbow that you quickly ripped out of his grasp. “You lied to me about—about Laura! You told me that she—that she broke up with you, Max! You were heartbroken, you were crying, you lied!” 

You thought that there were tears streaming down your face but you couldn’t really tell at the moment. All you could feel was the adrenaline that was being fueled by your anger, and all you could see was the shock that hadn’t left Max’s face since you’d first spoken. 

“Who told you that?” Max questioned, and the fact that he wasn’t denying it made you even more upset and you huffed, turning around on one heel and heading towards—fuck, you had absolutely nowhere to go.

“Does it matter?” You answered, turning back around and accepting the fact that the only way you were going to get to be alone was if Max went back to his cabin and left you here and, knowing him, that wasn’t likely to happen. “You lied, Max. And I’m pissed about it. That’s the only thing that you should care about.”

You still hadn’t turned around to face him, so he made his way in front of you instead, placing tentative hands on both of your arms and levelling his face with yours. 

“Sweetheart, please look at me.” Fuck; you were weak anytime that Max called you sweetheart and you knew that he knew it, too. Hating yourself just a little bit more for it, you looked up at him, unaware of how your big, sad eyes caused every cell in his body to melt. 

“Why did you lie to me?” The question slipped through your lips without your consent and Max sighed, releasing your arms and pressing a hand into your hip so that you couldn’t get away again. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Max answered simply and you reared back, out of his touch, away from his hold, as you scoffed in response.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shrieked, pulling farther away from him and pushing your hands out in front of you to stop him when he tried to reach out for you again. “What the fuck—how the fuck would that have hurt me, Max?”

Max winced, running a nervous hand through his hair, and inspected his surroundings, as if he wished somebody else would come out any minute now. 

“Y/n, you are my best friend,” Max pleaded, and you could see the desperation in his eyes but you had no idea why he was so upset. “You know me better than anybody else in this entire world, honey, please—can you give me the benefit of the doubt on this one? Can you let me tell you when I’m ready?”

“No, Max, obviously I cannot do that because obviously it has something to do with me!” You retorted sharply, angry tears burning hot at the corners of your eyes, hotter than normal, devastated tears. “Like—what is going on, Max? I hae this feeling that everybody’s in on this secret, everybody but me—and I should know it, I should know what’s going on with you—”

“Y/n, sweetheart!” Max interrupted again, and this time, he successfully gathered your hands into his. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I lied—really I am, but—why is it so important to you?” You glared back at him, pulling your hands out of his grasp and beginning to walk away from him. “Why is it such a big deal that I didn’t tell you the whole truth?”

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” You screamed back at him, your body turning back around on its own accord as the screech left your mouth. You both heard the words echo against a canyon somewhere, and you blanched, unaware of what you’d actually said and the weight of them until they hit you in the chest on the reverb.

Max’s mouth had dropped open and he stepped away from you in shock, his hands coming up to frame his cheeks, never making actual physical contact with his face. He stared back at you, his eyes wide and full of wonder, as if he were seeing you for the first time, all over again. 

“You’re—” Max gulped, but he took a step closer to you, a smile adorning his freckled cheeks. “You’re in love with me? Really?”

Your heart sunk again when he spoke and you shook your head, backing away from him and pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose as you suddenly felt an oncoming migraine. 

“I’m sorry Max,” you apologized, feeling a bout of nausea spring up in your stomach as you realized that you’d just past the point of no return. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I should have never even said anything—I should have let it go—”

“I broke up with Laura because I’m in love with you.”

The words came out quickly, like Max was afraid that if he hadn’t said them as quickly as he did that he wouldn’t say them at all. You reaction was surprisingly slow compared to everything else you’d done in haste tonight, and you dropped your hands from your face and gazed up at the man in front of you, who was staring back at you with awe. 

“W—what?”

“I love you,” Max repeated, taking another step towards you with his light, airy chuckle that you loved so damn much. “And I didn’t tell you that night I broke up with Laura because I thought that you’d think I was lying, or that you were a rebound, and you’re not, Y/n. You’re absolutely not—I’ve loved you for a long enough time that I’m a total asshole for letting it go on with Laura for as long as I did.”

“Then why—why did you—”

“I lied because I didn’t want you to think that any of this was your fault,” Max continued, and he was so close now that his arms were winding around your waist and his forehead was pressed to yours. “I just—I knew, the second I saw you again in that coffee shop, that it was fate. And I lied to myself, hoping that my relationship would just fizzle out on its own and that I wouldn’t have to hurt anyone but—fuck, I would break Laura’s heart a thousand times over if it meant that I might get to be with you in the end,” Max finished, and you were stunned silent, unaware of how to speak anymore. 

“Do I—” Max took a sharp inhale of breath and a step back to assess your face. “Do I get you in the end?”

You smiled back at him before pressing your lips so tightly to his, wrapping your body so hard around his own, that the two of you could barely breathe in anything that wasn’t lingering on each other’s bodies. 

“You had me,” you answered in between breathless kisses, in between promises, in between hopeful smiles. “You had me at the beginning.”

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