#i just want whatever part of the human brain is supposed to let you love things

[autisticlee]

it always pisses me off when people start ghosting me and completely cut me off and think i'm annoying because I didn't ~get the hint~ all because they're too much of a coward to be straightforward and honest with me!!!!

i'll keep asking about a thing or when we are hanging out or try to converse with them, because their response is always excuses and not straight up "no" so how am I supposed to know?! either short responses of 1-5 words that I can't really respond to or things like "I'm busy this weekend/I'm too tired today/I forgot about it/we can try next time/I'll get back to you and le you know" are apparently all hints and lies to hide the truth. what they really mean when they tell me this is "no, stop asking. stop talking to me. I do not want to hang out with you or talk to you anymore"

why can't you just say that?! it will save you the annoyance of me asking you 20 times because i took your words at face value. your excuses sound temporary and you didn't get back to me so maybe you forgot. there are rare times people say these things and it's the truth or they really did forget!!!! when I say it, it's the truth. I also have a bad memory. you can't just suddenly ghost me for that! it's on you if you aren't being honest with me. it's up to you to be straightforward and tell the truth so you don't waste both our time. (what's worse is this is usually one of the first things I tell people when we meet. that I need then to be straightforward and honest. they promise they will but that's also a lie)

ghosting is so cruel (when the other person has no bad intentions/isnt causing harm). more cruel than telling me to my face you hate me and never want to speak again! i actually prefer that, so i at least know and can give up on your useless ass and stop wasting my time. don't give me false hope when i'm really excited to be friends and hang out, don't waste my time and energy and efforts, and don't lead me on with lies only to crush my entire soul when I find the truth much later. just say it and get it over with!!!! it's your fault if I annoy you by "not taking the hint" because there was no hint, lying isn't a hint. spill the truth and don't blame me for it!!!!!!

this is why i've given up with people and now only give attention to the ones who contact me first every time continuously, and I put little effort into anything anymore. I know that will end up making some people give up on me by thinking i dont care. but I'm tired of wasting my time and energy on the people who put no effort into me. you must prove yourself and keep doing it or I won't try at all. the people who ghost me and hurt me are to blame. yes, I live a very lonely existence with maybe one friend I talk to once every week or two for a total of 5 minutes at most. yes I wish I had more connections or closer ones. but i'm SO FUCKING TIRED. i'm tired of trying so much and so hard just for people to shit on my efforts and disrespect my needs and boundaries!!!!!!

why should I keep trying when it always ends bad and adds yet another layer to my trauma.

[elytrafemme]

i know that this is kind of really fucked up to say but just. i really hate my brother’s dog. 

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Hello!!! I have a request if that’s okay with you. 💕

Would you maybe write a Spencer x quiet!reader? Where she doesn’t have the courage to talk to him because she’s too shy?

I don’t really have a plot in mind so that’s up to you!! I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with any ideas but hopefully it lets you write whatever you want. Thank you for taking the time to read this. And I read your other stories, you’re so underrated and amazing I love your wording when you write. 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻

Hi Mary!! Thank you so much for your kind words c:

I did my best c: I hope you like it!

Round Table (Spencer Reid x shy!gn!reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x shy!gn!reader (if not gn please let me know, but I'm fairly certain it is!)

Word Count: 1538

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, but besides that none?

A/N: this was so fun c: i am really enjoying challenging myself with your guys' requests. hope you enjoy!!

------

You were an incredibly anxious person, which, honestly, was okay. You tried not to let your anxiety hinder your life too much, but like any other human being, sometimes it got in the way. It was frustrating, sure, knowing that a situation would be so much easier if you weren’t so anxious about it, but you reminded yourself often that you weren’t perfect, and neither was anyone else. 

Some people were afraid of heights, of the ocean, of needles. Some people had trouble going out into crowds or grew overstimulated in public places. 

You? You were painfully shy. There was always an adjustment period to being around new people.

Baristas, the bus driver, pharmacy techs, cashiers at the grocery store - you did just fine. But those were one-time interactions, brief discussions that you could compartmentalize. 

They came with a script to follow, with cue cards already queued up in your head as they occurred. You could put on an emotional mask for five minutes while the nurse at the clinic gave you a flu shot. You could smile and speak in your special voice labeled Getting Coffee, an octave higher than you usually spoke, in order to acquire your much-needed beverage. There was a clear goal in mind with each of these dialogues. Sure, you didn’t present as the most confident person in the world, but you always made it through conversations like these without stumbling over your words or being too terribly awkward.  

You didn’t succeed as much with deeper connections, with ones that took time to cultivate. You were a guarded person to begin with, with only a handful of people you felt truly close to. Vulnerability had always been difficult for you, but you supposed you were in the majority on that front. It took a while to become comfortable around coworkers, extended family, hell, even your therapist. You had to have time to adjust, to settle in. 

A lot of people in your life thought you were just socially awkward or even an agoraphobe, but you didn’t mind being around people. It was the intimacy, the connection, the having to give away little pieces of yourself, that made you anxious. It kept you from participating in conversations most of the time, usually only speaking unless spoken to. 

You liked your job as a linguistics and handwriting analyst in the FBI for that very reason. You didn’t have to say much  to people unless it was related to a case. With a clear goal in mind, a threat to neutralize, you could turn on that mechanical part of your brain that spouted off facts, information, theories. You didn’t have to tell anyone about your weekend, about your hopes and dreams or your favorite foods. 

You were consulting on a case for the Behavioral Analysis Unit - a serial killer who stalked his victims months before their murders, sending handwritten letters and using poetry to taunt them. Your supervisor had asked you to collaborate with the BAU, sending you to the sixth floor on your own. 

For the last two days, you’d been working closely with Dr. Spencer Reid - Spencer, he insisted you call him. Just a couple of years older than you, but still very young for his role in the FBI. He was friendly,  and very smart, and he rambled on about all kinds of things - 

Everything, actually. The Chinese food you’d had for lunch on the first day? He explained the origin of fortune cookies. Did you know their first appearance in the US was in San Francisco in the late 1800s? 

Pointing out a Dickinson line in one of the UnSub’s letters? Did you know only ten of Emily Dickinson’s poems were actually published when she was alive and the rest were posthumous? 

You often just nodded along and smiled, occasionally throwing in an oh, that’s very interesting to appear as an active listener. And you were an active listener. You did genuinely think he was interesting, and you found his info dumps to be incredibly endearing. But your contributions to the conversation were abysmal in comparison.

Beyond discussing patterns in the UnSub’s letters and what it might mean for each victim, you had no other fascinating information to share. You didn’t do well with small talk, and Spencer didn’t ask you any overtly personal questions. 

It wasn’t until close to the end of the second day spent in the conference room of the BAU’s office that Spencer asked you a direct question about yourself. 

There were three evidence boards set up, all full of scanned copies of the letters, each one pinned up meticulously by you and Spencer the day before. The large round table in the room had letters stacked out all around it, each one bagged in protective plastic. 

Spencer was standing in front of the evidence boards with his arms crossed over his chest, studying the photocopies with his head inclined to the side. 

He broke the silence you had been slowly settling into the past two days. “Your supervisor said you had a specialization in poetry?” 

You nodded, stepping over to the table and carefully lifting one of the letters up. You liked how he spoke as if you two were in the middle of a conversation, when in fact, it had been totally silent for the past half an hour, save for the soft puttering of the air conditioning vent.

“Studied a lot in undergrad,” you squeaked out, clearing your throat as you held the letter up the fluorescent light above you to examine the stationary. 

“What university did you attend?” Spencer asked, and you turned your head to find him inclining his head to the side. He actually wanted to know? 

“I went to Bennington College to study poetry,” you said softly, suddenly finding it difficult to focus on the letter in your hand. “But I went to graduate school at Georgetown. Master’s in Linguistics.” 

“Really? That’s fascinating,” Spencer commented, which caught you by surprise, especially because he didn’t sound the least bit sarcastic. “That combination of degrees is exceedingly rare. Generally people who major in poetry often either go on to complete as far up as a doctorate in the subject or  they stop at a Bachelor’s degree. The latter statistically don’t end up working in a field related to poetry, either, so their degree is basically useless.” 

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to be offended by that, so instead you just nodded your head politely. “Okay,” you murmured, biting your lip. 

“Can I ask you another question?” Spencer asked, and set the letter in your hand down on the table. You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your shirt and nodded. “Do I… do I make you uncomfortable?” 

You shook your head. “No,” you said assuredly, and then, a little more hesitantly, “…why would you ask me that?” 

Spencer turned to face you. “You’re just very quiet unless we’re discussing the case. Which is fine, of course, but I just… I don’t know. I thought maybe you were annoyed by me or I said something to offend you.” 

You felt guilt spread over you and your cheeks turned pink. The last thing you’d wanted was to make anyone feel bad who didn’t deserve it. And the very kind, helpful, and adorable Dr. Spencer Reid was the furthest from deserving to feel bad. 

 “I just don’t talk a lot,” you tried to explain. Your hand rubbed the spot where the top of your chest met the skin of your neck, an anxious habit you’d had for years. “I mean, I do with people I know, and that’s not to say I dominate the conversation by any means, but I just…” you realized you were rambling. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you added, your voice just above a whisper. 

“Thank you,” Spencer’s lips flickered into a straight-lined smile, one you had seen several times over the past few days, often when unintentional eye contact was made across the table. “For clarifying, I mean, that I didn’t offend you.” He cleared his throat, and leaned against the round table, standing just a few feet from you. Still a very professional and comfortable distance, but closer than he had been before. “So, does that mean that if we got to know each other, you’d talk more?” The corners of his lips spread out and his smile grew. 

You tore your eyes away from his to look at the letter in your hand, the protective plastic around it crinkling between your fingers. You weren’t actually looking at the letter, though. You’d just needed somewhere - anywhere - else to look. “That’s generally how it goes,” you murmured, biting your lip. 

“So, if I were to, for example, ask you to meet me for dinner sometime, could the getting to know each other happen there?” 

Your eyes fluttered over to Spencer’s and you saw him smiling. You could tell by how he looked at you, with his head inclined just slightly to the side, that he was being fully serious. You nodded, unable to control the small smile on your face. 

Spencer grinned, and you could tell he couldn’t resist when he spoke again. “So, is that a yes?” 

[moonrisecoeur]

heheheheheh re6 vampirehunter!leon meeting vampire!user and he’s like so cocky and arrogant only to be absolutely ruined and submissive to vampire!user i’m giggling n twirling my hair

omg anon sorry this took so long to answer i had to wait until my brain was working again but like. wow. love this concept!! i feel like i might have seen this before i think it might have been a cai bot??? not sure but whatever the case u are so big brain

i lowkey kinda hate this but i hope u don't lol

his whole life he's been taught to kill a vampire on sight, no exceptions. they kill innocent people!! and steal their blood!! so obviously being the selfless hero that leon is, he takes up the role as a vampy hunter and tries to keep his village safe. he's killed dozens of vampires in his life, keeping his family and friends safe. he doesn't care that it's a risky profession. he has people to protect.

but when he hears rumors of a vampire living on the outskirts of town, in an abandoned building that no one dared to enter, he knew it was his job to take care of this vampire.

and yet he goes to find them and they are just absolutely not what he expected. most vampires try to be all sultry and seductive to distract him, or some become violent right away. but this one, you, just spoke to him like a regular person.

"stay where you are," he says, his silver dipped knife to your throat.

'come now, human boy. let's not good too ahead of ourselves' the last one had said to him. they taunted him, tried to seduce him.

"i don't understand why you are after me. i haven't killed a human in... hundreds of years," you say to him, letting him keep you in a vulnerable position. there's this air of arrogance to you that leon can't help but despise.

"you're a vampire."

"and yet, you humans only seem to come after me."

"i am not going to be swayed with words," he scowls, "you're a monster."

"then why haven't you killed me yet?" you tilt your head back to gaze at him, glaring to be more precise, but you weren't planning on him being so attractive. when did human men get so pretty?

he blinks, almost confused. he expected a bit more effort to get away, but it almost seemed like you knew he wouldn't.

and, for some reason he can't describe, he eventually releases you, and you immediately struggle for the knife, throwing it to the other side of the room, and within a millisecond he's underneath you, your glaring red eyes peering down at him. he's not showing it, but he's petrified.

"this is... much more comfortable," you chuckle.

"wait, shit, i'm sorry, please don't..." he stuttered. poor thing, he's actually scared.

your fangs are inches away from his neck and he seem to be begging with his eyes for you to please, oh god please have mercy on him. he looks so ripe for the taking, it would be so easy to pierce his skin with your fangs and just... just ruin him. leave his body a lifeless corpse... or potentially make him like you. that would be a perfect irony, wouldn't it? a vampire hunter being turned into a vampire? how tragic.

he can't help the sob that escapes him, "please, i- i don't want to die.." he cries.

and you know what? maybe he's doing it to get your guard down, feed your ego. i mean, he obviously knows yours is large. and yet... some part of you thinks it's not an act, that he's genuinely scared. but whatever the case, it does feed your ego.

"will you be good, human?"

he nods, desperately, afraid for his life. and when you get off of him, and offer him a hand to get back up, he doesn't know whether to be wary or grateful, or both.

your arrogance makes you... hard to get along with, but leon can tell you're much more powerful than any of the vampires he's killed in his entire life.

but he supposes you're not completely awful. you didn't kill him. you let him escape the first time, clutch his sliver knife to his chest as he ran out of your home. you eye him cautiously. something in you.... liked that human boy.

he returns again, this time to apologize. he felt the need to kill you because you were a vampire even though you weren't threatening anyone. you were oddly docile for such a scary, and insanely powerful vampire. you were truly nothing he'd seen before.

this time, though, he doesn't hold a knife to your neck, instead just nervously wandering around the place you have made your home. it's almost sad to him how lonely you must be.

in any case, even a human man trying to kill you counts as company, so you haven't been completely against his presence in your life.

plus, when you finally do end up seducing him, as he knew you would. he's incredibly pliable, somewhat nervous, and while obedience doesn't seem to come easy to him, you make it easy for him.

andddddd then u proceed to fuck his brains out until he can't do anything but lie there uselessly while you suck the blood out of his body but i digress.

you obvi try not to kill him when you take his blood but he's so yummy!! how could you not!! such a delicious little human.

[askinkiskarma]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝟙 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀: 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕝𝕝 𝔹𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕐𝕠𝕦

pairing: Neteyam x f!Human/Avatar Reader

warnings: angst, tragic love trope, the one that got away trope, some fluff, all the feels

wc: 7k words

a/n: surprise??? besties it's been too long, i know, but i hope you enjoy chapter 2 of the 1 x anyone who follows me knows how much this story means to me, and it felt so good to be able to visit it and be inspired for it again. i promise it will absolutely not be as long between this chapter and the next x i can't wait to hear your thoughts! i love you x

to clarify: this series will be following oceans and engines mostly, but both endings will make and appearance and play a part in this story x smooches x

♥ series masterlist ♥ cruel summer ♥ series playlist ♥ masterlist

Honey, when I’m above the trees, I see this for what it is But now I’m right down in it, All the years I’ve given Is just shit we’re dividing up

Neteyam let out a quiet chuckle as his gaze fell onto your unconscious form, splayed limbs over your head and over the edge of the bed, peaceful look on your face as deep slumber still washed over you, even as eclipse has been gone for quite a while. He made his way to the window, where the blinds were drawn, pulled them apart, and watched in shock as that didn’t even begin to wake you. You and Neteyam shared a lot of traits, a lot of similarities bound you together, but your sleeping habits were definitely not one of them.

Amused, he decided to take a different approach, as he got on top of you and started trailing small, peppered kisses over your chest and neck, over your jaw and face, until eventually your eyes fluttered open and widened momentarily as you adjusted to the unexpected scene, until they melted in the mischievous, loving gaze Neteyam knew so well and loved so much.

“This is one way to wake up, I suppose.”

“A good way?”

Your lips met in a kiss, soft and intimate, not at all resembling the boundaries both of you were supposed to abide by, and right in this moment, it didn’t seem either of you particularly cared.

“The best way.”

You thought about it for a second longer, then pursed your lips in mock deliberation.

“Actually, there was another time you woke me up in an even more… pleasurable way, and I can’t say I’d object if you ever wanted to do that again.”

The memory of that morning made blood travel down south as quickly as it took for you to say the words, and he growled in your neck as his canines grazed it, as he watched you shudder under him, as he smelled your sweet aroma filling up the air he breathed.

“Vol, you have to stop talking if you want to get out of this room today.”

Neteyam could hear the smirk in your voice as you spoke.

“Who says I want to get out of this room today?”

“I do, because I want to show you something.”

Showed you all of my hiding spots I was dancing when the music stopped And in the disbelief, I can’t face reinvention I haven’t met the new me yet

Neteyam watched the door of your bathroom, intently listening for the constant hum of the shower to see if he could hear you, as if maybe by listening closely enough, he would be able to have a direct stream into your thoughts, the way it felt like he used to back when you were you and he was him and you were… well, whatever you were to each other. He probably shouldn’t have drank as much as he did - not enough to be fully intoxicated, but enough to know the filter between his mouth and brain was shaky at best, completely gone at worst, and very little good could come out of it. He knew all of that and yet, here he was, unable to stop his feet from moving to the labs, as soon as he felt like he could do so without attracting attention to himself. It was late, and most people were off to bed, so it wasn’t hard to do, even in this small settlement deep in the mountains the Omaticaya were forced to now call home.

When it became clear your thoughts would never make themselves known through the wall, his eyes wandered around, taking in every nook and cranny of this room that was an exact replica of the one you lived in all your life back in Hell’s Gate. He appreciated the humans for how much they cared for you, how much they were intent on making this little corner of the planet as homely for you as humanly possible. This room was loved and lived in; there were stains on the desk, crinkles on the chair, cracks in the walls… there were books and record players, pillows and comforters, plushies and knick knacks that Neteyam knew by heart, that screamed of you and the life you lived, that although not what you wanted or what you truly deserved, shone brightly all around you and illuminated even the darkest corners of the world.

Something caught the corner of his eyes, one of the few things he’s never seen before. A box, hidden deep in the corner beneath your desk, with a neat little label on it that said simply “Neteyam’s box. Do not open!”. If it was any other day, or any other circumstance, if his mind wasn’t clouded with the heady concoction that was way stronger than he remembered and probably the reason humans were as mindless as they were to begin with, he would have heeded the warning clearly showcased on the rectangular enclosure. But it was today, and it was these circumstances and he was intoxicated, so without dwelling on all the reasons he probably shouldn’t, he found himself reaching for it.

It was tiny in his hands, so tiny, it was hard to understand that something this small and this seemingly harmless could knock the breath out of his lungs with enough power to overcome and vanquish whatever self-control he still possessed. So many memories, all fighting for dominion over his consciousness, all painful enough to open every stitch his body’s been working so hard to craft in order to heal him. One memory in particular clearly won, one that’s already been percolating in his mind today, but now was all he could think of anymore. The keepsake he associated with it was missing from the box, which ironically made it stand out even more.

There’ll be happiness after you But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness

“Mmm.. intrigue. The Omaticayan prince wants to show me something, I guess I have to oblige then.” At the roll of his eyes, you laugh and pull him by the back of the neck until your lips meet again. In these moments, it was easy to forget the reality of your circumstances, the impossibility of your relationship, the hidden aspect to it that made it so no one would ever be allowed to find out.

It’s only been a couple of months since your 19th birthday, and somehow, each day got better. Each day was a reminder that he was the best person that has ever lived, the man of your dreams, the most empathetic, unintentionally charismatic, intelligent, funniest, most beautiful person you knew… each day a dream, until the inevitable forced wake-up call that he’ll never be yours, as soon as you had to pretend in the village, in Hell’s Gate, as you had to watch the matriarchs search for an appropriate mate for him and know there was nothing you could do to stop it.

He wasn't yours to lose. Not in the way you wanted him to be, not in the way you needed him to be. You tried to push the ugly thoughts from your mind as you felt him burying his head in your neck, just breathing you in. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. No matter what happened, no one would ever know him like you did, no one would ever be able to understand every nook and cranny of his soul the way you were able to. No matter what happened, he was yours right now. While you still had this, he will always be yours. While you could feel his heartbeat in your chest as he lay on top of you, while your body was moulded by his own and your lips knew to recite each one of his freckles like a prayer, he’ll always be yours.

“You’re not as cute as you think you are, you know?” You snicker at his words, that you may believe if it wasn’t for the way he was almost purring under your touch, or the way he was fully sunk into your body, or the way you could tell he was smiling as he said them.

“Ha! 18 years of you falling for my every whim suggests otherwise, Teyam. Now scoot, if you want me to get ready.”

“So where are we going?” fastening your oxygen mask until it clicked, you made your way out of the living headquarters and were taken aback to see Seze waiting, her soft trills greeting you as she approached, her big frame almost knocking you down as she bumped her snout into your face. “Hey, girl. What are you doing here?”

You yelped slightly as Neteyam took you by the armpits and lifted you so you could mount the banshee easier, before getting on behind you and making tsaheylu, an arm fastened across your chest, pulling you tightly into his own, keeping you close to him. You’ve done this so many times in the 6 years since Neteyam passed his Iknimaya, and despite it all, it never stopped feeling magical, and fantastical and wondrous to you, like it was almost unfair that a mere human could experience such emotions and views, such exhilaration and freedom. You wished your whole life you could one day have your own ikran and really experience it the way one was meant to, but you were grateful for whatever moment you did get, and grateful for Neteyam for always being willing to share these things with you.

“You know the drill, ma Vol. You have to ho-“

“-hold onto you like I’ll never let you go again. I know.” This saying, that he said his father told him on his first ikran ride as a child, became almost a mantra in your life, with every moment you spent in his presence.

Hold on like you’ll never let me go again.

Past the blood and bruise, past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would’ve loved you for a lifetime Leave it all behind

It was painful, the way the hot water was hitting your skin, in droplets that felt like spikes, in touches that felt like stings. Your mind was scattered after the momentous day that tried you, one which you never expected to live through again.

Neteyam… your ‘Teyam… someone else’s Neteyam. Different, so different and yet… still him. Painfully so. You hoped for more, more of a change, more of a departure - you hoped for a stranger, that could allow you to forget that the person you were looking at, despite adorning some new tattoos and a different hairstyle, was the man who knew you, down to the darkest, most intimate corners of your mind. You hoped that when you looked in his eyes, you wouldn’t see the stars be born and die, you wouldn’t see 21 years of your own life and the life you shared looking back at you. You hoped his stripes, that you could still feel on your fingerprints and on your tongue, would have shifted and become muted and dull. But none of that was true. Despite everything that stood against you, despite being worlds, galaxies, universes apart, he was still the same Neteyam. The question nagged at you, unwavering and incessant: were you still the same Vol?

You felt goosebumps appear on your skin as soon as you left the confines of the shower behind. Weird - it wasn’t cold, and yet here you were, near shaking, heartbeat caught in your throat in… anticipation? Fear? It was hard to say, but, with a deep sigh, you fastened your towel and opened the door to your bedroom.

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest as you took in the man sitting on your bed, that was way too big to comfortably fit in your tiny room, not that that’s ever stopped him in all the years you’ve known him. He looked almost out of place here now, so long after the last time, and you winced a little at the contrast between the memories in your mind and what was displayed so clearly in front of you.

“Fuck! Neteyam, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?”

Neteyam looked lost in thought, almost unaware of your presence or your voice, glossy eyes fixed somewhere beneath your desk, on a specific box you wish he never got to see.

“This room hasn’t changed one bit in all this time. It’s so weird. Everything’s changed…” the sigh that tried him felt like it was expelled from deep within his soul, like a sigh he’s been holding for the last year and a half. “Everything… and yet this room, it’s like a portal to the past, like I woke up in a life that feels like a mere dream sometimes.”

You don’t interrupt his musings.

“The sheets, the books, the smell, the way the light flickers sometimes, the way the mattress dips on one side more than the other because you’ve always preferred the left side of the bed, and I always had to sleep on the right, even the broken vase I broke with my tail the night I left. It’s all the same.”

His gaze finally settles on you. He looks pained as he sees you, finally the human he remembers, that he loved. It hurts him being in this room. It hurts you, too. It was your turn to sigh, as you tried to remove the images of the past flashing in front of your eyes like a picture book, and tried to focus on the reality that was still weighing heavily on your heart, no matter how many counterweights you balanced it with.

Your sigh matched his earlier one as you spoke, your eyes darting to the room that you spent less time in with each passing day, that felt as much of a relic of the past as you sometimes felt in his life.

“Yeah. I guess nothing’s changed.”

Tell me, when did your winning smile Begin to look like a smirk? When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

He notices an ornate bow by the foot of the bed, clearly the make of a talented Omaticayan warrior. It annoys him to no end that he can recognise the work easily, having grown up seeing it, having been one of the few that could compare to his. It angers him further just how much the disdain doesn’t seem to want to melt away, regardless of how much he’s told himself to let it go, regardless of how he swore the reason he came here tonight had nothing to do with it. He had no right to pry, not anymore. No right to be jealous… not anymore.

“Well, at least some things have changed…”

You blush, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to start patting your cheeks, that feel like they caught fire.

“Tarsem made it for me. It’s cute.” You didn’t know why, it’s not like you owed him anything, but you couldn’t help the next words, that stumbled unceremoniously out of your mouth in a panicked hurry. You didn’t owe him anything, but you still needed him to know. “And platonic.”

“Yeah, so were we.” The words, and the bitterness in them, so thinly veiled despite what you assumed were his best efforts, shocked you. This wasn’t like Neteyam at all - Neteyam was kind, and careful with his words always, he was considerate and empathetic, and he was never mean, especially not to you. Especially not like this.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and the tears that threatened to spill, leaving his words to hang in the air, making it thick and heavy with heightened emotions you were both trying your best to suppress.

“That’s not fair.”

Another sigh.

“You’re right. It’s not.”

I can’t make it go away by making you a villain I guess it’s the price I pay for seven years in heaven And I pulled your body into mine every goddamn night now I get fake niceties

“Are you drunk?” One exhale was enough for the stench of bourbon to hit you like a truck, and all of a sudden, it was clear enough - why he was here, why he was saying these things, why it felt like all the bitterness in his soul, that you assume has been as deeply buried as your own, was coming out in unsightly manners, and you were the one who had to stomach it. You forget, sometimes, it was easy to - that Neteyam suffered as much as you, that he lost just as much as you did, that dreaded July 9th.

When your question was met with silence, you continued.

“Why are you here, Neteyam?”

“I came to see you. The real you. At least while I still get the chance.” His gaze hardens looking at your body. He’s yet to look at your face - whether he doesn’t want to or can’t, you can’t tell. “Grandmother tells me you’re going to go for the consciousness transfer.”

You shift uncomfortably in place. His tone was distant and once more not like the one you loved at all.

“We all are. It’s the only way forward.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” He scoffs, rolling his beautiful golden eyes, picking a spot on the wall to grimace at.

“I’m not arguing with you on this.”

“Didn’t realise there was anything to argue about.”

“You shouldn’t do it.”

It was your turn to scoff, feeling irate despite your best efforts, despite knowing it was the alcohol talking, despite knowing you should tell him to leave, that nothing productive could possibly come out of this. There was anger in you, you realise - bubbling just beneath the surface, anger you’ve buried so deep, you didn’t even know it was nestled in your soul like a parasite, looming in latency, until it was time to come to light.

“And why the hell not?”

“Because you just shouldn’t.” his glare was harsh as it snapped to finally look at you, melting a little when his eyes found yours, the ones he's loved his whole entire life.

“Oh, I see we’re being mature. I’m doing this, we all are. It’s the only way. End of discussion, Neteyam.”

“… you could die.”

Your eyes widen. There's tears in his eyes, a lump in his throat. You sigh, placated a little by the realisation that all of this, although it could have been done better, was just his way of telling you he’s worried about you. You’re grateful, so grateful, that he still is - worried, that is. Your voice softens a little as you say the next words.

“Or I could finally live.”

“Why take the chance, it makes no sense. Just stay as an Avatar.”

“No. I will never fully live in either of these bodies unless I give one up. I’ve made my decision.”

“It’s a stupid decision. It’s a rash decision.”

“Rash? Are you serious? I’ve had 21 years to make this decision, Neteyam. Twenty-one years of feeling like an outcast, like an alien - of feeling like there’s no place for me in this world. I can finally be one of the people, I can finally have a purpose, and you want me to give that up?”

There was more, so much more - it was a complicated decision, the one you took, and so much thought has gone into it, so many sleepless nights went into this… but how could you say that to him? How can you tell him that he’s part of the reason you need to do this, that you need to be rid of this body, the body he’s known and he’s touched, the body that memorised every ounce of him by heart, that still felt phantom pains from the lack of his fingers on your skin? How can you tell him you will never be free until the body he knew and loved so intimately is gone… forever?

“I hate this body, Neteyam. I hate it. This body is useless, and weak. I have nothing in this body, I lost everything because of it. Everything… You have no fucking idea what it’s like. What any of this is like.” You urged him silently, pleading for him to understand. To stop asking you questions that would dig up a grave long dug and settled, that should remain untouched, that he was unwittingly desecrating. You were scared of what would come out when he did.

“And who does? Tarsem?”

“What?” You couldn’t believe your ears, the spiteful words coming out of Neteyam’s mouth like they were nothing, like it meant nothing when it hurt and burned and ached, when the seams with which you’ve become so acquainted starting splitting with every syllable uttered, when the anger that has been bubbling up in your chest for years, that you didn’t even know you still held onto was threatening to spill and poison this room and all its inhabitants.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you actually saying these words out loud? I can’t believe you, Neteyam. So this is what this whole thing is about, huh? You came all this way and act like you’re worried about my safety, about the transfer, when the whole time you were just jealous of Tarsem? Jealous about something that’s not even there? He’s a friend, Neteyam. A friend.”

You’re both shouting at each other, screaming and hoping that will alleviate the pain, that will push the tears back in your tear ducts and not let them spill all over your face. You’re panting, the hurt burning holes in your chest, the anger cauterising them and making you push forward, for another blow, and then another… and then another.

“Wake up, Vol! Are you blind?! He wants you, he wants you to be the next Tsa’hik of the Omaticaya. He’s not nice because you’re such a treat to be around. He’s nice because he wants to fuck you!”

Silence. Silence that deafens, that echoes in your eardrums a lot more than the yells, roaring like a crashing waterfall. Silence. No silence can fix this. Nothing can fix this.

“Get out.”

His eyes are pits of guilt and despair, shock and terror at the words he would have never said out loud normally - you knew that. You knew he regretted them as soon as they came out of his mouth, but you didn’t care. Not right now. Not when he made the last night before your iknimaya, a night you were supposed to rest through so you can face whatever was waiting for you tomorrow, a bad memory that will only bitter with time.

“Vol, I -”

“No. Vol nothing. You don’t get to call me that anymore. That nickname was reserved for the child I grew up with, the teenager who looked out for me, the man who loved me - it’s not for you. You don’t get to come back to my life after so long just so you could try to ruin whatever little happiness I’ve managed to scrounge up from the scraps I was left with. Leave.”

“Please…”

“I don’t know what Tarsem’s intentions are. You’re right. Maybe he really does just want to fuck me. But I realised something, all this time apart. You didn’t fight for me. None of you did. You were my family, all I had, and it took you leaving and him becoming Olo’eyktan to realise I’ve never had a family. It took losing everything to see how little I had to begin with. You could have done something. You could have fought it, you could screamed and shouted at the top of your lungs that you loved me, that what we had mattered more than the clan or your duty, mattered more than controllable and comfortable mirage of peace, but you didn’t. You were ashamed of me, of what we did. It wasn’t enough for you, that I was human. You let me go, you watched me leave, I watched you mate with someone else knowing I will carry these wounds for the rest of my life and I did it with no complaints. I understood you, as much as I could, and I let go of the one love I’ve always wanted to hold on to. You didn’t fight for me. So you don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore. It’s not fair to me, or to you, or to the pregnant mate you’ve left at home.” The door was open now, gripped tightly by your aching hand, the tears falling from your faces and onto the ground the only sound to help the torturous silence left behind by your words, so many of them you’ve needed to say, so many of them you wish you never had to. “Go, Neteyam.”

No one teaches you what to do When a good man hurts you And you know you hurt him, too

The night was painful and never ending, the conversation pulsating in your ears like a terrible migraine. Why did he come back? You were doing well. Well enough. Why did he have to come and ruin whatever little joy you had? Why now, the night before the most important trial of your life, why now, so you can question and overanalyse every little interaction you and Tarsem ever had in order to prove him wrong, when all your mind can do is scour for reasons why he was right. Was he right?

He was right, wasn’t he? Why else would he be so kind to a demon? Why else would he train you, and accept you? Nobody ever had, not fully. Nobody ever had…

“Damn you, Neteyam.”

Honey, when I’m above the trees I see it for what it is But now my eyes leak acid rain On the pillow where you used to lay your head

Eventually, sleep did find you. And in it, so did dreams - memories, as they usually did, at your most vulnerable, nothing but your shaky psyche and a desperate desire to relive your happiest times to stand in their way.

“Why did you make Seze land where she did if you’re gonna make me walk so much?”

With a deep sigh, he stopped in his tracks and kneeled, and you smiled knowingly as you jumped on his back, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Eh, you’ve always known this about me, Teyam. And you still love me, anyway. What does that say about you, huh?”

“That I can’t resist a pretty face, especially when it’s yours, my Vol.”

Well, that shut you up. Neteyam could always shut you up like this, by saying things you both knew he shouldn’t say, and while you wanted to admonish him, while you wanted to tell him off because this wasn’t helping, this would never help this already convoluted situationship you found yourself in, you couldn’t. Not when your heart was beating out of your chest, not when your blush was so strong it was making you feel like your cheeks caught fire, not when it made you want to scream confessions that have settled in your chest a while ago, that would never see the light of day, as long as you could help it.

He laughed at your silence, and pushed past thick shrubbery to unveil the most beautiful sight you have ever seen.

“Surprise!”

If your heart hadn’t dampened the rest of the world and all its thunderous sounds, you would have noticed the waterfall crashing into the river below, but as it was, the sight laid bare in front of you was, truly, a surprise, and God… what a surprise it was. A sight almost too good to be true, the beauty of it all almost surreal. The cliff was remote and secluded, surrounded by tall colorful plants and hedges - perfect for activities no one should ever be privy to. The backdrop was something out of a fairy tale, down to the fish jumping from the waterfall and straight into the water below, and the rainbow that formed with every blow of the wind. But somehow, even despite every natural advantage that was so graciously displayed almost as if especially for you, still, the thing that made it all feel almost transcendent was just a simple blanket, woven in a pattern you knew was his own, on top of which sat a basket filled to the brim with your favourite fruits and culinary delicacies.

“You know, Teyam…” you chuckle, still taken aback by the gesture, almost chocked up from the love you felt for him, that ran somehow deeper every day. You wondered if there was end to it all, to how much this love will grow, to how much your heart could possibly hold within itself before bursting at the seams. “I was gonna sleep with you anyway, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

You watched as his head swung backwards as he laughed, nuzzling itself in your belly, his braids tickling your thighs with every inadvertent move. A squeal left your body as his much larger arms reached above him and picked you up, manhandling you like a little doll, until you were on the ground, at the foot of the blanket. He said nothing, but bent down until his lips made contact with the top of your head, the romantic and intimate gesture enough to turn your insides gooey and your brain to mush. His voice was saccharine and velvet smooth when he eventually spoke.

“You look so good - so good - wearing my choker. Now take it all off. I want to see you wear nothing else, my Vol.”

After giving you the best I had Tell me what to give after that All you want from me now Is the green light of forgiveness

The morning was dragging and slow. Your mind was scattered and numb, perfectly complementing your burning eyes and heavy heart. You were angry, and sad, hopeless and forlorn, all of the things you shouldn’t be on the brink of your iknimaya. You needed your focus and your wits, both of which felt as far away as the ikran rookery you were on your way to.

“Ma Tawtute!”

You cringe at the nickname you’ve become fond of in time, that you hated right now, and the voice that spoke it. You try to no avail to leave, but you’re trapped when he catches you by the hand, willing you in place.

“Let go of me, Tarsem.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You huff, rolling your eyes and tugging at your trapped wrist.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can’t help until I know what it is.”

“Why are you nice to me?” you were angry again, almost eager to be proven right, eager to know for a fact what Neteyam told you was true.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I’m asking. Why? Why are you nice to me? Why do you smile at me, and train me… why are you making the People accept us?

Tarsem looked confused and taken aback at your barrage of questions, at your misplaced anger and your sudden skepticism of his actions. You couldn’t blame him.

“Because… you deserve it. Because if there’s one thing I learnt in time, is that good people, good humans, are hard to come by. And you, and the scientists, Spider… all the people who chose to stay behind in the way so many years ago… you’re it. You are good. You are kind, and knowledgeable, and you have devoted your whole life to the Omaticaya and to this planet, without ever asking for anything in return. The least I can do is make sure you live a life worth remembering, that you receive your well-earned place amongst the People.”

You were so content, so at peace, whenever your head was rested on Neteyam’s chest. You were home in his arms, home when your fingers were free to roam his chest, free to draw the constellations his tanhi made up when connected, free when his breath was fanning over your face with each kiss on your forehead.

“I’m so full.”

“Are you, now?”

“Of food, you freak.”

“Mm, I’m not doing my job well enough then. Guess I just need to try harder.”

You laugh, happiness enveloping like a shroud. You were scared of it, of your next question, but you knew you needed to know.

“Why did you bring me here, Neteyam?”

A shrug. Seemingly nonchalant, but there was purple in his cheeks, a flutter in his heart, loud and booming against your ear.

“It was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and it reminded me of you. Of us. As soon as I found it, I knew this could be it. Our place.”

“Our place.”

Neteyam’s head throbbed painfully, a nefarious mixture between a hangover and guilt making the world spin and his heart ache. Why? Why did he do that, say that? And before your Iknimaya, too. It was an important day, one of the most important days - important enough to determine the rest of your life within the Omaticaya and he managed to ruin it for you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Norm.

“You look like you need this.” Whatever Norm handed him looked like it had already been eaten and thrown up before making its way into his hands, but he accepted it anyway. Norm knew best, and whatever it was, probably was going to help.

“It smells disgusting.”

“It is disgusting. But it will help. The hangover, that is. Everything else, I guess that’s what I’m here for.”

“Listen… I heard you, in her room last night. It was muffled enough, but the walls can only muffle screams so much, you know?”

“I fucked up, Norm. So badly. I said… horrible things to her last night. I was drunk, and sad… I was stupid and jea-“ He catches himself before he can finish, but it was too late.

“Jealous. You can say it, it’s ok.”

“I know… about you two. She told me. So you don’t have to hide. Not with me.”

Neteyam’s eyes go wide at Norm’s words, but he was relieved that he knew - that someone knew. Someone he could talk to. Someone to confess to.

“She’s right. About everything, she was right. I abandoned her. Over and over. I let my mum treat her and Spider like they were pariahs, and stood by as my dad did nothing about it for years. I always thought that’s just how it was always going to be, that nothing I could have done would have prevented it, but I look at her life now, and how Tarsem treats her, and I realise I was wrong. And they were wrong. And we failed her. So many years, my whole life… I failed her.”

Norm sighs, both of them looking at you, talking to Max, who would also be taking his Iknimaya today, smiling and motioning at how you were planning on subduing your ikran. You were lively and animated, but your eyes didn’t reflect it, and Neteyam hurt at the blame he bore for it.

“Kid… you did your best. You both did. And you loved her, and stood by her, even in the face of everything that stood against you. You didn’t fail her. The world did. The world failed you both.”

You haven’t met the new me yet And I think she’ll give you that

It went by in a blur; in a mess of worry and distress. It’s like he blinked and here you were, the first one to go, the first one to succeed. He was so proud of you, prouder than he’s ever been about anything in this life. His heart was beaming with happiness and love, his head swirling with all the way he’s imagined this day in his mind and thought it would never come, but here it was. He was living through it, and had to come to terms with the fact it was never going to be quite how he envisioned. But he still had you, and he still had today. And at least some of it, he felt, could be the same. In his dreams, you passed, and you shared the first flight, and he got to see you fully blossom, the way you deserved, the way he always knew you would. In his dreams, your ikran intertwined in flight, and you spent so much time exploring, laughing, yelling, living. In his dreams, both your ikran perched at the top of the Hallelujah mountain, trilling softly would be the only witnesses to your love, to the way he’d make sure to not let you go until the second he absolutely had to, until you were both spent, looking upwards at the unending and star-filled sky. He would never get that, but your first flight - he still could. He could still be it.

“First fly seals the bond, kid. You gotta go, now!”

You couldn’t believe it. You actually did it. All the training, and the fantasies, all the nights you spent as a little kid imagining what it would be like to actually fly on top of one, all the days you spent on Neteyam’s, while he told you about the bond, while you shed tears from the pain that came with knowing you would never experience it… they all led you to this. This one moment. Your ikran was beautiful, just like you always pictured her to be. She was cooing happily and moving slowly towards the edge of the cliff, almost as if heeding Jake’s words, or itching to further your newfound connection.

For one second, you look backwards, at all the people clapping and beaming with excitement, and your eyes, as they always seemed to, immediately drifted to Neteyam. They filled with tears at his pride, at the way his body radiated it, at the way he called his ikran, undoubtedly just as excited as you to share a moment you’ve always envisioned in dreams and reveries, one that seemed like a rare occasion by which your fairytale ideal life could come true. But your life wasn’t a fairytale - it would never be, it couldn’t be. And that dream, you had to leave behind. That dream, just like everything did when it came to him, speaks to a love long gone, an uncertain future, so much helplessness and hopelessness and dread, so much fleeting happiness that dissipated when reality struck. It speaks to the past, a past neither of you related to anymore.

Another second, for your gaze to reach Tarsem. In him, you saw a future. In it, you saw stability and comfort, a love worth harbouring and cherishing. In it, you saw the Omaticaya, and the forest, a destiny that always seemed out of your reach, but which was now closer than ever. In it, you saw kids, running around, calling you mother. You saw the People, reaching for you for help and guidance, a feather jacket and pilgrimages that would decipher Eywa’s will.

In them, you saw yourself. One one hand, your past self, a human, broken and unmoored, born in a planet that didn’t make accommodations for the likes of her. You saw love that ran so deep it formed endless canyons in the pit of your soul, that emptied when the love was so ruthlessly taken away from you. You saw your mother, wicked and disinterested, and your father, evil and dangerous. On the other, you saw a warrior. Na'vi. Omaticaya, through and through. Tough and seasoned, healed and ready to heal. A mother. A mate.

You were neither of those.

There’ll be happiness after you But there was happiness because of you too Both of these things can be true There is happiness in our history

“There’s been talk, you know.”

“Oh?”

“About you.”

“I must be getting pretty good at it, this whole climbing and sneaking thing. I was hanging on an upper branch of a tree back in the village the other day. Managed to somehow catch the end tail of a conversation between a few girls. Didn’t hear me, too busy talking… about you, the Omaticayan Prince.” You snickered at the title, one of many titles reserved for Neteyam alone. You knew he hated it, all of it - the attention, and the pressure, the sacrifices that came with being worthy of all of them.

“Talking about how hot you are, how much they would kill to be the one you get to get take home at night. Theorising about who could it be. Going on and on about how lucky whoever you will choose as a mate will be, how there’s not a single girl in the village that wouldn’t die to have that honour bestowed upon them.“

Neteyam sighed and shrugged, brushing off the comments for only one of his own. “Only one girl I care about.”

You smiled in his chest, abundantly relieved and terrified all at once. This wasn’t good, this was so dangerous, the way he was playing the strings of your heart like he was a world-renowned harpist… but oh, it felt so necessary right now - the validation, the promise that, at least for a while, you still get to keep him just to yourself.

“She’s a lucky girl. Whoever she is.”

“I’m the lucky one. Because she’s… everything. And I work every day, try my hardest every day, to be worthy of her. And I want to make her a promise. For as long as i can help it, I promise I’ll hold on to her like I’ll ne-“

“Never let her go again.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard and hummed approvingly in return. You hoped he couldn’t feel the tears rolling down his side. You hoped he couldn’t tell that breaking this promise will break you. You hoped he never has to.

“Good.”

“She’ll do the same.”

Across our great divide There is a glorious sunrise Dappled with the flickers of light From the dress I wore at midnight

There was so much spoken between you and Neteyam in just a few moments. There was so much he can see in you, so much struggle in your soul. And eventually, he sees you turn away from him, from all of them, willing your ikran away. He watches as you leave, by yourself, desperately wanting to go after you, realising it’s better if he didn’t. And just like that, a huge chapter of his life, the longest one, the best one, was instantly over and Neteyam knows he just lost you, forever.

You were never his to lose.

Leave it all behind

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[swaps55]

Hi! I previously asked about Sam’s reasons for initiating with Kaidan in your multiverse fics, thank you for your answer, it was great to read and you’ve really switched back on the side of my brain that likes to analyse literature after uni killed it off lol. I was thinking more about the part where you said

‘I really wanted to push the queerplatonic nature of their relationship - have them be a lot more physically affectionate with each other, but Sam is really keen on physical touch once you give it to him, and the slow burn would have gotten a lot faster, lol’

And my brain is now filled with this AU where they’re exactly how you described them, v touchy feely with each other for a while before a sort of ‘relationship’ or kiss happens. Would you ever consider writing a multiverse fic exploring this concept? I totally get why you wouldn’t as it contradicts Sam’s nature as you said, but man, my mind is reeling with the ‘what-if’s’!!

Love your writing as always and the Cantata re-read count is now aaaatttt maybe 5/6 in the space of 6 months lol. Sending love! 🩷

That anyone cares enough to daydream about, analyze or ask about Opus is just mind blowing to me, so thank you so much for this question!!!!!

So, this may not be exactly what you're after, but I have an AU sitting on a distant backburner that is a Sam character study mashed up with the soulmate-esque idea of "I will find you in any universe."

The general gist is, Kaidan gets yanked out of a universe in which Sam never gets resurrected and the reapers are winning into a universe in which the reapers remained dormant, Sam isn't in the Alliance, and Kaidan died at BAaT. I love the questions it poses and what Sam looks like through such a different lens, but it isn't going to get written any time soon because there are too many challenges with it.

HOWEVER, the dynamic between Sam and Kaidan is different enough that I think a more queerplatonic relationship can exist. The Sam in this universe is a lot more open and free with physical affection.

I wrote a scene that got stuck in my head. It's not great, and I'm not convinced it works, but it does poke at this a little. So here you go!

~

Kaidan pads out into the living room, rubbing the bridge of his nose, sucking in a breath and letting it out slow. Only part of him is surprised to find the holo screen on, and Shepard tucked up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

Shepard’s insomnia appears to transcend universes.

Whatever he’s watching looks like some low budget salarian flick, with the silhouettes of a human, an info drone, and a FENRIS mech cracking jokes in the corner of the screen. Kaidan’s heart twists. Same taste in movies, too.

Kaidan almost continues onto the kitchen, not even really sure what he’s after – tea, maybe – but hesitates when he nears the couch. At the brush of their biotic fields Shepard looks up, eyebrow arching ever so slightly. Kaidan looks towards the kitchen, then back to the screen, uncertain.

It’s like looking at home through a mirror. Something he can see, but not touch.  

He circles the couch and sits down beside Shepard, who offers him the popcorn bowl without a word. Kaidan shakes his head and scooches over to leave a healthy space between them. Shepard shrugs a nonchalant shoulder and takes another handful for himself, slouching deeper into the cushions.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“Something like that,” Kaidan replies.

Shepard eyes him for a moment before returning his attention to the movie. On the screen, a dozen salarians wearing wigs of human hair march catatonically across the screen.

“Are those salarians supposed to be dressed as humans, or are they supposed to be humans?” Kaidan asks after moment.

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” he says with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “It’s a take on invasion of the body snatchers, pod people, the like.”

“…Isn’t the point of those that you can’t tell they’ve been invaded?”

A lopsided smile tugs at his lip. “Something gets lost in the cultural translation, yeah.”

“Never understood what you see in this kind of stuff,” Kaidan says with a shake of his head.

“It’s unwatchable.”

Shepard scoffs. “There’s an art to a good B-movie. Ones like this can give you some pretty wild insight into how aliens see everyone else.” He throws a piece of popcorn in the air and catches it neatly. “I should show you Revenge of the Gun. Salarians recreated an Earth western shot-for-shot, but didn’t have a good translation for the audio. They just made up whatever they wanted. So you have a movie that was lost in translation from the start get interpreted by an alien race, then put back through a translator for non-salarians. It’s our own story twice removed through alien eyes.”

“And you love it, don’t you?”

“Are you kidding? It’s fucking incredible.”

Kaidan chuckles. On the screen, the info drone sings a jingle aimed at the director’s love of close-up reaction shots. “Well, if the bad movies are so amazing, why the snarky commentary?”

Shepard grins. “Because it’s funny.”

They lapse into silence. But it’s…comfortable. Familiar. Kaidan worries his lip, focusing on the wig-wearing salarians. “Do you not have Blasto here?”

“Blasto? Doesn’t ring a bell, and trust me, it would.”

“Blasto the Jellyfish, with a lover in every port and a gun in every tentacle.” Kaidan shakes his head. “This universe is missing out. You’d love it.”   

“Sounds like it.”

“Last I heard, it made quite a stir when they cast an elcor as Blasto’s next lover.”

Shepard snorts.

They fall silent. On screen, a struggling salarian gets shoved into an actual pod, and comes out expressionless, wearing a wig. Kaidan draws his bare feet up on the couch and rests his chin on his knees.

When was the last time he sat down and watched a movie, any movie, much less a mindless, terrible waste of time? Time had become so precious in those final months; he couldn’t afford to waste it on anything. And why? What was precious about it? What was he saving it for? What was going to be left to spend it on?

The only things he spends time on anymore are fear and bad memories.

“You ok?” Shepard asks.

“Fine.” 

“You know, if I’d been fighting a losing war to save all sentient life, lost friends, lost a partner, and lost my family, I’m betting I wouldn’t be fine.”

You weren’t, but you hid it so well.

Kaidan makes a noncommittal sound.

Shepard’s gaze rests on him, silent, shrewd, and Kaidan shifts on the couch cushion, keeping his eyes on the screen. Shepard grunts, leans forward and sets the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.

“I'm here, you know. I know it's...weird. But. You aren’t alone."

When Kaidan says nothing, Shepard shrugs, and retrieves the popcorn.

Kaidan hunches deeper into himself. How many times had he piled on couches in the ‘Yang’s lounge with the squad? How many times had he and Shepard brushed knees, thighs, dozed on each other’s shoulders? All those casual, intimate touches that were just part of the fabric of life, something he’d never seen or noticed until they were gone?

His eyes slide over to Shepard, whose attention is back on the movie. Before he can think about it any harder, he edges closer. Without a word, Shepard sets the popcorn back down and raises his arm until Kaidan curls into the crook of his side. He hooks Kaidan’s forearm with his fingers, arm a reassuring weight around his shoulders.

He’s soft, solid, warm, all the things Kaidan has lacked.

Like the fight’s gone out of him, Kaidan gives into it and lets his head come to rest against Shepard’s shoulder. A knot in his chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe, but the longer he sits, the longer he stays, it starts to loosen, the lead in his bones a little less heavy.  

They watch the movie curled together, Shepard’s hand running up and down his arm. Every now and then one of the jokes draws out a laugh. This close to him, pressed against his ribs, it’s a resonate rumble against Kaidan’s skin, felt as much as it’s heard. Sometimes he fills the silence with commentary, pointing out something about the scene or the context of the joke.

Kaidan says nothing, sometimes listening, sometimes not – either way it doesn’t seem to matter. But when Shepard’s fingers drift towards Kaidan’s hair and idly comb through it, a sigh rattles out of him, ending with a choke and a sound that says nothing but means everything.

Shepard doesn’t say a word, just lets his fingers do the talking, working Kaidan’s scalp, steady and rhythmic. Kaidan closes his eyes, but something in the air changes when Shepard’s gaze settles over him. He feels it without having to see it, like a sixth sense waking up from a long sleep.

It’s a respite. Temporary. Not something he can keep. But in that moment, for the first time in a long time, Kaidan’s heart rests.

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 7: Giving someone a present

wc: 886 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing, some suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Pre-Birthday, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Cuddling, Spoiling Presents, Wayne Munson Takes a Pottery Class (it's only a throwaway line, but it's a headcanon I have rotting my brain rn)

Note: I just want to shout out the lovely comment @withacapitalp left on my ficlet from yesterday. It definitely influenced today's fic, as Steve reflects on the life he has in this AU. Thank youuu so much Liam for recognising an underlying theme/nuance in this universe.

‘The Best Present of All’

“What’s got you all giddy?” Steve asks, watching Eddie practically strut across their bedroom as he heads for his side of the bed.

He looks ridiculous – like a headbanging, scruffy chicken. Eddie pauses by the side of the bed and rips off his loose, cut-off Black Sabbath shirt. He hurls it halfway across the room, the discarded almost-terrycloth fluttering to the floor as he jumps on the bed and lounges across Steve’s legs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, precious,” he coos, rolling awkwardly on his back and grimacing.

He brushes it off as if Steve doesn’t know the telltale signs of his partner twinging his back – never one to exactly take it easy after almost dying in the Spring of 1986. Eddie puffs out a breath to blow hair from his face and giggles.

“I bought you the best present,” he continues, looking at the ceiling.

“That so?” Steve teases, knowing all too well that whatever said material item is, it will be nothing compared to the mischief Eddie surely has cooked up.

And Steve is going to love every minute of it. He loves every birthday he gets to have with Eddie by his side – and that’s something that can’t be bought.

Eddie turns his head and grins.

“I’m going to gift-give so hard,” he quips, scrunching his nose and clenching his jaw.

Steve supposes it is meant to come off, well... seductive, or something – but Eddie simply looks like an utter lovesick dork with those glee-filled eyes peeking out from under his unruly bangs.

“Did you help Joanie with something, at least?” Steve chuckles.

“Of course,” Eddie says, tenting his fingers together, “Prepare for a macaroni-encrusted card and the wobbliest, most unusable coffee mug in human existence.”

“Wow,” he laughs and swipes at his partner with his pillow. Eddie splutters away, spitting like a cranky kitten as Steve chides, “You cannot keep a secret.”

“I blame Wayne for the mug idea.”

“Stop making fun.”

He tugs on Eddie’s bare arm – if he has the man shirtless in bed, he at least wants to cuddle (and stop his legs from being crushed). Eddie goes limp, forcing Steve to all but pull his dead weight upright and into his arms, mussing and twisting their oft-abused bedding into a crumple – the blue patterned lines now a wavy swish.

“But the old man is taking a goddamn pottery class like he’s Demi fucking Moore,” Eddie cackles into his chest.

Steve shushes him and presses a kiss to the top of his head just to be safe. He holds Eddie close, breathing in the smell of fruity shampoo. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own – the touch of flesh under his fingers.

He shifts on the spot and bites his lip.

“Eds?”

“Mmmhmm?” Eddie hums and Steve can feel his mischievous smirk.

“Since you’re spoiling presents…” he wonders aloud, removing his hand from his partner’s shoulder so he can attempt to flick back the blankets, “What if I got one of my presents now?”

Eddie untangles himself and bolts upright, scrambling with the bedding instead.

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

They make quick work of slipping under the covers, righting their bedding as much as possible – even if it all somehow ends up on a forty-five-degree angle in their haste. But once they get settled, all cozy and warm and impossibly close as they roll into each other’s embrace on instinct, Steve feels his heart skip a beat.

“Eddie…” he whispers, letting his partner’s name linger on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers back, his big brown eyes glistening from the reflection of the light on the nightstand.

Steve shuffles closer, closing the already tiny gap between them and loops his arms around Eddie’s middle. He simply holds his partner for a moment, looking into those beautiful eyes – watching as Eddie breathes in and out and blinks. He leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, clinging to Eddie tight as he begins to kiss back. It deepens almost instantly and Steve hums, stifling a gasp as tears begin to prickle up.

Over the years, he has turned into a total sap, the waterworks turning on so easily sometimes that it worries him.

But he just feels so much – so much love – with his family. With their silly cats, first in Chicago in their tiny apartment, then in their slightly bigger but nonetheless cramped apartment and now in their home. A four-bedroom house with plenty of room to live and build. A house with a yard, a garden and a garage big enough for Eddie to jam with Freak on weekends.

The best gift life could have given him.

He used to be scared that he’d be stuck in Hawkins forever, working for his father and trying to please his mother all the while failing and remaining lonely.

But all that changed with Eddie. Even if it first started during that awful Spring Break back when he thought they might not even survive long enough to see where things could go.

“I love you,” he whispers when they break apart and come up for air, “Love you and Joanie so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek, “Happy birthday.”

[ikkosu]

I would love something, anything with human reader (gn) SSAU, stuck between Prowl and Pharma <3 maybe they’re a mechanic? Or just a nurse? I love how you write the two dorks. They’re just sooooo 👀💚

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A WALL

a/n : ah!!!! my favorite person!!! it's been a while pookie jkjk I am excessively obsessed with them, as well LITERALY (I kid you not. It's about time I write an, ahem, threesome with them

"Have you tried reporting him for harrassment?"

Oh, you've have enough.

Your datapad hits the surface of your desk with a clink, not without letting out a growl of frustration that all the more tightened the coil of a headache, brewing in your temples.

Just a visit. It's just a visit. It's just a visit. He's just being himself he's just—

"You know what, Prowl? You're so damn petty sometimes."

You swivelled to face him, but the cop-bot perched in your chair, your chair, inspecting your work-cubicle, pretends to look away.

Like, he didn't just pester you the whole hour on ethics of trying to fire your own boss and slandering your note-taking skills.

(yellow? seriously? any other highlighter you can choose but you picked yellow? disgusting).

"You should know your adjectives, by now. I wouldn't call that petty. A term I'd prefer is being Strategic." He clipped. "But I'm sure, given how your emotions normally regulate your, whatever you have, is a brain — you wouldn't be able to comprehend such a notion."

He's made a habit of making everything sound so reasonable, it's baffling. You round your desk, stopping short in front of him. Prowl retaliates your scowl by leaning back against the chair. He tips his helm until it hits the headrest and his eyes, flaring blue, peered over the crook of his nose.

You know he's got that stupid bastardly smile underneath the facade.

"What do you want?" You huffed out.

"A simple, round the block, routine checkup. Nothing important. "

"Yeah? Yeah? You're, like, three fucking planets away from your station. I'm sure that's plausible."

Where's Max when you needed him most to beat his ass?

"Anything is possible if you think it to be so."

Oh, you're this close. This close. You look to your watch, groaning internally. Around three hours more you're due for an operation. And you're not even prepared yet! You're supposed to go through your notes on how to yank out a gut from it's slot, not having a verbal spar with Cybertron's number one asshole.

"Look, I don't know what beef you've got with the guy but I thought you're the enforcer here, mister goody two shoes. This is illegal."

He scoffs at that but doesn't seem to regard the last part, however. " It's your boss now, huh."

"Excuse me?"

"Last I heard he was the boss." The chair creaks as he shifts on the spot, looking incredibly out of place in that plush, black office wheeler. " What, did you pucker up your lips and appeased his ego to botch that spot?"

"What?" You sputtered. "Botch that spot? What are you— No, No!— He's my boss!— I— What do you want me to say?"

"That you're not his playtoy." He crosses his arms.

"I'm not!"

"Then, call him by his name." He grits his teeth. "Don't say 'my boss'. It sounds corny. It sounds stupid. You sound stupid." A digit juts your way and you scoff, holding yourself back from commiting first degree murder. " And, you know what's even better? Just don't talk to him. Ever. Not even a look or a smile. Is that understood?"

"Prowl, i—" You sighed, dragging a palm down your face. "Please, tell me you didn't come all the way here to Delphi —all the way here — just to tell me that."

The corner of his mouth tugged up a little. He looks away to hide it, though. "I'm paid to serve the law after all."

"Oh, yeah? You're paid to shut the fu—"

"My, my. That's not a pleasant way to address a man of law, now is there darling?" A low voice crooned behind you and you feel his servos curling over both sides of your waist, chassis against your back. Pharma rests his chin on your shoulder and a chesire grin is directed to the enforcer.

You don't dare to look behind you, but you're also not strong enough to lock eyes with Prowl who's got a death grip on the arm chair, teeth gritting, digits digging into the cushion. Eventually, he stands up to his full height, stepping close, you're almost sandwiched between the two like a smore.

"Doctor." He clips.

"Enforcer." Was Pharma's drawl. "Here to fetch your little pet?"

He bristles, door wings piking up at the term but doesn't regard it. "Here to take them far. How much for a forced unemployment?"

"Oh, nothing much. I usually do it for free, but this one..." Pharma leans close and you yelp when his chassis pushes you forward to press against Prowl's, you guessed it, chassis. "—Is an exception. You see, officer, I actually quite like having this one around. Keeps my arduous moments flourishing, my lonely nights — occupied."

Prowl lands a servo on your shoulder. "Yeah. Figured as much." He grits out.

"Oh, not really. It doesn't have to take much assuming." Pharma straightens up, a servo on the other side of your shoulder. "While, its all in good fun, we three all have a job to do, yes? Best you leave them to their devices now."

He was about to tow you away when Prowl's unrelenting death grip on your shoulder prevents you from moving. "I'd rather not."

"Is that so?" Poison spools out from that drawl.

"Your audials doesn't seem to be of optimum order. Mind If I smoothen out the creases?"

You winced, looking at your watch. Shit. Shit. Shit. Of all times Pharma had to come in, he takes the opportunity when Prowl is here?! You need to prepare yourself right now. That patient isn't going to pull out a gut themself, and they aren't sewing their lungs back, either. If you could just....wiggle from the rooks of their grip and slowly slide away to— Prowl clamps a servo on your waist. Pharma, clutching your shirt.

They hold you close.

Oh, forget it.

A wide, terse grin eases out on the jet's face. "Perhaps your t-cog would need a diagnosis as well. Oh, no, no not just your t-cog. Something else. As a doctor I would'nt want my patient limping for...." He whispered lowly. ".... undercompensation, given how you're strutting around...."

Prowl let's out a low growl in his throat. "Oh? How about we head out side and hunker down a nice 'smoothening out?"

"Don't try me, enforcer." Pharma's mood isn't much better but unlike Prowl he's got a good facade holding up. " You've got what's coming and it won't be pleasant. I suggest you step out now."

Then the bastardly smile curls the corner of his cheek. "Let's test out that theory, then."

Oh, dear.

[crying-fantasies]

In Denial

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2: In acceptance | part 3

Sometimes you remember the past, a younger you, one that choose seclusion in a group of people around your age with music that wasn't even to your liking in the background just to try and be part of the group, one that tried to desperately look at everyone and pray to feel something, someone that could make you feel better, feel head over heels in love, be it by physical attraction or sexual intercourse or whatever, even if it wasn't what you were really searching for you wanted to feel something more than just friendship or one single glance, zero feelings.

Younger you wanted desperately to feel attraction to humans, wanted to forget and bury deep the memories of something else as a whole, try to forget the way his voice made you red in the face or his friendly touch felt warm, make you remember over and over that he was only being friendly.

Jazz was your friend is what you tell yourself years after he returned to the neverending war, as he mournfully refered to his people's civil war, fighting for his people on earth and for the humans, coming back and forth in different countries, sometimes he didn't even say a thing and you were oblivious of his presence in Earth from time to time, sometimes he does contact you but it isn't more than a few words, talking to you about something that catched his interest, sometimes he doesn't talk and what you hear is a song, not aware of how you carry the communication device he gave years ago like a treasure and how foolish you looked in your quick movements to answer his call as fast as it's possible, don't even mention that time you kissed the floor in your hurry, Jazz is your friend when he returns, appearing as a handsome young adult in a classy and expensive car while opening his door for you, smiling just as charming as he can be while people look at such an expensive looking car, no one believing what is happening, not even you, it takes a moment to realize the little static that coils in his supposed skin and the way he is smiling.

Wow, he looks... better, as in... alive, not so much older than you.

His holoform has changed, improved, for a moment you feel relieved that you feel attraction to the image of a human but then you realize it's because of him, by the simple fact that it's him, even when you weren't sure who was in front of you.

"It's been a long time" his voice is familiar, more human if you could describe it as so.

Ah, I know you, your brain finally reacts to what is happening, connecting the dots between his autobot badge and his alt-mode, recognizing the voice that brings you years back when this kind bot tried to help time and time again, almost as he tried to mind other things, you asked him and Jazz, with all his honesty, told you that he liked to believe that other things outside of the war were also important.

Lonely child that you were then felt special, younger you realized that he only wanted to escape war for a moment, older you would try to understand him more and let go of the little anger younger you had harbored over the fact he only searched for your company then as a way of distraction.

"Ah"

Great, good thing to say after years of not seeing one another, super cool, not something that you feel proud about but he is obvious in the way his smirk extended over his face, noticing your recognition of him, while signaling you with a move of his finger to come inside.

"Thought you would use a ride home"

"Right"

Stiffness makes your way to his seat way more long than it really has to be, looking upfront in order to avoid his visor (how can he look so good with those even in human form?), never once looking to another direction, even helping you put on the seatbelt when you can't reach it in your stupor, falling in the pit on your stomach while screaming internally, he doesn't say anything about your whole body behavior, also looking forward when his original body start to drive upfront and music blooms on his speakers higher.

Recognizing that song makes you look at his dashboard where his radio is displayed for you, maybe is your imagination, he couldn't possibly remember your favorite song from so many years ago.

"This one is still a hit for you?"

He did, he really did, and that was making things to you, again.

"Not really" honesty is first, at least this much, trying to calm your fast beating heart, knowing that inside of him, in his passenger seat, every change in your biology could be scanned by his system and, right now, you don't want to explain why you feel funny in your belly.

How to tell him the nights you heard this very same song when he was away, it had been years, yes, but you can still feel tears falling in your cheeks while the song was in an almost permanent loop to the point it's own uniqueness dried up, your favorite just felt way too used, way too engraved in your brain and left his image a permanent reminder behind your closed eyes.

"That's so, well, humans have this new gadgets to hear music, we can give it a try"

Jazz is a transformer, he can do something as simple as changing music or tuning a different radio in a blink, but he still moves his holoform to reach the radio even when he doesn't have a real necessity to change the music manually, so close, to the point where you can't ignore his presence.

You couldn't, because he is all around you, feeling every moving, his engine revving, the leather seat gently vibrating under you.

"You have Bluetooth?" Before, Jazz's favorite thing about human vehicles was the music player, the while radio, apparently that didn't change, keeping his old one, now considered vintage, contrasting with his alt-mode in some sense of fashion.

"I've got nice things along the years" his words make way for a song, then another and so on, if this was any other person or bot you would suspect of how long this drive is taking, pretty sure that you aren't going to be near your house for a while, yet, this is Jazz, it isn't the first time that he took you in these improvised outings relaying on the setting sun to cover him from curious eyes.

Everything is fine with the world, at least your inner one, finally relaxing and feeling the seat, looking outside the window, your heart calm with every song, he still can't calm his hunger for the 80's but still playing a variety of genders, maybe trying to go the extra mile while looking at you from his holoform point of view, attention in your reaction with every song that comes and goes.

"When did you come back?"

"Um, been 'round for a few cycles already" maybe he tries to play it cool, but his holoform looks to his own side for the first time in the whole ride, showing that, maybe, he returned way before.

You don't ask him why he didn't come to you before, at least a call, something to make you know, but you don't say anything and maybe his processor catches on to your change, on your distant sigh and the drop of your shoulders, probably, and his holoform is looking at you before pressing a finger to his radio.

"Jazz"

"Um?"

"Are you okay?" Is that a loaded question? Maybe it is, you aren't such a fool to ignore what others say of the aliens around, it doesn't help how Jazz was even present in a program that somehow ended with a full negative message for cybertronians.

It shouldn't be a surprise to see Jazz's holomatter stiffness, or how he takes a few seconds to move again once the red light has changed, you didn't mention the particular incident but the problem was obviously there.

And also the reason of why he got to look out for you when he didn't before.

"Yeah, everything is fine, nothing wrong in here" he is lying, painfully obvious as it can be, you aren't sure if he is doing it because he has had enough with that and wants to change the subject or if he really thought you'll fall with such a ridiculous lie.

Silence is something that he gets to like, but not with you looking worried, that's his job, he's the one to worry about what is happening on earth, with the humans and with you since the moment he got you into the ark, he'll forever deny it but he just couldn't let you alone in the middle of nowhere, but dragging you from one country to another wasn't his best move so far and he accepted it solar cycles ago.

Still, he can't just let you alone with all that's happening, just look at what happened with Hunter, but he isn't going to tell you such a thing, he needs to get you distracted.

He remembers, like it was a solar cycle ago, music is something that could reach out to you, even with all the differences, guiding you to meet him at least halfway in what you were feeling and what he could interpret from it, as it has always been.

Yet, when that song started to play it took you a second to recognize it and one more to realize it.

Maybe he took the acceleration of you heart beat as something good, smiling, even getting the volume higher, his system telling him how fast your heart was going and being happy by your supposed positive reaction, reality was far from it by the chord progression of a song that you know way too well for your own liking.

"Heh, didn't know that you were into grunge now" no drop of judgement can be heard in his voice, is strange, hearing it come from a mouth, from a human that is supposed to be him, maybe it's that, you finally realize, it's not because of what he is, but of who he is.

That only makes it worse.

This song, while a hit for many is almost a shootout to your inner turmoil, exposing you in front of the very last living being that you wanted, this song, one that you know way too well, one that accompanied you in lonely nights or ones when you wished to be alone, trying to forget when things were better.

"Pretty good" you aren't sure if he really likes it or tries to do it, Jazz is the kind of bot that even now thinks highly of radio interference, in reality he is only trying to go with the flow of the song, every song has a meaning even when there is none, he's always liked human music for that very reason.

He isn't going to lie to you and if he does he may have a good reason for it, or that's what you want to believe, if he doesn't like it he would simply say that it's not his preference, and you don't know if he is implying his liking of it because of you or because he wants to take the bait and expose you.

After all this years keeping your own secret while your tendency to read between lines gets you to another level of anxiety.

How odd the world can be when he noticed, once again, the way that humans get old, tastes change, views of their own world, even you, still little but with an additional growth spurt since the last time that he saw you, heart beating fast for this song.

Couldn't look you in the eye

Maybe it's your favorite now.

"Stop"

How wrong he is.

"What?"

And how wrong you feel with every word and chord.

"Jazz, stop"

What would others tell you? What would he tell you if he knew?

The mere idea of him taking distance from you got feelings of despair, right, there was this time, multiple instances in reality, in where you didn't see or know much of him when war was again on his way and he really acted like you were nice company, only to leave you behind when things got harder, you understood, of course, but how do you feel with it at the end of the day?

It was a cycle without a break, and your fear for it to end, to never see him again was enough to make you open his door, at least try, Jazz was fast enough to close it again before parking next to the road, he wanted to talk to you, ask what was wrong, expecting your sincerity as always, but you were already on your own way before he could change to his bipedal form, holomatter dissipating in flashes of light, you were walking but your fast beating heart took you away way more sooner than he expected.

"Is everything alright?" he reached his servos out to you, trying to hold you as it was normal to that point, stopping altogether when you flinched away from him even before he got to touch you, and it was indeed painful even for you when his intake closed and what looked like a frown and a sad expression crossed his faceplate.

"It's not" sincerity is what you always gave him and you don't want to change that, one thing is to lie and keep a fact for yourself is a totally different matter.

Jazz looks at you, not knowing what is wrong and trying to think what he is going to say next, he knows you're in a thigh spot due to the changes going around your own life, physically and mentally, he remembers how humans go, but this is so different from what he expected.

You are different from what he can remember.

He tries to appear less intimidating to you, who looks like the first time he got in contact with- no, it's more accurate to say that you found him by sheer coincidence, he is now kneeling, reaching out a helping servo but not entering your personal space, he waits for you to get closer to him.

"I could help ya, try to ease your burden"

"I want you to take me home"

In a beautiful world

Being sincere, Jazz expected for this outing to go different, he even got his holomatter avatar upgraded in order to take you into the city and don't raise an uproar, take you out to eat something nice and watch you do it with a smile on his face, he even go a little extra in order to upgrade his avatar with eyes that would look more real, more alive.

Still, he feels his natural confidence waiver a little with your words, your whole body tense to his own presence, changing to his alt-mode and opening his door for you, he reamins still for all the time it takes for you to open his back seat's door, surprising him, asking himself if he really did something so bad to have this results and how to change it.

And he remembers, music, you have always been responsive to music, to songs, what's better, he knows what your favorite song is now.

I wanna have control

He learns faster than ever that he is wrong, all this day he's been wrong since the moment he got to you to forget his problems as always and expecting to forget about those in your presence, failing in doing that and failing you in the process, even feeling awful when he hears the words in the song with detailed anxiety that isn't normal in him but keeps scaling with every beat of your heart from the moment you take place in his seat to the moment he parked on front of your home, opening his door faster and going out before he can say something, anything to you who only said "sorry" before walking to your door.

She is running out

Music has always been what connects people or bots, you told him that when you found him for the first time, damaged but online, his radio malfunctioning and dragging along a radio station, your favorite song at that time blasting in a weird way from his speakers.

Music connected people, feelings and ideas.

Whatever makes you happy

That's what Jazz repeats in his processor when you don't respond the communicator he gave you years ago, he knows it's kind of low, he didn't used it usually for years when war took him away from where you were and he knows that it's even worse to admit that he forgot about it.

He doesn't know if you'd even say sorry again if he admitted he kind of forgot about you for what felt like a few cycles when in reality it had been years for you, Jazz wouldn't be surprised if he was confronted by your anger.

He begins to think of reasons as to why you don't take on his calls, maybe you forgot how to use it, he told you about it almost years ago and it would be normal to forget about it, the idea that maybe you lost it is also valid even when it pains him a little, because it was a gift, as farfetched as it can be, he requested it with you in mind, only responsive to your DNA just in case to prevent any human from getting their hands in cybertronian technology, but he knows that humans change, he gets it and he would understand if you lost it or damaged it.

He isn't even surprised when you keep on missing his calls, what takes him for surprised is when he calls you, expecting for the line to end as always, he is near to recharge in his berth only to hear in the middle of the night cycle how the call is refused from your side.

Whatever you want

He finally accepts what you say and gives up on it, for now at best, he still wants to talk to you, he still wants to spend time together here on Earth, basking in the moment of peace that's so rare, before something happens and when it does, one of his pledges to Primus is for you to take on his call so he can talk to you, maybe for the last time, say goodbye due to what is going to happen soon, a massive space body reaching earth, getting near by the second.

You're so fucking special

You know this is low, but you really want to keep distance right now, quite curious, not even a year ago you wished to hop back in his passenger seat, relishing in fantasies of physical touch that you'll feel as endearing, people start to cry out in the streets, they're running, trying to escape, classes are ended and even your teacher tries to get all out.

I wish I was special

The moment you get out you wish to get back, feet almost floating above ground when you see a thing in the sky, approaching, you want to go home, run like the people around you, but you only stay there even when your hair starts to levitate too, even your clothes, people is sucked to whatever that thing is.

Maybe is not that bad, something dark in your minds tells you in all the panic that wrapped the whole place in near massive hysteria, bloodied screams asking for help.

I'm a weirdo

Jazz tries to contact you more than once, specially hearing what is coming, what is really happening.

He can hardly wait for an order when worldwide news show the first countries overshadowed by Unicron's massive body, people starting to be dragged out to space, he wants to go there, he wants you pick up the line, he wants to get you out if there when the reporter keeps naming the countries under attack on an almost neverending list.

Earth is succumbing, people that don't die in the exposition to Unicron are being hunted down by it's monstrosities, but Jazz has to remain calm, he always needs to be, he has to recognize and hear his orders, he has to make it possible when a plan is given to him and he needs to act upon it.

What the hell am I doing here?

For a moment, he really wished to never have put a pede on Earth, to never have been sent here, to never have been in contact with humanity with all it's good and bad things, every good and bad decision done he wants to go back and erase it, to never have meet you and know you, is all happening again, his life was good, not perfect but it was good, and he cherished it as hard as he could, just to have it once again be ripped off, torn apart, destroyed to it's very core like war once did, now loosing what he has now makes him realize that he can't accept it, his spark can't take it when your country is finally announced on the list of points destroyed by Unicron.

He wants to call you, he really wants, at least to say goodbye, to hear your voice for the last time and say sorry for whatever he did, he wants to have hope in all this mess, but he admits his hope is practically a dim light when in place of the call being in wait or denied on your side he only gets radio silence, Jazz can almost see your communication device destroyed and being dragged out to space.

I don't belong here

He can't bear the silence, he liked it so much before, a moment of peace in-between the never ending war, so he plays your favorite song in his audial receptors, feeling tears falling from his visor when he has to take a gun again while the lyrics are engraved on his being and his spark hums along with the chords, he knows it's wishful thinking, but Jazz wished to destroy Unicron's spark or whatever it's keeping it alive with his bare servos.

I don't belong here

Jazz wished you were there, telling him that things would get better.

[instantinternetcrush]

i’m not used to people caring about me in the way i actually need or want. babe, you scare me a bit. there’s a reason i fuck everything up before anything has the chance to be anything more than a pipe dream.

i start talking to her vaguely, drunkenly, about vulnerability. i crave it, but i can’t take it. i get it, and i get scared in the way a raccoon does at night when you shine a flashlight at it while its rifling through your trash.

i need it though. in that not-too-soft, but still there, somehow, against every odd way not a single soul has been able to replicate. believe me when i say i’ve tried. when i say i’ve told you what i want.

there’s a reason i do everything drunk. impaired. whatever adjective lets me view everything that happens as some sort of third party.

i care about you, but somehow not enough. somehow never in the right way. i compensate by romanticizing everything in the worst way. i’ll fixate on the terrible parts of everything and then fall in my version of love with it.

i’ll tell people i love the things i know im supposed to. your hand in my hair, the smile you give me when i make a dumb nonsequiter joke that isn’t worth the effort it takes to laugh. but if i were honest with myself, with anyone; i live for the parts that should be red flags.

i think of you pulling on my chain like a dog. your bruising grip on me in the club whenever i spoke to another man.

i tell her i’m the person everyone calls when people even remotely in my life have emergencies. i’d still pick up for everyone i haven’t spoken to since august. every time a spammer calls i answer anyway.

i couldn’t say what drives me to that. that desperate desire to be wanted. like an animal in a shelter, babe, i’ll do whatever if it means you’ll take me home and hold me close til you get tired of being what i need you to be.

‘it doesn’t take much,’ i tell her. i fall easy when i deem it worth it and boy do i fall hard.

i wanna say you’re different. some part of me says i knew it’d be like this, the opposing side says something about how i call bullshit on everything as some type of avoidance.

she tells me i’m a commitment-phobe. that i hide from everything except her son, who is the only human being on the planet who has never asked a damn thing from me.

(when i say im a dad, i mean for a year and 11 months i was the pseudo parent for a terminally ill toddler. i still mean it because now it’s been two years and change since i’ve been a functional parent for a kid who has no real mother or father.)

mostly because he lacks the words to tell me he needs more. everyone needs more than i can humanly give but i still give it willingly. who cares if you’re sucking the marrow from my discarded bones. i wasn’t using it anyway, right? i’m sure you need it more.

it’s easier for me to tell my secrets here. where i’m hiding in plain sight and nothing i say or do particularly matters so long as i string words together in ways people can shoehorn themselves between.

all this to say you do it different. it’s easier for me to detach myself completely and be honest in the way i know im supposed to when you’re a couple hundred miles away and more in love with the idea of who i am than the real self that always lurks just out of your line of sight.

you know i’m mean. cold hearted. some deep seated issues with intimacy buried so deep it’ll take one of my parents dying to ever actually address in any real or meaningful way. you hold my hand in the club anyway.

somehow you recognize the far off and terrified look in my eyes when my disconnected brain actually does the math on how many people i’m in a room with.

and you ask if i’m ok. you take me somewhere quiet enough where i can hear myself think and you hold onto my fragile wrists just tight enough to remind me that i live on this planet with every other bastard with two hands and a heart.

somehow you recognize a different lilt in my forced laugh when i’m poking fun at myself and theres something behind your eyes that betrays a level of care i never expected or saw coming from you. you look me in the eyes just enough, with just enough callousness that i do believe you when you tell me, perhaps begrudgingly, that you care whether i live or die. that you like my company.

she tells me you’re perfect and i suspect for a moment that she also knows me better than i’d like to acknowledge. i understand from her perspective. i understand from my own if im being fully honest. she says that the way you spoke about me, half asleep and half drunk, wrapped around me like you’d die if you took your hand off of me- no chance you thought this was anything other than exactly what i needed.

in spite of it all. every year that’s passed, every poorly received joke, every drunk phone call, you’re still here.

she says you were obviously waiting. that you aren’t disappointed by what you got after all of it.

but you’re here. after everything you’re still here. your head on my chest and my hands on your shoulders and i don’t want to ever be anywhere else.

i can’t shut up about you, you know. i play coy with my family. tell them i’ve got a musician friend in the desert with curly hair and a penchant for off color jokes. tell my friends i need to make you my wife and refuse to elaborate when they inevitably ask for details. you know better than anyone i like keeping my secrets.

somehow you’ve managed to figure me out. the important bits at least. the parts i try my hardest to hide. there will be time for everything else later.

[nayatarot777]

why do people make manifestation so complicated?

i don’t speak to anyone about “manifestation techniques” and i don’t wish to either. why? because human beings love to complicate the most basic shit.

why are there “rules” to manifesting now? why are people acting like there’s a guidebook and a manual for manifestation?? as long as you believe that whatever you want is possible to enter your reality, you’re already manifesting. you don’t need to be happy all the time and never feed into negative thinking or feeling because you’re a fucking human being. you’re SUPPOSED to feel negative as well as positive since, yk, that’s the way that our brain processes whether we like certain shit or not??

if you want a new car, for example, and you’re thinking every single day about how much you fucking hate using public transport - yet you still believe that you’re moving closer to the car that you don’t yet have, or that it’s going to come to you in the future - your hatred for public transport ain’t affecting shit. you’re still operating out of belief. an expectation for what you want and an understanding that you WILL get that car eventually. don’t let methods control your mind and your life. we are natural manifestors. why the fuck has manifestation gotten so complicated and so cult like? blaming people for “manifesting bad things to happen”. i mean, you can if that’s what you were expecting and highly believing would happen - genuinely. but thinking about possible ways that things could go wrong, or allowing yourself to feel anxiety isn’t going to change shit.

please, let’s leave these “new age” cult members to their need to complicate shit. we deserve to live regular human lives over here - just with the knowledge that we will eventually get everything that we want as long as we set the intention, have a high level of belief in our manifestations, and play our part to co-create with the universe by taking action towards what we want where possible, while the universe aligns everything else for us.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Hi! I really enjoy your Santiago Garcia stuff and was wondering if you’d write daddy Santi helping with period cramps? Like imagine those big warm hands giving you a massage. Heaven. (I was thinking normal sweet massage but when it comes to Santi it might end up becoming more than sweet ;) whatever u feel like) Thank you!

Take Care

Word Count: 1.9k+ Warnings: Daddy kink, oral sex mention (f received), unprotected period sex. Blood mention, obvs. A/N: I hope this lives up to expectations!!

Bloody and bruising.

Bowed over, taken down, and everything inside is twisting and churning like a hot tub on fucking fire. 

Pain between your hips, radiating down to your knees and up to your breasts and further on into your head.

That’s where the pain receptors are, the little things inside of your head that read what your nerves are writing out. Apparently the pain pills you’re supposed to take are supposed to block that goddamn function but, yet again, here you are with your head halfway down the toilet begging God not to let you pass out on the floor like you’re a college freshman all over again.

Which would be fine, honestly, if you were living by yourself still. But you just moved in with your boyfriend after months of him begging and he has never seen you like this, you make absolute sure of that.

It’s not that Santiago can’t handle blood and puke but he shouldn’t have to handle your blood and puke. Not this early, at least.

But then the front door is closing at the bottom of the stairs and his footsteps are falling throughout the house talking to you normally until you don’t answer back. Only then does he sound a little panicked, doors opening and closing throughout the rooms downstairs until there’s heavy treading on the wood stairs.

Trying to get up, to call back to him, is goddamn useless because, every time you do, another round of vomit threatens to crawl up the length of your throat. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Because he follows the sound of your cries as the muscles in every part of your body seize you again. 

“Baby?” Santiago falls to his knees beside you, large hand splaying across your back in a way that makes you cry out louder until he pulls away. “What's wrong? Baby?” 

This is so fucking embarrassing and you tell him as much in the small, pitiful illusion of words you manage to bite out. Barely living with him a month and your uterus decides to make you scream like you’ve been shot in stomach.

Which is exactly what he tells you he sounded like when he actually was.

“Come on, baby, what is it?” He asks, pulling himself to a squat. “Do you need to poop? Benny gets like this when he needs to poop sometimes.” 

"I don’t need to take a fucking shit, Santiago!” 

Head cocked, he raises an eyebrow. “Is that anyway to talk to daddy, sweetheart?”

Really, you just want him to go away. Give you another pain pill and fuck off for a few hours until you feel like a fucking human being again. It’s the second day, that’s always the worst one, it’ll pass. You know it’ll pass.

But right now?

“Tiago, baby, I love you, but I just—“ Instead of finishing your sentence, you knock him off his balance on your way back to the toilet to choke out another teaspoonful of fucking bile. 

“Please get out,” you tell him through the tears and the raw throat. 

He shakes his head. “Fuck you, princess, what’s wrong?” 

Deep breath. “It’s my period, daddy,” you bite out at him.

“Okay,” he stands, hands up in surrender.

He walks out and you’re thankful. In the past, when you’ve been sick—truly sick—every time he walked away to get more medicine or fluids or the thermometer, you whined for him not to leave you. Now? Now you let out the first breath of relief you’ve felt all day.

Five minutes passes with your head in your hands, supporting the aching, pounding brain as you hang it between the knees drawn up to your chest. 

“Take your fucking clothes off,” his voice comes out low and deep.

He’s in his undershirt when you look up, button up disposed in favor of his bare arms. There’s a mug in his hands and you can see the steam rising from the cup. 

“I'm not taking my clothes off with you in here, Santi.”

His eyebrow raises again. “You think I’m scared of a little bit of blood?”

That's just the thing. At the end of the day, it’s all these theatrics for just a little bit of blood. All these cramps—all this vomit—for barely a goddamn thing.

“Take these,” he puts pills in your hand, waving you off when you tell him you’ve already taken something. “I don’t care about what little baby bitch pills you’ve picked up from the pharmacy, these are South American and you won’t feel shit after about thirty minutes.” 

“Are they from some fucking narco you’ve worn the blood of?” 

He huffs a laugh and squats down next to me again. “I’d like to wear your fucking blood so if you could take your clothes off and get into that shower, I’d really appreciate it.” 

Cramps take you again and so, too, do his words as. “Do you think that telling me you’ll wear my blood after I’ve asked about all the people you’ve shot is funny?”

Hands to his chest, his eyes turn liquid coal. “You wound daddy, baby,” he says, tone half mocking. “Maybe the cramps and embarrassment are going to your big, beautiful, smart brain because it was actually meant to be sexy—or did you forget all the times I’ve told you I like the taste? We live together now, princesa, you don’t get to lock me out of parts of my own house and tell me not to take care of my girl.” 

His hands are large and careful as he helps you up, holding you close to him as he helps you brush your teeth and wash your mouth out. “I wish you would’ve called me at work, baby,” he whispers as he starts to strip you down. “Would've rushed straight home and done this already; been downstairs and making dinner while you slept off the pills in a fucked out high.”

Your muscles are betraying you again but in the way that they’re reacting to every single word of his honey thick voice. “I love you, Santi.”

He says nothing, just kisses your temple and puts you in the shower to start letting the warmth run over you as he strips down to join you. 

He tries nothing in the shower, his only focus on holding you up while the pills kick in and the only lingering touches of his fingers between your legs come in the form of washing you beneath the spray. 

It’s when he gets you out from the water that he gets handsy, small words checking in with you and asking how your body feels. He grabs a towel and lays it out on the bed before encouraging you to lay facedown. 

“I should really put panties on, Santiago,” you say. “I”m going to make a mess on the bed.”

Shushes fall from his mouth as he presses kisses into your spine, large hands kneading into your flesh as he works his way down. “Do you mind the idea of period sex, by the way, baby girl? Or do you just want me to keep massaging this beautiful back of yours and let you be?” 

Lifting your head up, you do your best to look back at him. “I don’t mind the idea,” you tell him. “I've never done it before though.”

He laughs. "Yeah, because you never let daddy stick his big, fat cock inside of you during it.” 

“You know it’s weird that you call yourself daddy more than I call you daddy, right?” You ask him. “You're so desperate, it’s cute—“ 

A loud smack runs ripples up your spine but he was right about those pills—you don’t feel a goddamn thing but the shivers and the lightheadedness of a turned on buzz.

“So, can I put it in you?” He asks, hand smoothing across the swell of your ass. “Please, baby? You can make any kind of mess you want but it’ll feel better when the pills wear off, I promise.”

He pulls your ass up towards him as you nod, laying another smack across the flesh of your backside as you pull a pillow towards you, and he wastes no fucking time in pushing himself inside of you—all the way down with no effort and a low groan of deep satisfaction. 

“It's funny because I know how horny you get on your period, princess,” he says with another hand clapped down on your ass. “Sext me like a pent up virgin who’s read far too much erotica with your shit Spanish and—“ 

“Does insulting me make you feel like a bigger man, daddy?” You throw back to him. “Because if that’s the case, you can get the fuck out of me and relieve yourself in the shower, my vibrator will do just fine.” 

Leaning over you, he presses his lips into your shoulder. “It actually makes me feel bigger when you give me shit back, princesa.” 

Your fucking head is lost in the way he sinks his teeth into your neck, the skin pulled taut as he bites down and sucks.

It could be the high of the pills or his cologne but that doesn’t take away how right he is—how good he feels inside of you. You never let him see you like he did earlier; you did lock him out and keep yourself away all those months you kept separate spaces. Because while you knew how good he was when you were sick, all past experiences with boyfriends and blood involved ended in tears and not the kind you’ve fallen face first into as he punches louder and louder cries out of you.

“You feel that?” He asks, voice so low—mocking—and you can feel his eyes raking down your spine as his hand runs up and around to squeeze at your breast. “Feel your muscles tightening up? Or can you not? Are daddy’s pills blocking this warm”—he thrusts harder—“thick”—harder—“orgasm I’m pulling out of this slick little cunt?” 

There’s laughter in your throat over the absurdity of it all; that you were crying and choking back vomit not even an hour ago and now you’re clenching in some fucked up state of euphoria; that your muscles were tightening in betrayal of your body and now they’re tightening for your body’s pleasure. 

That you were full of tears of pain and now are full of tears of pleasure as he squeeze and kneads and pumps harder but slower to drag out the strokes of this full feeling he puts all throughout you.

You don’t even realize you’re crying out his name until he’s shushing you, cooing out with soft mouth sounds after pushing in and letting go on a hard, guttural grunt.

“Do you still hurt, baby?” He asks, lips pressed into your temple as he leans over you. You can feel him twitching inside of you with every breath. “Or are you ready to nap up here in your fucked out little state of mind while I make you dinner?” 

He doesn’t even let you fully answer before he’s smacking your ass again as he pulls himself out of you. 

“Stay here with this cute little ass up in the air,” he says. “I'll be back after I put dinner in the oven to eat my dessert.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Pinnie, MAGUS is my dear darling. He is so fucking terrifying and that fries my fight or flight response so fckn much. He rubs my brain good and I will proceed to provoke a hyperfixation on him for the time being. (You can put all my Magus asks together dw, if you find them xD)

1. I meant for Magus to feed me, not feed me. Y'know, Vesper style.

2. I wanna see shiny fishes and cool ocean fishes with my horror of the deep bf.

3. Glauk is bestie material, I will play along w/ him like a fucking clown to entertain Magus.

4. Imagine telling Magus that humans eat but small ocean dwellers like shrimp and crabs (but boiled) Or telling Magus what seasoning is xD

5. If you have thought that far yet, how is their dick? Is it one of the tendrils like some octopi? Or is their slit like normal? 1 or 2? (Feel free to ignore if you haven't gone that far yet, or jump it)

6. Will Magus allow a threesome w/ Santi?

7. Imma grab any part of him as soon as he is near me, istg, I have fear of drowning (but the horny is stronger) in fact, I will hug whatever is closest bc my life depends on it. Doggy style is supposed to be a fucking position not my lifeline to survive in the ocean.

8. DOES MAGUS EYES GLOW IN THE DARK? DOES ANY PART OF HIM DOES? OMG FLORESCENT DICK /J

9. I will offer Magus my soul for a kiss, open that mouth boo. Imma declare my love to him instantly, I'll be cheesy and awkward bc that is a classic me move. And maybe ruin the mood but hey, the offer still stands, and sweat can't be sensed underwater.

9.1? Would I be doing harm to Magus if I kiss stain his face? Would he let me?

10. How would Magus react to Glauk approaching/walking(swimming?) in while he is fucking us?

[An essay, hmmm. I'm putting several more small mer asks under the cut.]

1) I understood, I just wasn't feeling it too much.

3) Glauk is a good mer to bother if you want to know more about Magus. They're genuine friends, even if Magus is oftentimes too much of a nasty grump to be nicer to Glauk.

4) He's vaguely disgusted by the concept of burning food, but he'll sooner come around to the concept of seasoning as a whole. You can introduce him to brand new flavors! Although he hates sweetness.

5) See this ask.

Magus is packing something quite long, as is necessary for his species. There is no way you'll ever fit all of that inside you, not even if he was shrunk to your level. It's very slippery and wriggling and looks almost ribbon-like. In great contrast to the rest of his body, it glows brightly in the water. Magus' orgasms are lengthy and your little body definitely can't handle it all.

6) Depends.

If the incubus presents himself in a submissive manner, then yes. Magus will be in control and take both of you. Santi is to never leave any sort of mark on you (be it scratching, biting or bruising).

7) A tendril will do then.

8) Magus is a lot like Breg, in the sense that his eyes remain covered behind a membrane like patch of skin. They don't glow.

9) He may not scent sweat very easily, but provided you're still sweating, he might taste it.

9.1) Magus won't stop you, but he'll automatically clean his face afterwards. Not with his tongue, the products you apply taste distinctly awful. He doesn't like them much, but the huge mer understands they're some type of land-dweller mating display. Sometimes.

10) If Magus is in heat, then he'll automatically stop and shield you, letting go to quickly give chase and possible eviscerate Glauk. However, it's hard to miss the scent of a mermonster in rut, so Glauk absolutely steers clear of his larger friend.

During standard periods, neither Glauk nor Magus will be bothered if the other walks in on sex, though this doesn't necessarily mean the other is invited to participate.

In his mouth.

He does have one.

What is any good way to survive a yandere? Generally, give into their affections.

The more submissive and cooperative you are in key moments, the more they're willing to learn how to accommodate you.

*Magus

Usually, I don't care when anons mangle my characters' names, it's even become a bit of a joke.

However, there's a Magnus floating around that I did not create, and I don't want people to get confused.

[hollowedtime]

randomly appears because someone wants me to

twst characters x gn! violet baudelaire! reader. scenario format.

characters: adeuce, azul, jade.

@psychicpoetrybeard i am an AWFUL writer but hopefully u can tolerate the cringe. reader is of NRC age. ace and deuces part can be read as platonic or romantic. PLS TELL ME THE “READ MORE” WORKS IDK GOOGLE ISN’T HELPFUL

CWs: mentions of a house-fire.

♠️ aduece duo ♥️

the intelligent one among the useless cretins

the brains among the blockheads

riddle has requested you to keep them in check personally, it’s like they agree to anything because they KNOW it’s a good idea if it’s yours.

ace calls you a nerd 24/7 so you worked for a few hours to make a contraption that punches him in the side of the head everytime he sets foot in ramshackle

deuce is the favourite child. you ended up informing him that chickens just don’t come out of unfertilised eggs or whatever and the look on his face 😭

one day, you sort of let it slip that your parents died in a house fire and you lost practically everything, and how the fortune and a few other things were all that you had left. not to mention how this count olaf guy kept trying to steal it all.

you never saw ace that serious, and deuce that sad. they comforted you and genuinely respect your mental fortitude to keep going. you allowed them to use the spyglass when the three of you become very close, around when the scarabia chapter finished.

🐙 azul

you do NOT fall for his scam. in fact, you call it out. when he tries to send the tweels after you, you know how to evade them each time. you really piss him off, you know that?

chapter 3 goes by a lot quicker because of you. when you come up to him saying you’d like to rethink the contract, he assumes he has you entrapped. of course he’s suspicious, but you just seem so desperate. and it’s his job to help poor, unfortunate souls like you.

and then you proceed to Bamboozle his ass

when he overblots, he’s surprised at how understanding you are. he expected a sneer from everyone apart from the tweels, but it was just kindness.

that’s where a develops a “minuscule” “fleeting” crush on you

(spoilers, it is not minuscule nor fleeting. you can tell.)

maybe, when you finally get into a relationship, he’ll show you his octopus form willingly this time, and you in turn open up about all of your struggles back at home.

you make him these mini inventions sometimes. he loves everything you do.

🐬 jade

you didn’t interest him too much at first, but a magicless human from triton-knows-where was enough to get him investigating. however you seemed very on guard, which was inconvenient enough.

he supposed he’d have to result to more invasive methods to sate his curiosity when you signed a contract with azul, but you had this… look in your eyes. he keeps quiet, but he knows you may be much more entertaining than he thought.

okay, he’s VERY interested now that chapter 3 is over. bro shows up at your house.

he sees all your inventions, and realises how easily you manage to survive in such a run down house. of course he doesn’t directly ask you, but while he’s attempting to lull you into a sense of trust, he ends up slowly but surely falling in love.

he finds it inconvenient. honestly too cliche, but a small part of him, that hopeless romantic part of him that came straight from his mother, tells him that he better put “have a candlelit dinner with you” on his bucket list.

once he finally worms his way into your heart, you have the guts and courage to tell him about all your struggles. he listens intently, complimenting how strong you are. when you tell him about count olaf and his subordinates, a sort of danger flashes across his eyes. it’s gone the next second.

he finds all your skills very interesting. it’s become a game between you two where he hides riddles in things he gives you and you decipher them.

when jade sees how you react to the sea, he questions the forlorn look in your eyes. he’s super understanding when you tell him it reminds you of your aunt.

once again, he marvels at how tough and smart you are. you are simply perfect for him.

…hopefully nobody can tell i accidentally played favourites 😃😃

it’s gonna take me 5 years to have the courage to post this 💀

[sunsetseason8910]

Them Brooklyn Boys Is Big Pt. 5

If you've read the whole series then this will look a lot like the other note to you all, I'm sleep deprived, and on the brink of insanity, don't hold sane me (if she is still in my brain somewhere) accountable for whatever shit I put these characters through

TW: probably violence and language but once again I write these before the actual story so if there isn't any violence or bad language than congratulations I have more brain cells than I originally thought

Please don't read on if you haven't read the rest of the series. Once it is done, I will make and entire post with the links and pin it to my page so you all can access every part even though I know not a lot will read these, I still want to make it easily accessible to you because somewhere deep down I still have a shred of human decency (I think?)

aaaanywho lets get to the story

the look on his boyfriends face hurt more than any wound Spot could ever undergo. the look of pure heartbreak. with a hint of pity. Spot hated pity.

"Race, I'm fine. Just untie these ropes," Spot said, and turning so Race could untie the ropes tightly binding Spot's wrists and ankles. Jack hopped down into the basement, his jaw dropping at the state of the two.

"Davey, Spot, what the hell happened?" Jack pressed, mortified at the sight of Spot beat to a pulp, and his own boyfriend with tape over his mouth. Jack walked over to Davey and gently pulled off the tape, before also releasing Davey from his own ropes.

"Let's get you two out of here," Jack said to the kidnapped.

"My pleasure," Davey said as he walked up the stairs first, followed by Jack, and lastly Spot with the help of his boyfriend, of course.

"We're free," Davey celebrated goofily as they made it out of the basement, only to find it was pitch black. "Wait how long were we in there?" Davey asked. For Davey it hadn't felt like long, but with Spot feeling blood dripping down his chest from his collarbone, it felt like a lifetime in that basement.

"Oh god, at least five hours," Jack said to Davey. "Spot, you're sleeping in Manhattan tonight," He added, but pointed towards Spot this time. Spot could barely stand on his own, so Race took the liberty of giving the shorter boy a piggy back ride.

Spot nodded, not even having the energy to protest. He felt like he had been awake for three days, despite it being only around 9 o'clock at night. He had been held down and beaten by more guys than even the King of Brooklyn could take on.

"I'm sorry my love," Race whispered to the boy on his back. He seemed to sense the growing fatigue radiating off of Spot.

Spot just nuzzled his head in Race's neck as they made their way to Manhattan.

----------

Once they finally made it to the Manhattan lodging house, it had to have been close to 11 o'clock, and all the Manhattan boys were luckily asleep. Race set Spot down on his own bed, before getting in bed himself. he was sure not to make any sudden movements as to not trigger Spot. He slowly put his arm over Spot's side, his other arm now being used as a pillow for Spot.

Race could barely stand to look at Spot without bursting into tears, he couldn't even imagine how Spot felt.

On the other side of the room full of beds, was Davey, who was supposed to be in his bed at his house where his parents were worried sick, but no way in hell would Jack let Davey go for at least seven more hours. Jack held the other boy in his arms until they both fell asleep, grateful to be back together again.

Davey and Spot had gone through one of the most stressful nights of their lives, and there was nothing Jack or Race could do but be there for them. It would take a long time for them to heal, mentally, and physically for Spot.

[sorcerous-caress]

Sol’s no truly good ending feels a lot like Karlach’s as Karlach also has to give in and go back to avernus in the good ending and even Astarion’s to a lesser extent all three of them sacrifice some degree of power or freedom and being trapped without powers I’m sure feels a lot like being with out sunlight or in avernus for sol. The unfairness even in good ending aligns well with the tome of the game.

Ah this isn't what their good ending was supposed to convey.

Astarion was turned against his will, Karlach had her heart stolen from her. Both were complete people before their life turned around.

Sol was born with this, it's not something that happened to them. It is them, part of themselves. They never lost anything to begin with while the other two did lose something.

Karlach can leave avernus eventually and Astarion can find a cure to walk into the sun maybe. What I'm saying is both of these endings are temporary, they can be changed eventually. Their sacrifice is temporary.

Sol's is permanent. They are cutting off a limb that will never grow back, killing a part of themselves because the world wouldn't accommodate it. Because it was consuming them.

And it is still a happy ending despite it all, because they end up happy. The part of them alive is still happy since how can someone who's died be sad? Astarion can mourn the sun, Karlach can miss the surface.

Sol is the one hurting themselves, they are their own main struggle. There is no cazador for them, no Gortash to blame. Their family was shitty yeah but they did just want to keep them alive, Sol was the person being a danger to themselves and everyone around them.

Karlach and Astarion already lost a part of themselves against their will. While Sol needs to make the choice to do that in order to be happy, to willingly lose a part of themselves.

Because as much as everyone says to always be yourself, what if the person you are isn't loveable? What if you don't have empathy or what if you hurt everyone around you without realising it? What if being yourself was the problem? You were the problem.

I said before that I made them to deal with my struggles with bpd and it still holds true. A lot of their bad traits are exaggerations of my own past ones. I too had to learn not to be myself, to manage my anger, resentment and to develop empathy.

Because the world can't accommodate you sometimes, but the need to belong, the urge to be loved and a part of something will always be stronger than the urge to be yourself.

In a perfect world, Sol wouldn't have had to change or kill a part of themselves. But it isn't a perfect world, and they are still human who craves happiness, a beautiful lie rather than the harsh truth of them truly being a greedy red dragon.

In their bad endings, they grow wings. Actual dragon wings instead of using magic to fly or float. It's to resemble freedom, that they are unloved yes but finally free and their true self no matter how ugly they've become.

In their good ending, they will mourn the ability to fly. They will miss having scales that let them get away with wearing whatever they want and how they need to wear armour now. They are less free, more shackled to the ground.

But they are a part of a community, accepted by humans, not scaring animals and not settling things on fire. They're happy, because loneliness is a much worse fate in their opinion.

Tho the message is definitely not "lol don't be your true self you should just try to fit in" that's just stupid.

The message is "some people can't be their true selves because others will always deem them unsettling or demonize them."

That sometimes being your true self will hurt you, sometimes your own brain and body is your worst enemy and you need outside interference to learn to manage it.

That some people will choose community and love over individuality, even if that choice is wrong.

Sol is chaotic neutral, they only care about their own happiness not what's right and what's wrong.

Their bad ending is technically the morally correct one, but to them it's the bad one for not resulting in their happiness.

Their good ending is the morally wrong one for them choosing to cut parts of themselves in order to live rather than die free. But it made them happy and that's all that matters.

It is unfair yeah like Astarion and Karlach. But for completely different reasons. Their birth itself was unfair rather than their life going in the wrong direction. If anything they had a lucky life for surviving themselves this long.

Their family would've set them free after making sure they're in full control, they had good intentions but took their ways and teachings to the extreme.

Sol's both good and bad ending is opting out of that cycle, refusing to play by the rules, refusing to preform or control themselves.

They either die free or kill the part of them keeping them behind. Evolve or die. No more middle grounds or hiding or treating themselves like a soon erupting volcano.