#i can let it out but not be “productive” or i can “fix it” but not dwell on it much

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[farfromstrange]

One Soul | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: Matt gets hurt, badly, so you have to do the one thing you promised him you wouldn't: take him to a hospital.

Warnings: Angst, life-threatening injury, blood, temporary Major Character Death (he comes back, don't worry), mentions of CPR, religious imagery, conflicted relationship with religion, Reader is described as an atheist but Mad At God, prayer, hurt/comfort

A/n: This is a little angst piece I came up with yesterday. For me, personally, my atheism isn't always black and white. I know I don't believe in God, but I have found myself cursing him in the past because it was easier than cursing something I did not understand (like the death of a loved one). And I just know that being with Matt, chances are he will get himself hurt badly enough one day to the point he has to be brought to the hospital.

Read Me On AO3!

The heart monitor beside the bed signals at a steady eighty beats per minute. You follow the many lines of tubing from the machines to his frail body, your eyes lingering on the purple bruises adorning his pale skin—deadly pale, it is. 

His cheeks, once so full of life, are hollow now. His eyes are swollen, his pretty lips cut, and there is blood stuck to his hair, still, soaking through the bandage they applied. You’ve never seen him so broken, so utterly weak and fragile that you wouldn’t dare touch him. The tears refuse to stop falling. 

Years ago, you made a promise. You promised never to take him to a hospital, to protect his identity and him. Hell, he survived the collapse of Midland Circle, albeit with a scattered mind. He had broken bones and a broken spirit, locked away at Clinton Church for weeks, and still, he survived.

Tonight though, for the first time, you felt his heart stop. It wasn’t one of those ghastly nightmares that have been plaguing you ever since you locked Fisk away and he finally came back to you. It wasn’t a product of your imagination; you felt his heart stop. Hands covered in blood, you watched as the life drained from his eyes and he breathed out without breathing in again. 

You swear you can still feel his ribs breaking underneath your fingertips. “Don’t do this to me,” you cried. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Matthew! I can’t lose you. Please, come back. Come back!”

And you prayed to a God you don’t believe in not to take him from you. You begged for a chance to hear his heartbeat again, just one last time even if it kills you. 

You looked to the sky and swore you’d make a deal with the devil if you had to. You’d do anything for this man; this reckless, stupid force of a man you are so in love with that it hurts sometimes. You would’ve let God crucify you for the whole world to see just to get a chance to look at your beloved Matthew one last time, to know he’s alive. And perhaps God did answer your prayers, or maybe the CPR you’d never done before did its trick for he suddenly took a breath, and his heart started beating again.

You cried over his body like Mary over Jesus. You shielded him as if that would heal him, and he clung to you when he realized what had happened. He coughed, and he was bleeding, and you were paralyzed with the fear of losing him again.

What else were you to do but take him to a place where he could be fixed? If you hadn’t brought him here, he would have died. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn't selfish. Yet, the fire within you keeps burning, and your soul keeps hurting as you watch him like a hawk, wondering what he’ll think of you once he wakes up—if he wakes up. 

“I know I’m not… religious,” you murmur, eyes directed at the ceiling now. “I’m not a good Catholic, far from it. I’ve done things… well, you know. And I don’t pray. Matt prays. I don’t,” you say. “I just wanna understand why.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek. The coil in your throat is tight enough to strangle the air from your lungs. One of the shards of your broken heart is stuck, and now you’re bleeding. Your soul is laid bare for everyone to see. 

It’s pathetic, you think, for an atheist to pray. Because you don’t believe, you never have. Matt believes. He has faith. You’re just… angry? Yes, you are furious, and even more now than ever you feel like it’s all a lie. Where’s the hope? Where’s the faith now?

“Why do you keep letting bad things happen to him?” you ask, your voice breaking. “All he’s ever done is try to please you because he thinks you gave him some kind of purpose. That accident… he thinks it happened for a reason. Going blind, losing every one. After all the hardships and the trouble he got himself into, he thinks he’s some kind of soldier. Even when he was at his lowest and stopped believing, he eventually came back to you. Like a dog on a leash.” 

If Matt heard you, he’d be deeply offended. Religion is so important to him, but tonight, he almost died. He almost died before, but it never felt as real as it did tonight, and the thought haunts you like a restless ghost. 

“I want to be supportive, I do. I mean, everyone’s beliefs are valid, in a way, but it almost killed him tonight. If you’re up there—if you’re truly listening—how can you just let that happen to someone you claim to love, God? I don’t–” You shake your head. “I just don’t understand.”

The heart monitor keeps beeping. The lights keep flickering. His chest keeps rising. No answer. The disappointment cuts you deep. Is there perhaps a part of you that does want to believe? Or are you just looking for someone, something, to blame? Instead of the men who did this to him, instead of the men who quite literally took him apart, you’re turning to the one thing you can’t touch. But you know it’s not what Matt would want. He’d want you to have hope.

How does one go about that when everything seems to be going wrong? When your very heart is lying in a hospital bed? How does even an atheist not curse God out of pure and utter desperation? 

Matt lets out a soft groan, and your eyes flick to him. Your heartbeat accelerates at the same time as his. 

“Matt?” you ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

He stirs. Every muscle and bone in his body is filled with a dull ache. First dull, then sharp. The stitches in his abdomen pull at the tender flesh with every breath that fills his lungs, the oxygen so rich and concentrated it almost sets him alight. The plastic tubes weigh heavy on his nostrils. 

His eyes pulsate, and there is this obnoxiously loud beeping in his ear. It’s screaming, almost. Beep, beep, beep. Faster and faster, and faster. But his eyelids are so heavy he can’t open them. There’s nothing but fire, and for a moment he forgets that he hasn’t been able to see for decades. 

In his head, he’s eight years old again, his head wrapped with a bandage that itches his skin so terribly, and the world around him screaming. It’s the same room, it seems, cold and dark and terrifying. 

Matt reaches for his eyes, fingers brushing against the bruises that resemble the shape of a fist—no light. He can taste copper on his tongue. The beeping gets louder and his ears are ringing, and why is the blanket made of sandpaper? He wants to tear the skin off his weary bones.

“I can’t–” he breaks off at the foreign sound of his voice. Another trace of his fingertips against the bruised skin. “I can’t see,” he chokes out.

“Matt!” you say a little louder, your hand finally touching his, and it’s as if the bubble he’s in bursts. 

He recognizes your voice. He remembers he’s blind. He remembers going out last night and kissing you goodbye. He was in good spirits then. But something went wrong. Somehow, his opponent had weaponry that could easily break through the protective material of his suit. He stood no chance against the number of men coming at him. They sliced and they hit, and he thought he saw God, but it was just the swinging ceiling light inside the abandoned factory building. It smelled of mold and water. 

He fought until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Until the opportunity to flee presented itself, and so Matt crawled home to you. With every last ounce of strength, he honored his promise to always come back home to you. 

He doesn’t remember much more, only falling down the stairs to the rooftop access to the living room. The crash. Your gasp. Your heartbeat. And then, nothing. Nothing but the comfort of darkness. 

“Hey,” you smile through your tears, “It’s me. You’re okay.”

He whispers your name, and you squeeze his hand.

“I’m here. Try not to move,” you tell him. “You’re at Metro General.”

The word makes his breath stutter. “The hospital?” he inquires.

“Yes. You were hurt… badly. They had to take out your spleen. Fifty-something stitches. Some brain swelling. I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

“I told you,” he grunts, “no hospitals.”

Matt Murdock is not an ungrateful man. However, his words cut deep. You can’t take much more.

“You promised, no–”

“You died!” you cry out. The echo bounces off the walls and resonates in his ears like the sound of a bomb going off. 

“You died in my arms and I had to–” You look at your hands, stained with blood, “I had to break your ribs to bring you back. Your bones… breaking,” you cry. “You died and I thought I was gonna lose you, for good. You can blame me for breaking a stupid promise, but if I hadn’t, I’d be preparing a funeral now!” 

His head tilts in his direction—you’re serious—and his defenses fall like an iron curtain, shattering like glass. The sound of your voice in such a state of disarray, death by a thousand cuts. 

He almost died. Or, he did die, and you brought him back, but the things you had to do for that… you brought him back, but it hurt you. He hurt you. He swore he would never do so again, only over his dead body, yet it was his dead body that almost broke you. 

Matt never wanted any of this to happen. The love of his life, traumatized. What kind of man does that? Surely the kind of man that no one but the one person he never deserved mourns when he’s gone. 

The silence drags on, suffocating you. “Do you get that?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Do you get that I’d die without you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispers. “I don’t remember…”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve never been this hurt.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I would’ve traded your life for mine if I could’ve. I tried, Matt, I did. I prayed to God and told him to take me instead while I was trying to get your heart beating again. And I blamed Him for doing this to you ‘cause I didn’t know who else to blame.” 

His fingers brush against the back of your hand. A nurse kindly lent you clothes from the lost-and-found, but you can still feel the sticky substance on your skin, crawling like a parasite.

You shudder. “If you hadn’t woken up, I–“ 

“C’mere,” he says. 

Beep, beep, beep, goes the heart monitor, and sirens wail outside his window. 

“I can’t,” you whisper back.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sweetheart, you could cut out my heart and I’d still want you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach. You feel so sick, so detached from everything and everyone, but the piece of you that you almost lost is right there, and he’s alive.

He’s alive. 

You have to keep reminding yourself of the fact. His heart is beating. His lungs are filled with air. Those last few hours might have felt like a proper nightmare, but you made it through. He made it through. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I… I need you.”

It’s different now. He’s not asking to hold you for your comfort but his own, and without another second thought, you climb into the tiny hospital bed with him. 

Matt seeks out the comfort of your chest, but he’s aimless in his agony. You gently guide his head to your heart. Touching him, feeling him so close to you, melts away the last of your fears.

“You scared me,” you confess.

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… promise you’ll live for me.”

The silence wraps a noose around your neck. But then, “You own my heart,” he says. 

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll live for you.”

Those four words mean more to you than a promise to die for you if push comes to shove. Because what are you supposed to do without him? You’d rather he try everything in his power to live for you than leave you. 

“If you live for me, too,” he whispers then, and a tear runs from his cheek down your chest. You can’t survive without him, that much is certain. That may sound like a state of unhealthy codependency, but when two people share the same soul, every breath one breathes sustains the other. There’s nothing you can do about that, nor would you ever want to.

“Without you, I’d–” he cuts himself off. 

Without you, he’d be lost. Without you, even in death, he would not be able to find peace. 

“I promise,” you manage to say, although the words come with a fresh flood of salty tears that mix with the ocean of his. 

He relaxes into you. “Thank you.”

As he falls asleep in your arms that night, you find yourself staring up at the ceiling again.

“Don’t fail him,” you whisper. To God, to the universe, to the moon and Saturn, and to yourself. 

matt murdock angst tag list: @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @mochie-is-a-librarian @buckyssugarchick

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Island of the Procrastinating Brain

I swear, my brain is actively trying to drive me insane.

Back in 2022 it came up with a plot for @alex51324 's "Island of the Gays" where the Duke of Crowborough comes to the Island because, well, by this point the man's less of a human being than he is a walking bundle of neurosis. I got through a couple of scenes before my brain got tired and stalled out, but I still have a good frame work. Every once in awhile, I come back and poke at it and get out a few more sentences. Maybe even a paragraph or two.

Yeah, have I mentioned I'm not a fast writer?

And Phillip does NOT want to deal with his issues and Thomas does NOT want to deal with Phillip, which, okay, FAIR, but that's kinda the point of the whole thing. But in the meantime my brain still wants to write Phillip on the Island, so what's it done?

Come up with a sequel, naturally!

And it really, really wants to write this sequel despite the fact I can't do it properly until I've written the first piece, which neither my brain or my characters seems interested in, because they are all PUNKS, but my brain will NOT stop thinking about this hypothetical sequel which, at this point, will never be written.

So I'm just going to write out the summary for the thing here, in case anyone's curious and wants a laugh, because I can and maybe it'll galvanize the lump of grey cells in my skull to be productive. Maybe. Not holding my breath.

Things you need to know before going into this:

Random.org has decided that Thomas is married to Peter Fitzroy for this one, which is kinda important for Thomas's characterization.

Phillip only kinda counts as human at this point, but he's actively trying to fix that. The results are mixed.

It was inspired by a couple of polls I ran when I was trying to figure out where I was taking the first piece (hey! I have the last scene written!) and the suggestions that Phillip might like working in some sort of architectural field (believe that was from @o-rchidae) and that he wind up married with an older working class bloke who would not take his shit.

Right then. Let's go.

-

Okay, so, this takes place a couple of years after the Walking Disaster of Crowborough arrived. At one point he was tapped to help with building or repairs or some such and he realized he liked it, so he's taken to studying books on building and architecture and has joined up with the local work crew. The problem is, he's basically teaching himself out of books and then applying it to real life, so he keeps getting ideas about "Say, why don't we do this thing THIS way?" and while it'll seem like a reasonable idea, there is, in fact, a very good reason NOT to do it that way, but because a) he's a Duke and b) a bunch of people hate him, on general principle if nothing else, everyone just goes "Oh, okay, sure" and the do it that way and…it fails. And the people who hate him laugh and it's obvious that EVERYONE knew it was a bad idea and he gets frustrated, but he wont' say it, because a) Duke and b) boys don't cry.

And this goes on for awhile.

After a bit, though, a new guy shows up who has lots of experience building things. It was kinda his job before he got here. He is educated in the ways of Building Things and knows what's up. He's also at least ten years Phillip's senior and has limited patience for upper class twits, so when he joins the crew and is informed there's this know-it-all-Duke who's always demanding they do things his way (by which we mean 'making suggestions that everyone just goes along with'), even though it's stupid and wastes time and resources, this guy goes "Pff, not on MY watch!"

And sure enough, the next time Phillip makes one of his suggestions, instead of "Yeah, sure, okay" he gets "We're not doing that." Why? "'Cause it's a stupid idea that won't work." WHY? "Because (insert full explanation of why the thing wouldn't work)." And Phillip stops asking and the rest of the crew cheers and laughs at how the old guy sure showed him and they anticipate an end to the questions.

THIS TOTALLY BACKFIRES.

Instead Phillip, who had actually been kinda slowing down on the suggestions over time, is making ALL of the suggestions, ALL of the times, and arguing every last aspect of the suggestion with Old Timer before giving up. The crew can't put up a fence without an argument. Old Timer starts calling Phillip 'Phil'. Rather than tell him to stop, Phillip just starts calling Old Timer by a similar nickname, which Old Timer ignores, because not giving in to his own trick, oh no. There's talk of starting a police department in case they murder each other.

After this has gone on for awhile there is a Big Dramatic Plot Twist and the Old Timer goes out into the woods for something and…doesn't come back in a timely manner. He stays gone long enough for people to get worried and mount a search. To everyone's shock, Phillip wants to come. He's quite insistent on the point. They finally agree to put him in Thomas's party because he and Thomas "get along now" (read: Thomas has spent enough time with Peter talking him down that he can tolerate Phillip's presence under the right circumstances as long as he doesn't say anything). The parties go out and before long, Thomas and Phillip's party has the good luck to find Old Timer. He's accidentally been injured badly enough he can't walk and crawling through the woods is not easy going. The manner of this accident wasn't a super obvious bad idea, but that could maybe have been avoided with a bit more thought, perhaps, with luck. Most of the party just nods and goes "Yeah, sounds about right, could have happened to anyone."

…Phillip flips straight out and starts screaming at Old Timer for being an idiot who could have got himself killed. And then storms off a ways into the woods, back toward the village, leaving everyone else wondering a) the best way to get the injured man back home and b) what the heck just happened with the prissy little Duke. Thomas gets deputized to go find out what Phillip's problem is. There is protesting involved, but he finally gives in because he'd like to be home by dinner, thank you very much.

Phillip has, by this point, stopped to have a smoke, which both gives Thomas an opportunity to catch up and, thankfully, a scent to find him by. Thomas asks him why on earth he's so upset that Old Timer is hurt since the two of them hate each other and everyone figured Phillip would LOVE it if the other man died…

And that's when he finds out that everyone's had that relationship all backwards. Phillip doesn't hate the Old Timer, oh no! He loves being called 'Phil'. He absolutely adores the fact that when he asks "Why don't we do this?", rather than just go "Yeah, okay" and waste time and resources doing something HE KNOWS WON'T WORK, the Old Timer says 'no' and, over the course of the argument, actually EXPLAINS why not, which means Phillip ACTUALLY LEARNS THINGS. The more he argues, the better he becomes at building things and he doesn't have to try and decipher what some book is telling him or guess what the book might be leaving out and he LOVES IT and if the Old Timer had died, how would he learn things then? When Thomas points out that he'd learn just as much - maybe more - if he just asked the Old Timer to teach him things rather than argue, Phillip low key panics because what if he figures out Phillip WANTS to learn and stops talking to him or refuses because he doesn't like him at all?

By this point Thomas is a) trying to remember if he was ever THIS paranoid, and praying he wasn't and b) wondering what on earth to do with a Duke who is clearly in love with a crusty old working class codger, but hasn't figured it out yet.

He decides to tell Rouse and make it HIS mess to deal with.

Phillip and the Old Timer eventually get married and get a cottage of their own and Phillip about dies happy at the idea of a home that he actually owns instead of something that he's the custodian of for the next generation who will be the custodians for the generation after that and so on.

[quilly72]

GtsGro Products helpline this is Jacob how may I help you today. "

Jacob swiveled his chair over to his monitor as his headset hooked him up to a face to face call. He positioned himself squarely in frame as he accepted the request. He watched his screen intently as he waited for their screen to hook up.

With a small chirp the camera connected and Jacob watched as a college aged girl popped up the webcam aiming down on her. Her cardigan popped open as a white bra poked out. The girl stared up impatiently at the screen waiting for the conversation to start.

"what's your name" he asked to get the ball rolling'

The girl stammered as she winced and readjusted her bra.

"k. Kate it's Kate"

"nice to meet you how can I be of service today"

She paused for a second as she took a deep breath obviously annoyed with the situation. "I need you to fix this stupid growth I'm getting unexpected growth and I need it to be reversed before my date tonight."

"all right just let me write that down real quick" he started typing her symptoms into the notes section trying to get to the root of the problem."and what products have you been using"

She winced again. " The body amplification pills. You know the ones that are supposed to be a short mild burst."

You nodded as you watched her groan. "Okay just sit tight for me imma figure out what's going wrong and then we'll get you a solution. So are you unhappy with the product or are you..."

He was cut off as she shrieked.

She folded down out of frame before popping back up. "Your stupid pills are making me way bigger. I just wanted slightly bigger boobs for a couple hours instead I barely fit into the bra I got and last I checked I was 3 inches taller. None of my pants fit me. "

Jacob rifles through his notebooks. "Okay according to my notes here. The body amplifier pills are incapable of height growth. I think you have the wrong pills or maybe took too many"

"NOOO you don't understand. I only took one and I'm getting bigger "

Jacob rolled his eyes as he started to run out of patience none of the customers ever read the instructions and he was getting tired of it

Just then Kate grabbed at her overstuffed cardigan and pulled it apart. The buttons barely holding on as she let the cover fly off her shoulders resting on the chair behind her. "LOOK AT ME"

She heaved her chest forward. Now Jacob tried to remain professional but she did have quite the chest and she wasn't exactly not flaunting it for him to see.

"mm ahem" he snapped his focus back to her as he coughed "Now would you like to have some reversal pills shipped to your house. We can get them within 24 hrs but more than likely the temporary effects will wear off by then.

"YES YES I WANT THE PILLS SOMETHINGS OFF I CAN JUST.. FE.. FEELIT... SOMETHINGS HAPPENING!"

Jacob snapped all his attention to the screen as she sat up straight. "Oh shit" she muttered as she fell back against the chair. She began moaning and dahling as she wiped her face. Her body perspiration beyond normal means. Jacob watched as she shook and sputtered then right before him she grew.. much larger. Her breasts heaved forward. The cups barely managing to hold her in as she spilled over the edges. Her straps dug into her shoulders as she started to turn red. Her pants button flew up and into screen as he heard what sounded like denim tearing. Her cardigan fell to the ground as her hair grew longer down her body.

She finally came down from her high as she took in deep breaths between choking and muffled cries. "Did you see that I'm..." She sat back up to her full height as Jacob watched. She had obviously grown a lot bigger than she had expected based off the look on her face. Her arms darted around sizing herself up as she gasped.

"WHAT WHATS HAPPENING."

"my ass tore my pants there's a gaping hole".

Jacob rolled his eyes again as he started to slyly contact an emergency team filing the report. "Okay well if your on the pills you say you are then we will send the reversal pills over. Obviously your having some sort of adverse reaction but it should be manageable" he lied through gritted teeth.

He had never seen this severe of a reaction to their lowest grade growth pill she was either lying or ODing but he had never seen anything like this. Jacob motioned for his boss who began sauntering over.

He watched as Kate readjusted her webcam so it wasn't staring directly at her tits to Jacobs dismay.

He muted as she bent over. "What's wrong"

"I got a lady growing way bigger than usual on our temporary body amplifier pills I've never seen this before what do I do."

His boss pondered for a second. "Get an emergency team file request up and running but don't send it till your sure she will be a threat she should be fine." Jacob nodded as he turned back over to his screen.

She was wincing and panting again as she tried to get his attention. He unmuted as he popped his volume back up. "I'm back sorry for the.."

He pulled the headphones away as she shrieked into the mic. She was shaking and moaning again as he popped the headphones back on. "HEEELP MEEE"

He heard the sounds of denim rapidly tearing and shearing off as he heard her chair groan and creak from under her. Her head Rose our of frame. She panted and gasped for breath as her bra popped off. She reached a hand to cover herself as her arm braced against her growing cleavage.

She came to a slow stop asshw took in deep slow breaths before reajustingrhe cam and

Shooting a scared look into it. "PLEASE TELL ME YOU SAW THAT"

"yes I saw that the pills are on their way they have been fasttracked. Expect them within the next two hours."

"now tell me are you sure you took the correct dosage because as we both can see. Your half naked and obviously way too big for oursmall supplements."

Kate groaned. "I told you a million times I'm not lying I don't know what's happening. I only got one pill and I followed your instruction pamphlet to the letter.

Jacob was surprised she even knew that the pills came with instructions. "Alright then I've been assigned to monitor you till the pills come so make yourself comfortable."

Kate nodded as she winced again.

"something wrong"

"no no it's just Everytime it's starts I feel a twinge shoot across my back but I think I'm fine I still have a couple minutes before another spurt "

Kate leaned back and winced again as she grimaced.

"Kate.. KATE what's happening.

All he heard was moaning and hrolunting as she started shaking and trembling again. She heaved upwards. Her boobs pushing her arm out as they shot forward. She scrambled to cover herself as her panties shot off of her. The chair under her finally caved as she fell to the floor. Jacob watched as she fell out of the screen with a scream.

Kate rose back into frame shakily as she stood up. He watched as her chest then stomach then naval pushed past the table. Her thighs rising and settling into frame. She reached for the camera as she leaned it upwards. Jacob stared at her face as she craned over her cleavage which she still smooshed with her arm as she forced it into her chest.

"I'm too big you need to do something now I'm not stopping."

Jacob started filling out the file as he sent an emergency team the go ahead button. The faint siren picking up from the floors below as a team raced to the nearest truck. "Kate a team is on its way calm down well figure this out"

Kate nodded as she took a shaky breath . She grimaced before shutting her eyes shut tight." She whimpered as Jacob watched her shoot upwards " help meEeeEee.

Her head shot up hitting the ceiling as she fell backwards. Her bed cracking under her as she in cked the monitor to the ground. The table flipping over Asher legs kicked it up. "Shit fuck stupid legs where's the camera." She reached a hand outas she reached her webcam. Her face took up 80 percent of the screen as she winced again. "Help it's not stopping... It's speeding up"

She shot up again her head nearly back up to the ceiling.

"kafe listen to me calm down it speed up the more you freak out I need you to take calm deep breaths."

Kate shrieked as she shot up again. Her head hitting the ceiling as she fell to all 4s.jacob could hear the sirens through her mic in the distance. "There almost there just focus on breathing slowly."

Kate hyperventilated as she shot her eyes around. Searching for a solution. "Too big help me I can't keep growing I just wanted to look good for my datewhy is this happening"

She shot up again. Her cleavage swelling over the camera as the audio muffled. Her back cracked the ceiling as she began shrieking. Jacob tried to talk to Kate but it was useless as he watched her surge again.

A loud shriek pierced his headset as he watched the screen go black. "That's another adverse reaction. They're becoming more common eventually we are gonna get bit in the butt for this " his boss scrambled over.

"just erase any evidence of our involvement. Remember officially we don't exist." Jacob accessed what was left of her network as he began deleting files. He peered over his shoulder as he watched her break the horizon. Her 75 ft tall body shocked with electricity as the team brought her collapsing to the floor. Her body surged one more time crushing a neighbor's house before the team put the neutralizing agent in. Her body slowly returning to normal as they quarantined the area

[queenjunothegreat]

Tumblr fix your shit or I swear to god I'm gonna lose it (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

ANYWAYS!!!!! Here is the link to the long-awaited Hallmark fic! I have been informed that chapter one is sad but I PINKY PROMISE things get better ASAP. Anywho, on with the important shit.

May I present Where the Love Light Gleams Chapter One: When You Pine for the Sunshine of a Friendly Gaze

Jason squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, fine. We’ll handle it. How do you want to do this? Trying to do everything over the phone is going to be a bigger pain than either of us are willing to deal with.” Thalia went quiet for a moment before she very hesitantly said, “What if we… went back?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up, even if he knew Thalia couldn’t see it. “You mean back to California?” “Sure. I mean, I don’t see why not.” Jason sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, Thalia, I don’t think you know what you’re signing yourself up for. Wills and estates are a nightmare to deal with and– “We could spend Christmas together.” Jason’s teeth clicked shut at her interruption. Silence hung heavy between them before he broke it. “I don’t like Christmas.” *-*-* After the sudden death of his mother, Jason agrees to travel across the country to spend Christmas with his estranged sister who hates the holiday as much as he does. Things manage to go worse than he could have ever imagined when he finds himself stranded in Oklahoma in the middle of the night, but maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Jason Grace was having a bad day. He’d woken up with a feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain as anything other than mounting dread for the fast-approaching holidays and a desperate desire to do anything other than walk into the office. Things hadn’t gone much better from there, first with him pouring hot coffee all over his hand instead of in his cup and then nearly missing his train and stepping in a mysterious puddle just inside the subway station. Then, of course, he’d had to smile and grimace through all of his coworkers gushing about their Thanksgiving plans for the next day before they noticed him and awkwardly cleared their throats, asking him if he was planning on spending the day with his father. He hadn’t managed to get much of anything done all day, despite the looming deadlines, but he figured he was still more productive than everyone else in his department. But somehow, all of that still didn’t manage to be the shittiest thing that happened to him that day. No, that illustrious title went to a phone call.

Jason sucked his teeth and gripped his phone a little tighter. “So, she’s really dead?”

Thalia clucked her tongue a couple times like she always did when she was uncomfortable. “Yep. Doctor called and let me know this morning.”

Jason heaved a deep, heavy sigh and buried his face in his free hand. “Alright. I’ll call up Octavian. He deals with estates, and he owes me a favor so–”

“No,” Thalia cut him off sharply. “We can handle it. I don’t want lawyers getting involved. I don’t like lawyers.”

Jason took in a quick huff of air through his nose to calm his temper. “I’m a lawyer,” he reminded her in a slightly clipped tone. Had it been a few years earlier, Thalia would have blustered about how obviously he didn’t count, but now she just remained silent. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, fine. We’ll handle it. How do you want to do this? Trying to do everything over the phone is going to be a bigger pain than either of us are willing to deal with.”

 Thalia went quiet for a moment before she very hesitantly said, “What if we… went back?”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, even if he knew Thalia couldn’t see it. “You mean back to California?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t see why not.”

Jason didn’t bother to tell her exactly why he was so surprised. She didn’t need to know how she’d left a twelve-year-old boy devastated when she’d shouted at their mother that there was nothing in California worth staying for and stormed out the front door for the very last time. It had been fifteen years since that day, but considering he hadn’t been in the same state as his sister in four years, he didn’t really think much had changed. 

Jason sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, Thalia, I don’t think you know what you’re signing yourself up for. Wills and estates are a nightmare to deal with and–

“We could spend Christmas together.”

Jason’s teeth clicked shut at her interruption. Silence hung heavy between them before he broke it. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“That’s because it sucks,” Thalia scoffed. “I can count on one hand the number of not-shitty ones I’ve had, and I don’t remember when the last one was. I think maybe it was the year I turned twenty and we were in Milwaukee for a show.”

Jason remembered his last good Christmas. He was eleven years old and his big sister had given a pair of Superman pajamas that he wore until his mom threw them out years later because she was sick of looking at them in their ratty state. He didn’t tell her that either. “Then why the hell would we do that?”

“I dunno. It’s December,” Thalia said, and Jason could almost see the casual lazy shrug that accompanied the suggestion. “Families celebrate Christmas together.”

“Are we a family?”

The words were out of Jason’s mouth before he could bite his tongue, and he grimaced. “Sorry, I– That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not wrong,” Thalia said quietly. “I don’t know if we even are a family any more, Jason. But we are family, so… maybe we can be a family again?”

Jason frowned down at his desk, brows furrowed deeply. “I– I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t even know if I can get the time off at this short notice.”

“You’re the managing partner’s son,” she pointed out derisively. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve met the guy,” Jason pointed out. “Look, I said I’ll think about it, and that’s the best I can promise you right now. I can’t just drop everything and move across the country for a month. I have a real job.” The last bit was an unnecessary dig, but it felt pretty good, so he didn’t take it back.

Surprisingly, Thalia didn’t rise to the bait. She just sighed, and Jason couldn’t help but notice that she sounded tired. “Okay,” she said eventually. “Okay, just… Just think about it. Let me know one way or another. We’ll figure something out if we can’t do this.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back soon,” Jason promised, his tone equally gentle. 

She hummed softly. “Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I hope you know that.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, unwilling to admit just how much those three words made him want to burst into tears. “Yeah, no, I– I know, Lia. I love you, too.”

“Okay, I’ll, um,” Thalia cut herself off by awkwardly clearing her throat. “I’ll let you get back to your big important lawyer job. Talk to you later. Bye, Jason.”

“Bye, Thalia.”

The line went dead and Jason slumped over on his desk burrowing down into his arms. His mom was dead. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and his mom was dead. He wondered how normal people would feel about that. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be at least a little upset, not feel like an invisible noose had fallen from his neck. It had been months since he’d last talked to her over the phone. It had been years since he’d seen her in person. He remembered trying to surprise her for Mother’s Day the year he’d graduated from law school. He’d shown up on her front door with flowers and a pearl necklace just like the ones in movies she’d always yearned for when he was growing up. She’d answered the door with a scowl on her face, smelling of cigarette smoke and soured whiskey and demanded to know what he wanted from her. Things hadn’t gone much better from there, even when he’d presented his offerings. After that, Jason had moved to New York and never made an effort to go visit her since. Not that she’d exactly made the effort to extend an invitation, either.

He wondered if his father knew she was dead. If he knew, did he care? Doubtful. Thalia had always been more like their father than she wanted to admit. He cut ties and walked out on anyone and anything he deemed less than deserving of his time and attention, just like she did. Which left Jason to be like their mom. Left behind, bitter and hurt and waiting for someone who’d never bother to come back.

He shook his head and stood from his desk. He had briefs that he still needed to write, but he knew he wasn’t going to get any more work done today. He sent a quick message to his department head that he was feeling ill, so he wanted to know if he could head home early. She responded with nothing more than a thumbs up emoji, so he packed his things without a second thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the necessary off time built up to skip out a few hours early. Truth be told, he hadn’t taken a vacation in the four years that he’d been working there, so between that and the two week bereavement leave he was due, he could easily arrange to go to California for a month. He just… didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go back to that awful house. He didn’t want to share awkward meals with Thalia while they discussed divvying up their dead mother’s estate. He didn’t want to sit in front of a half-assed fake tree and exchange gifts with Thalia that neither of them gave a shit about. 

But he’d have to do something. His mother was dead, and he’d need to do something. But that would just have to wait. That would have to wait until Jason ate enough Chinese food to make himself sick, drank an entire bottle of sauvignon blanc, tortured himself with a marathon of his mother’s favorite movies, and had a good, long crying session. My mother is dead, Jason thought to himself once again as he stepped outside into the cold afternoon. 

He marveled at how little that mattered.

*-*-*

Jason was sitting in front of his TV, eating reheated leftovers from the office Thanksgiving party two days earlier as brightly colored floats and balloons rolled across the screen. He hadn’t actually woken up early enough to watch it live, but through the marvels of the modern age, he’d found a channel streaming it all day long. So, naturally, he’d sat himself down to partake in this national tradition that was older than his grandfather. 

He hated the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

But, well, he didn’t exactly have any other plans, and this made him feel a little less like a lonely, half-orphaned sad sack. He figured most people in his position would be connecting with family on a day like this, his father lived in New York City as well, after all. And if there was one thing that was certain, it was that his father would be having the finest Thanksgiving party imaginable. He had a large family, a whole Rolodex of important clients, and an image to maintain, after all. Right about now, his penthouse apartment was probably dressed to the nines with a feast fit for kings weighing down his dining table. His whole family would be there. 

Except Jason. 

The first year Jason had moved to New York and joined his father’s firm, he’d been eager to partake in the festivities. His mom hadn’t really put any kind of effort into holidays after Thalia left home, and he’d been alone for all seven years of college, but this was going to be his big chance. He’d mentioned it to his father after a department meeting, and he’d been told that one of the secretaries would email him the details of the event. The email never came, but Jason had held out hope that maybe it was just a clerical error, and he’d patiently waited for a Christmas invite. Then New Years came and went, and he quit asking. Despite what some people thought, he could take a hint.

Jason shoved another forkful of food into his mouth and grimaced. He hated turkey, and the half-congealed gravy wasn’t helping much. He wondered what his coworkers were doing at that moment. Most of them were probably with their families, though he’d overheard a few of them discussing arrangements for a friendly get-together for those who didn’t have families in town. Jason hadn’t been invited to that, either, because, well, he had family in town, didn’t he? They didn’t need to invite him to Friends-giving.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he was lonely. He didn’t have friends, not really. There were a few people at work who offered him smiles and friendly conversation, and a few people from school who occasionally sent him a message, but nothing else. He didn’t go out, he didn’t take classes. He just came home every day after work and worked until his eyes ached for sleep, went to bed, then woke up and did the same thing the next day. 

As he slouched there in his recliner, dwelling on all the ways his life sucked, the camera panned over to some celebrity he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, standing on the back of a float designed to look like a gingerbread village. She gave the camera a blinding smile while all the various gingerbread people around her waved. Then, the float rolled to a stop and she stepped forward to the microphone. There was the sound of bells and humming before she opened her mouth and began to sing.

I'll be home for Christmas 

You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe 

And presents by the tree

Jason stared at the TV with something that bordered a little closer to offense than he would have liked to admit. His mind skipped down a handful of streets to that glittering penthouse he wasn’t invited to, and his phone was in his hand and pressed to his ear before he really knew what he was doing. It rang a few times before finally picking up. 

“Jason?”

“Hey, Thalia. Yeah, it's me,” he said. He couldn't blame her for being confused. The two of them didn't exactly make a habit of calling one another on holidays. He heard a bunch of background clatter, and his brows knit. “Are you… at a party?”

“No,” Thalia said, a little too quickly. “Well, I mean, not really. Some of the Hunters and I met up at Phoebe's place. That's all.”

“Oh.” Jason sucked his teeth and added another person to his list of people having a better day than him. He dismissed the thought and pressed on. “Hey, were you serious about going out to California?”

“Yes!” Thalia almost shouted the word down the line, then she cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed at her eagerness. “I mean, uh, yeah. I was serious. Do you want to?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged. “Like you said, getting the time off won't actually be all that hard. How soon can you get there? It's gonna take a while for us to get everything taken care of.”

“Um, how about the sixth? We're doing a show out in Denver on the second, and then we're off until after New Years. Does that work?”

Jason ran through the basic plan he'd outlined in his head. If he knew his mom, she likely didn’t have a will or anything drawn up. That could potentially make things messier, but he doubted he or Thalia would be all that interested in disputing any rulings the court made. He shrugged. “Yeah, that should be fine. Hopefully.”

“Yeah. I, um, yeah.” Jason could hear the big beaming smile Thalia wore when she said her next words. “Thanks, Jason. This really– It means a lot, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason said with a gentle smile. “I love you, Lia.”

“I love you, too, Jay. And, um, happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. See you on the sixth.”

“See you.”

Jason hung up the phone and let out a soft sigh, eyes sparkling. He was going to go home. He was going to see his sister for the first time in years. He was going to celebrate Christmas with his family.

*-*-*

Then he froze, and his face paled in horror. He was going to have to go home. He was going to have to see his sister for the first time in years. He was going to have to celebrate Christmas with his family.

He glowered at the TV and the celebrity lady who was once again smiling and waving at the camera. “This is all your fault.”

Leo Valdez was many, many things. He was a mechanical genius. He was the textbook definition of a plucky orphan. He was an amazing cook. He was the best adopted brother Piper McLean could have ever asked for, and they both knew it. He was smart, he was talented, and above all else, he was incredibly humble.

But at the moment, he was most importantly the only mechanic in Crooked Hollow Bend, Oklahoma, and there wasn’t another one for almost a hundred miles. 

He’d been minding his own business, idly flipping through a car magazine when the shop phone went off, which was odd partially because most everyone in town just waltzed right on in when they wanted their car fixed, but mostly because it was well past half the town’s bedtime. Still, he figured that talking to whoever was on the other end of the line would be more entertaining than his magazine, even if they were just a prank caller or a very confused old lady with a very wrong number.

“Valdez Automotive. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Valdez, it’s me.”

Leo narrowed his eyes, trying to place the voice. “Stoll?”

“Yeah.”

“Connor or Travis?”

“If I say Travis, what will you do?”

“Hang up.”

“Oh, good. Then it’s Connor.”

Leo snorted and rolled his eyes. “Alright then. What do you want?”

“You willing to take a look at a car tonight?”

“Why the hell do you need me to look at a car tonight?” Leo asked, gobsmacked. “Can’t you just wait until tomorrow, dude? It’s, like, ten.”

“It’s not for me. Travis and I were driving home when we saw this dude stuck on the side of the road. He’s fine, but his car’s in rough shape.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. “Who is it?”

“No idea. He said he’s driving from New York to California.”

“Hmm…” Leo glanced over at his empty schedule and shrugged. “Yeah, alright. Tell him to limp it in and I’ll take a look at it. He’ll probably have to wait until tomorrow for it to be fixed, though.”

“Yeah, about that. He’s not limping this thing anywhere. Travis and I are gonna be towing it in with our truck.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Yikes. He’ll definitely have to wait until tomorrow for me to fix it, then. You want me to call Piper? She’s for sure got a room open, but she might have to get it ready.”

It rang a few times before she picked up, her voice thick and gravely with sleep, “You’d better have a damn good reason for calling me at this time of night, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. We’ll get this guy’s car hitched up and drag it in. See you in thirty.”

”See you.” With that, Connor hung up, and Leo called Piper. 

“Hello to you, too,” Leo scoffed. “And I do have a good reason, thank you very much.”

“Leo, I’ve told you before, finding a chip shaped like a video game character isn’t half as cool as you think it is, and nobody is gonna buy it on Ebay.”

“First of all, fuck you, I could have made bank on that Sonic chip if you hadn’t eaten it,” Leo huffed. “Second of all, I was just calling to let you know that you’re going to be having a guest soon, so you might want to get ready.”

Leo heard Piper shifting around, likely sitting up in bed, finally paying proper attention to him. “What? A guest? Really?”

“Yeah. Connor just called me and said he’s on the way in with some guy from New York whose car broke down. He’ll be stuck in town, and he can’t sleep in his car, so he’s gonna need a place to stay tonight.”

Piper made a soft, sympathetic noise. “Poor guy. I wonder if he was on his way to visit family for Christmas.”

Leo hiked an eyebrow, even if she couldn’t see it, and smirked. “Pipes, it’s, like, the second. I think it might be a little early for Christmas traveling. I know you’re a little freak when it comes to the holidays, but not everyone is.”

“Connor didn’t specifically say he was by himself, but he also didn’t mention anyone.”

Piper blew a very loud, wet-sounding raspberry down the line. “Whatever. I’ll see about getting a room ready. Do you know if he’s traveling alone?”

“Mkay. I’ll get something set up for him. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?”

“Duh. I’m pretty sure you’d skin me if I bailed on you.”

“I for sure would,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “Anyway, gotta go. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Leo hung up the phone and got to his feet, making sure to stretch all of the stiffness out of his arms and legs before he made his way through the kitchen and out to the garage. Running a mechanic’s shop out of his house had its fair share of challenges (expanding the dinky little two-car garage and getting it properly tricked out with everything needed to run a proper garage had been a nightmarish eight months) but it meant he got to just hang out in his livingroom in his pajamas when he wasn’t working, so he figured it was worth the hassle. Besides, he never had more than two cars in the shop at a time, so it’s not like he was exactly pressed for space. He quickly got changed into his coveralls, and started moving stuff out of the way so he could properly work on whatever it was that the Stolls had dragged in.

Not too long after he was done, there was a short honk from outside, and he opened the garage door to see the Stolls sitting in his driveway, a sparkly dark blue Audi tethered to the back of their pickup truck. Leo tipped his head back and groaned, readying himself for a real pain in the ass. 

Leo bounded over and put his arms through the open passenger window of the truck and put on his most winning smile and best customer service voice. “Alright, dude. Let’s see what we– Wait a minute.” He scowled at the truck occupants. “What did you two do with the guy?”

“He’s in his car,” Connor (Probably) reported. “We offered to let him ride up here with us, but he said he’d rather stay back there.”

Leo frowned before he shrugged and went to the other car. The guy inside was sitting in  the front seat, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Leo couldn’t see his face (or anything but his broad shoulders and fluffy blonde hair) but he’d recognize that defeated slump anywhere, even on a complete stranger. He cleared his throat, and tapped on the window.

Immediately, everything about the mystery man changed. His spine straightened, his shoulders pulled back, and his chin got a confidently charming tilt to it. The whole display reminded Leo of a marionette being jerked to life with the strings of its puppeteer, and he felt a shiver, unrelated to the cold, go racing down his back. The guy quickly got out of his car, straightening his charcoal peacoat as he went, then offered Leo a polite smile and a handshake. “You must be Leo Valdez. The mechanic?”

“Uh, yeah,” Leo said hesitantly, shaking the man’s hand. “That’s me.”

“Jason Grace,” he said, his smile still perfectly poised and uncomfortably approachable. “Sorry about the late call. Thank you so much for taking the time to see me. I can assure you that I will happily compensate you for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s no problem.” Leo felt like he’d been spun around one too many times. There weren’t a lot of people in town who made the effort to talk with that level of detached professionalism, and even fewer who bothered to do it with Leo. He shook his head and gave Jason a blinding smile. “Alright, dude, let’s see what we’re working with.” Jason blinked at him for a moment and Leo just arched his eyebrows. “Do you maybe wanna try starting it?”

Jason jolted like he’d been hit with a taser before his cheeks went pink. “Right. Yeah. I can do that.” He sat back down in the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button. The car revved to life in an instant, then immediately started making the most awful grinding sound Leo had ever heard. Before he could clap his hands over his ears or make any kind of signal to kill the engine, Jason turned the car back off with a wince. “And that’s what made me decide to pull over.”

“Yeah, I can see why you were stuck,” Leo agreed with a nod. “Alright, I’ll see about getting you unhitched while you get your stuff out of the trunk. I’m not gonna be able to fix this until tomorrow, and you’re gonna need a place to stay for the night.

Without waiting for a reply, Leo started unhitching Jason’s car from the truck. When he was done, he trotted back up to the front to hand over the straps they’d tied up Jason’s car with, which Travis (Probably) tossed in the back seat before looking at Leo eyebrow hiked up near his hairline. “You think you can fix it?”

Connor (Probably) snorted and grinned. “Good luck, man.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. Then he winced. “It’s definitely not going to be easy, though. Sounds like a transmission issue. I hate transmissions. And Audis. I don’t know who designed them like that, but they need to be shot. Twice. Or more. I’ll tell you when I finish dealing with the transmission.”

“Thanks. Lemme know if you guys find any more lost travelers, yeah?”

“You got it. See you.”

“See you.” Leo waved at the Stolls as they drove away before he turned back to Jason. He was once again in that same miserable slump he’d been in before, this time leaning against the car. Leo bit his lip and gently said, “Hey, man. You alright?”

“Well, I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours, I’m stranded in an unfamiliar town because my car decided to break down in the middle of nowhere, and my mom’s dead, so I decided to drive across the country to divvy up her estate with my sister who I haven’t seen in years while we both try to pretend that we don’t hate Christmas, but other than that I’m just great,” Jason snapped. Leo sucked his teeth for just a moment before Jason stiffened and turned to Leo with a horrified expression. “I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate.”

Leo gave him a half-hearted smile. “It’s cool, man. It does sound like you need some sleep though.”

“Yes. Please,” Jason agreed, rubbing a hand over his face. “One of the gentlemen from before mentioned something about a hotel?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call the Stolls gentlemen, but they were right about there being a place in town for you to stay,” Leo grinned. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” 

[whereconfusionisarhyme]

i love that there are a couple traits consistent among seemingly all spider-man variants. their wit, they’re dorky-ness, their intelligence. their queerness

but i think my favorite has got to be their artistic creativity. the og peter parker takes photos, miles draws + graffitis, gwen plays the drums, hobie plays guitar, etc.

which only just adds to the un-spider-man-ness of movie!miguel that he, seemingly, doesn’t have any artistic interest or pursuits. his life is so consumed by this need to justify his trauma and make it useful that he doesn’t have anything to healthily express himself and have fun through. he doesn’t have any room left for any personality because he’s too busy being a leader and a weapon.

this also plays into that quick little line from miles in the counselor's office where he mentions not doing much art anymore,,,he's so consumed by this one mission of his (similar to miguel) to figure out how to travel across universes to meet his friends (falsely thinking that will just automatically solve his loneliness) that he's losing that art that makes him happy, purposefully ignoring it because it's not "useful". i think it's also relevant to note that gwen, the character who's defined by her aimlessness, (literally her only goal is survival. like just the bare minimum of "don't be homeless tomorrow", just simple, normal, human self-preservation) opens the movie by going to town on her drum set. on the opposite end of the spectrum miguel and miles are on, she has no goal at all and is fully leaning into her artistic abilities for comfort. ultimately, the difference lies in where these characters are choosing to find comfort. in the pursuit of a singular goal that suppresses emotion in the name of efficiency, or in moment-to-moment explosive self expression that doesn't ultimately make strides towards an end goal?

(honorable mention: hobie and his music. the guitar, ie his art, symbolic of being in touch with your emotions, is something he keeps close with him and uses productively in pursuit of his goals. it's strong, but focused. he's very in control of it. he has figured out how to hit a perfect balance between the two, adding to this big brother/mentor image in relation to gwen and miles.)

[princesscallyie]

It’s seem like I can’t escape the “people don’t want to come to work so now I gotta do their mess” shenanigans…

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[hua-fei-hua]

i'm starting to see why excellent fansubbing is a dying art these days. there are all these cool tools to aid in the creation of top-notch fansubs efficiently and automate the most tedious parts of the job, but the cooler the tool, the greater the computer literacy it requires to get it running, and this scales up in such a way that just installing the tools, let alone learning to utilize them to their fullest potential, can feel very daunting... like it just kind of gives the impression of being made for massive fucking geeks at a time when being a massive fucking geek meant "customizing your own operating system" and not "knowing where the file explorer is"

[indiegame]

i refuse to text out i can't

[rooftops-are-for-towels]

Chronic pain is goated because instead of thinking about the upsetting haunting things I can just lock in and go Ow ow. OW OW oughhhh

[rafecameronssl4t]

Saving Grace || CEO!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: When Rafe Cameron’s infamous temper threatens to derail the entire office, his wife is called in as the only person who can bring him back to earth.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,051

MASTERLIST

Rafe Cameron could be described in many ways: arrogant, sharp-tongued, perpetually stone-faced, and infamously hot-headed. His temper was a ticking time bomb, always moments away from detonation. It didn’t take much to set him off—a missed detail, an oversight, or even the wrong tone of voice—and once his mood soured, it had a ripple effect on everyone within his orbit.

If Rafe was in a foul mood, the entire office braced itself for the storm, knowing they’d bear the brunt of his frustration. Productivity stalled, morale plummeted, and an oppressive tension hung heavy in the air. No one dared to ask if he was okay or offer to fix the issue—it was simply understood that his temper had to run its course.

But there was one person who had mastered the art of disarming the bomb: his assistant, Rachael. If anyone in the office had something to say about Rachael, it was that she knew Rafe Cameron far too well. She had an uncanny ability to read his moods and an arsenal of strategies for defusing them. Most importantly, she understood the one surefire way to calm Rafe down: his wife.

The woman who he worshipped the ground she walked on, mother to his children, and the only person Rafe Cameron seemed to hold above all else. No matter how irritable or unapproachable he became, the mere mention of her name was enough to shift the atmosphere. So when Rachael watched one of her coworkers stumble out of Rafe’s office, barely holding back tears, she knew it was time to intervene.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the nervous glances exchanged between staff members who were all too aware of the storm brewing behind Rafe’s closed door. Without missing a beat, Rachael grabbed her phone, dialling a number she had memorised long ago. As the call connected, her tone softened—a stark contrast to the sharp efficiency she displayed in the office.

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron,” she began, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and familiarity. “I hate to bother you, but it’s one of those days. If you’re free, I think a quick word with Rafe might do the trick.” She paused, listening intently before smiling to herself. Rachael didn’t need to explain much; Mrs. Cameron always seemed to know exactly how to handle her husband.

And while the office might dread Rafe’s infamous outbursts, Rachael found comfort in knowing there was someone who could bring the man back down to earth. She let out a small sigh of relief when she heard your calm, reassuring voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” you said, your tone steady but with a hint of warmth that was reserved for conversations about your husband.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your car keys, slipping on a pair of heels as you prepared to leave. It wasn’t the first time you’d been called in to play peacemaker, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Rafe’s temper was legendary, but you knew how to navigate it better than anyone else. You’d seen him at his worst, the raw edges of his frustration and anger, but you also knew the softer side of him—the part that melted when you walked into a room, the man who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

As you slid into the driver’s seat, your thoughts briefly flickered to your children, safely at home with the nanny. You didn’t want to leave them, but you also understood that Rafe needed you. He might not admit it outright, especially not in front of his staff, but the subtle ways he sought you out after a rough day spoke volumes.

~

As you walked toward your husband’s office, the energy in the space shifted noticeably. Heads turned, relief washing over faces that had been tense just moments before. Hushed whispers followed in your wake, employees murmuring their gratitude for the one person who could tame the storm that was Rafe Cameron. Even without uttering a word, your presence commanded respect—graceful yet undeniably authoritative.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” Rachael said as she stood from her desk, her tone filled with a mixture of hope and exhaustion. “He’s in his office, and he’s miserable in there.” You glanced through the glass wall into Rafe’s office. Rachael hadn’t exaggerated—his frustration was palpable. The furrow of his brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the restless movements of his hands screamed of a man on the verge of losing his patience entirely.

You offered Rachael a small, reassuring smile before making your way to the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. You didn’t bother knocking—Rafe hated formalities when it came to you. The heavy sigh he let out at the sound of the door opening was immediate. His eyes remained locked on the papers scattered across his desk, his tone sharp and cold.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped inside. “Does that include me?” you asked, your voice sweet and smooth, cutting through the tension. Rafe’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. Instantly, his rigid posture softened, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift.

The frustration etched into his features melted away, replaced by a look that could only be described as unguarded affection. Just your presence had the power to undo him. Without a word, Rafe reached behind his desk and flicked a switch, causing the glass walls of his office to turn frosted, granting the two of you privacy. His voice softened, tinged with genuine curiosity and concern.

“What are you doing here, baby?" You walked around his desk, your movements fluid and deliberate, and Rafe turned in his chair to face you fully. Standing in front of him, you saw the shift in his expression—the hard edges of his day crumbling as he looked up at you. And there it was, the look that never failed to steal your breath.

No matter how difficult or frustrating his day had been, Rafe always looked at you like you were his entire world, as though you hung the moon and stars just for him. In his eyes, there was nothing but pure, unfiltered love—a stark contrast to the icy exterior he showed everyone else. You leaned down, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

His shoulders visibly relaxed at the familiar touch, the tension from his day dissolving. “You’re scaring your employees,” you teased softly, your words accompanied by a light chuckle as you straightened up. Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “They’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his tone laced with both irritation and amusement.

“They’re terrified,” you corrected, folding your arms and raising a brow at him. “I saw one of them practically in tears.” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not my fault they can’t handle a little pressure.” You gave him a knowing look, stepping closer and resting your hands on the armrests of his chair, effectively boxing him in. “Rafe, you can be a little… intense,” you said gently, your eyes locking with his. “And by ‘a little,’ I mean a lot.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “You don’t seem scared of me,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “That’s because I know the real you,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “The one who spoils me, reads bedtime stories to the kids, and eats all the burnt pancakes I make without complaining.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “You know I love those burnt pancakes,” he murmured, tugging you closer until you were practically sitting on his lap. “Hmm,” you hummed playfully, trailing your fingers along the lapel of his blazer. “Maybe I should remind your staff that under all that brooding, you’re just a big softie.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, though his smirk betrayed the emptiness of his threat. You laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then maybe try to be a little nicer? For me?” He sighed, feigning reluctance, but the way his hands tightened on your waist betrayed his surrender. “Fine,” he said, his tone mockingly begrudging. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you said with a satisfied smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Now, why don’t you take a break? Let me help you relax before you scare anyone else.” Rafe’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, the love in his eyes shining brighter than ever. “You really are my saving grace,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[caitlinsnicket]

viktor relationship headcanons

warnings: if you squint, you might see something a little intimate, but other than suggestions, there's nothing.

a/n: surprised myself by not only writing this so quickly but also by not including any filth. wow.

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

He lives for shoulder kisses, treating them as a sort of stress reliever.

You visit his lab, bringing him a cup of tea (to make him sleepier and get him to bed quicker), and as you pass by, you lean down to kiss his shoulder.

Even through his shirt, he can feel your warmth, and as you leave, he manages to relax a little more.

Sometimes, before you go, he'll hold your hand and kiss your knuckles, his lips wandering down your wrist and arm until you start pulling him away from the workbench.

On good days—the days when he doesn’t feel as much pain or discomfort just from breathing—he asks for your help removing the harness he wears around his middle section.

He doesn’t actually need the help, but he loves the way your skin feels against his, especially during such an intimate moment, and he savors every second with you.

Putting the harness back on is a hassle, but it’s easier now because you understand.

It’s one thing to force your help on him, and another to ask if he needs it. He appreciates that you ask—and that you back off when he tells you to.

Another bittersweet aspect of your relationship is that he’s always cold. While it’s uncomfortable for him when he’s alone, it’s the best thing in the world when you’re around.

He’ll shiver slightly, and you’ll appear out of nowhere, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and pulling him close, tucking his hands under your thighs and kissing his nose until he’s boiling hot.

You also insist that he drink more warm beverages (except coffee—you banned that from your apartment ages ago), wear thicker clothes, and even use masks in the lab because his colds are always worse than expected.

Viktor insists he’s a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but when you hold his hands in yours and blow on them, he swallows his pride and lets you. Your love comes in waves like these, and he’s learned to catch as much of it as he can.

He doesn’t pay much attention to his appearance. While that unintentionally makes him a hundred times more attractive, it becomes a problem as he grows more important. It’s hard to explain that he can’t show up to an important meeting looking disheveled and that he needs to fix his hair before leaving the house.

So, you sit him down on the little bench you use to get ready yourself, using some of your products to tame his hair, smoothing down stray locks and ensuring he looks polished. The entire time, he fights to stay awake because of your gentle touch, eventually resting his face against your belly and breathing you in.

When you’re done, it’s a bit hard to get him up and out the door, but you manage by peppering kisses on his cheeks and nose. His heart races at your affection, and he promises to return as soon as possible so the two of you can be together again.

At some point, while redecorating the apartment for the millionth time, a picture falls out of one of his books: it’s him as a child, holding up a toy boat with a huge smile on his face. The sight makes you momentarily consider starting a family right then and there, so you call him over to show him.

He stutters, trying to snatch the photo from your hands, but you stop him, giggling at his embarrassed expression.

"You were so cute as a kid! I mean, you still are, but you looked so small! Baby Vik!" you tease, and he buries his face in his hands.

You end up framing the photo and hanging it on the living room wall, right beside one of your own.

But his absolute favorite thing the two of you do together is bathing. He never saw the point of it before—showering was easier and more practical—but now, he needs at least one bath a week just to keep going.

You fill the bathroom with bubbles, scents, and soaps, and he gets to sit back and relax with you in the warm water (which soothes his pain) in a dimly lit room. He loves it: your hands gently touching him, the care you take to ensure he’s comfortable and content in the tub, and even washing his hair for him.

He finds it almost pathetic how completely in love he is with you.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #1 be disciplined

[ the 2025 glow up serie ? Click here !]

Motivation feels amazing, doesn’t it? It’s like a spark—a burst of energy that pushes you forward. But what happens when the spark fades? That’s where discipline steps in. It’s the routine you build, the habits you cultivate, and the consistency you stick to even on days you don’t feel like it.

So, instead of waiting to feel ready, discipline says, ‘Let’s go, regardless.’ It’s the engine that turns dreams into reality.

"Ask urself right now: What’s one thing I can commit to daily in 2025? Write it down. Small steps lead to giant leaps."

1.Building Your Disciplined

How do u stay disciplined? Start with these three small steps:

✒️.Growth is not supposed to feel good. You’re going to hate it. You’ll feel like quitting more times than you can count. That’s normal. Growth is built in the moments where you want to give up but don’t.

1. Create Clear Goals: Be specific. Instead of saying, ‘I’ll study more,’ say, ‘I’ll study history for 30 minutes every evening.’ BUY A SMALL NOTEBOOK AND WRITE ALL UR GOALS WITH SMALLER ONE TO BE MORE PRODUCTIVE

2. Track Progress: Whether it’s journaling or using an app, tracking helps you stay accountable.

3.Master Your Mindset: Stop waiting to "feel motivated." Understand that motivation is fleeting, but discipline is reliable. Every time your brain tells you to quit, remind yourself: your emotions don’t run the show—your goals do.

2.Excuses Are Lies

Excuses are lies you’ve sold yourself to stay comfortable. 'I’m too tired.' Lie. 'I don’t have time.' Lie. 'I’m just not motivated.' Biggest lie of all.

Here’s the truth: You’re scared. Scared of failure, scared of discomfort, scared of how much effort it takes to change. But let me tell you something: Fear is temporary. Regret is forever. Which one do you want to live with?

No more excuses. You don’t need more time. You need more discipline. You don’t need motivation. You need action. Stop talking about what you want and start doing the work to get it. Right now.

3.look at yourself in the mirror

Look yourself in the mirror tonight and ask: Am I proud of the choices I made today? If the answer is no, fix it tomorrow. And if the answer is still no, fix it the next day. Don’t let yourself off the hook.

2025 isn’t your year unless you make it your year. Stop expecting change to happen to you. You are the change. Get out of your head, get off the couch, and get to work. The only thing standing between you and the life you want is your own laziness. Crush it.

4.Action Plan for a Disciplined Life

Stop acting like you’re doing enough when you know you’re not. If you want that dream college, that perfect GPA, or that career you keep fantasizing about, you need to stop wasting time and follow a real plan. Get up the second your alarm goes off—no snooze, no excuses. Tackle the hardest, most uncomfortable task first thing in the morning because procrastination is for quitters. Create a non-negotiable schedule and stick to it like your life depends on it, because it does. Eliminate every distraction: delete the apps, unfollow the nonsense, and stop treating your phone like your best friend. Hold yourself accountable—write down your progress every day. If you didn’t do anything to move forward, face the fact that you’re the problem. Plan your next day before you sleep, so you wake up ready to win, not wander. And for the love of everything you want in life, stop choosing comfort over progress. Your excuses won’t get you that GPA, that acceptance letter, or that dream job—but discipline will.

breaking this into chunks

1. Kill the Snooze Button: Get out of bed the moment your alarm goes off. No "just 5 more minutes." Those 5 minutes are the difference between starting strong and losing the day.

2. Start With the Hard Stuff: Tackle your most challenging task first thing in the day. Procrastination is your enemy—eat the frog and move on.

3. Create a Non-Negotiable Schedule: Block out specific times for studying, working out, or any critical task. Treat these blocks like appointments with your future self—don’t cancel.

4. Cut Out Time-Wasters: Delete apps you waste time on. Unfollow distractions. If you spend hours scrolling or binge-watching, you’re digging your own grave.

5. Build Accountability: Tell someone your goals and have them call you out when you slack. Better yet, make it public—you’ll hate embarrassing yourself in front of others.

6. Track Progress Daily: Write down everything you’ve done that day to move closer to your goals. If you haven’t done anything, face the hard truth: you’re slacking.

7. Plan Tomorrow Tonight: Before you go to bed, write out your next day’s schedule. If you wake up without a plan, you’ve already lost.

8. Say No to Comfort: Skip the cozy excuses. If it’s not pushing you closer to your goals, it’s holding you back.

Discipline is the foundation of every success story. It’s not about luck, talent, or fleeting motivation—it’s about showing up, doing the hard work, and making the right choices every single day. If you want to achieve your dreams, you need to stop waiting for the perfect moment and start building habits that get you closer to your goals. Cut the excuses, own your failures, and take control of your life. The road to greatness isn’t easy, but every sacrifice, every uncomfortable moment, and every disciplined action will take you one step closer to the future you deserve. You either make it happen, or you watch someone else do it. The choice is yours. The clock is not waiting for u !

@bloomzone ✒️

[mywritersmind]

WINNING KISS - LN4

summary : lando isn’t used to being a human mirror, but when a pretty girls tells him to hunch down and let her fix her lipstick in the reflection of his glasses, he’s more than happy to oblige.

listen up : no warnings!!

word count : 750

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can practically feel the music through my veins. The lights of the club are flashing and my friends are laughing and swinging shots back.

I won today. Singapore has been fucking amazing honestly. Besides the whole drowning in sweat thing.

“So…” Max Fewtrell claps a hand on my shoulder, “Taking a girl home tonight, winner?” He teases me as I roll my eyes and sip my drink, “What- You too tired?” he fakes a frown. I didn’t really want to go out tonight but decided it’s sort of a one in a lifetime thing.

“Go find your girlfriend, idiot.” I eye him.

He throws up his arms and laughs, “Gladly!” As he walks away I feel a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I’m surprised who did it had such force for being so small.

A girl stands in front of me, a pencil in hand and for a second I think she’s going to ask for an autograph, “Bend down a bit!” She tugs on my shirt and I do as I'm told because I'm genuinely so confused and the pretty girl means business.

She takes the sunglasses from my head and pushes them over my eyes, looking directly into them and bringing the pencil to her lips.

The ‘pencil’, I now realize, it’s a makeup product and deposits a dark color to her lips as she uses me as her mirror.

As she’s stood in front of me, my eyes can’t help but analyze her. This club is stuffy and smoky but she’s so close I can see everything she has on.

She’s got messy brown hair, silver jewelry, a mini skirt, a fur jacket, and a white corset top. Something about her feels magnetic. She’s stunning.

My eyes go to her lips which she smacks together before pulling out a proper lipstick, as she runs the makeup over her lips I start to smile a bit. She finishes quickly and doesn’t pauses as she starts to place the makeup back in her back.

I slide the glasses down to hang around my neck, I see the recognition appear on her face, “Shit.” She says confidently, “You’re that guy!”

I laugh a bit, standing up straighter and looking down at her, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry! Everyone’s been talking about you today!” My tongue runs over my teeth, smiling a bit, “Thanks for being my mirror. And- congrats, I guess?”

“Thank you. And no problem, I’d never deprive a pretty girl of her lipstick rights.” This makes her laugh and fuck I want to keep her laughing.

She gets a look in her eye, her arms behind her, and her eyes staring up at me, “Well I appreciate it. Like it?” I look at her lips again and I’m beginning to think this is a trick just to make me want to kiss her.

“I do. It suits you.” Her lips pull into a wide smile and she steps a bit closer. “You know- people are talking about me for a reason.” I say, building myself up a bit.

She squints, “Right… A win?” I nod, “You’re celebrating then?”

I nod again, “A bit boring though… if only there was a girl to make my night better.”

She scoffs, “Suppose you want a winning kiss then?” I eye her, sipping my drink once more. My eyes flick to her lips but she doesn’t stop looking at me.

“I mean- your lipstick would look great on me.” I say smugly as she stops herself from smiling, humming and nodding.

“Would it?” She says into my ear, the club getting louder with the music.

“Suppose we’ll have to check and see.” I say in her ear this time and when I pull back, I can tell she’s trying to figure me out.

She hums again, leaning in close and slipping her hand onto my neck. Her cool rings practically sting my hot skin. She turns my head slightly, I feel her stand taller to softly kiss my cheek.

When she pulls away, I’m smirking again, “Let me get your number.” I don’t even ask it as a question.

She pulls the lipliner out of her bag once more, uncapping it with her teeth and taking my arm. She scrolls the numbers slowly against my arm, holding me close.

When she’s done and there’s red numbers up my arm, she closes the product and smiles kindly, saying “Congratulations, winner.” before walking away.