#i only have so much energy to deal with everything.

[notlhecxzsa]

Never Wanted Love Just A Fancy Car - N.R

Summary: Time seemed to pass by so quickly, everything seemed to be moving past between Natasha's fingers, but would she let the only thing that seemed to be giving her everything go? It is not what she wanted anyways... right?

Author's Note: Hii! Omg, finally! I hope this is enough to fill the weeks I haven't updated, I kind of got lost and everything's piling up. But, now, I finally have a good vision on how I want this to go! This is 3k+ words.

Warnings: Starting of Mean!Natasha (ughhh, here we go), bruises, mentions of abuse, sad Y/n (give my girl back her dog and lucy!)

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3rd Person's POV:

A week has already passed by, a routine was set between Y/n and Natasha. Inside that week, Maria, Clint and the other noticed how Natasha stayed in the penthouse, which was very unusual, given that she mostly lives in the manor. They chose not to mention it around the red head, thinking that they might just be thinking too much about it.

Y/n already knows the whole penthouse by heart, keeping everything as tidy as possible even though Natasha had kept saying that she has people to do those things. Making different delicious meals for the both of them, even making extra more for Clint, Maria, Bucky and Steve whom she met on the 3rd day of being there.

Y/n's kindness and attentiveness did not go unnoticed by the people that would come and go inside the penthouse, her actions warms the head of the people around her and makes their stomach churn in a very good way.

Natasha's eyes never left the petite figure of her 'significant other' wherever she goes and whatever she does. The fluttering of her heart makes her want to throw up as the compliments from her friends about Y/n makes her eyes roll. Though, she can't deny that her friends seemed to enjoy going to the penthouse ever since Y/n came.

Late night games and movies became a thing for the past week and a half, 'addicting meals'—as to how Bucky proclaimed it to be, are always served, all while Natasha kept to herself, specifically on times when she and Y/n are not alone.

She felt a magnetic-like energy, rather work at home than to do the work she normally would choose to do. Her tongue burning to get a taste of whatever's being cooked in the kitchen. The little moments and conversation that was spent between the younger girl became something she cherished and most awaited every single day, even though she will never admit it—even to herself.

Now, at the very moment, Y/n was cooking in the kitchen while Natasha seemed to be having a very serious call on the balcony with someone. Y/n's eyes kept checking her over, eyes raking on the expressions she wear across the kitchen, to the living room and to the balcony. She wanted so badly to ask what was wrong, her inside a raging bull that kept pushing her to be there for her...wife.

Before she could even go deep inside her thoughts, the sound of the sliding door filled the air and she quickly looked down to what she was cooking. she was cooking, heavy footsteps was what it was followed, then those deep heavy sighs she's starting to get familiar with. She's stressed. Natasha is stressed.

"Are you-" She started, not even getting the chance to talk before Natasha's dominant voice went straight to her ears.

"I'm going out. Don't wait up for me. I just need to deal with something." Natasha's footsteps did not falter, not even a bit as she passed through the kitchen, leaving Y/n alone and confused, her heart and mind fighting wether should she check on the redhead or not.

This is the first time she witnessed the redhead so stressed—the first time witnessed Natasha going out to do something without even knowing what it is. Usually, there would be a follow up reason, a short explanation from Natasha without even asking. Now, she just acted so...weird. There wasn't much evidence that Y/n saw from how she just acted, but Y/n could feel it.

What happened?

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Back at the penthouse, silence enveloped the whole atmosphere as Y/n fixed the food inside the microwave, deciding to wait up for Natasha so that they could eat together. Surely, she won't be home late, right? She always gets home by dinner.

Deciding to spend her time waiting by the living room, turning on the TV to watch something. Her hand subconsciously going up to play with her ring finger, wondering when will the ceremony of their wedding will be. Her mind fantasizing how beautiful the even might be, her younger self's dreams might finally happen in just a few days.

Her mind flooded with questions. Will my parents be there? Will Lucy gonna be there? Tamtam? Her heart fluttering in excitement at the thought of the two latter. She don't know how the wedding will go, all she knows is that this is all about something between Natasha's parents and her's. But, it's a wedding, a special event, a matrimony, it has to mean something more than just a business plan, right? Right.

Even though she still has mixed feelings about her unknown relationship with Natasha, she kept learning on how to love her, that what a wife does, right? That's what they should do.

Clad in her usual clothing, leggings and a domesticated sweater with her hair up in a ponytail and strands of hair falling to the sides of her face. Her attention was swarmed by the announcement spoken by the reporter on the television.

"Stark's industry has once again published a new electronic device, setting a standardized testing all over the countries, even in Asia. But, nevertheless, we can see how Romanoff corporation is still on top of the business. Electronics, weaponry, and services for the people and the government...." A small smile made its way on her face, her heart beats with pride. She was proud. She took a mental note to congratulate the red head later, maybe that's where Natasha was going. To discuss about this, this should be something to be celebrated.

Her gaze averted down to her arm, where the sleeves of her sweater was slightly ridden up. There was a vivid bruising, already healing. Caressing it, her eyes fell into a solemn look, thinking of home. Tammy, Lucy. She just hopes they're doing good. Her parents would call her, asking how she is, spending only a minute to talk to her before the conversation is averted about Natasha.

Pulling up the sweater to check on her other bruises, she saw how the others are still visible in the eyes close-up. She hopes it will be gone soon, people might think weird of her once they notice how she only wears a sweater and cover-ups.

Too lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the ninja-like footsteps getting near her. "Y/n?..." She jumped up at the sound, looking up to see Maria with a certain look on her face, her eyes glazing over the arm that was set in front of her. "Are you okay? What happened?" Looking down, Y/n realized that the sleeves was still ridden up.

Quickly pulling it down, she stood up. "Maria! I didn't- I didn't hear you... Why are you here?" Y/n mentally slalpped herself, sounding so nervous and maybe even mean. Fiddling the hem of her sleeves, she continued, "Have you eaten already? I cooked something... I-I'm just waiting for Natalia to come home, she left earlier, by the way-just incase you're looking for her..." She trailed off, not knowing what to say anymore.

Maria's gaze stayed for a while on Y/n's covered arms that was visible a while ago. She saw it. Bruises littered on her body is what her life is all about in this business, and she can't be mistaken if she saw one. She saw the stiff shoulder of Y/n and what seemed like a tensed body, clearly having a good read that it is not something she would be open into talking about. But to Natasha, she will for sure ask about it. There's no way Natasha's hurting her?

"Yeah- no, I mean, I was just gonna pass by to bring these papers to Natasha..." Briefly holding up a briefcase in hand, Maria's gaze averted to look back into Y/n's face. "She's been spending work times here, I told her I'd just give this to her and she agreed—where is she, by the way? Did she say anything about where she was going?" Maria asked as she put the suitcase on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

Y/n stayed standing up, "Uhm... no, she left in a hurry... and she also seemed stress." Silence enveloped the atmosphere around them, Maria seemed to be in a very deep thought as her gaze glued on the television while Y/n shifted on where she was standing.

"Would you�� would you like to eat, Ria?" Maria look back at the young girl, smiling at the sound of the new nickname she earned.

"What do you have there?" Standing up, they both walked towards the kitchen.

"I cooked salmon! I also did some vegetables salads, if you would like I can make you some juices." Setting up a plate, Maria frowned.

"Aren't you gonna eat too? Did you eat already?" Sitting down, she muttered a small thank you when a glass of water was set in front of her.

"No, don't worry about me. I'll wait for Natalia..." Maria's eyes squinted a little as she looked at Y/n who was taking out the food from the oven.

"Why do you keep calling her Natalia?" Maria blurted out and Y/n frowned, her movements faltering as she turned to look at Maria.

"Isn't that her name?" She questioned.

With a chuckle, Maria took a sip on her water as the food was set in front of her. "No, yeah, it is, it is. She hates that name, do you know that? We all call her Natasha." Maria explained, amusement sparking in her voice.

With a deeper frown, Y/n sat down beside her, after setting all the food that is available in front of the raven haired woman. "She hates it? Really?" With a blown confused voice, she asked. "It's just... it was what I used to call her... before. From as far as I can remember."

"Yeah... but, doesn't seem like it when you're that one calling her that..." Maria took a bit of the delicious food, just as she was about to take a second bite, her movements faltered. "Wait... before?" Looking at Y/n who was looking ahead into a space, seemingly lost in her thoughts with a faint blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"Yeah... when we were kids. She used to come in our house with her parents, but I remember only very little." She explained, looking at Maria with a small smile on her face. "Why?" Seeing the distant look on Maria's face, she asked curiously.

A blip of silence came over, the gears running inside of Maria's head seemed to be heard by the girl beside her before she clears her throat slowly. "Urhm... no, nothing. Just curious, that's all—This is so good, by the way. Might eat it all if only Natasha would not kill me." Giggling, Y/n shook her head.

"I can cook you another?" Warmth spreading in her chest, she thought how Natasha got so lucky.

"No, no, don't bother, this is all good." With a nod, Y/n settled beside Maria, conversation thrown at each other like a normal friends would do.

Y/n could only hope Natalia is fine and will come home sooner.

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3rd Person's POV:

Hours passed by and the both of them had settled by the living room, with Maria deciding to stay for a couple of more hours and Y/n now falling asleep on the couch.

Averting her gaze from the television to the young woman who had her head on her knuckles while the other hand cuddled a pillow on her lap. Maria looked down on her phone, all of her messages from Natasha popped up immediately with no reply in sight. Sighing she got up to get herself a glass of water, deciding to stay a few more minutes before heading off.

As she was pouring herself a glass of water, a sheets of colored papers along with some art materials caught her eyes. Flower papers. The same ones she saw on Natasha's glovebox. The same one she also saw on Natasha's room yesterday.

Huh. Smirking, she shook her head before the sound of the door caught her attention. It might be Natasha. Deciding to stay in the kitchen as those familiar quiet footsteps reached her ears. From where she was standing, she could still clearly see where Y/n was laying on the couch but she's not visible for anyone to see if the person walking inside will go straight in the living room.

She watched as the familar form of a red haired woman with a dominant aura walked slowly with careful steps that Maria is not familiar with approach the young woman. With furrowed eyebrows, curiosity filled her body as she watched Natasha stand still, her figure looming over the girl, just watching over her.

Slowly, a sly smirk made its way on her face as she decided to step little by little closer to the living room, coming into a view where she can see Natasha's face clearly.

There was a certain look in Natasha's face that she could not pinpoint. A certain look she'd never seen before. Now, with a frown, she thought how could Natasha not notice another presence with them? With her eyes soft and tensed at the same time, analyzing the small figure by the couch, she decided to get her attention.

"Natasha..." With an uncertainty in her voice, she called out.

Head whipping around, shoulder becoming tensed as her features falter, Natasha replied, "Maria..." Clearing her throat, she straighten up, turning on her heels and walked towards the kitchen, her eyes trailing towards the art materials present on the table. "What are you doing here?"

Watching as Natasha opened up the fridge but just stared. "I got you the files. Where did you went?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you not to come anymore. I'll be going back at the mansion." Closing the fridge, she went to sit on one of the stools, now looking straight into Maria's eyes, not caring how she ignored the second question.

Frowning, she asked, "What? What about Y/n?"

Natasha shrugged, "What about her? I mean, she's doing fine here...I can just check on her—you guys can check on her from time to time." Taking a sip on the beer she got from the fridge, she averted her gaze to look by the living room, her gaze immediately falling down on the young woman laying on the couch.

With a still frown, Maria couldn't help but notice how the atmosphere had shifted, now taking notice that there was something up with her friend. She know her too well not to notice it, but seeing how tensed Natasha was, she chose not to question. Questions that are already piling up after the things she had witnessed and learned today.

"Well, then, I should go now. The files are by the living room..." Turning, Maria gathered her things she left on the kitchen counter earlier.

"Thank you, Maria." Natasha said with a monotone, acknowledging the effort that was made by the woman.

With a nod, Maria walked towards the exit, but her movements faltering as she turned her head to look at Natasha who was still looking ahead. "She cooked for you..." Even with her face in a stone cold feature, Maria could see right through her. "She was waiting for you to come back."

Receiving no reply, Maria headed off, leaving Natasha in her own bubble that seemed to be going off in any moment.

As soon as the sound of the door closing in, she swallowed a heavy lump that formed in her throat, her facade falling into pieces as she took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she let it out.

As soon as she opened it, she saw a movement by the living room. Taking a large swig of the beer, she watched as the figure took notice of her presence. Those eyes that haunted her in her sleep, the same ones she craved as soon as she wakes up. Natasha made no effort in resolving her facade, watching as the young woman marched forward in the kitchen, strands of hair falling into place as she took careful steps just like what she always do, as if worrying that she might trip.

Natasha learned all her habits, the way she would tuck her hair behind her ear, how she would fiddle the ends of her sleeve as she tried to cover up her hands as if she was not covered enough with those sweaters and cardigans along with leggings and pants that seemed to be countless. The way her eyes would move everywhere when she's nervous and couldn't seemed to hold an eye contact. Many more she could not even begin to explain, and many more she could not stop thinking about.

She was held captive, and she knows it. Especially, after tonight. It was a hard pill to swallow, finally realizing that she was capable of doing something she grew up thinking she was not able to do so.

"You're home." Home. Natasha's gaze felt like she was burning holes into Y/n's eyes. "Do you wanna eat? Wait, let me just reheat it. Maria was here earlier, she got your files by the living room—oh, I also made a dessert for us, thankfully Maria did not see it inside the fridge, she would eat it all for sure." A giggle passed her soft lips, even though she was not in Natasha's view, the red head could see the smile she wanted so badly to keep from the world and own it to herself.

So that she could only see it.

So that she could only smile for her.

She was not supposed to feel like this, and that was what makes it more a bitter thing to taste.

"She's just simply the paper in between their business, Natasha. After the marriage, you and I both know she's nothing to father..."

Her facade hardened at the voice of her sister from earlier, receiving the truthful message that made everything clear for her.

She was not supposed to feel like this because that smile was never meant to be hers.

She has a mission to do, a mission for herself.

"...and you and I both know she means nothing to you..."

Standing up, everything seemed to be closing in around her. Gulping down the beer while her eyes strayed away from the one's who's trying to catch it with a confused and worrying gaze.

"I'm not hungry. You should also clean that mess up... can't have my house piling up with childish things." Pointing briefly on the art material she knew clearly well was meant to be given to her.

She was met with silence, and it was almost deafening. Walking away, her insides screamed to her the giggle earlier, craving to hear her voice filling up the air as she bid her goodnight.

Once again, a lump started to form in her throat, but this time, she can't find the strength to swallow.

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Author's note: Hope you liked it! I tried my best, really ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ I'll do better on the next one! More angst piling up in the corner, I know this seemed to be in a rush but I promise to give more on the next ones! Many peeps keeps on messaging me and piling up my asks so I just did what I can do at the moment ಠ⁠ ⁠೧⁠ ⁠ಠ thank you for reading, until next time!

[revelboo]

Rev's been inactive for 15 whole minutes, everyone panic! Call the honor guard! The navy! Superman even!

/LH /J

Pffft

I’m just hiding out over here writing TF stuff because the Twitter writing community seems to be actively on fire right now and I don’t have the energy to deal with it

Broken Arrow Pt 10

TFP Megatron x Reader

• Curling an arm around you when you go limp against him, it’s almost impossible to let go of your wrist and shatter that connection tethering him to you, but he finally manages to let go, feels your fingers slide through his spark, the pull as he loses contact that urges him to curl himself tighter around you. Instead closing the plating protecting his spark, his servos unsteady as he stares down at you where you’re slumped against him, cheek against his shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, though he’s not entirely sure what he was thinking. Only that he’d wanted to feel someone touch him, he’d wanted to feel warm fingers stroking over his spark, holding and seeing him. All of him.

• Gripping your chin in his claws, he tips your head back. Your eyes are still closed and your pulse is slow when he strokes along the line of your throat, shifting your leash. Thinking about how you’d felt tangled in him, feeling you still, the connection new and fragile. Frightening. It’s not too late to end it, servos curling loosely about your throat even while knowing he won’t. He can’t when you’re all he really has that’s real, not plotting against him or scheming. That reminds him that he hadn’t always been the ruthless gladiator that had been born in that pit from pain and spilled energon. Staring up at the autocracy gambling on lives because everyone else had mattered so very little to them. Hating them and learning to be so much worse than they were just to survive. To throw them down.

• There’s a warmth coiled inside you, the thrum of something achingly familiar under your cheek and an arm curled around you, servos in your hair. That feeling is safety and home. Eyes opening at the soft clicking of a claw sliding back and forth over the length of your leash in Megatron’s fist, you try to figure out why you feel so exhausted. And then remember his servos gripping your wrist too hard, forcing you into contact with his spark, optics flickering that fitful purple from that crap he keeps taking. Everything after that kind of gets confusing as you flex your fingers and he looks down at you. Aware that he’s cradling you in his lap like a lover and of that scowl he’s aiming down at you. “Get off,” you mutter, trying to push against his chest and almost pitching backwards when lets you. Scrambling out of his lap on unsteady feet, because it’s not just exhaustion, you feel off balance. “You jerk.” Because whatever’s wrong must be his fault. “What did you do?”

• Standing slowly to tower over you, he catches your upper arm when your legs almost fold under you and you slump against him. It’s not a full bond, not exactly. He can feel it in the way his spark is aching, wanting to reconnect. Needing more than a one sided bond, because he can feel the jarring wrongness of it. Knows that a spark bond is meant to unite, to twine two halves together. Meant to be between two willing sparks, not this mess he’s made. Your little hands are pushing at him again, trying to break away and he wonders what it feels like to you. Does it hurt you like it hurts him, a shard wedged in his spark?

• “Stop fighting me, pet.” That command isn’t his usually demanding tone or his teasing, it’s almost tired and very bitter as his arms press you closer despite your attempts to get away. Because the warmth and feel of him against you is suddenly too much, you’re overwhelmed with him. Needing him to back off, because you can’t think beyond the urge to be closer. Claws on your chin, forcing your head up to meet his optics again. Demanding your attention as he stares down at you, optics narrowing. “Primus.”

Previous

[typhoonvash]

Where do either of them even begin? Wolfwood's spent, it seems like, several years awake, and Vash spent over 200 years on his own. Granted, a hundred of those were spent incarcerated, but he got out alright. Well, outside of the gaping Wolfwood-sized hole in his chest. And the horrible loneliness of isolation that built up during his Gunsmoke sentence. The constant stress headaches, pressure, and tense muscles in addition to the countless incidents involving the loss of control with his energy...

Okay, so he's a bit fucked up. How does he start to explain anything?

"Nic..."

This is a bad idea, isn't it? He could surge at any moment and potentially kill Wolfwood. Still... Vash feels at ease here. He feels as if his muscles have finally relaxed and his jaw isn't clamped tight anymore. Just... seeing and hearing Wolfwood has instantly lowered his stress levels. Feeling his heartbeat, even if it's not his heart, also keeps his mind quiet.

Vash crouches down to inspect his lost and forgotten arm, noticing how much of a beating it took as well. Finding this must've given Wolfwood equal parts hope and dread. But... it kept him going, and that's what matters.

"Ughh," he groans, rolling onto his back. Vash sprawls out on the tarp, careful to avoid any of Wolfwood's supplies—including his bedroll. He feels so filthy; the patchy, dark scruff growing on his jaw and chin only makes him feel worse. His hair is longer than he'd like it to be too. That'll be a pain to deal with later...

After shutting his eyes for a moment, he opens them again to stare fondly at his partner. Even after all these years... he's here. Wolfwood's here. He went and found him, even though he's been awake for what—four mortal years? Is that what he mentioned? Vash being unable to move on is one thing, but Wolfwood is human. He had every right to give up on finding him, but he didn't.

Half-lidded, sparkling, deep violet eyes accessorize the warm smile and faint blush that he gazes up at Wolfwood with. Longing, but he's here. Yearning... he doesn't need to do that anymore. It's enough to make him tear up... it's enough to cause a steady stream of tears down his cheekbones and past his ears.

"There's... a lot to talk about, isn't there?" Vash croaks, his voice cracking with disuse. He folds his hands just below his sternum. "What do you think? Y'know, about all the... everything? Was it overwhelming?"

So many questions...

"A-and before you scold me about how I've been the past two centuries, I'll have you know I tried t-to... move on... once. Just for a day! I couldn't do it. B-but I heard your voice constantly telling me that I should've. I couldn't do it. C-couldn't..." Vash laughs just once, wiping his eyes with his wrist. Now that the waterworks started, he's not sure they'll ever stop. Two hundred years. "... W-wouldn't... I would-n't..."

He tries to maintain his smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as he attempts to control his tears. It's an impossible task.

"S-ssorry, heh, I... c-couldn't even l-last f-ffive minutes with... without b-breaking down..."

“I know, Spiky,” Wolfwood murmurs, his eyes bright with a line of unshed tears. As impossibly fond and still as deeply saddened as he was moments before, if he knew Vash would have spent the next two centuries grieving a man who had hardly been such a small part of that long, long life he would have…what? He doesn’t have the answer to that question, only the same awareness that he’s ever had around his own human limitations. Fate has seen to bending those rules so many times that Wolfwood wonders if he’s merely yet to truly face his comeuppance. 

At the end of the road, having known and loved Vash the Stampede would have been enough for him.

And yet, here he stands.

“I missed ya too.” 

There may be some universal constant out there, striving to offer Nicholas D. Wolfwood comforts in these trying times. 

“Oh for…” Vash would, of course, have managed to get washed down here on no account of his own planning. Nicholas sighs heavily. “Well, I’m glad yer alright. Dunno what I woulda done if I had to carry yer bony ass all the way up on top of everythin’.”

His hopes entirely hinged on finding Vash in the first place that Wolfwood hadn’t given proper thought as to how they would handle the apparent deterioration of his powers. By all accounts, Vash was on death’s front door. Any dark storm brewing over their heads could be Vash’s final run. They’ve both got that in common.

Rubbing his hand over his shirt, it occurs to Wolfwood that they’re not entirely helpless to the whims of chance. 

“One thing at a time, Tongari. Too damn old to be rushin’ into shit anymore.” Ironic, considering that was what set off the blasted little timekeeper ticking away in his ribcage in the first place. Wolfwood grunts as he holds his arm tense and pulls Vash up alongside during the steeper portions of their climb. “Been crawlin’ this place like a mad dog since I found your arm. Kept it topside, but I’d be lyin’ if I could say it’s still any good to ya.”

Their trek up to the surface was far more difficult than his original descent down. Relief washes over him when he finally spots his tent nestled against a protrusion of the cliff face. Screw stakes have been driven into the wall on one side, stretching across to poles buried deep into the soil. Wolfwood ushers Vash behind the flap just as the first droplets of rain start to pepper their heads.

God, he could do with a shower and a bowl of hot noodles. 

Out of the elements, the interior of the tent isn’t much to speak of. His bedroll remains unrolled in the far corner where he has a full view of the tent flap and anyone who might’ve been unwise enough to investigate. A small oil lamp and portable stove sit beside it. The cast iron pan still has crumbs from the morning’s breakfast in it. 

Vash’s arm has been placed lengthwise beside the head of the bedroll on a small towel. 

When he’s certain that Vash won’t suddenly fall over, Wolfwood sets about turning on the lamp and igniting the stove to provide them a source of heat as the temperature outside begins to drop. He glances at Vash then looks away just as quickly, suddenly paranoid that looking directly at Vash for too long will cause him to disappear. “Ya hungry? Ain’t got much, but bread’s somethin’ to nibble on at least.”

Falling into autopilot gives him a chance to at least try and get his head in order. He had so many variations of a speech prepared to tell Vash everything that had happened, the Eye of Michael’s growing influence, and the fact that their agents were hunting the Humanoid Typhoon even now.

“Vash–”

[diegogtratty]

I'm not one to vent, but this has not been the best year for me.

However, next week could be the comeback I fucking need to end the year on any sort of a good note. May the ideal outcome happen. Please.

[mantisgodsdomain]

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

[murmurmurl]

a modern human au where nothing bad ever happenned to them and they got to grow up together. I am making myself cry with this chat

[palms-upturned]

.

[running-in-the-dark]

it's been a month since we moved into the new apartment -

I'm so stressed. everything is stressful. we're still not done building the kitchen but it's getting there (slowly). mostly we just need to wait until we get a couple parts that weren't in stock when we ordered the rest. I'm hoping it'll be done by next weekend.

some of it is very frustrating with my brain specifically. I'm so bothered by all the tiny little things that no one else would even notice - like, some of the handles on the drawers are very slightly crooked (as in, less than a millimeter higher on one side) - but for me it's so obvious that it's impossible to ignore. my husband didn't even know what I meant when I pointed it out to him. there's also been a few slightly bigger issues, but we've solved them now (I think).

my eye has been twitching for like three to four weeks. not all the time obviously, but every few minutes. it's very, very annoying.

we still have no new info about when we'll have internet finally. it could take a while still.

on Monday a guy has to replace something in the electric roller shutters in one room - but we don't know which one yet. so either I'll have to let him into my room (awful, uncomfortable, will have to tidy up tomorrow so he could even get to the window), or I'll have to get both our cats into their carrier if it's the one in my husband's room (awful, difficult, one of them doesn't like that so he'll be scared and I'll feel bad).

also on Monday the electrician will install our stove (if he has time). then we're getting two ikea deliveries. and I've got an appointment with my (new) GP because I need a prescription, and I'm very (verrry) nervous about it.

I miss watching TV. I miss tumblr and YouTube and messaging my friends whenever I want and sending them photos all the time. I miss order and structure and (some level of) routine. I miss using real cutlery (we still haven't found ours lol).

when I was finally starting to get used to the noises in this place, the family above us moved in with their baby that cries all the time very very loudly and most of the time right above my room. so now everything is different again and I'm not adjusting well and once again I can't sleep.

but, I've listened to 14 audiobooks since we moved! that's been nice. it was the same way when we moved the last time (just over a year ago..). my favourite by far was The Thursday Murder Club. I've got the other ones in the series but I'm trying not to listen to them too quickly, so I'm gonna listen to three other books first (one is done already, so I should get there on Monday or Tuesday hopefully).

[medicinemane]

"Our thing connects to an app!!!"

Ah... I hate it

[tamagotchikgs]

looking at the scar on my arm everyday feels like a reminder im never going to be ok, im never going to be human i ruined it after all the years i held myself back i finally severed the line i had at any chance of one day belonging

[nexus-nebulae]

odd thing we've noticed. the less okay we are the smaller our active system gets

[exopelagic]

this election feels so hollow even though it’s likely ostensibly gonna be a good outcome. labour really just sucks fucking ass rn huh

[arvoze]

the power i will receive in a matter of days will be astounding. watch out

[romanticintheory]

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.

[prokopetz]

On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.

On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.

For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:

Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.

Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.

Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.

Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.

Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.

"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.

Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:

Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.

Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.

Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)

Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.

Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.

You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.

(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)

So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!

[pomefioredove]

Imagine the overbloat gang as fathers or like proud/panicking that their s/o is having a child and they don't know what to do

Imagine the gang trying to give their kids a goid life and getting baby fever like who wouldn't because the kid is literally a mixed of him and you and they gush about how much they love their s/o and children like ???????

Overbload gang as fathers and i will start violently sob

I do have a weakness for familial headcanons :) future au time??

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ as fathers

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (no mentions of the child's origins), reader is not specified to be yuu, obviously takes place in the future

I think Riddle is one of the most reluctant to have children

for years he was strictly against them. his excuses were always that children are messy, unruly, his career, his relationship with you... but he was mostly just afraid of turning into his mother

as he gets older and forms his own identity, though, he realizes that it takes a lot of intentional effort to fuck up a child like his mom did, and he changes his mind

I can see him with... maybe two kids

he would never want an only child. after all, the bonds he made with his peers are what kept him going

he is a pretty good parent overall. maybe a little to focused on bedtimes and table manners, but the kids don't seem to mind

Trey and Che'nya babysit often (and it's always disastrous)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

talking Leona into the idea of fatherhood is like diffusing a bomb with a blindfold on. the guy won't even JOKE about it

if you do end up with a kid, it's unplanned, whether that be pregnancy or baby left on the doorstep

but he makes a surprisingly(?) good father. defo a girl dad, he would spoil a daughter rotten. lets her beat the daylights out of Neji because that's his little princess :)

parenting is really not as scary as he thought it was going to be

he has "I'm just resting my eyes" *falls asleep for 8 hours on the reclining chair in the living room* dad energy

the hardest part?

pretending to like vegetables in front of the kid to set a good example

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul would actually be an awesome dad idc. IDC!

he has a good relationship with his mom and stepdad (who definitely babysit all the time; they insist on it), so he has good role models

he's not even worried about how it'll affect his career! Azul has a "do it all" personality: businessman, entrepreneur, father, aspiring millionaire...

and he is so overprotective

he'd cover that kid in bubble wrap if you'd let him

but he's really more concerned about their feelings. sending them to school is much harder than closing a business deal

he's a little sensitive, but he knows he'll have to trust them eventually

P.S. the tweels are NOT allowed to babysit. bad influences

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil. ohhh Jamil :(

kids were never on the table for him, even after he met you and fell in love, he just... couldn't imagine it

regardless of whether or not he and his family are in a better place. (for the sake of this story, let's pretend they are. I want him to be happy) he just has so much generational trauma that he knows the child will end up with some, anyway

when, if, he's ready, it will still be a tough process. but worth it

he's such a supportive dad. bragging about his child at any chance, definitely the kind of dad to show everyone the baby pictures without being asked

it gets embarrassing for them as they grow, but he doesn't care

he thinks they're the greatest thing ever, and people should know that!

he is so proud

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil had always wanted to play a father on screen, but once he hits that age, he starts thinking about real life, too

he's gotten where he wants to be, after all: he's still young, he's in love, and his career, as successful as it is, is starting to wind down. so, why not?

he is the most supportive partner you could ask for. despite his schedule, he's involved in everything (yes, even the messy stuff)

he's got a customized baby bjorn and everything

I can see him with... one. just one is enough for him. he also has girl dad energy. he's already looking forward to playing princesses and letting her do his makeup (terribly, of course)

he knows his child will grow to have their own wants and thoughts and personality, and he's supportive. besides, if he has another Epel on his hands, he'll know how to handle them

just... gentler, this time

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

for you, anon, I will enterain the idea that Idia may someday reproduce. but there's still a 50% chance that kid is a robot

joking (kind of)

I don't think he'd even really want kids. considering his own unhappy childhood and the whole curse of his bloodline thing. but, like the others, he can be convinced!

I think he'd make a pretty good father, tbh. neurotic, sure, but he's not too clingy, nor too distant

whatever kids he has will be smart, and he trusts them. he likes teaching them nerdy stuff, too (finally, someone he can infodump to!!!)

he probably ends up with more than he'd think. 2 or 3

as long as you never bring up how cringe he was in college, he's rather mature and prepared for anything

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

out of the whole lineup, Malleus is the the only one to have thought your future children while at NRC. daydreamed, really

I know, not surprising. look at the guy. he's practically kicking his legs back and forth while coming up with baby names in game

it was just a fantasy at first, then you became closer, graduated, got older, and...

Lilia began teasing him about getting grandkids, and Malleus took him quite seriously

he knows he's still young (though, at his age, Lilia was already general), but he doesn't want to wait forever. you both have many long talks on the matter

and end up with... as many children as you can handle, basically

Malleus is somewhat of an awkward father (having been raised by Lilia will do that to you)

but he cares. and he tries! very hard. plus, there's always Lilia, Silver, and Sebek around to lend a hand