#i swear to god this will be the last post i make on the subject

[dotmander]

so. thoughts. im normaller now. in case anyone needs to see my POC Credentials for my opinion to matter, i am japanese, i have been for. yknow. my whole life. anyway

1. i would love to actually hear from other poc on this because right now it looks like Only White People are speaking up. all the poc i know think this drama is petty and blown way out of proportion.

2. it's very funny to shit on people for falling for copaganda when you yourself like anise. and rama. 💀

3. dear god everyone go touch some fucking grass. it's not that deep.

[akumakosuke]

T.w: Subbot Amab Kento Nanami x Topdom Amab reader. Breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, creampie, praise, degradation, cock warming, feminization (calling Kento's hole a pussy), fluffy aftercare.

P.s this has been in my drafts forever!! I completely forgot about it until someone reminded me!

I'm actually going feral right now.

I watched the new episode of JJK last night and good lord MAPPA fed me a full course meal drinks included.

Did you see my husband's looking all sexy and oh so fucking breedable?

I'm writing a separate post for Toji, someone sent me a request for breeding Sugar baby Toji and I'm working on it, this is all about my love, my darling, my glorious Nanami Kento. (I still have the Toji one in the works)

Like most men I crave I literally want to marry Nanami and make him my house husband.

I want to just keep him at home (full of my cum) and take care of him, provide for him mind, body and spirit. I want to make him feel safe, loved, cared for, appreciated, needed and genuinely wanted.

I want to come home from a long ass day of running a huge company, completely exhausted and wanting nothing more than my big strong man in my arms.

I would open the door and immediately be woken up by the most amazing smelling dinner and most importantly a fresh loaf of Kento's favourite thing ever, bread.

I would feel all the tension, anger and tiredness melt away as I closed the door, finally got to take off my shoes and coat.

I would place my bag down and when I look up it would be as if God themselves came down to this meaningless float rock we call Earth and blessed me, a nobody with an Angel of my own.

He would stand there in all his glory, his broad shoulders that seem to relax in my presence, those huge pecs that always seem to fit perfectly in my hands, that slim waist that I know for a fact is still bruised from last night, those muscular thighs that could definitely crush my skull, those veiny hands that used to be so dangerous, he hated that, hold me with such gentle touches.

I would smile and he would try not to, as usual keeping up with his ‘i'm always serious because I'm mature’ act that he puts on as a facade, he and I both know he's just a big softie that genuinely cares about his friends and will do anything to protect them.

I would say something cheesy like “Honey I'm home.” with a smirk because I know he hates those dumb romantic comedies.

His smile would instantly fade and he would roll his eyes and mumble “Idiot.” and walk away.

I would laugh and follow him inside, then with a teasing tone say something like “You're supposed to say ‘Welcome back Dear.’ and then kiss me.”

He would ignore me as usual and change the subject “Go wash your hands they're filthy and I baked a new type of bread, the lady at the bakery gave me the recipe.”

I would come out of the bathroom with freshly washed hands and take a seat at the dinner table and say something like “Yeah, smells good hun.”

He would hum in acknowledgement he's listening and bring over the delicious food he cooked and his new bread then place them on the table.

Then he would stand over me with his hands on his hips causing me to -on not normally casual settings- look up at him in confusion.

He would then place an arm on my chair and turn it, making me fully face him and I would happily admire the view.

He's wearing grey sweatpants and a black swear shirt with that cute pink apron I bought him that says kiss the cook.

I would smirk knowing he only wore that because his normal plain black aprons mysteriously disappeared when the pink one showed up.

He would then tangle his thick hands in my hair, suddenly tugging on it and making me groan in pain, the action immediately makes blood rush to my dick.

He would force me to look up at him and with that ever so stern expression say something fucking hot like “Now that you've washed your hands, didn't you read the apron?”

Then he would give me no time to respond as he leans forward and roughly captures my lips in a heated kiss.

I would easily give in and let him do what he wants, this always happens. In the beginning Kento takes charge, he knows exactly what to do to get me hard enough to fuck his pretty brain dumb.

Kento is a smart man, he knows how to get what he wants. He knows what he's doing when he straddle my lap.

Those thick thighs would flex around mine, squeezing me as his crotch 'accidently' grinds against mine.

He would tighten his grip on my hair, bringing his other arm around my shoulders and deepen the kiss, mumbling a fake apology, as if he doesn't want me to fuck him.

My hands would instinctively find his waist, I would say something like “Don't apologize love, take responsibility Kento.” then I would squeeze his waist and grind his plump ass on my fully hard dick.

He would moan and kiss me deeper, then he would start to roll his hips without my help. The friction from the fabric against our hard length sends shocks of pleasure through our entire bodies but it's not enough.

Then while Kento would be kissing me, his hand around my shoulder would travel down my chest and tug at my belt. Kento would let out a needy and frustrated grunt when my belt doesn't come off instantly.

He's not fucked out enough to be whining in desperation, no I'll have to work hard and drain those beautiful sounds out of him.

One of my hands would quickly travel to my belt, undoing it with ease. Then I would undo his belt, neither of us breaking the ruthless kiss or grinding.

We would unzip each others pants and I would easily lift both of our weights and slip my pants and boxers off, Kento would stand and take off his pants and boxers.

We would groan into the kiss as the cold air of our house brushes against both our erections, both our lengths hard already leaking bits of precum.

Both of us are still sensitive from last night/ this morning but we can't get enough of each other, it's like a drug it turned into an addiction..

It's not just fucking, it's the intimate act of sex, exposing yourself, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and connect on a level more than just our bodies.

He would straddle my lap again and his hand would waste no time and start pumping our lengths against each other.

The only sounds would be our aggressive kiss and the slick sound of Kento fisting both our lengths together with the aid of our pre.

My hands would dig into his fleshy ships, god the muscle will feel hard like marble but his skin would be soft like a fucking cloud.

He would moan into the sloppy, open mouth kiss and I would devour each and every honey dipped noise that falls out of his pretty little mouth.

My huge dick would be throbbing against his, his own length is an impressive 7 inches mine about 3 inches bigger.

It's not a big difference but my baby Kento is a big boy, I would just be a bit bigger but strong enough to pick him up and fuck him till he can't walk anymore.

Then Kento would lift himself off my hips and align my dick with his already prepped hole, then he would waste no time and slam himself back down on my entire length.

Fuck, his hands would instinctively latch onto my hair for some stability, loud moans and pretty whimpers would fall out of his mouth like a waterfall straight from heaven.

My hard length would twitch in pure bliss, surrounded by his soft, velvety walls, sucking me in and holding me hostage with a vice like grip, no matter how many times we fuck he's still as tight as a fucking virgin.

My tip would be poking and prodding at Kento's prostate dead on causing him to cum just from impaling himself on my dick.

Kento's thighs would flex around mine, his hole would tighten and he would pull my hair back, detaching from my lips just for his jaw to go slack and his toes curl as thick ropes of cum spurt out of his red rip, onto both our chests.

Kento would have a fucked out expression, his brain already fuzzy from cumming just once, his eyes would glaze over with tears, he's always been a cryer during sex, not that I'm complaining fuck I love it when he cries.

Kento doesn't cry about anything, he hates crying, the only time he cries is when he's too fucked out to think straight.

The pride of a cumming, crying Kento would straight to my dick as my grip on his hips tighten, bringing him back to reality.

Kento's vision would start to focus on me and he would see a devious smile, to anyone it would look sweet, loving almost but Kento knows it's anything but.

“Did you just cum?” I would ask in a mocking tone, bucking my hips up suddenly sending shocks of pleasure through Kento's body as more pathetic ropes of cum would spurt out from his still hard dick.

He would moan and try to shake his head, his grip on my hair would loosen and his hands would drop to my shoulders, fat tears would stream down his face as he would attempt to apologize “N–No! Fuc-k ’m s-sorry! Sorry~ AHH ah~ nghh~ s-sorr– ah ah ah– sorry.. ’m sorry~ ngh~”

He would mumble out his thoughtless apology, leaning down and kissing my neck, sucking, licking and biting as an attempt to make up for his transgressions.

I would scoff knowing his apology means nothing and let him keep mouthing at my neck, I would ignore my aching dick, it feels like my dick is gonna melt, it's so good.

I would lean in a pepper Kento's neck with gentle kisses, giving him a false sense that i'm not going to punish him then I would say something reassuring like “It's okay love, you don't have to apologize.”

He would continue sobbing and marking my neck, switching to 'thank you's' instead of 'sorry', his eyes would widen when he feels my smirk against his neck and my hands lifting his hips, slowly pulling out my dick inch by inch making him whine.

I would press my lips just below his ear and whisper “Just be a good husband and take your punishment~.” then without warning slam him back down on my length making both of us moan.

Kento would let out a high pitch moan, his body slumping forward, his head resting against my shoulder, his fingers tangling in my hair as tears streaming down his pretty face, his toes curling as incoherent and broken moans fall out of his mouth as I lift him up and slam him back down on my length over and over again.

I would groan as his hole suck's my entire length in every time I pull out till just the tip and slam him back, his warm, wet gummy walls would fit my entire length perfectly, the perfect cock sleeve and he's all mine.

That very thought would make me go crazy as I tighten my grip on his hips and slam him down once more, my tip prodding his prostrate dead on making his head fall back as his jaw falls slack and a strangled moan tries to escape his lips but no sound comes out. Fucking glorious.

“Fuck– such a good slut- taking all of me without complaining, such a whore, my whore~.” I would groan out, rutting my hips upwards so the tip of my cock massages Kentos prostrate, making his brain completely switch off.

“AH~! FUCK- NGH~ MMMHM~ C-CAN'T~! T-too mUch~! S-So gooood~! Ah~ FUCK- P-please~! Wanna CUM! P-PLEASE GOD! LeMme cUm~! WAnNa cuM~ PLEASE SIR~! F-fill me up~! FUCK PLEASE FILL ME UP~!” Kento would mindlessly whine, desperately pleading for release, his large hands clawing at my back as he rock his hips against mine, trying to push himself over the edge but because I'm a cruel bastard I wouldn't let him cum so easily, especially after he came the first time without permission.

Besides cock sleeves don't get to make requests, even if he did ask nicely.

I would snicker, looking at his flushed, desperate fucked out face, eyes rolling to the back of his head, face flushed dark shades of red, sweat glistening across his beautifully bruised skin, his mouth moving spilling an endless stream of pleas for release.

He would be too fucked out to notice one of my hands leaving his hips, only registering the movement when my big, rough hand takes ahold of his leaking shaft, the calloused feeling of my hand on his rock hard, oversensitive dick would send a jolt of electricity down his spine and his eyes with snap open.

He would have cum right then and there if it weren't for the fact my hand is squeezing the base of his dick, hard, making it impossible to actually cum but that doesn't dampen the sheer shocks of pleasure from racking his brain, causing a pathetic whimper as his dick twitches and he has a brain melting dry orgasm.

“Ah~ fuck! Look at you! You're squeezing my dick so fucking tight! Mhm~ good fucking boy! So desperate to milk my cock dry huh? Fuck~! You want it? You want my seed deep inside you-? Fuck, gonna be my cum dump? Yeah, yeah you're my fucking cum dump~! M’ gonna breed you full~! Gonna let daddy take care of you hmm? Let me fuck my cum so deep in that tight pussy~? Imagine how fucking good you'd look stuffed full of my cum~! Gonna get you fucking pregnant~ Stuff you full and plug you up so none of my cum gets wasted~! Ah~ yes-! Fuck fuck fuck~! So good~ So fucking good for me Kento~! Want me to fill you up~? THEN TAKE IT-!”

I would moan out as his hole spasms around my dick, like he actively trying to milk me for everything I'm worth and who am I to deny my glorious husband's request. I would feel my dick twitching, the white hot coil in my stomach ready to burst.

I would wrap my hands around his waist picking him up so just the tip of my dick is still inside his velvety walls before slamming him back down, shoving my entire length inside his perfect pussy, my dick twitching in pure bliss as ropes of sticky cum paint his insides white, spitting ropes of hot cum so deep inside him.

I would be mercifully and release his dick, pathetic ropes of hot, white and clear cum dripping down his softening dick as a powerful orgasm leaves him completely limp in my lap, my throbbing dick still nestled deep within him.

He would nuzzle his face against my neck, tears streaming down his face, his legs shaking as he wraps his arms around me, trying to ground himself as he babbles out a multitude of 'thank yous', still trying to catch his breath as sweat drips down his body.

I would wrap my hands around his trembling frame, fingers delicately tracing the bruises on his hips, my face also nuzzled against his neck as I place soft kisses against his burning skin, slowly bringing him out of the clouds while whispering how good he was, how perfect he is and how lucky I am to have him.

We would sit like that for a while, my soft dick buried deep inside his abused hole, wrapped in each other's arms, softly muttering praises to each other as we got out breathing under control and came down from our highs.

“You did so well my love, so good for me. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?” I would suggest after we've been sitting there for about half an hour, he would have stopped trembling and gotten comfortable, slumped against me while he cock warms me.

He would tiredly nod, not having any strength to speak and I would put my hands under his thighs, slowly lifting him off my soft cock, he would groan at the feeling of my dick leaving his tight hole, my cum leaking out and dripping down his thighs.

I would get up and pick him up, his legs wrapping around my waist and his hands wrapped around my neck, his head resting on my shoulder as I carried him to the bathroom, still muttering soft praises in his ear.

We would get to the bathroom and I would put him down on the toilet seat, being gentle as I do so because I know hes sore, he would hiss as the cold lid of the toilet seat touches his bare ass but the cold feeling would be welcomed.

I would quickly start filling the tub with warm water, getting some bubbles and rose petals to make it even better because Kento deserves it.

Once the tub is full I would gently pick up Kento and deposit him in the tub, his no doubt exhausted body immediately sinking into the warm water, letting it loosen all his muscles.

I wouldn't smile as I get in behind him, putting both my legs on either side of his waist as he rests his back against my chest, my arms wrapping around his chest as I hold him close, once again muttering small praises into his ear.

Kentos body would go completely limp in the warm water, resting his head back against my shoulder, his eyes closed as he relaxes in my hold and lets me take care of him after fucking his brains out.

After a few minutes of simply soaking in the water and basking in each others presence I would start washing him, then wash his hair and gently finger all my cum out of his puffy hole, making sure not to overstimulate him too much.

Once we're both done bathing I would once again carry him to our room and gently lay him on the bed as I grab out matching pajamas.

Once we're both changed I'd climb into bed with him, our automatic position would be us spooning, me being the big spoon with my arm wrapped around his waist, holding his back flush against my chest as he curls up against me.

“You were such a good boy today Kento, you did so well. You deserve to rest now, Darling. I love you baby, get some sleep.” I would whisper in his ear, my voice filled with genuine love and admiration as I kiss the back of his neck, resulting in a pleased sigh from Kento.

“Mhm, I love you too daddy~ Goodnight.” he would mumble as he yawns, closing his eyes as he drifts off to sleep, his mind having been fucked free of any thoughts then slowly brought back down leaving him completely and utterly satisfied.

We would sleep soundly in each other's arms, knowing only safety and comfort in each other's embrace. I would fall asleep with a smile on my face, knowing I have my soulmate wrapped in my arms.

[gay-jesus-probably]

Let me just preface this by saying everyone is allowed to have their own opinions, TOTK is a really fun game, and I'm glad that other people have been able to enjoy the story as well.

...But I'm being dead serious with my complaints about the narrative being 100% imperialist propaganda. And I'm getting really tired of people replying to those posts by saying it can't be imperialist propaganda, because imperialism is bad and the game says that Hyrule is the good guys.

Like, guys. That's not the argument you think it is. Yes, I am aware that the game tells us Ganondorf is a flat, one dimensional character with no ambitions, interests or motivations beyond destroying the entire world for the hell of it, and also it's totally not racist because he's green, not brown like literally every other member of his race. Unfortunately literally all of these things are kind of the entire goddamn problem.

See, the thing is, everyone trying to make these arguments is accepting the game at face value. Hyrule is the perfect and almighty nation chosen by the demigod Zonai, and whose royal family has the right to rule due to their divine heritage. The other races exist to serve the glory of Hyrule, and they're happy to do it. Ganondorf is pure evil and must be stopped at any costs.

But that's not how anything works. The story informing me that Hyrule is the ultimate good that has done nothing wrong is the whole goddamn reason why I don't trust Hyrule at all. There's always more of a reason than that. And the game fucking suggests there was more going on! Ganondorf mentions Rauru has repeatedly 'invited' the Gerudo to become Rauru's subjects, and let's be clear here, it doesn't matter how peaceful those 'invitations' were, when the guy who owns every single magical nuclear missile in the world repeatedly demands you surrender to him, there's always going to be an implied threat of 'do it or get magically nuked'. Just that power difference alone shows us exactly why Ganon would feel threatened enough to invade. It's because Rauru was holding a gun to his head, and Ganon was expected to just trust that he'd never pull the trigger.

And yes, even if it wasn't intentional Hyrule was always threatening to wipe out the other nations, considering the entire royal family walked around openly wearing their magical nukes as cute accessories. If they couldn't be safely hidden away, there wouldn't be four other secret stones sitting untouched in a vault until the last second.

But that's never acknowledged. Of course Hyrule is the only nation with the right to the secret stones; even if other races get to touch them, they can only have them if they swear eternal blind loyalty and servitude to the glory of King Rauru and Princess Zelda. Ganon wanting to have one magical nuclear bomb out of a stockpile of eight of them is proof that he's dangerous and evil. I mean my god, what if he just walked around all day wearing a magical nuke and using its power for his own benefit, that would be terrifying. It's only okay when Hylian royalty does it.

And you can't argue that Ganon betrayed his own people, considering we don't get to know fucking anything about his relationship with his people. He's shows as the leader of the Gerudo, we're told he's a hero to his people, he has soldiers that loyally follow him into battle... and then oh nevermind, they all hate him and will spend eternity trying to atone for sharing a race with him. How did the entire race do a complete 180 in the span of at most a few months? Who cares, what's important is that now they accept they exist to serve Hyrule so they get to be the good guys now and we don't need to know why they were following Ganondorf, or why they stopped following him.

Basically my point is that yeah, I fucking know how the game insists everything went down. That's the entire reason I think it's imperialist propaganda, because the entire story feels like Hylian propaganda to conceal and justify some horrific atrocities that caused all of this. I literally do not believe that I'm getting the story through reliable narrators, especially considering that the only people allowed to actually tell me the story are all the characters that have the most reasons to be heavily biased in favour of Hyrule.

When the game shows me protagonists that have a massive amount of power and control over the entire world, then says the bad guy doesn't like that system just because he's evil, and literally nothing and nobody in the game says anything to oppose that take, I have some questions about what the fuck the story isn't telling me. And I'd really appreciate it if people would stop trying to argue with me just by telling me to stop asking those questions.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter thirteen

summary: luca visits his mom, while you deal with the aftermath of aiko's funeral.

warnings: fluff, angst, grief, death, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 4.5k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: well folks, this is the final chapter of 'burn your life down.' what a beautiful journey we've all been on together. i swear, this was only supposed to be a headcanon, then a few chapters maybe, and then 46.5k words later... thank you again and again if you read, commented, reblogged, or screamed at me in gifs because this story quite literally took over my life. i will be releasing a 'behind the scenes'/director's cut post, a few headcanons about the kimuras and the mikkelson twins, and want to write more for these two. so... what do you want to see them do next?

in the meantime, let's go get carmy married in "don't want to walk alone."

part twelve | masterlist

The clang of spoons against chipped mugs that date back to his primary school days feels comforting and familiar. Luca smiles to himself, dropping another sugar cube into his tea, using his teaspoon to mix it in as he listens to his mother make a sharp pivot away from her previous subject. 

“Anyways, it’s not that I don’t love a spontaneous visit home, but we can’t ignore the elephant in the room, love,” his mother prompts him, finally done with dancing around the small talk her son’s have engaged in for the last thirty minutes.

“This girl, Luca,” she continues, sending him a look that says ‘you’re not getting out this one.’ “You haven’t brought a girl home in… god knows how long.”

“I-,” Luca begins, a smile on his lips that’s contagious. “It’s-, it’s not like that mom.”

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say: that he’s hopelessly in love and that he hasn’t said anything yet because even though he wants nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops, that you’re here in London for a funeral and not to meet him mum?

“Well, darling. Then what is it like?” his mother asks him with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

Luca hesitates, wanting to be strategic with how he explains this because the love he feels for you really is extraordinary. But he doesn’t want to jump the gun either. Because what if it all falls apart and he’s spoken too soon? You did just lose your mother-in-law, and he’d rather introduce you to his mum when you both are ready. 

Finally, Luca decides what he’d like to say, returning his attention to his mother before replying with:

“She’s special… She's really special to me.”

His mother laughs, because although her son seems to be cautiously tiptoeing around some kind of imaginary fine line, the truth is written all over his face. 

It’s in the way the corners of his lips turn up when she’s mentioned you. It’s in his shy nature and eagerness to avoid the subject. It’s in the way her son’s undeniable coyness, as she bridges the subject, that tells her that he’s found his heart. 

“Oh I know that look. You’re in love,” Luca’s mother declares, reminding Luca that she really does see right through him. 

“Do you think she’s the one?’ 

Luca sighs, turning the idea over in his head. It’s almost as if he hasn’t let himself feel it, hasn’t let himself think too hard about it, but the blush that runs across his cheeks gives him away. 

“I sure hope so, mum,” Luca answers, honestly. 

“Well,” his mother replies, smugly, as if to remind her son that she’s always right when it comes to him. “I’d like to meet her,”

“Mum, I-,” Luca begins, before pausing once more, suddenly overcome with the desire to fulfill her wishes. “It’s just… we’re here for a funeral is all.”

“And that means the two of you can’t stop by for a cup of tea?” his mother asks, haphazardly. 

“I’ll ask,” Luca promises, firmly. 

“I mean, what’s the hold up, my love?” she asks again, and it’s almost as if Luca knows she isn’t expecting an answer. 

“Right,” he mumbles in agreement, something distant in his voice. 

And while Luca wants nothing more than to be patient with you, for the both of you to make this decision together, the irrefutable pressure he feels from his mother’s question seems to create a sense of urgency that takes root.  As it begins to spiral out of control, his mind filled with thoughts of doubt, his mother’s question echoes in his head: 

What’s the hold up?

Surely you could manage just one visit before returning to Copenhagen, right?

Luca watches his mother take a sip from her teacup, his mind beginning to wander to earlier today, as she goes on about a recent neighborhood happening. As brave of a face as he’s been putting on, it was odd, seeing the family you used to belong to. And it’s not as if, with the divorce, that all just went away. He knows you’re still close with Astrid and the fact that you and Joe aren’t mortal enemies, seeing the two of you together earlier today, was harder to stomach than he imagined. 

He can’t help but be filled with feelings of jealousy – jealous of how close you still are to the Kimurs, irrationally nervous that you and Joe seem to still have such a positive relationship, envious that he got to love you first. His reaction to his mother’s question is just a reflection back to him of his own worries, his own impatience, his own insecurities.

And Luca can’t help but wonder:

What would it mean if you weren’t ready to meet his mum?

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

“I hope it’s not too late to set my demons straight. I know i made you wait, but how much can you take?” – kendrick lamar, ‘die hard’

You decide to take the long way home, walking off the afternoon, surprised to find how deep of sadness that still remains buried in your belly. Of course you expected to be sad, to be filled with grief over the loss of your former mother-in-law, but it’s something else, the bittersweetness of closure that’s left you feeling so heavy. 

It’s not that you’ve missed Joe – not in that way at least. 

But as you sat next to him at the neighborhood pub you’ve been to with him more times than you can count, it became more and more evident that he is no longer your Joe – and hasn’t been for a long time now. 

You recall just a few of the things you remember about him that reminded you of this: the way his dark curls seemed wilder, messier, than you’d seen them in a long time, that his five o’ clock shadow that used to feel so rough against your lips looked unfamiliar now and how much you’ve forgotten the way the rough texture laid against the soft skin of his face, how his shoulders slumped with a burden you know is too heavy to bear. 

When he’d told you all about his new job, it’s as if the elaborate portrait of his life that he’d painted for you began to unfold right in front of you. Only this time, as you listen, you come to realize that it’s been painted with brush strokes that weren’t yours, with colors you don't recognize, making your revelation clearer and clearer:

Joe has built a life without you – one that you don’t fit into anymore, at least not in the same way – and you’ve done the same. 

Even though you left on a high note, at peace with Joe, reconnected with the Kimuras, and free to begin your next chapter, it feels like your heart is in pieces, reeling from the emotional whiplash of endings and beginnings. 

And you can’t seem to stop crying, letting the tears run down your face with every step you take towards your temporary residence. 

As you approach the hotel, riding the elevator up to you and Luca’s room, you’re surprised to find him more jovial than you expected. It’s not like you expected him to be sad – this isn’t his loss to grieve after all, and you’re glad that it seems like he’d had a good visit with his mum – but it feels jarring, like you’re not sure how to meet him there as you continue to sort through your thoughts and feelings from today. 

“Hi,” you say, cautiously. 

He hums in response, pulling you into a huge, sweeping kiss as he smiles against your lips. 

“Hello, my love,” he grins, as he pulls away from the kiss. 

You can’t help it, and you wish it were different, but there’s a pit in your stomach as you begin to notice how different of spirits you’re in. 

“How was your visit with your mum?” you ask him, as if you’re trying to solve a mystery, trying to figure out where all of this energy is coming from. 

Luca, driven to boldness by his mother’s question, seems to have thrown all caution to the wind as he answers with:

“It was great! Listen, I know it’s not the best of timing but, she really wants to meet you. Before we go home. What do you think?” he pitches to you, charging through his sentence like a confident and emboldened CEO. 

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out. 

No longer as patient as you’ve come to know him, his sudden change makes you nervous, and for the first time in a long time, you panic; you feel like running. 

“Luca, I-,” you stammer, searching for the right words to just fall out of your mouth. 

But they don’t. 

So you pause, licking your lips before adding, “I’ve had a long day and… I just-, I don’t know if I’m in the right headspace for that?” 

You don’t mean for it to sound like a question, but it comes out as one. Expecting for him to be just as understanding as he’s been the last few months, you’re more than surprised when Luca seems disappointed, cross even, at your response as you’re met with silence. You watch as he presses his lips together in a thin line, swallowing as he focuses on the floor. 

You feel like you just told him that Santa Claus wasn’t real, taking a breath as you take a few steps towards him. 

You’re not sure how, under the circumstances, he could expect you to be as enthusiastic as he is, but you’re almost too afraid to ask questions – a pit in your stomach about where this could all go. 

“Honey, I-,” you sigh, taking his hands in yours as you’re quick to reassure him. You want nothing more than to remedy this, to tell him yes, but you can’t seem to get those words out of your mouth so instead you choose to explain yourself. 

“Today has been… totally fucking crazy and… I think I just want to take a nap. I-, just because-.” You pause once more, trying your best to address the situation at hand. “It doesn’t mean anything that I don’t-, that I’m maybe not ready to-.”

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” he asks you, pulling his hands back and taking a few steps away. You’re silent as you watch him pace back and forth, your heart sinking as he pulls away from you. 

“Wh-, what do you mean?” you stumble through, nervously. 

Luca pauses his movements, really looking at you this time as he asks, “You say it doesn’t mean anything. But it does. To me.”

“Baby, what’re you talking about?” you ask him, taking another step towards him. 

“That you’re not ready,” he snaps at you. 

Perhaps it could be different, he could react with much more grace and compassion, but between seeing a piece of your old life, and the doubts swimming in his head, he’s not sure he can wait any longer. 

“Luca, that’s not fair,” you whisper softly. 

“I-, I know. But-,” Luca tries his best to explain, becoming increasingly frustrated with himself as he continues to talk. “I just-, it’s hard not to think it means something. That you wouldn’t want to meet her.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet her!” you insist, trying your best to reassure your boyfriend. “It’s just that I just said goodbye to my mother-in-law and it-, it kind of feels like… well, I can’t just replace her!” 

“I’m not-, I’m not trying to replace her!” Luca can’t help but exhale frustratedly. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you’re quick to interject, the air between the two of you suddenly feeling tenuous. 

Luca takes a breath, his jaw clenching in response to his deep feelings of jealousy. He knows it’s not fair but he reminds himself that he’s only human as his mind is filled with questions he wants to ask you like: 

Why can’t you just let go of them? and, Do you miss them more than you love me? and lastly, this one in his mother’s voice, What’s the bloody hold up?

“I know,” is what he says instead, choosing to be the better man he knows he can be. He pauses, taking a seat on the hotel bed, his eyes fixed to the floor once again. 

“Luca, I don’t understand,” you start, taking another few steps toward him so that you’re now standing in front of him. “Why are we fighting right now?”

Instead of answering right away, you search his face as he avoids your gaze, giving you more and more pause for concern. 

“I just… are you having doubts… about us? After today?” he drags out, his voice strained. 

“No, what-, where would you have gotten-, what do you mean?” you ask him, suddenly questioning if you’ve given him any reason to think otherwise. 

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to meet her!” he exclaims with a shake of his head. 

“I never said I didn’t want to!” you’re quick to object. 

As Luca leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees, you cross your arms over your chest as it becomes more and more evident that this conversation is getting heated. 

“Luca, where is this coming from?” you ask softly, in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. 

“Well, you didn’t say yes,” he throws back at you, and it hurts more than you thought it would. 

“Yes, because-. I told you that I don't think I’m in the right mindset,” you struggle to explain. “Wouldn’t you rather I meet her when we’re both ready?”

“When you’re ready?” he points out. 

“Luca, where is this all coming from?” you repeat your question, this time more sure, a deep concern in your eyes as you drop your arms to your side. You sit down on the bed next to him this time, wanting him to know that you’re on his side. 

“It’s-,” he starts, before letting out another frustrated sigh. “I know that you’ve needed us to take things slow… but it’s been months and I just don’t understand how you’re still not ready.”

His insistence that you’re not ready only continues to frustrate you

“I’m not! That’s not what’s happening here,” you defend yourself. “Luca, please. I am ready. But meeting your mom is a whole different thing especially when, shit, babe. Especially when I’m navigating this loss and… and when you’re pressuring me like this!” 

He scoffs, “You’re just scared.”

“I-. That’s not-. Yes, I am, and so far I’ve pushed through my fears because I want to be with you. Because I love being with you, Luca,” you insist, angling your body towards him this time. 

“But right now this all feels pretty unfair and I just don’t know why, suddenly, you need me to do this. I mean, if it was this important to you we should’ve talked about it before we came.”

You pause once more, because really, you’d just like to understand why you’re fighting in the first place. 

“Why is this suddenly so important for you?”

“Because I need to know-,” he snaps, finally turning to you. “I need to know that you feel the same way that I-. Because I-.”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off, knowing that, regardless of whatever’s got him so tied up into knots, it’s not the right time for either of you. 

“Don’t,” you beg him, reaching out to grab his hand with yours. Luca looks up at you, returning your gaze this time and the disappointment in his eyes breaks your heart for a third time today. 

“Please, don’t say it. Not right now. Not while we’re fighting. I don’t want the first time we say it to be when we’re fighting.”

There are so many things Luca wants to say, but instead, he doesn’t, too afraid the words will tumble out of his mouth because he knows it’s not the right time either. So instead, he sits there, wondering how he got himself caught up in this mess. 

“I think I should go for a walk,” you say, breaking the thick silence between you. “Think we need to take a break… from this conversation. Before either of us say anything we don’t mean.”

“I promise. I’ll come back. I promise,” you reassure him. 

“Okay,” he finally says, agreeing with you that maybe you both need a time out from this conversation. 

“Okay.” 

You can’t help it, but you can’t get out of there fast enough. With your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you wander the city for as long as you need to, especially since the tears have come back. 

You can only imagine that it’s not been easy for Luca to have accompanied you to the funeral today, but you can’t seem to figure out what would’ve set him off like this – what could’ve filled him with so much doubt and so much urgency. You wonder what his mother must’ve said to him, wonder if something she said got into his head about your relationship. You know you’re not a walk in the park, but doesn’t everyone come with their own set of baggage? 

The answer is simple. You take a time out, then you and Luca talk this all out when you get back to the hotel. You have no intention of running away, as much as the lesser parts of you would like to do nothing but, because you’re in this. 

You know you’re in this, and even though it doesn’t seem like it, you know that Luca can feel it too. 

Your mind wanders over to what he almost said. 

I love you. 

And you love him too. 

The words have felt more and more prominent as of late, lingering in every goodbye, hanging heavy in the air as he’s held your hand through your grief, on the cusp of being said every time you make love. 

Suddenly, overcome with the urge to tell him, you turn around, power-walking towards the hotel. He said it earlier, that he just needed to know that you felt the same way, and while there is so much more you need to talk out, this feels like a good place to start. 

And more than anything, it feels like the thing that you need to do. 

You come bursting through the doors to the hotel room, finding Luca there, still pacing. His jacket is thrown on the bed in a different place, and you gather that he must’ve gone out for his own walk as well. 

“Hi,” he greets you, almost as if he’s surprised that you came back. 

“I came back,” is all you say. 

He nods slowly, before taking a seat on the bed once more, “Yeah.”

You walk towards him so that you’re now standing in front of him again.

“We have… so much to talk about… but… my walk made one thing clear,” you begin, cradling his head in your hands and lifting it to your gaze as you kneel down. “There’s something I-. I have to tell you that….”

His eyes meet yours as you finally say it: 

“I love you, Luca.” 

Overcome with a swell of emotions, Luca pulls you in, kissing you as you crawl onto his lap. You press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, and while he entertains you for a few more moments, he finally pulls away with a chuckle. 

“What?”

“It’s just that-. Well, I wanted to say it first,” Luca chuckles, earning a laugh from you as well. 

“Well sometimes things happen unexpectedly. Like meeting you,” you say, pressing your forehead against his as you whisper the words against his lips. “And I need you to know… that that was the very best thing. You are the very best thing.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I should’ve been more considerate. It’s not like we’re here for a holiday or anything-,” Luca begins to apologize, now that he’s come down from whatever had possessed him earlier. 

“You’re right. I wasn’t being fair to you, my love.”

“No it’s-, you needed to hear how I felt. And I get it now. This… whole trip has been… weird, I know,” you catch up to him, wanting him to know that you understand. “But I so appreciate you owning your part in it too.”

“My mum just, I don’t know. She got in my head. Had me overthinkin’... About us. Made me realize that I’ve got a lot more on the line here to lose,” Luca tries to explain as you leave soft kisses across his face. 

“And what does that mean?” you ask him playfully, knowing exactly where this could go. 

“It means that,” he starts, a cheeky smile on his face, before Luca leans in for another kiss. This time, he whispers the words against your lips. 

“That I love you too. So, so much.”

 -------------------------------

You’ve asked, requested, demanded really, time and time again to see photos, but as you sit in Luca’s mum’s home, staring at a photo of a young, rebellious, teenage Luca, it’s better than you could’ve ever imagined. 

“And that was his ‘I just want to be normal like the riff raff that he was runnin’ around with’ phase,'' his mother, Elaine, explains over your fit of giggles. 

“Oh mum. Can we not, please?” Luca groans, shooting his mother a playful glare. 

“He insisted that ‘Luca’ was too strange of a name. Not a proper English name either. Insisted I call him ‘Lucas’ so, yes, this is Lucas,” Elaine continues to share, against her son’s wishes. 

“God, that’s so embarrassing. I don’t know why I wanted this to happen in the first place,” Luca sighs, looking from you to his mother.

“Oh honey, I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” you giggle, giving his knee a squeeze under the table. “And yes, Elaine. I will be taking this photo with me. Think we should hang it on the fridge.”

Luca groans again, while Elaine exchanges a glance with her son, an entire conversation being had with just a shared look. 

As Elaine continues to share another photo of ‘Lucas,’ pouring over old family photos and memories, you’re sure that this man is the love of your life. 

You’ve had first love, the naive kind that breaks your heart because it’s the first time that you’ve ever felt this way before – the good and the bad. And then there was Joe, who somehow encompassed the feeling of being forever young, while being the love that grew you up too. But this? Loving Luca makes you feel safe and wild at the same time – like at any moment you could take a risk, knowing that you’ll always have a safe place to land. 

And as you look to Luca, watching him beg his mum not to embarass him any further, you smile knowingly, because you can feel that this is it. 

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

It’s the night you launch your Winter menu, and while you recognize that if any of your signature dishes came off the menu, there would be riots in the streets, you’re more than excited (yes, and definitely a little nervous) about the cozy additions you and Mathilde have dreamed up. 

At your pre-shift standup, your wait staff take turns practicing how to talk about some of the new dishes on the menu, and while you trust them to handle this one with care, you feel it’s important for you to speak on this one. 

“And this is the final dish that we’ve added to our winter menu,” you begin, pausing before you share. 

“As most of you know, I lost my former mother-in-law almost two months ago and um. Well, she taught me everything I know about Japanese cooking. So this is a dish for her: a red miso ramen with white miso-glazed kabocha squash, enoki mushrooms, ajitama and pickled green onions. It’s um. It’s a very personal dish to me, so I hope you enjoy.”

You watch as your staff, front and back of house, dive into the ramen bowls, trying the last dish you have to go over as a team, their faces lighting up with pure glee and sheer delight in response to the dish. 

Your phone buzzes in your apron pocket, and as you pull it out, you see a few texts from your group message with the Kimuras, in response to the photos you sent of your finished dish. 

Astrid: OMG it’s beautiful! 

Lina: I’m hungry now. Save us some!!

Joe: She would’ve loved it. :)

“Looks like I’m right on time,” you hear a familiar voice say, pulling your focus from your phone to the front door. 

“Luca! What’re you doing here?” you ask him, as you shove your phone back into your pocket, moving towards him. 

“I know it’s a big night for you. Thought I’d come in a bit later but Mathilde invited me to the standup. Thought you may need a little additional support,” Luca shrugs, as you give him a soft ‘hello’ peck on the lips. 

“Yeah, no I-. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I just introduced the ramen, actually. Aiko’s dish,” you reply, the smile on your face undeniable as you're filled with nothing but joy and love for the man that stands in front of you. “But let me make you up a bowl.”

“I’d love that,” Luca nods in agreement. 

You make your way back to the open kitchen, watching as Jesper pulls up a chair for Luca, right next to yours. Mathilde is quick to offer him a smaller plate, welcoming him in with open arms. As you plate your dish, you can’t take your eyes off of him, and you have to remind yourself that you do need to make up this bowl of ramen at some point. 

But seeing Luca here with your team – here to support you on your big night, on a night that you’re sharing your whole heart in one bowl of noodles – you’re overcome with a deep sense of gratitude that you get to be the one who loves him. You think back to the day you met, so glad that that evening was slow, that he chose to leave the box of pastries, that he asked you to come to AOC, because if he hadn’t, who knows where you’d be? 

You walk the ramen bowl back to the table, setting it down in front of Luca with a kiss to his cheek as a bonus, as you sit down in the chair next to him. He smiles at you, a glimmer in his eyes that says, ‘thank you, my love.’

You smile back, thinking about what he said earlier, when he first walked in this evening because the double meaning isn’t lost on you. 

And because he’s right. 

Maybe, he’s always been right on time.

[swabian-princess]

5 life lections with me

Hey girlies,

I’ve come across many delusional posts in the last few weeks and I‘ve wanted to put my two cents.

Please, take all of this with a grain of salt because I am only twentythree and not some old oracle.

Lection 1: You probably won’t marry a billionaire, no matter what you do  

I know, many feminity and levelling up influencers tell you that eveything is possible if you do this and that.

Some swear that manifestation works and some tell that Jesus Christ himself blessed them after they joined certain church groups.

Okay, but let’s speak facts: the chances that you’re marrying a billionaire are very low.

The chances that you’re marrying a young, good looking, wants you to be at stay at home girlfriend billionaire are even lower. Those men have their established social circles and tend to marry women within those circles. If you don’t have the right background, social network and education it’s nearly impossible for you to get in those circles.

However, your chances on marrying a handsome looking, appropriate aged man with a good paying job are very high if you put the work into it. I‘m talking surgeons, dentists, lawyers or engineers.

Lection 2: You have to do the work

My dear @memoirsofmimimango recently wrote a post about modern trends (highly recommend checking out her blog, she’s speaking straight facts.) and she touched the subject manifestation.

YES, manifestation can alter your thoughts and put you in a better headspace to stay motivated and reach your goals but that’s it.

You won’t get abs because you wrote it 36 times on a piece of paper, no. You’ll have to eat right and work out.

You won’t magically find your soulmate because you wrote down a character description of them and put it under your pillow, no. You’ll have to go out, meet people and actually talk to them in order to build a relationship, wether it’s platonic or not.

Lection 3: Learn from your mistakes and forgive yourself

Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody. Yes, maybe those mistakes hurt like hell and drag you back down to rock bottom but you have to move on.

You have to move on and forgive yourself, even if it hurts a lot and even if you loose people on your way.

Let’s say you fail 9 times but have succes at your 10th try – you would never know if you didn’t try it one more time.

Lection 4: Value friendships

I go out and make an effort to make friends and keep them. It is so important that you have a couple friends you can trust. Yet, like every relationship friendships are not build over night.

We live in a time with unlimited messenger options, please, for the love of god – text your friends. Call them. Ask them how they are. Make them feel important and valued.

Lection 5: Health is wealth

It is so important to be healthy. Physically and psychically.

I live in Germany and I am very privileged to have 40 paid vacation days. I schedule those days so that I can have at least a few days off every few months and time for a bigger vacation every six months so that I don’t burn out.

I also go out of my way to eat healthy, cook and prepare fresh food and try to stay away from drugs, alcohol and cigarettes.

I get bloodwork done regularly and supplement accordingly. I’ll have to work on my workout routine but I try to get my 10k steps in every day.

Don’t take your health for granted, you’re still young and many people only think about how they’ll look and feel when they’re 80+.

Well, but between your twenties and eighties there are also a few years and you still want to look and feel good when you’re 40 or 60, so work on your health.

Selene  

[single-malt-scotch]

Bdubs' speech patterns & quirks

i made a post a while back about Bdubs' typing habits and ya know what. ill be a little stupid obsessed and unhinged again and do this one. might be useful for fics.

been watching this man from day one and im trying to throw together everything i can in my head. he really hasnt changed that much if we arent considering a shift of humor and energy-- but i will regard it at certain points for clarity of how his speech is handled.

General speech pattern

Through time Bdubs has gained more energy in his voice, and more confidence in how he speaks as a person presenting in his videos. But he still has his quirks, quirks that have remained forever.

biggest one. There is a big habit of stuttering in some sense. Either on the same words with the intended phrase:

Example: "You-- you don't- you don't understand!"

or a phrase that is altered during the stutter:

Example: "Yeah but-- you-- I don't think you get it..."

They aren't the stutters people default to in most cases (no "y-yes" "i th-thought.." etc-- in *some* cases you can throw this in but i suggest the bigger ones and never make it too frequent).

Theyre long and very obviously, and make him take longer to get his words out. sometimes it cuts his train of thought and he stops his sentences, maybe even starts over entirely.

in addition to that, bdubs also cuts words in a way i think most people will- goin', gonna, thinkin' etc. however at times he will enunciate the whole word for effect (plays into his "exaggeration" described below)

With his awkward pacing and stumbling, there are times where he fumbles and might say something in a "weird" way. sometimes, it becomes purposeful! he'll keep doing it when its funny, but you can tell its more of a slip than on purpose at first. there are far too many examples of this, but its obvious that he picked up the funny way of saying 'hermitcraft' on purpose at a certain point, for example. this may be hard to get across in writing however and its not as important.

bdubs loves to exaggerate. personality wise, hes like this obviously. and it plays into how he talks. boisterous is the best word. dont be afraid to go hard on the exclamation points or question marks! "!!" and "??" may describe what you want when you need to imply more of his noise.

Exclamations, regarding swearing

Bdubs doesnt swear anymore, but its worth addressing it, in context to what... replaces it, in a sense. or if youre writing something based in the years when he did swear.

Lets get one thing straight. bdubs does not say fuck. like, even back when he swore. there may have been some very light instances of words slipping (the old video where he completely bleeped out his words may have likely had that) but it is not how he spoke on the regular.

bdubs' most used 'bad' words were "damn", not as often "ass". he used a lot of 'safe' words-- shoot, crap (crapper, directed at someone/thing), frick (fricker, directed at someone/thing), dang ('dang man'), freaking (this is exclaimed very strong when it comes up, as if he was saying "fucking". comment phrase "very freaking funny!")....

these are the most frequent choices. id say bdubs has the capability of more swears, but it would be a last resort/under extreme duress.

Other notable phrases

Some of these fall under 'exclamations' at times, but i wanted to address the phrases he says in response to things, one subject is what people like him say in place of things like "oh god". you can see this in some hermits too, but bdubs does not say "oh (my) god". there is no exclamation of "god" when he needs to say something like this.

some are more or less frequent in the overall timeline, but you will likely hear...

"judas priest!" "oh goodness!" "oh jeez/jeezer!" if there is any phrase regarding god its a sorta "dont use the lord's name in vain" situation. none of the "oh god" stuff.

in terms of other frequent phrases,

"Trying my heart out/off" pops up a lot, and it means that he is trying hard at something whilst also saying he is 'putting his whole heart into it'.

Older/less frequent these days:

the good ol 'pet names'. it is/was never a super frequent thing (that bdubs/etho ooge video was surprisingly frequent...) "sweetheart" is most likely, "baby" but not always in a 'pet name' way, just a casual word to throw out at nothing. might get a "darlin'" in there too. the instance of calling someone specific those things is not super common, but still important to note.

a final notable one is "boy", directed at others in a more like. jokingly stern way. "What are you doin' boy?" a direct aim at a person, perhaps in a (joking) accusatory way at times? (wanted to comment there was an early ooge instance where etho picked it up as well lol). and imo i saw this way more in the early days, less so now.

Conclusion

bdubs has a variety of expressions in his speech. generally very relaxed and sometimes even careless, hes not tryin to focus too hard on every word he speaks. which is only natural! imo i think his personality is what affects this more than anything. hes silly, extroverted, and acts first.

his 'loudness' and stutter is important and it can be hard to express through words. outside of the way you describe the way he tackled talking in fics, seriously dont be afraid to double those punctuation marks imo. definitely dont be afraid of those big 'stutters'!! its probably the most defining part of his voice imo. i hope this is useful and feel free to add on or ask about it!

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘. ❜

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ❀ ˚◞ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 : 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. since the aftermath between you and miguel, you went your separate ways. occupied with work and other shenanigans but the heartbreak still lingers.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. angst, post-heartbreak, hurt/no comfort, swearing, mentions of past character death, a filler tbh

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

it’s been three days since you last saw miguel. three days since he basically told you to fuck off, get the hell out of his life. three nights of endless teary nights he caused. those salty tears were all because of that fucking asshole who broke your heart.

“i should never have met you.”

that phrase plagued your mind; an endless nightmare. you can’t believe he said that. it was a stab to the heart. a heart that would always beat fast for him. you truly believed he cared about you, liked you at the very least. but now he admits he regrets meeting you? that broke your heart because you actually liked for him. cared too much for him. shit you were developing feelings for that bastard but now that was thrown out the window.

a man who you weren’t even in a relationship with broke your heart. when you broke up with your ex, you didn’t cry as much over him like miguel.

that proves how much you care for miguel.

well, cared for because now you’re not friends anymore. nah that’s a fucking lie. deep down, you still care for him no matter what. that’s what hurts the most, you still care for that asshole.

those daily visits to your apartment, finding him on your balcony and inviting him in, stopped. and goddamnit you miss it so much. how brightly you would smile when he’d land on your balcony. watching daisy get excited with her cute poofy tail wagging when she sees him. those little chitchats you two would engage in while sipping on coffee or munching on whatever pastry you recently bought. god just thinking about those memories makes want to you bawl your eyes out (you already have been).

why does it hurt so bad when it shouldn’t have?

why are you still moping about some guy who pushed you away?

except… he wasn’t just any guy.

he was someone you deeply cared about. someone you trusted wholeheartedly. someone who visited you and hung out with you over some coffee or snack. someone who gifted you your favorite flower. someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer and practically begged you to let him repay you. someone who opened up his past to you because he trusted you. someone who pulled an all-nighter just to make sure you slept okay after experiencing a near death experience. someone who cared about you.

fuck — it hurts so much.

honestly, you want to go find miguel and tell him ‘to go fuck himself’ for making you feel like this. but, that would only make things worse. only add more salt to the already fucked up wound.

other than moping around and crying, you drowned yourself into work. can you even say drowned since you actually drowned, at least almost? hell yeah because dark humor is the best humor. you went back to work like nothing happened. luckily everything happened over the weekend so you didn’t miss days. although, your coworkers and even your boss noticed a change in your demeanor. quiet, pessimistic, gloomy. no iconic sassy or sarcastic remarks. you’re one of the funniest people in the company, everyone would always laugh at your jokes or remarks. laughter would fill the room. but now it was just silence. people were concerned, including your boss. one day he called you in and asked what’s going on. you simply said it was a family issue. he sensed it was something more but he didn’t push the subject further. he suggested giving you some time off but you kindly declined and insisted on working like usual. not only is your boss a smart man but he cares for his employees, especially you since you’re one of his best. but he also knows you’re stubborn so he accepted but encouraged you to not overwork yourself and take breaks.

and you did followed his advice. when you returned home, you indulged in your hobbies. you got back on track with your bullet journal, writing down events and filling in trackers for certain topics. you did some coloring in your big coloring book of mandalas while listening to music. played video games with your online friends. go on walks with daisy at the local park. doing things you enjoy as an attempt to forget how shitty the past week has been. while having fun and enjoying your time, miguel still lingers in mind.

not only him but your other spider friends. you miss them terribly, especially hobie. you can’t visit them since you destroyed your watch and you don’t wanna drive there. one thing you regret is not having a method to contact any of them. maybe you shouldn’t have thrown your watch but you didn’t want anything that had connections to miguel.

except for that white tulip.

it’s slowly deteriorating but remains in the vase on your nightstand. every time you wake up, you stare at it as the memory of him giving it to you replays in your mind. you smile each time at the cute memory.

the heartbreak still lingers. no matter what you do, miguel is always on your mind. sometimes you wonder how he’s doing, probably yelling a lot and is a total mess like you. the thought makes your heart ache but what could you do? the bastard wanted this to happen. it’s his fault; his cause.

but like mentioned before, you still care for him.

and it fucking hurts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

three days of fucking hell.

three days of torment and regret.

he fucked up for a second time and it hurts way more this time. he hurt you again and miguel hates himself for it, causing you pain. guilt and regret consumed his entire being like a poison fruit, consuming up his already broken heart. he lost you for a second time and possibly he lost you forever.

he had let you go to protect you.

protect you from himself.

protect you from the dangers of his life.

miguel couldn’t bare losing another person he cared about. he couldn’t lose someone again. he couldn’t lose you. but he did, just not in that way. pushing you away was the only way you’d be safe, away from him and the dangers that surrounds his life. superheroes and civilians aren’t meant to be together. to be a hero, there has to be villains which equals to danger and endless violence. when you get close with a hero, whether you’re their friend, relative or lover, you’ll always have a target on your back. villains will strike the hero’s heart, their weakness: loved ones. miguel lost one, his beautiful daughter. whether she was from a different universe, she was his daughter no matter what. his whole world suddenly taken from him due to his actions. his poor gabriella vanished from his hands, crying out to him before disappearing forever right in front of his eyes.

grief and pain consumed his heart, only black with no remaining love inside. just pure self loathing. every spider-person suffered great losses, it’s part of being a spider-person, the canon. miguel’s was a different level of loss; by his own hands. that’s why he shut himself out, closed off close connections with anyone, refused to allow himself to be vulnerable with anyone. concealed his heart, locking it with a chain from allowing others to open it.

but look what happened with you.

you unlocked his heart, making him feel vulnerable. making his heart flutter every time he saw you, that beautiful smile or laugh of yours. those sassy remarks that he always enjoyed, even if he rolls his eyes or grunts. being with you made him feel happy, safe and vulnerable. it’s like a warm feeling that he wants to stay in and never leave. miguel never believed he would experience those feelings again.

you made him feel those things. you made him feel love once again. you made him believe in love again.

and yes, miguel fell in love with you.

but the fear of losing you betrayed everything, consuming his already fragile mind. it was one of the most painful decisions he made, letting you go in order to protect you. letting go of his heart.

sometimes, heroes don’t get a happy ending.

miguel still watches over you through the same monitor of your apartment building and street. those scarlet eyes following your tiny figure through the screen, filled with hurt and guilt. even in separate paths, he still looks out for you and protects you from afar. the only way he can still see you, even if it’s through a screen. miguel will always look out for you.

your protecter from afar.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie @leshasnolife

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[toracainz]

Tell Me Where to Put My Love pt4

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

Series Masterlist

Part 3 -  Different Kind of Danger in the Daylight

Part 4 -  Unavailability Is The Only Thing That Turns You On

Part 5 - At Last, When All of the World is Asleep

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters. Mentions of food. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: I am so sorry it's taken me this long to post the next part, been stewing over this part for so long. 😭 Personal stuff happened and then writer's block and ugh. Anyways, I hope you like it. 🥺

There you were, outside his flat, standing by the road looking up at his floor. You had to go in sooner or later, but the pit in your stomach made it hard to move any further. You were honestly lucky you made it as far as you did thanks to some encouragement from Tutu. It was strange that he seemed to care so much, maybe he really did. You were sure that by now Layla was in town and inside the flat. The bustling sounds of average Londoners going about their day helped keep you calm (well, calmer), oddly enough.

“He’s not going to come to you, child.” Tutu stood atop the nearby building. “Though knowing him, he might actually.” The god chuckled. “Go. All will be well. You are strong.”

Glancing up at his masked face you can almost feel the reassuring smile hidden behind it. With a nod, you take a moment to collect yourself before starting inside the building. What would you say first? What do you say first? Obviously introduce yourself, or maybe Steven would introduce you. Wait, who’s going to be fronting during this? Are they going to be, what did Steven call it? Co-conscious? How easy was it for them to switch? Steven had mentioned he and Marc could do it pretty effortlessly now that they were closer. You still hadn’t actually seen them switch yet. Since he had come back it had always just been him with maybe a stray comment here or there in Steven’s head from Marc.

The lift seemed to be moving so slowly, compared to the speed of your thoughts racing through your mind. Oh God, would Layla even want you to step foot in the flat? What would Steven do if she refused to talk to you? Surely, she would at least talk…right?

Oh. When did you get in front of his door? Muscle memory must have carried you here. Well, you’re here. You take another deep breath sensing Tutu’s reassuring presence as you lift your hand to knock. That’s when you hear it. Layla is talking, but you’re not sure to who, was it Marc or Steven? You imagine probably Marc, that’s who she’s here to see…unless... You try not to dwell on it and find yourself knocking on the door. Things fall silent in the flat other than a low voice, maybe Marc, and the sound of approaching steps. To say you were relieved when Steven swung open the door with a smile was an understatement.

“Hello, love. Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable of course. Uh…but first I think it’s best to get the introductions out the way, yeah?” He ushers you in, his hand finding a gentle place on your back out of habit as he introduces you to Layla. She gives you a curt smile, brows lifting slightly as she reaches out offering a handshake. You take it with a nod.

“Steven has said a lot of nice things about you.” She rests her hands in her pockets glancing between you and Steven. “So, I guess now that everyone’s here…we should eat.” She says, trying to change the subject. The air was so thick with tension you weren’t sure you could move from where you stood.

“Oh right, yeah.” Steven says to Layla as she starts into the kitchen to get out plates and cups. He turns to you with obvious concern on his face. “I truly am glad you came. I made your favorite and look…nothing has to happen tonight. I certainly don’t expect things are alright between us, but I’m just happy you’re here. Um, Marc and I, we’ll be switching a bit so just warning you. It’s not scary or anything, I just…well Layla’s seen it so she’s used to it. I just didn’t want you to be surprised.”

Oh, God did you love him. He was so concerned about you being comfortable despite the very uncomfortable situation you all found yourselves in. He had made your favorite dish and was trying to make sure you knew that there were no expectations and that you wouldn’t be surprised by his and Marc’s behavior. You nod letting a small smile appear. “Yeah, alright, Steven. Thank you.”

He smiles back with a nod. He would have usually kissed your head, but he resigned himself to just placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. It didn’t feel right, even with the context of everything happening. The very demure gesture when both of you were very much comfortable with hugs and kisses just felt foreign.

“Uh, Steven? The food?” Layla approaches the cleaned off dinette table and starts setting it as Steven hurries into the kitchen to bring the dishes over.

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer, trying to rescue yourself from the role of knot-on-a-log.

“Yeah, love. Could you get that dish there on the counter please? We’re doing a sort of pot luck style, just get what you like sort of thing.” He set the dish down before going to get the drinks. “Hope everyone enjoys. Marc tried to make one of Layla’s favorites and one of his. I, of course, made a favorite of mine and of yours. We can all dig in! Try out each other’s favorites!” Suddenly, Steven’s face scrunched up like he smelled something bad, but it wasn’t Steven that spoke. The seamless way they switched was something entirely unexpected.

“Hell no, Steven, you can have your vegan food. I’m gonna stick with my corned beef kugel. I won’t make you eat it, so don’t make me eat yours.” He shook his head with a huff as you all gathered around the table and took your seats. Just as seamlessly as Marc appeared Steven was back.

“Oi, rude. I didn’t say you had to, Marc. Just that everyone could if they wanted. He didn’t sleep well, stressed about cooking everything. Told him not to worry, that I could help. He’s a bit crank-“

“I am not cranky, Steven.” Marc returned to the front annoyed as he started to plate his food. You and Layla just watched as the two bickered about the food. Layla watched curiously while plating her own food. She had seen them do this while fighting in Cairo, so fighting amongst themselves in their flat wasn’t too different. You on the other hand tried not to stare. Not because you were weirded out or thought they were crazy. It was just incredible to experience, after all you had never known anyone to do this before.

You remembered how Steven was before he disappeared. Sullen, but still hopeful about life. A dark cloud always not far behind. Steven had been so beat down that he had nearly accepted his lot in life, lonely gift shoppist destined to never be a tour guide or have a partner of any kind, no friends, just unreturned voicemails to his mother and the living statue man. Steven seemed so free now. Free of his past burden, the secret life Marc was keeping from him, he was lighter and smiling much more, much much more. You loved it. Seeing him so happy and full of life. Even bickering with Marc seemed to elicit some degree of joy, poking fun at each other.

Layla had been there for them during such a chaotic time. She was strong after all. Stronger than you. The voice from your dream comes careening back through your mind, “What can you do that she can’t do better?” You close your eyes as you pick at your food, nibbling on the different dishes, trying to block out such thoughts. But what if there was truth to it? What if she really could do better for them than you could? You didn’t realize you had gone still until you felt a hand rest on yours. Following the hand up to its source you’re met with Steven’s concern filled eyes.

“You alright, love?”

You take in a shuddering breath. Were you starting to panic? Oh no, no not now. Not in front of her. “I uh, I’m sorry I just…I’m sorry. I just have to go to the loo.” You get up and try not to seem desperate to escape the room as you enter the bathroom sliding the door shut. Not much privacy, but it’s better than sitting in front of her. Comparing yourself to her. Being judged by her. Leaning against the sink your chest begins to rise and fall with hastened breaths. You try to force them to slow and deepen but they only come out shaky.

She was definitely better for them, both of them, than you were for Steven alone. She was strong and he deserved that. He didn’t need to be coddled or looked after like  before with you. Layla could keep up with him and Marc. But you? Where could you fit in all of this? You can't find a place to fit. This is a different puzzle, one you’re certain your piece didn’t belong to. You look up into the mirror, seeing Tutu’s visage behind you. A gentle hand rests on your shoulder. Again, the mask hiding what could only be a look of sympathy…and perhaps pity.

“This isn’t going to work, Steven. This…whole thing is just…it’s too awkward. I don’t see this lasting long.” Layla says to Steven in a hushed tone, not enough for you not to catch some of it. Somehow your breathing quiets enough for you to listen, Tutu unsurprisingly gone now.

“They’re just nervous. This will work. It’s going to work, Layla.” Steven doesn't look at her as he shakes his head. “It has to work.”

“What? So…are the four of us going to live in the same house, hmm? Go on some weird double date, cause this dinner was going so well.” Her voice dripping with sarcasm as she moves to try and make Steven look at her, leaning forward slightly. “Marc and I haven’t even really started working through our own shit and now this?”

Steven stands up harshly, you imagine from the sound of a chair sliding back suddenly. He squeezes his eyes shut, staving off Marc’s attempts to front. “No, mate, you can talk to your wife after I make sure they’re okay.” This time he does look at Layla, his gaze firm, before starting towards the loo, his steps becoming softer and more careful the closer he gets.

“Love? You alright? You sick? If you need anything I’ll g-“

You open the door miraculously fighting off your tears. Looking up at him you reach out and his hand instinctively finds yours, his other one hesitantly reaches up to your cheek. Before it can make contact you move past him towards the front of the flat starting to grab your bag. You turn and look Layla in the eye, her slightly surprised gaze meets yours. No doubt surprised someone like you had the nerve to even look her way again (or so your brain was telling you).

“I’m sorry.” You find the words spilling out before you mean for them to, if those were even the words you wanted to say. Steven had followed you from the loo watching you wondering what you’d say next. “I’m sorry for…whatever it is you think I’ve done. I truly had no idea about you and Marc. How could I? I know I’m something akin to a homewrecker and I never meant to be. I just…I love Steven. I do, but you are clearly more capable and better suited for both him and Marc. I’m not you, by any-“

“Love, what are you saying?”

“They’re leaving, Steven.” Layla says. You just nod, unable to fight the tears any longer.

“I truly do love Steven, but from what he’s told me about you…you can take better care of both of them. I would just get in the way.” You sniffle, wiping your tears as you turn to start out the door. As your hand grabs the door knob a strong calloused hand grabs your arm. The fiery determination in the warm brown eyes that look at you catch you off guard.

“Now wait, just hold on, just a minute…time out. Now let’s all just chill the eff out, yeah?” He looks from you to Layla. “Yeah, alright, this isn’t ideal. But I love them and they love me, you heard them.” His grip on your arm isn’t painful despite how firm he holds on. Looking at you, his expression begs you to stay, but his eyes burn with a fire you’ve never seen before. “This can work if we are all willing to try. I won’t just give up…not getting rid of me that easily, love.” His focus is drawn away from you and to the mirror next to the door. He must be listening to Marc.

With the room growing quiet, expectant of what would be said next and by who, Layla decides to fill the silence.

“If they want to go, Steven, you can’t make them stay.” She stands up from the table.

Steven, shaking his head as he tries to listen to Marc and Layla, something that never went well in the past, steps away from you.

“What about what I want? I want to be with them. I never wanted to be Khonshu’s avatar, never wanted to have a “sleeping disorder”, and…no! I’m not giving you the body, you can talk with Layla when I’m through!” In the middle of Steven’s rant his head snaps to the fish tank, hands flying to his head, fighting against the pull from Marc trying to take control. Things are escalating and neither Marc nor Steven want the people they love to leave, and Marc knows Layla might.

“I believe I may be of assistance.”

His voice carried over the flat like a blanket, though a little louder than Steven or Layla would have liked.  Both of them flinched, yelping, Steven jumping closer to you almost protectively (though screaming a little louder than he intended), and turning to see Tutu standing there in the middle of the flat. Layla suddenly was no longer in her normal clothes but instead in the gorgeous suit Taweret had gifted to her, holding her two swords out, almost like a reflex.

“Ha! I knew it!” Marc says, pushing to the front. Pointing at Layla, a satisfied grin on his face, confirming that she was still an avatar distracting him enough from the fact that there was a god standing in the flat. Layla looked as embarrassed as she would let herself appear to be as the suit dematerialized leaving her in her casual clothes yet again.

“What? Alright, yes I’m still Taweret’s avatar and because of this suit I’ve helped a lot of people.” She stood firm, justifying her connection with the goddess, her contrapposto posture contradicting her conviction as she defended herself.

“No, that’s great. I mean, Taweret was actually really nice so I don’t imagine she’s like Khonshu…manipulating and threatening,” Marc couldn’t help but smile at her. You recognize that smile. Love. A smile Steven would give you, and you fear that he has given that smile to Layla as well. Suddenly, Marc shifts and his posture changes.

“How?” Steven asks, turning the attention back to Tutu. Talking with gods had become fairly normal for Steven during his recent adventure. “You're the god of tombs and the protector of dreamers. Sorry, but…I’m not sure I understand how you could help.”

“You are correct, but it is my skill set that is more than capable of assisting.” His golden head nods towards Steven, as if to say “I’m at your service”. “I believe my avatar already knows what I intend to offer.”

With that, all eyes fall on you, your back against the door, eyes wide but drying up now that Tutu has appeared. His presence always a comfort to you. “Yeah…I know.”

“Well, what is it, love?” Steven’s brows gather in a myriad of emotions: confusion, curiosity, concentration.

“He intends to put us all into a dream. Any one of us could be the dreamer, but he would give us all the energy to lucid dream…in a space where we all could have a voice.” As if reading the god’s mind, you explain Tutu’s plan. You’d never done this before, created a dream space where you and another could interact. All of Tutu’s missions involved lucid dreaming, entering someone’s dreams and being fully in control of yourself. For the average person lucid dreaming is something you train yourself to do through repetition and practice.

“Yes, within the dream perhaps communication could be more effectively practiced.”

It was worth a shot, if all parties agreed, but something told you that Layla didn’t want to try it, didn’t want this to work. You couldn’t blame her. She was “here first”, and was actually married to Marc. If it were the other way around, maybe you might feel the same? Honestly it’s hard to truly know how you’d react in a situation until you’re actually in it. It’s easy to say “I’d do this” or “I’d never do that”, but when it really comes down to it you never really know.

Steven’s eyes and mouth open wide, mind racing to conclude how this could work, what it would feel like, if this would even be something he (or Marc) would feel comfortable doing. Communication is a little difficult, sure, tensions and stakes are high–not ‘ancient Egyptian god trying to take over the world and eat people’s souls’ high…but still high.

“I…I think…I think Marc and I need to talk…alone. The last time we were…not together…it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, yeah? Don’t think that this would be the same, no, it’s just…I think we should talk about it first.” Steven can’t help how his hands find each other to fidget like he had done so many times before, taking a deep breath he wills them apart. Things are different now, he’s not quite as timid or unsure of himself as he was before Marc, before Cairo. Things are different. He has Marc now and this is the life they wanted to share with each other, but the thought of someone catching a glimpse of one of their dreams, their nightmares…it was scary.

“Of course, Steven…Marc. Both of you. Not sure I like the idea much either but…stranger things have happened, yeah?” Layla’s voice has turned soft and tender. She can only imagine what could be going through Steven’s and Marc’s head. You felt the same. The two of them had been through so much in such a short time. Being vulnerable and open is still so new to them. If they were uncomfortable with entering a dream world, then maybe you all could find another way. You nod with a short agreement to Layla’s words.

The air in the flat was thinning in a good way, from the thick tense air that had begun to settle. You think that maybe it was Tutu’s presence that was facilitating this calm and maybe you'd be right. He’d never admit to such, but it’s welcomed all the same.

Steven looked at you and Layla, his lips curled at the corners into a gentle smile. “Thank you, both of you. I promise, we’ll try and have an answer for you both soon…uh well for all of you.” He turns to Tutu, his smile turning sheepish.

“Take your time. I’ve waited this long, right? I don’t mind waiting…I’ll always wait for you, Steven.” You could feel your body wanting to take his hand, but could you? Would that be weird in front of Layla? This whole night had been weird so what’s one more thing? Before you can worry about that, as if he feels the pull too, Steven takes your hand. When your eyes meet it’s like the warmth from his hand spreads through you, even to your cheeks where a smile has found its way across your lips. This could work. It had to. You didn't really want to walk away. Sure, you still worry about being compared to Layla, but that will just be something to work through…with Steven.

~*~*~*~

After saying your goodbyes, each of you to your respective man, you and Layla share a very awkward elevator ride. If you thought the ride up was slow, this one is moving at a glacial pace, as if the weight of the tension was straining the mechanics. Thanks to the mirror covered walls you steal glances of Layla, seeing how beautiful she is this close, feeling how confidence just falls off of her. You could see why Marc and even Steven could fall for her. Taking a deep breath, you try and keep those dark thoughts from growing again, the last thing you need is to have yet another panic attack in front of her.

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” Layla says, breaking the silence, not turning to look at you but opting to look at you in the reflection facing you both. Your eyes widening a fraction prompt her to continue. “I get it. Finding out there’s ‘someone else’ is…it’s not fun. I mean, every time I think I know him, Marc I mean, it seems something else comes up and it’s like I haven’t known him at all.” She took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. You really could sympathize. You could only imagine what it must have felt like for her, to think that her husband was cheating on her. You and Steven weren’t married, but it still hurt a lot.

You take a moment to mull over her words. What do you even say? “Yeah, it was a not-so-pleasant surprise…guess we’ll just have to wait and see what’ll happen next.” What more was there to say right now? It was clear by how she was talking to Steven that she didn’t think this would work or maybe she didn’t want it to work. There was something that neither of you realized you had in common…persistance. Neither of you were going to give up the man you loved so easily, even in the face of uncharted territory.

Layla’s gaze went from the light indicating what floor you were passing back to you. It was…intense wasn’t the right word. Strong definitely, but there was something else there. You didn’t know how to react, if you should, but you could feel it. Like she was assessing a threat in battle. Your posture straightened, your expression steeling…you couldn’t let her get to you, whether she was meaning to get to you or not. If this was going to work, you couldn’t continue feeling so very small around her. You’re an avatar just like her, you can do this.

“Guess we will.” She said just after the elevator door dinged and opened to the ground floor hall. Her words felt like a challenge. It almost felt like she was expecting you to throw in the towel right then and there. Putting her hands in the pockets of her jacket, Layla started for the front door without looking back…she didn’t need to. You took a step out of the elevator and watched as she left, looking dazed? Stunned? You weren’t sure what you were feeling, anxious certainly, but there was so much going through your head you weren’t sure what to call it.

Once you were outside the building and headed for the sidewalk, you took a moment to look back at the building, up to the floor where Steven’s flat resides like you had only a hour or so ago. Your hands gathering together to fidget with the other, you could almost still feel Steven’s touch. With a sigh you turn and begin the trek back to your own flat.

Tutu loomed, ever watchful of his avatar, his golden deathmask for a head concealing any expression that might give away how he felt or what he was thinking. However, the god couldn’t hide how his body tensed, the way his hands clenched into fists. Ever so slightly, his head turned to glance behind him in the direction of Steven’s building, though there was nothing to be seen, there was no mistaking what he heard, what he sensed. Not wanting to be too far from his avatar (or at least that’s what he told himsel), Tutu disappears.

The sound of fabric fluttering in the wind was all that could be heard in the light of the crescent moon.

Don't forget to reblog and/or comment! I love to hear from you all!!

taglist: @roseqzpd​ @rosecentaur1916​ @ahookedheroespureheart @sleepyamaya @parkeepingparker @lockleysgrl @marc-spectorr @vermillionsails @harrys-tittie @n0ripeaches @missdictatorme @bitchyglitterfox @spacecowboyhotch @randomchick546 @teacupcollector @local-mr-frog @stevenknightmarc @ahookedheroespureheart @mccn-bcys @juneknight

[pockyteau]

i don't think i'll ever finish this so i'm just going to post it here lmao

You don't know why you're calling.

You nibble the bottom of your lip anxiously. The blue light of your phone screen almost stings your eyes in the darkness as it rings once, twice. Three times. The alcohol that had been coursing through your veins earlier has slowed to a halt, the warmth in your bones quickly cooling to a chill. You're kind of hoping he doesn't pick up. No, that's not true. You miss his voice so much - his teasing remarks, his stupid-smart quips that always go right over your head. You miss him. Please pick up. 

You miss Chishiya so much, you don't know what to do with yourself.  

"Hello?" His voice, Chishiya's voice, crackles to life through the receiver. He sounds tired, his voice rough. "We talked about this. You shouldn't be calling-"

"I miss you, Shuntaro," you cut across him in a whisper. "I'm sorry, I just..." Your eyes no longer sting from the light of the dialing screen but with tears. Your voice wobbles and you attempt to keep your tone under control, but it's no use. The alcohol is in your system now. "I miss you," you say again, as a tear slides down your cheek. 

Chishiya sighs on the other line, a sharp breath edged like a blade. It’s almost as if he’s saying I can tell. "Have you been drinking?" 

You consider saying no, but it wouldn’t really be much use. Chishiya always saw right through you – that, and how suspiciously wobbly your voice was. "Yes, but..."

There's a bit of fumbling on the line, muffled talking. Oh god, was he working a shift right now? How could you have made such a mistake? You scramble to make amends, desperately trying to apologise. Stupid, stupid. "Shun, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were working - I'll hang up now, sorry-"

Chishiya comes back on the line. "No, it's fine," he says, in a way that indicates it’s not really fine at all. "I'm about to clock out for today anyway."

"Are you sure?" Your voice is small, so small, as if it were an object you could drop in the darkness and never find again. You hate how weary he sounds. You used to wait for him to come back from his shifts at the hospital and his voice would sound exactly like that. He would never say anything about it, but the slight darkness under his eyes were telltale of just how tired he really was.

You cradle the phone with both hands, the screen held so close to your ear its glass is icy against your cheek. Even so, things were better back then; you would give him a hug as soon as the door was open, hoping to lift some of the weight off his shoulders. The warmth of his body enveloping you at the doorstep, the little hum he would make as you welcomed him home. Your nights were so empty without those exchanges now. You missed him, so much. 

"You only drink when you're upset," Chishiya says, deftly changing the subject. "What happened?" 

Chishiya's voice has always been calm, clinical. The epitome of stability, and in a way his unwavering voice drifting through the speaker helps to ground you. You hiccup, the result of alcohol and the sobs that had been silently wracking your body. You're so glad to hear his voice again, so glad you called and so glad he picked up. "I miss you," you repeat. How many times have you said that already? 

You stumble over your words in your haste to get them out, barely registering that they are slurring together. Chishiya is still here, talking to you. "Shun, please, can I just see you for a bit? I swear, this will be the last time, I just...I need to see you."

Chishiya is silent on the other line. Soft static crackles in your ear as you wait on his answer. Please, please. If you just see him this one time, everything will be okay. 

"I'll call Kuina to get you a taxi," he says finally. 

"Shun, please-"

"You should stop calling." Chishiya says flatly, and the line goes dead. 

[guilty-pleasures21]

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

I'm actually going to start posting a new chapter everyday, just because 😁.

0. The Slow Burn

Part 1 - the meet-cute

Part 2 - the coffee mug

Part 3 - the spicy song

Part 4 - the absence

Part 5 - the watch/the sweet song

Part 6 - the backrub

Warnings: none.

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

“So,” Jess began, her eyes flicking up to gauge X’s reaction, “you and Miguel, huh? Can’t say I’m not surprised.”

She froze, her eyes widening with terror at the implication of Jess’s words. She swallowed her food slowly, trying to keep herself calm as she replied. “What about me and Miguel?”

“Oh, come on, X!” MJ gave her a light smack on the arm. “It’s so obvious that you guys like each other!” Another pause, another attempt at not choking on her food. Was it really? Did he like her? Like, like-like her? In the same way that she like-liked him? She kept her head down, trying to hide her blush from everyone else at the table.

“No way,” she protested weakly, pushing the last few grains of rice around her plate. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s no way he likes me. Like that.” How could he? When he was so handsome and strong and smart and … and she was just her. Small and quiet and with absolutely nothing to offer him. She slumped over, disappointed.

“Of course he does!” Ben reassured her, noting her sudden drop in mood. “It’s so obvious even I can tell.” Her lips twitched at that, but she kept her head down, still hesitant to believe it.

“I don’t know,” she argued softly. She bit her lip, considering the next words out of her mouth. “What … Why do you think so?” She looked up at them, the nerves written plainly all over her face. She must really, really like him. Jess grinned.

“Girl, you should have seen him when you weren’t around,” she informed X, waving her spoon in the air enthusiastically. “The man was basically throwing a tantrum the entire day!”

“Oh my God, yes!” Ben agreed, his eyes wide as he leaned forward in his seat. “I asked him if we had any cashew nuts left and he got so mad at me! He started cursing and swearing and everything!” X let out an amused snort at the revelation, finally seeming to ease up a little. She returned her attention back to her food, rolling the rice around her plate.

“What does that have to do with me, though?” MJ and Ben sighed, both of them exchanging incredulous glances.

“Because!” MJ replied, insistent on making her understand. They’d be so cute together, after all, the big and grumpy Miguel who only ever let himself relax when he was around her, and the small and shy X who’d light up with excitement whenever she was with him. They made each other happy, and what more could anyone ask for?

“Hey guys,” Peter began, settling into the seat beside X. “What are we talking about?” He looked around at their faces, trying to discern the subject from the excited looks on Ben’s, MJ’s and Jess’s faces and the hesitant smile on X’s.

“Peter!” MJ exclaimed, her expression transforming into one of victory as she looked at him. “Tell her! Tell X how much Miguel missed her when she was gone.” Ohhh. So that’s what they’d been talking about. X glanced over at him nervously, her eyes wide as she waited for his answer.

“It’s true,” Peter revealed, giving her a gentle pat on the forearm. “He was practically counting down the days until you came back!” She grinned, then lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her blush.

“Oh.” Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the happiness in it. Then suddenly, a vibration buzzed through the air, causing her to jump in her seat. She looked down at her wrist and began tapping frantically on her watch, trying to stop the notification that her vitals were abnormally high.

“X? What’s wrong?” She turned around, startled to find Miguel standing right behind her. She froze, panicked, then turned around quickly, curling into herself to hide her expression from him.

“Nothing!” She winced when her voice came out as a squeak. Then she cleared her throat and tried again. “Um, nothing. What’s up with you, Miguel?”

He’d heard - he’d heard everything they’d said about him being agitated when she’d been away. And then he’d heard her heart, pounding in her chest at the thought that he might have missed her. He swung his leg over the bench, taking the seat on her other side. Then he glanced around at the others, his eyes narrowing in suspicion beneath his eye protectors.

“Are they bullying you?” She turned to him, lips parting in horror at the suggestion.

“No! No, they’re … they’re not bullying me.” She waved her hands, then lowered her head again, her lips curling into a shy smile that had his own heart racing. She brushed her hair behind her ear, then flickered her eyes back up to his, peeking up at him from beneath her curly lashes. Dios, she was cute. He cleared his throat, shaking away the thought.

“Then why was your heart beating so fast, arañita?” Oh God. Had he heard? Had he heard her heart speeding up at the thought that he might like her? That she most definitely liked him? As more than a friend? She pulled her gaze away from his, trying to ignore the warmth radiating off of him, the pure masculine scent of him flooding her senses.

“Um, did you … did you hear that?” she asked him apprehensively. “Or did you get a notification?” The corner of his lips curled at her reaction. Could it really be true? Could she really have had a crush on him? A passing infatuation that would wear off once she knew the real him? His stomach curdled at the thought, his smile slipping slightly.

“I heard it,” he told her, wanting to tease her, to see that shy smile grace her lips once again. She tensed, her fingers curling into fists as she studiously avoided meeting his gaze. He lowered his head, his lips stretching wider as he tried to get her to look at him. “¿Qué pasa, arañita? Is something bothering you?”

He straightened when she looked up at him again, that devilish smirk taking over his features. God, he was so hot. She squeezed her legs tight, dragging her gaze away from his as she clasped her hands together. He carried on, undeterred by her lack of response. “Or someone?”

He reached out and scratched her waist lightly with his finger, causing her to let out a surprised squeak. He snickered at the sound, only getting more amused when her watch started buzzing again, signalling the increase in her heart rate. MJ reached across the table and punched him in the arm.

“Stop teasing her like that, Miguel!” she scolded him when he turned to glare at her. He returned his attention to X, raising an eyebrow and feigning confusion.

“I’m not teasing her,” he argued, convincing absolutely no one at the table. “I’m just worried about her vitals being so high.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, wondering if he knew exactly why she was getting so flustered right now.

“I just have a naturally high resting heart rate,” she protested, still avoiding his gaze. “And I have an anxiety disorder! Therefore, I would like to petition for the sensitivity of my watch to be turned down. Just a little?” She held up her finger and thumb, wincing as she awaited his response. He smirked again, holding his hand out for hers.

“Well, if your vitals are naturally so abnormally high,” he began, fiddling with her watch, “then maybe we should increase the sensitivity. Just a little.” He pulled on her wrist, tugging her closer to him so that her knee was pressing against his. She let out a little whimper and, mierda, the sound of it, the reminder of how absolutely tiny she was compared to him, it drove him wild. He leaned down slightly, bending over to murmur in her ear.

“After all,” he continued, his fingers still curled around her wrist, “we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, would we, arañita?” She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, so close he could have leaned forward and brushed his own against them. Then her watch started vibrating again, and she pulled her hand out of his grasp, holding it close to her chest as she frowned up at him. Dios, she was cute when she was mad.

“You’re so mean, Miguel!” she huffed, getting up from the bench. She picked up her plate, going over to return it to the kitchen, and he followed after her, catching up to her easily.

“Arañita,” he called, grabbing her wrist to get her to stop. “I was only joking, arañita.” She set her plate down, then turned around to face him, that adorable frown still etched onto her features. He took a step closer to her, forcing her to crane her neck back to look up at him.

“Here, let me fix it,” he reassured her, tapping on her watch again. She held her breath as he worked, trying to keep herself calm even though their proximity was making her heart leap out of her chest and into her throat. Finally, he released her, letting her arm fall back to her side. “There. It should be better now.”

“Um, thanks, Miguel.” She clasped her hands behind her back, that shy smile taking over her features as she shifted in place. “See you tomorrow!” And then she ran off without another word. He crossed his arms, trying not to let out a frustrated groan as he watched her retreating figure. Ay, ¡por Dios! Why did she have to be so f*cking cute?!

She wasn’t here again - something about going out with a friend. But it was okay this time, because he knew he’d see her tomorrow. That didn’t stop the uncomfortable ache in his chest that made him feel like his day was missing something though. He rubbed his chin, studying the data in front of him. There was something he wasn’t seeing, something that X would have stared at for a minute and then figured out somehow. Maybe he’d just wait for her to come back.

“Lyla?” She popped up beside him immediately.

“Yes, boss?”

“Play some of that music that X always plays.”

“Copy that. Pulling up her playlist now.” She disappeared and then the sound of old-timey pop music began filling the room - well, old-timey to him anyway. He furrowed his brow, not recalling having heard this song before - he’d listen in sometimes, when she put her earphones in to start playing her music: because it helped her focus, she’d told him when he’d asked her about it. He’d grabbed her phone then, showing her how to connect it to the speaker system so that she could just play it out loud in the lab or the control room. Her eyes had widened with amazement and she’d treated him to that sweet smile he was getting far too fond of as her music started playing around them. He’d waved her thanks away, doing his best to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest as he turned back to his monitors.

‘Son esas ganas de sentirte cerca, al pronunciar tu nombre …’ He paused for a second, surprised by the Spanish flowing through the speakers. He knew she listened to Spanish songs sometimes, French ones too, but it always made his heart skip a beat, the reminder that she could understand his native tongue.

‘Qué está pasando, que esa carita divina, se ha vuelto mi medicina, y poco a poco yo me estoy sanando …’ His lips curled at the lyrics, a very specific little face popping into his head immediately: thick, curly lashes framing large, almond-shaped eyes, her full lips so soft and rosy. She had seemed to pop up in his life right when he'd needed it the most. And she never asked him for anything, nothing except his company, the two of them sitting in contented silence for hours at a time. And everything always seemed so much easier whenever she was around, less … scary. Just like in the song. He pulled out his tools, setting the data aside and deciding to work on some gadgets instead. He’d take a little break, come back to the problem after he’d given his brain some time to reset. And maybe she’d be back by then, there to lend a fresh set of eyes to the problem. But then the music started to fade away, the song changing to a new one, and he looked up, frowning.

“Lyla,” he called her back, “play the other one again. The Spanish one.” The song restarted and he felt his lips quirk at the ends again, the tension leaving his body as he settled down to get some work done.

She’d had fun today; going out with her friend to get some shopping done. But, of course, it still wasn’t as fun as hanging out with Miguel. So she’d changed into her suit when she’d gotten back, opening up a portal to take her to HQ. An unexpected sight greeted her when she entered the control room, however - or an unexpected sound, rather. Miguel stood on the platform, bobbing his head in time with the music as he fiddled with a gadget, his smooth, deep voice mumbling along to the lyrics of one of her favourite songs.

“Miguel?” she called to him, trying not to laugh as she webbed up to stand beside him. “What are you doing?”

¡Coño! He dropped his tools, startled by her sudden arrival. He hadn’t even heard her walk in, so absorbed had he been in the song. But what was she even doing here anyway? She wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. She looked up at him, lips stretched into a wide smile, her face lit up with amusement as she waited for his answer.

“Uh …” he began slowly, trying to come up with a response. He gritted his teeth, flashing her an embarrassed grimace as he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Lyla! Turn it off!” Thankfully, she did as he said, turning off the music without arguing back - for once. He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Uh, what are you doing here, arañita?” he asked. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to make it today.” She continued grinning at him, a hint of shyness tinging the edges of her knowing expression.

“Well, I … I wanted to see you,” she confessed, breaking his gaze for a moment. Then she looked up at him again, her features rearranged into an expression of mischief this time. “I didn’t know you missed me.”

“Oh.” He broke her gaze, afraid to use that word specifically to describe how he’d been feeling without her there. “Uh, well, it was just a little quiet, that's all.” He turned back to his desk, fiddling with the gadget there as he figured out what to say.

“Hmm.” She nodded thoughtfully and took a step closer to him, trying to tamp the happiness starting to bubble up in her chest. Had he really missed her? Just like the others had said? Just like she'd missed him? She kept her gaze fixed on his hands as she leaned into him, her eyes tracking the movements of his long fingers as he twisted and fidgeted with the gadget. “I missed you too, Miguel.”

He froze again, unsure if he’d heard right. He glanced over at her and found her gaze trained on the ground as she smiled and shifted on the spot shyly. His stomach flipped at the sight and he dragged his eyes away from her, tapping on the table nervously as he digested her response. She’d missed him - she’d missed him even though she’d only seen him yesterday. How much had she missed him then, that week she’d been away? As much as he’d missed her? He shook his head at the sudden thought, not wanting to admit how he felt about her - not even to himself. He bit his lip, thinking. Then he cleared his throat and returned his attention to the computer, pulling up the dataset he’d been having trouble with earlier.

“Uh, I … I was having some trouble analysing this data, arañita,” he informed her, turning to face her without meeting her gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Could you take a look at it?”

Of course he’d never use the word ‘help’ - probably an oldest sibling thing, considering how she still struggled to ask for help too, sometimes. She grinned, delighted by how well she was beginning to know him, how soft and easy everything was with him. She clasped her hands behind her back and turned her attention to the screen, trying to keep her heart beat steady as she studied the data in front of her.

“Okay, yeah, this is … not right,” she told him, lips still curled into an amused smile. He raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What do you mean?” She stretched onto her toes and pointed at a set of numbers that didn’t seem to fit with the rest.

“These numbers make no sense at all,” she informed him, lowering herself back down again. “I don’t know if you accidentally typed in the wrong numbers or something, but … this ain’t right, boss.” It was the way she always said it, that playful smile on her face, that teasing tone of her voice. Dios, it drove him mad. He tucked his hands under his arms, his muscles clenching as his stomach gave another flip.

“Vale, I’ll … I’ll go back and check the raw data,” he acquiesced, waving her away, needing her to leave so that he could work on getting his emotions back under his control again. “You should go home, arañita: it’s getting late.”

He was so cute, the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck or clearing his throat or pulling his gaze away from hers. Was he nervous? Around her? Now she wished she had some of his super senses, so she could hear his heartbeat and be sure of it. She tugged her chair over and sank back into it, swivelling around as she looked up at the screen. “I’ll wait. We can go through the data together.”

She turned to him, smiling up at him in a way that made his heart stop beating in his chest. And he wondered what it would sound like, hearing the words ‘I love you’ fall from those lips, what they would taste like beneath his own, her body small and soft in his hands. Just like in the song. He tensed up, suddenly realising the direction his thoughts had been going in, and turned away from her quickly. He was being ridiculous. They were just … colleagues. Just two strangers thrown together by unfortunate circumstances. Just … His stomach curdled with each excuse, the words weighing heavily on his heart. Even he hated how they sounded in his mind. He slid his gaze over to her and she smiled at him again, waiting. But he couldn't let himself indulge in … whatever this was. They'd only get hurt and she might not have been able to see that, but he … he knew better. He gripped the edge of the table, considering his next words.

“Uh, actually,” he began slowly, trying to come up with a lie that would get her to leave. Not something that would hurt her though - he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the crestfallen expression on her face if he hurt her. If anyone hurt her. “I was just going to get someone else to take a look at it. You said you'd have a lot to do at work this week, so I already got someone else to cover all your stuff.” He waved her off in a way that he hoped was an adequate mix of dismissal and reassurance. Not so dismissive as to make her think she wasn't valuable, but not so reassuring as to convince her that she meant more to him than anyone else at HQ. It was perfect.

She pursed her lips, thinking. She could see how careful he was to control his instinct to push people away. He was still afraid to let her get too close - hence the dismissal - but a part of him seemed to have begrudgingly accepted that she wouldn't be pushed away so easily. He was trying, and that was all she'd asked for. So, she wouldn't push him. She stood up and took a step closer to him, her brain running through all the possible responses she could leave him with. And then, she found it.

“Great,” she replied unexpectedly, sidling up to him. “That means I get to spend more time with you.” She flashed him a cheeky smile, then opened up a portal to take her home, not giving him the chance to respond. Not that he would have had a response anyway: what could he say, after all, when she'd told him she'd missed him? When she'd said she liked spending time with him, just the two of them alone together? When he'd started to like it too? He sank back into his seat, clutching at his hair in frustration as he sighed loudly. Por Dios, she was going to be the death of him one day.

Tags: @leahnicole1219

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 2.9K

Gavin was leaning so close to the windshield that he appeared intent on jumping through it. His body was draped over the dash as his nails clawed fervently against the plastic. Every slight deceleration of the car triggered immediate sounds of protest. "Can't you go any faster?" 

Hank clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his hold on the wheel. "I'm already going as fast as I can." 

"Like shit you are. Move over and let me drive."

"I am not letting you drive my car", came a firm response. "When was the last time you drove a driver-operated transmission? Do you even know how it works?"

"I was born in 2002; I'm not a goddamn teenager." 

"Could’ve fooled me. Because you sure as Hell act like enough of a kid."

Gavin snarled at the older man’s stubbornness. It didn’t help that the rain outside was gradually picking up, creating a thick torrent that was difficult to see through. "What if the Reaper has another android?" he said defiantly. "What if they die because we were too busy dicking around? This isn't a game, Anderson, go faster. "

There was a brief hesitation as Hank ground his teeth before his left foot pressed down, the engine roaring to life with it. Gavin observed as the speedometer steadily began to creep—until the needle twitched and staggered around 80mph. Then, it stalled entirely as the vehicle began to audibly struggle. 

This only riled him further as his clawing hands balled into fists, pounding indignantly against the dash. "Why do you still have this piece of shit? It's 2039, you fucking fossil."

"It would make no difference if it were auto-drive. If anything, we'd get there slower because the speed lock would kick in." 

Distracted by his escalating argument with the belligerent man beside him, Hank sped past a merge point where another car had already entered. The resulting reception was a loud blare of horns as the driver made a series of obscene gestures. 

The wheels of his car skidded through the deepening pools of water, as Hank veered sharply to one side, narrowly avoiding a collision. 

There was a small yelp from the back seat, accompanied by the squeak of fingers tightening on leather. "Gavin, I must inform you that we are exceeding the speed limit by 10 miles." 

"Shut the fuck up, Connor. No one asked you." Gavin shot a pointed glare into the rearview mirror, his teeth bared in an unapologetic show of hostility. 

"If you tell him to shut up one more time , I swear to god I'm booting you out." 

Connor shifted towards the door, seemingly trying to escape his view. He stared forlornly out the window as his eyelids started to flit, LED spinning yellow. 

"What are you doing?" Gavin asked, his eyes narrowed dubiously. 

"I'm trying to contact Nines."

The detective made a sharp, strangled noise. Caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Fat lot of good that'll do. He's left us, dipshit, he doesn't want anything to do with this." 

As directed by the GPS, they branched off the intersection and merged onto the road leading to the industrial estate. The loss of momentum did not go unnoticed, as Gavin’s impatience was only exacerbated by a shifting traffic light, which abruptly halted the car. The red glow above taunted him as he reared himself further forward. "We're wasting time. For God's sake, just run it!"

"What, and take the pedestrian out with me?" Hank gestured to an elderly woman who was hobbling across the street. "We're almost there, be fucking patient."

Passing by a parade of glum, derelict-looking buildings, it was evident that the district had been abandoned for quite some time. As they rounded the corner, a particularly large building came into view, looming forebodingly on the horizon.

CyberLife West seemed more like a park than it did a centre, with smaller structures forming a perimeter around the larger construct within. A parade of shipment trucks were housed in the numerous loading docks. Half emerged as though they'd been ready to pull away. The whole thing resembled a prison, with high chain-link fences and dormant spotlights caging a bleak interior. Gavin may have believed it was, had it not been for the distinctive blue and white accents adorning the walls.

When they reached the entrance, he had barely waited for the car to stop before barrelling his way out the door. His jacket was left abandoned on the seat, with his gun held firmly in his hand. Faint protests followed as he charged to a set of reinforced doors. With a nudge, he found them to be unsecured, and promptly slammed his way through—the heavy panels striking loudly against the opposing walls.

Scanning the vacant reception area, he spotted a sign hanging above the reception desk, directing to the warehouses. He sped down the hall, as a nervous pressure tightened his chest. Rounding a corner, he was faced by a sudden crossroads and almost collided with the wall.

Dimmed emergency bulbs allowed for sparse visibility, but it did little to guide his next move. He was faced with a vast network of corridors stretching out for seemingly implausible lengths. They were filled with sporadically placed doors, and as Gavin canvassed the ones in view, he noted that they were all unmarked. 

A hurried pace of footsteps informed him that Hank and Connor had caught up. The older man was first to speak as he hunched over, hands on his knees. "Multi-billion dollar company and they can't afford number plates," he mumbled through strained pants. "How are we supposed to know where to go?" 

"What do you mean? We have coordinates; Connor can lead us."

There was a faint grumble from behind—and while Gavin couldn't see, he was confident that he could sense the judgemental eye roll which accompanied it. 

"The coordinates lead to the building." Connor swiftly corrected before directing to a projection that he had displayed on his palm. "The warehouse number was stated separately: WH-52."

The detective growled in frustration, as he firmly smacked the hand away. "Then upload the warehouse blueprints."

"They don’t specify the room layout—but it stands to reason they would be in numerical order."

"Yeah, starting from which direction?" Gavin shot back, as he made a sweeping gesture to the various outstretched paths. 

"I have never physically been here, so I have no idea."

God-fucking-dammit. 

He rushed ahead, footsteps echoing against the concrete as he veered onto one of the many paths. Connor and Hank tried to follow, but their pursuing steps began to fade as the surroundings grew increasingly dark. It wasn't long until the detective found himself alone, navigating almost solely by touch. He stumbled aimlessly for quite some time until he heard a rogue noise. 

His first instinct was to call out, assuming it might be one of the partners, but he firmly stopped himself - not wishing to compromise his position. Feeling his way along the brick, he began to approach the source of the noise. The steel indents of one of the doors brushed against his fingers, and with the added pressure, it creaked open. 

There was a brief hesitation as he stood in the doorway, silently weighing his options. Then, he heard another sound - like shuffling footsteps - compelling him to move inside. Barely three paces in, the door slammed shut, and a voice called out from within the darkness:

 

 

"You've kept me in suspense, Detective."

 

 

The words struck with disturbing resonance, cutting through the air like a blade. It triggered a moment of stunned inactivity, as Gavin’s fraught mind sought to determine the direction it had come from. 

His grip tightened on the handle of his firearm, before he raised it in defense. Looking around, he tried to detect any hints of lurking movement.

"I had hoped the machine could put the pieces together from my most recent message. But when it didn't come to find me, I decided to be a touch more direct." The Reaper stopped periodically as he chuckled to himself. "Good thing I was. Otherwise, I doubt you would have found me."

Small streaks of light filtered in from the far end of the room, through the cracked margins of a loading dock. Gavin made his way towards it, seeking a potential vantage point. 

"It is disappointing you're alone. We were ready for your partner's return. It has been missed."

We. 

The man halted his advance. He stood to attention, guard raised, as he listened for further sounds. Conscious of anything that could indicate encroaching assailants. "Is there anyone with you?"

"In a sense. Although I wouldn't say ‘anyone’. More like 'anything'."

This vague response only heightened Gavin's growing sense of unease as his sightless gaze trailed his surroundings. "Where are we, you fucking asshole? Why did you want my partner to come here?"

There was a brief pause before the room was filled with thunderous, mocking laughter. It ricocheted off the walls, bouncing back and forth, until it reached a near-deafening fever pitch. 

"Surely you’ve worked that out by now, or are you really that stupid?" 

As the noise began to subside, the detective noted a subtle shift coming from overhead - before an unseen object crashed to the floor, emitting a jarring crash. Whirling around, he gestured towards it and instinctively fired off a shot. The brief flash revealed nothing but an indistinct mass, and the action was met with another laugh.

"I would have thought your partner would have told you all about this place. Perhaps it has been keeping secrets." 

Lowering his weapon, Gavin panted, his rush of adrenaline beginning to taper. He refocused his efforts on deciphering the meaning behind the Reaper's words:

The location was somewhere Nines would know…somewhere he has been before…  

We're in a warehouse… A CyberLife warehouse…

A revelation struck him. One that, in hindsight, seemed to be obvious. 

"Your silence is telling", the Reaper mocked, stalling his mental trajectory. "Did it never tell you where it came from?"

As the voice grew louder, Gavin stepped back, raising his gun once again. There was a hollow thud as his heel knocked against something hard. While initially sturdy, it began to roll, throwing him off balance. 

"It seems to have neglected to fill you in on some rather important details. I suppose I’ll have to show you."

There was a low hum from above as the fluorescent bulbs roared to life. The room was flooded by a harsh wave of light, dazzling him temporarily. His strained eyes took a moment to adjust to the shift. When they did, his heart sank.

Wedged beneath his toes was a tuft of brown hair, still attached to the scalp of a disembodied head. Bright eyes peered at him, cold and lifeless, amidst a canvas of pale, freckled skin. "Nines—" The name was choked out before he could stop it,  his body racked with violent shudders.

"Don't look so glum", the Reaper said, his voice tinged with feigned sympathy. "This one isn't yours. It's been here for a while." 

Struggling to focus his gaze through a densening blur of tears, Gavin realised the assertion was likely genuine. Although it looked like Nines, the synthetic skin was worn and tarnished, with patches of white peering through. With marked reluctance, he glanced up, fearing the extent of the horrors he was about to confront.

It soon became apparent what the Reaper had meant—when he implied he wasn't alone. 

The room was vast and cavernous, piled high with empty pallets, and sectioned off with lofty shelves. In every visible corner of space, Gavin saw the bodies of androids - strewn about like crumpled dolls. There seemed to be hundreds. A sea of death which fanned out in every direction.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" The Reaper spoke with a wistful airiness, making no attempt to disguise the pleasure he was deriving from their surroundings. "This is Hell, Detective Reed. Their Hell. The only fate any android deserves."

The bodies lay in varying states of disrepair, with many bearing disfigurations, yet still identifiable by their distinctive black and white jackets. While Gavin’s logical mind informed that none of them were Nines, the thought that he could have easily blended into their ranks was enough to turn his stomach. He retched loudly, unable to contain his sickness, as vomit dribbled down his chin.

The Reaper found amusement in this, taunting the visceral response. "To think that a Homicide Detective would be so rattled by the replica of a corpse," he tsked disapprovingly. "I suppose it is a shame, objectively speaking. If you subscribe to the ethos that newer is better."

Gavin took some time to collect himself before pressing forward. His head spun, legs threatening to buckle under increasingly unsteady weight. Navigating the bodies proved a challenge, as he tried his best not to look down. 

"Because the RK900 is a technical marvel. Faster, stronger, and more resilient than anything that came before it. I was on the production line when they first came into manufacture."

Progressing further into the carnage, Gavin discovered that many of the fallen androids were not RK900s, despite his original assessment. While the models varied, their clothing pointed to a shared affiliation. Brown trenchcoats with a rounded sigil embroidered on the left-hand pocket.

The Reaper continued to speak, his voice droning on like incessant white noise. "The RK900 was equipped with an advanced antiviral programme: employing meticulous diagnostic screenings and routine system resets, making it impossible for the model to deviate—or so we thought, there were outliers."

The initial shock of the situation was beginning to wane, morphing into confusion. Gavin recognised the symbol on the jackets, but he couldn't recall from where. 

"What the fuck happened here…" The question had been mumbled under his breath, barely above a whisper. Despite this, the Reaper still responded. 

"I would think it's fairly straightforward", he breezed. "A non-deviated android will always execute its primary function."

Realising the killer must be close, Gavin’s heartbeat quickened. His finger nervously traced the trigger of his weapon as he waited for the man to strike. When nothing happened, the digit eased, before retracting.

"At first, it was intended to assist law enforcement, much like its predecessor, but as the revolution gained momentum, last-minute changes were made. They were repurposed into military units. To be used as instruments of war—weapons."

As he listened, Gavin’s already overworked mind was sent into overdrive. What Nines said…about being dangerous…

"After the RK800’s skills of diplomacy proved ineffective, it was deemed that a more aggressive approach was needed to tackle the deviants."

Surveying the bodies, he noted a prominent bullet wound between the eyes of one of the RK900s. He was angled towards another figure, one of the trenchcoat-clad androids, a handgun clutched in her lifeless grasp. 

This is what Connor was talking about…why Jericho never went back for the rest…

"Of course, this came with a failsafe. Should an RK900 be compromised by the virus—and be unable to counter its effects prior to full system corruption—it will seek to destroy itself."

It all made sense. The way Nines had unravelled and ultimately regressed upon seeing the other RK900. Like he was fighting something deep inside himself. Grappling for control. 

Gavin felt himself lurch forward as he suppressed another wave of nausea. No. Please, God, no. 

"It was already such a pleasure to destroy one. How exhilarating would it have been to terminate another? The crowning jewels in my collection."

Through the tightening grips of sorrow, another emotion flared: a white-hot rage, warping his senses, propelling him forward with newfound fortitude.

"Shut up", he commanded, the words spat harshly through gritted teeth.

"But if it's not here with you, I imagine it is not doing well? Perhaps the issue will resolve itself."

A bellowing snarl ripped from his throat, as his desperation to find his tormentor reached a breaking point. Gavin wished for nothing more than to lock eyes with the man, before extinguishing their light forever with a single, decisive bullet.

"I said shut the fuck up!" His words came in garbled fragments, interspersed with animalistic growls. "It's over, Gideon. Now get out here so I can fucking end you! "

The Reaper hummed in faux deliberation, before snickering once again. "A tempting offer, but I’ll have to decline. You’re getting warmer, Gavin. Keep looking." 

Weaving his way through the room, Gavin focused in on the voice, trailing every drawn-out syllable. Any concerns of self-preservation were callously tossed aside. All that mattered was bringing his target to justice.

Then, he stumbled upon something else. The penultimate feature of the Reaper's morbid operation:

Between a set of towering shelves was a crimson-draped table: adorned with flickering candles, casting a series of disquieting shadows. More unsettling was the wire-frame effigy proudly displayed behind it. A complex series of limbs and bio-components, meticulously intertwined in the metal—like a cruel jigsaw puzzle. Amongst them were the trophies the Reaper had claimed from his most recent victims, as well as the victims that predated their investigation.

Gavin stumbled his way forward, trying to get a closer look, when he was struck by a sudden, searing pain—radiating from the back of his head. His body crumpled under the strike as he let out a winded gasp. Before he could seek to retaliate, his assailant had grabbed him by the hair and harshly wrenched him back. He struck the ground and his gun propelled from his loosened grip, skidding across the concrete. 

Still reeling from the impact, Gavin barely registered the set of legs that came to straddle his torso. A large hand found his jaw and turned his head, forcing him to stare into a set of cruel, focused eyes. Despite the blur of his spotted vision, a recognition struck him.

"It’s you." 

[lets-try-some-writing]

Guilty Pleasures (Part 3)

I swear this is the last post of Guilty Pleasures! I just felt the need to spread the love around a bit! With that said please enjoy more wholesome robot hobbies.

Ultra Magnus

The Autobot's second in command has been widely regarded as stiff and by the book. His hobby unsurprisingly keeps to this standard.

Even before arriving to earth Ultra Magnus always enjoyed puzzles.

Anything that really put his mind to work could keep him occupied for hours at a time.

But once he got to earth he quickly became interested in the puzzles Raf brought to base.

It took a great deal of effort at first. Attempting to move the small pieces being a lot more effort than it was probably worth, but he persevered anyway.

However Ultra Magnus didn't really get into the whole puzzle thing until Wheeljack proclaimed he couldn't do it.

Suddenly doing puzzles wasn't a matter of interest, but one of pride.

He started with small puzzles in order to work on his dexterity, and then over the course of several weeks, worked his way up to thousand piece puzzles.

It only continued to escalate, with every completed puzzle not so subtly being shown to Wheeljack to prove that he most certainly CAN complete puzzles, thank you.

It became habit for him to set up the most complex puzzle he could find and try to complete it as fast as possible, a true challenge given the size of his servos.

The act soothes him and give him a well earned break from the stress of everyday life.

It also helps ease his anxiety when Optimus isn't around to calm him down on bad days.

Predaking

Predaking, the noble spark that he is, likes to read and listen to stories from ancient times.

Both Cybertronian and earth mythologies interest him greatly.

He has developed a deep respect for Primus, the Thirteen Primes, the previous Predaking, Arthur Pendragon, and the Norse Gods.

The deep set code of honor present in all the before listed entities keeps him positively enthralled.

He prefers to hear the stories from the most reliable sources, as such he goes to great lengths to find those with the appropriate qualifications.

He has listened to every reliable podcast on the subject of earth culture that he can get a hold of.

He has also in great secrecy, met up with Optimus just so he can listen to the older mech's stories.

No living mech knows Cybertronian history better than the Matrix bearer and former head Archivist.

And Optimus doesn't mind telling Predaking his stories, in fact, he finds it relaxing to speak to one who isn't tired of his tales.

Predaking likes to pretend that he is mightier than everyone else, but secretly he holds a great deal of respect for Optimus Prime, partially due to his excellent storytelling but also due to his prowess in battle.

When he isn't gathering stories from the Prime, Predaking goes to historical sights under the cover of darkness in order to see a glimpse of what earth might have been like during Arthur's age.

All in all it is a rather wholesome interest.

Wheeljack

Wheeljack doesn't have a hobby in the traditional sense.

Yes he likes explosives and building things, but he doesn't really do either of those things for his own benefit.

All of his skill and enthusiasm always end up being used to help some other bot enjoy their hobby to the fullest.

He prefers helping others ramp up their interests to amazing new heights, mainly to see if it is even possible.

His interference in Smokescreen's beetle battles being an excellent example of this.

But his meddling is also present in nearly every other Autobot's hobby as well, not just Smokescreen.

Wheeljack has experimented with Arcee's plants to see if it is possible make something like the pea shooter from plantsVSzombies.

Arcee was not pleased, but she also held a certain degree of morbid curiosity towards the bulbous abomination that came from Wheeljack's experiments.

Wheeljack also likes to assist Bulkhead in testing out his more wild conspiracy theories, building drones to sneak onto bases like area 51 to see if there really are other aliens in there.

Results on that front have been inconclusive as Agent Fowler and co have always managed to catch their drone before it could get far.

Ratchet has also found himself with Wheeljack's assistance as he has attempted to figure out human recipes.

Most of the time their combined brain cell ends up taking the instructions way to literally or to the utmost extreme.

What do you mean a pancake isn't supposed to be made of pans? It's in the name!

And the cookies aren't meant to lathered with fire? The recipe said to bake them at 350?! Why can't a blowtorch be used to speed up the process!?!

Their collective IQ decreases and increases simultaneously when they work together, leading to either ingenious creations or utter and complete chaos

As for Bumblebee, he sticks to simply competing with Wheeljack on game nights, he would rather not risk his PC blowing up.

And Optimus, well, Wheeljack quickly learned to never, EVER speak of the Prime's little hobby.

It is a secret he intends to take to the grave.

The Vehicons

The little goons are bored more often than not, as such they take great joy in pranks and recording the hilarious blunders that occur around them.

The Vehicons have developed an advanced communication system that links them all into a version of the internet reserved for them and them alone.

This communication wasn't devised for efficiency, no, it was created by Vehicon St3v30z, nicknamed Steve, for the sole purpose of sharing Starscreams many high pitched screams with the rest of the Vehicons.

It was immediately a hit among the troops and Starscream became a meme over night, not that he knew of course.

It just escalated from there, with different Vehicons assigned to different areas sharing their own recorded videos featuring the embarrassing actions of those in high command.

Soon of course, just waiting for funny things to happen wasn't enough for the Vehicons anymore. They needed more content, thus began the secret, and still ongoing, prank wars.

As a good chunk of the Vehicons are not in any position to record or play pranks they contribute to the cause by providing resources to the recorders.

Usually this just means they take their sweet time with assignments or vacate an area in order for a prank to take place.

This then is the perfect opportunity for the pranksters to get some good content.

A random pipe bursting and scaring the scrap out of Knockout? Hilarious, instant meme.

Arrows on the floor leading Breakdown to wander endlessly and in great confusion in a giant circle? Perfect, comedy gold.

Giant cardboard cutout of Megatron placed ominously around a corner to terrify Starscream? You know Steve was there to capture the marvelous shrieks.

Glitter bomb on Megatron? Pray that Soundwave doesn't rat the perpetrator out and enjoy the show.

Not even the Autobots are safe.

Poor Optimus has been left creepy notes from a supposed ghost, terrifying the rather religious mech and granting the Vehicons some satisfying pictures of the Prime's disturbed expression.

Ratchet has had glitter bombs thrown at him literally every single time he appears in fight. All Vehicons carry at least one so that should Ratchet turn up, they have the chance to hit him with it.

Vehicons who manage to get Optimus caught up in one of the glitter bombs are paraded as heroes privately.

As for the rest of the team? They get random troll messages often showing one of the Vehicons playing an kazoo or doing something equally irritating.

The Vehicons laugh at everyone else's expense.

Here it is! Done! No more! Time for new things and new headcannons! I couldn't think of anything for Arachnid and I don't know if I missed anyone else or not. Please let me know if there is any bot you want some headcannons for or that I missed.

[wickprompts]

* ― ANGELS IN AMERICA PROMPTS PRT 1 .

my friend psyche asked me to post these for them💕

❝ i wish i was an octopus, a fucking octopus. eight loving arms and all those suckers. ❞

❝ not the brightest man on the bench, but he has manners. ❞

❝ could you please not take the lord’s name in vain? ❞

❝ i’m not religious but i like god and god likes me. ❞

❝ it would mean something to me. you understand? ❞

❝ thanks, [name]. but i have to give it some thought. ❞

❝ people who are lonely, people who are left alone, sit talking nonsense to the air. ❞

❝ everywhere, things are collapsing, lies surfacing, systems of defense giving away. ❞

❝ cash, check or credit card? ❞

❝ people are like planets, you need a thick skin. ❞

❝ it’s the price of rootlessness. motion sickness. the only cure: to keep moving. ❞

❝ oooh, cemetery fun. don’t wanna miss that. ❞

❝ poor [name]. i’m sorry your [familiar, lover, friend] is dead. ❞

❝ sorry i didn’t introduced you… i always get so closety at this family things. ❞

❝ i don’t blame you hiding. bloodlines. ❞

❝ you don’t notice anything, if i hadn’t been fellating you last night i’d swear you were straight. ❞

❝ dogs have brains. ❞

❝ cats have intuition. ❞

❝ don’t you think i’m handling this well? i’m going to die. ❞

❝ i can’t find a way to spare you. ❞

❝ fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! ❞

❝ that’s what i like to hear. a mature reaction. ❞

❝ bad timing, funeral and all, but i figured as long as we were on the subject of death… ❞

❝ there’s something creepy about this place, remember rosemary’s baby? this apartment looks like that one. ❞

❝ i am afraid of the crimes i may commit. ❞

❝ you want to confess, better you find a priest. ❞

❝ catholics believe in forgiveness. jews believe in guilt. ❞

❝ change for the good. i need to be a part of that, i need something big to lift me up. ❞

❝ if i do have emotional problems is from living with you. ❞

❝ life sucks shit. life… just sucks shit. ❞

❝ well, oh boy. a gay republican. ❞

❝ i mean you sound like a… like a republican. ❞

❝ one wants… but one so seldom gets what one wants, does one? ❞

❝ you know you’ve hit rock-bottom when even drag is a drag. ❞

❝ in my church, we don’t believe in homosexuals. ❞

❝ in my church, we don’t believe in mormons. ❞

❝ nothing unknown is knowable. don’t you think it’s depressing? ❞

❝ i usually say “fuck the truth”, but mostly, the truth fucks you. ❞

❝ tell me without making me ask. please. ❞

❝ are you a homo? ❞

❝ i like this, this is very zen; it’s… reassuringly incomprehensible and useless. ❞

❝ what if i walked out on this? would you hate me forever? ❞

❝ there’s nothing left of me to kill. ❞

❝ i am not a homosexual. i am a heterosexual man, [name], who fucks around with other guys ❞

[mackeydoodledoo]

Burning Sun: Chapter 1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You've seen her in the school halls, the cafeteria, anywhere really. You, for the longest time, hoped... Wanted to be noticed by Rosalie Hale. However, you give up when you realize it was getting you nowhere... Throughout high school and just some time after the high school years, Rosalie’s true feelings come to fruition.

Chapter Warnings: Mutual Awkward Pining, Swearing, Past-Trauma

Chapter Theme: Uh Oh - Junior Doctor

Key: Italics = Thought, +*+ = Time Skip, Bold/Indent = Text Messages 

A/n: This is kinda based on a couple of dreams I had involving Rosalie, decided to mash them together. 

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

You were 14... You sat among your small circle of friends when you see her walk into the cafeteria...

"I wouldn't try," One of your friends catches you staring at the blonde walking into the room

"That's Rosalie Hale," Another friend clarifies for you, "She's like... One of the most prettiest girls in school."

"She wouldn't notice you my guy," Your last friend discourages you, “She's way out of your league to be with you.”

“It’d be a miracle even if she was the one to notice you first,” Your first friend states

Oh, I'm going to get her to notice me...

You were walking into your final class of the day; Intro to Mechanics. You just gotten your notebook out of your backpack. You look up and notice the same blonde; the one who captivated you in the cafeteria, turn her head right in your direction. 

Oh god I’m sharing a class with Rosalie...

You look over your shoulder to make sure Rosalie wasn’t just looking into your general direction and attempted to look at any other open seat; to no avail. 

I thought she would have a flock of boys wanting to be her seat partner for this class...

You awkwardly take your seat right next to her, hoping her odd staring or fixation on you would subside. using your peripherals, you could see her fixation continuing. 

Goddamnit... 

All the while trying to keep yourself focused on the class subject, you would often check on a few-minute interval and see Rosalie catching glimpses of you.

“Y/n,” The teacher calls on you

Your head shoots up to meet his gaze.

“What do you need to do in order to fix this engine?” He asks

You slowly stand as you look over to Rosalie, her eyes upon you. That was enough. You come up to a taken apart engine; new and all...

“Oh, this is child’s play, all you need really is a wrench, some screwdrivers, sockets and a few different sizes...” You begin into your self-conversation after taking in the view of the car’s engine

You begin getting to work; all of the other students, including Rosalie, watch you putting the engine together like it was a pass time for you. However, before getting to the last quarter of it, the final bell rings.

“Mmmmm so close...” You sigh

If you were being honest with yourself, you were trying to catch glimpses of Rosalie too, hoping that she was impressed. 

“Make sure you find a partner for this class,” The teacher announces, “They will be your partner for the entire school year, and possible future classes with me.”

You had finished wiping off your hands from the dirt and grime you’ve acquired during your whole pass time. Just as you turn to Rosalie to give her a proposition, you already see a flock of boys (and a few girls) surrounding her desk, nearly knocking you out of your own.

Knew it...

You whip out your earbuds as you plug them into your iPod; blasting whatever song you were listening to prior to entering the classroom.

*Rosalie’s POV* You were trying to politely decline every single person that had come to your desk space: hoping to ask the girl right next to you. 

The way she immediately knew her cars... The way she even just simply worked on it too..

However, as soon as you looked over and through someone’s gap between their arm and their body; the girl was nowhere in sight.

*Y/n’s POV* It was a Friday night; post marching band rehearsal. You had a competition the next morning which you were not prepared for. You just wanted to sleep after the night’s practice. 

“Need a ride?” A feminine voice asks

You look over and see a red car; a blonde in the driver’s side door. 

“We just met and you’re offering me a ride home?” You ask

You stop underneath a street light and stop in your tracks once you got a better view of the person offering you a ride.

“Oh, you’re in my mechanics class...” You say, “What are you doing out here so late?” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” She tells you, “Do you need a ride or not?”

“Fine,” You say, without a second thought

You hop into the passenger side seat as Rosalie steps onto the gas; startling you, making you grip all of your belongings.

“Scared much?” Rosalie chuckles

“Well, I’m gripping all of my things for dear life and I didn’t get the chance to buckle in,” You worriedly laugh

“Oh... Sorry,” Rosalie slows down the car

After getting the chance to buckle in, she slowly begins driving.

“Do you even know where I live?” You ask

“Nope,” Rosalie shrugs, “Just driving at this rate...”

“Well... I honestly don’t live that far from the school,” You chuckle awkwardly

You give Rosalie directions to your place, all the while getting to know a little bit about her on the way back. 

“Hey, thanks for the ride back,” You say 

“No worries,” She smiles

“Goodnight,” You say, beginning to turn your back to her

“Hey... Y/n,” Rosalie calls out to you

You didn’t even make it to the front door steps. But, you stop and turn around to face her.

“Yeah?” You call back

“Do you... Have a partner for Mechanics?” She asks

“No... Why?” You ask

“Would you... Be my partner?” She asks

“Sure... I’d like that a lot Rosalie,” You smile

“How do you know my name?” Rosalie asks, surprised

“being the most popular girl in the school? Hard name to miss,” You chuckle

+*+

You were in line for snacks; post competition. Exhausted. But, happy with your first performance.

“You did amazing,” a voice calls to you

You turn on your heel and there she was...

“Rosalie!″ You smile

You step out of line and run up to her to hug her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?!” You ask

“Wanted to surprise you,” She smiles back, “And I’ve never been to a... band competition before...”

“Really?” You ask

She nods.

“Well, there’s nothing really to it other than parents come to see their kids perform to get the highest score possible,” You explain, “Did you come here on your own?”

She nods again.

“You can hang around me if you want,” You smile

Once grabbing your snacks, you begin making your way back to the rest of the marching band on the opposite side of the football field. When you turn back to Rosalie, you see her beginning to fall behind.

“Come on Rosalie!” You call out to her, gesturing for her to follow you

“Are you sure?...” She looks over your shoulder

Decently dressed marching band members of different schools sitting in those particular stands.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” You attempt to reassure her, “You okay?” 

Rosalie taps her foot as she tries to avoid eye contact with you. 

Rosalie’s POV You attempt to continue hiding your panicked face. You already felt out of place enough.. However, you were pulled back into Y/n’s eye contact when you felt her grabbing your hand, feeling the back of her thumb rolling over the back of your hand.

“You’re with me,” She says, whilst not breaking eye contact with you, “You’re safe with me okay?.”

You don’t know what came over you, but you couldn’t even simply speak. You even forgot your name for a second before being pulled back into reality.

“Now, let’s go,” She smiles

She practically drags you back to the band with her, realizing she never let go of your hand. 

Y/n’s POV You look up at your friends as they stare past your shoulder. 

“Rosalie Hale?!” A friend asks her

“Y/n how did you manage to?!-” Another friend asks you

“She caught me walking home literally last night after practice, she drove me home,” You answer, “She may or may not be my partner in Mechanics.”

“WHAT?!” They all ask, “And you didn't tell US this?!” 

“Didn’t think it was that necessary,” You chuckle, sitting down with them, “You all said that Rosalie wouldn’t notice me. Well, here she is.”

Rosalie hesitantly sits next to you as you all continue to converse amongst one another; Rosalie didn’t know how to put herself into the conversation. 

“Rosalie, what'd you think of the show?” Your friend attempts to get a conversation out of her

“Oh! I thought it was... Pretty good,” Rosalie nearly hiccups

“Y/n really threw it out on Euphonium didn’t she?!” She adds

You punch your friend in the shoulder as they begin wincing in pain.

“No I didn’t! I screwed up right at the end of the solo,” You sigh

“But you played it off as if it never happened!” Rosalie points out

Your head shoots right down in front of her, looking at her perplexed.

“You were able to read all of that from where you were in the stands?” You ask, feeling the blood in your veins begin heating up

“OOOOOOOh Y/n’s blushing!” A friend makes fun of you

Again, you punch another one of your friend’s in the shoulder. Both wise in pain as they vigorously rub their shoulder to ease the pain. 

“I am not!” You growl, “I’m just sweating...”

“Then hydrate you die-drating dumbass!” Your friend suggests

“I already went through two freaking bottles,” You sigh

“I just realized that you’re usually good in the heat,” She adds, “How are you still sweating?”

“It’s still summer dummy,” You sigh, “And these bibbers aren’t helping me...”

“I’m sorry- what are bibbers?” Rosalie asks

“Oh, They’re basically thick overalls that us marching band members wear,” You explain, “Better than a belt and pants; keeps it from falling down our legs as we march.”

“So... What do you wear underneath them?” She asks

“Sport shorts and a shirt. Well, sometimes people don’t wear any shirt under at all...” You explain 

“Are... You... Wearing a shirt?” She asks, tucking hair behind her ear

“Too hot to wear one under this,” You chuckle, “Even when it gets colder, the jacket is basically woven wool, it’ll keep us members warm.

“Rosalie wants to see those muscles Y/n!” Your friend continues teasing you

You slowly turn your head towards them; slowly giving them a death glare. Their eye contact breaks from yours as they pretend to find interest in other things. 

“Sorry about them,” You nervously chuckle

Rosalie smiles as she continues to watch the rest of the band competition amongst your people. 

+*+

Like the usual, you were in the cafeteria with your small circle of friends. 

“Hey would... Would it be okay if I sit with you guys?” A familiar voice asks

you lean back into your chair and tilt your head just a little further. You end up unintentionally stomach-butting Rosalie.

“Hey!” You immediately spring out of your seat, turning to face her, “Wouldn’t you wanna... Sit with-”

“Of course you can Rosalie!” Your friend interjects, pulling up a spare seat

Rosalie smiles as she takes the spare seat your friend had coincidentally set right next to you. You were about to seat yourself back into your own seat until your ass met the concrete floor. 

“Sorry to ruin your game loser!” One of the football players laughs in your face

“Least she’s more coordinated than your dumbass!” One of your friends attempts to back talk to the football players

“What did you say to me??” He walks up to your friend, staring her down

“The marching band is always the ones that brings trophies home,” Your friend gives a smug smirk, “Only you, ‘Mr. Football is better than everything else’ brings is absolute shame...”

You watch as your friend gets her jaw punched. She clenches it as she falls onto the floor. 

“Dude! You know that the coach will kick you off the team for this right?!” One of his friends, “We don’t mess with the school’s marching band!”

“You think I don’t know that already?!” He asks, “We-we can just cover this up right?!” 

You were about to help your friend up until you hear what came out of his mouth. You weren’t sure what came over you but when you came back, you watched the football player that knocked your fiends’ jaw was on the ground, clutching at his groin. 

+*+

Thew rest of the day was a blur to you as most of the day was you just explaining what happened... At least as much as you could piece together.

“That girl is a menace!” The football player you kicked in the groin tries to put all the blame on you

“Mr. Konvegh, I understand your frustration,” The Principal says, “But, you did assault someone of the marching band. You do know that is an unspoken rule of this school.”

“This is bogus!” He frustratingly sighs, “She should be the one to get kicked out of the marching band!”

Before he could go on, all of you hear a knock against the doorframe. All of you turn to see whom; Rosalie.

“Ms. Hale, can’t you see that we’re in the middle of a conversation?” The principal says

“I know but- I watched the entire thing happen,” She begins, “Y/n was standing up for her friend.”

“Come-Come on that’s a lie!” the football player attempts to lie

“He also wanted the whole thing covered up,” Rosalie continues

The room was full of silence from there.

“Mr. Kovegh, is this true?” He turns to the football player

“No!” He argues, “She’s lying!”

‘Then how come it’s all over social media now Kovegh?” His coach comes in, brushing past Rosalie, “You knew these rules and yet, you still went against it.”

“Come on coach, her shit of a friend was baiting me!” He tries to make up an excuse.

“No excuses Konvegh, You’re off the team,” Coach makes it final

“C-Coach!!” he begins following the football coach out of the office

“Seems like you got someone looking out for you and your friends Ms. Y/l/n,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “She’s a keeper...”

The final school bell rings just as you were about to leave. 

“Do you... Have practice right after school today?” Rosalie asks

“No,” You say, “Hang on, I wanna check on my friend real quick.”

Your friend was sent home early with a broken jaw; so her mom left work early to take her to the hospital.

Hey, how are you feeling?

Like shit... Luckily it wasn’t either of my wrists he broke...

Unlike you; a wind player, your friend was a percussionist.

You’re still able to come to the game Friday yeah?

I don't have a broken leg either dummy. The way you just walked right up to him and kicked him in the dick... Badass.

I legit blacked out until I heard Rosalie call me back...

Ooooh Rosalie is your savior now huh?

Shut up!

You look over and notice Rosalie practically rests her chin upon your shoulder. You look down at her as she just casually looks at you. 

“Sooooo...” You awkwardly try to break the silence, “What was it that made you ask if I have band after school?”

“Was... Wondering if you wanted to grab food,” Rosalie suggests

You chuckle as you slowly turn to fully face Rosalie.

“Are you asking me on a date Rosie?” You ask

“Say yes and find out,” She flirts back

Heat ran to your cheeks as you see the smirk swipe across her face as she takes her hand into yours.

“Come on,” She smiles

On the way out and through the parking lot, you felt eyes on you. Some were of surprising looks, some of jealous looks... But you knew you could feel eyes on you.

“They can be jealous all they want,” Rosalie chuckles, opening the door to her convertible red car

You jump into the passenger seat without the need of opening there door but also chucked your school backpack into the backseat. 

“What bout... Your family?” You ask, making the realization

“I told them to find another way home,” Rosalie simply says, pulling out of the parking lot 

Just like the night she found you, she speeds off; your heart making somersaults.

“Get started on getting used to this,” She smiles, “Because I’m going to drive you everywhere.”

Chapter 2

[counter-culture-christian]

ANTICHRIST/CHRISTOPHOBIA

Many people who speak about Christianity speak in a way that makes me think that they really don't know what they're talking about. Not only do they not know what they're talking about regarding true Christianity and what a Christian is actually considered from Scripture but they're absolutely obstinate in their ideologies, opinions and speak from a place of hatred, fallacy and real ignorance. I've come to realize that those types have made up their mind about Christians and Christianity, about Christ Jesus as well and will debate without even considering logic nor common sense. I've realized you can give them all the non biblical evidence or whatever they're asking for and they'll willingly choose to reject it (even after you've given them the truth) because they've decided to change the goal posts they're using to measure their subjectivity against. The concept of somebody professing to be a Christian or professing to be anything other than what or who they truly are as a disguise to commit vile acts against people goes completely off their heads, I swear they either aren't able to comprehend that something like that is possible or they're just wasting time with their "intellectual" or "liberal" stances on it. Sometimes I read their posts and wonder do they even know what they're writing? Do they understand what they themselves are writing? Christianity has been used by evil people and is now a scapegoat to take the blame. The very people who left Christianity cannot seem to leave it alone as they still continue to talk about it and what they experienced, they're stuck, unable to move on, to let go. No, they hold on, and don't forgive because if they let go, they cannot justify their hatred towards Christians or Christianity. Then who else will they blame for not being able to move on when it's their decision not to. They mock Christians, and persecute them because they cannot acknowledge the truth, it disturbs them so much to the point of hysteria. Well, the Bible mentioned this would happen in the last days, I'm hardly surprised. They cannot sympathize with Christians nor empathize because in their pursuit of their hatred towards Christians their love has grown cold. The depth of darkness they're in, is a cave they're stuck in for lack of wanting to be helped out because they're in denial about the place they're in. They take offense and project their own misunderstanding of everything onto Christians when they're told to repent and seek God. We know that our fight is not against flesh and blood but they don't even recognize their true enemy. They hate Christians and Christianity because in their minds Christians are evil. Woe to them that take good for evil and evil for good.

[transautisticmikewheeler]

Title: lost

Rating: general audience

Relationships: mike/will, mike & lucas, will & lucas

Additional tags: islands, resorts, minific, plotless, mike only wears jeans psa, fluff, getting lost

Notes: for the "island" prompt in the stranger things writers guild discord, posting on work break

He squints up at the almost clear sky, trying to gauge how long it’d be before the sun went down. Behind him, he can hear the rustling of paper and two voices talking quietly of nothing important. Letting out a sigh, Mike steps away, letting his hand fall from his eyes as he turns to face Will and Lucas, both fretting over the map they’d been given.

“I swear, if they really wanted people here, they’d make it easier to find your way around,” Lucas comments as Mike moves over to them, sneakers sinking into the sand until he reaches the wooden bridge-like contraption he didn’t really care to know the actual name of.

“Maybe they thrive from tourist confusion,” Mike finds himself throwing out there, shaking the sand off his shoes the best he can. “Can you leave if you don’t know how?”

Will glances up at him, a look of recognition bleeding into his already annoyed expression. “Still…”

Will falls back with Mike as Lucas moves forward, attempting yet another try at finding the building they were looking for. Mike sneaks his hand into Will’s squeezing gently. The breeze is cool, but it doesn’t help much with the heat, all of them in t-shirts and shorts, sunscreen on their faces, bar Mike, who couldn’t wear anything but jeans to save his life and absolutely refused to wear shorts. He makes sure to complain about it, but the two usually counter by telling him to shut up and he “made his choice”. There are other people passing them on sidewalks, but not many, the island being pretty small.

Mike gently swings his and Will’s hands, eyes inspecting the swaying palm trees and overall pristine campus, a far cry from the landscape that Hawkins is. He still isn’t even sure why they decided to accept this trip; a break would be the obvious answer, but the others were still back home, enjoying their own break from the supernatural.

“Mike? You okay?”

“Huh?” Mike moves his head to look at Will, whose eyes move from him to the path in front of them, making sure they don’t run into anything. There’s something in his eyes that Mike struggles to place, but he’s enjoying the view too much to complain about much. “Oh, yeah. Just thinking that we should have stayed home, maybe.”

“Ah ha!”

They both look forward to see Lucas’ triumphant look as he gestures to the building they’ve been looking for for the past fifteen minutes; a restaurant, open-planned in seating with lights decorating the canopy, white, see-through fabric covering them and supported by wooden beams.

Mike grins. “Thank fucking God, I was about to lose my mind,” he says, relief covering his words.

“Do I hear a ‘thank you for getting us here, Lucas?’”

Will snorts, and Lucas glares playfully, gently shoving Will’s shoulder.

They watch the sunset from their table, conversation shifting from subject to subject before settling on what they were going to do after getting back home. Lucas proudly declares he’s going to drag everyone together for a game, a new one he’d been thinking about and planning, and Mike raises an eyebrow.

“You sure you remember how, Basketball Boy?”

“Are we sure you haven’t forgotten, Mr. I’ve-been-too-busy?” Lucas shoots back.

A beat of silence, and they burst into laughter.

“We actually should do that,” Mike smiles, referring to the game. “It’d be nice to feel normal again, and the basement has been missing something lately.”

He turns to Will, who’s looking fondly at both of them. “Yeah, I’ve missed playing with you guys.”

For their last last night on the island, they stay in their room, watching movies and ordering room service. The whole trip is nice, but Mike really can’t wait to go home.