#i want to say yes but you know its kind of inevitable so their probably cooking something delicious and dramatic and that could take time

[stormbros]

Alright folks, I'm curious:

(Note: if you are part of the group that thinks Robbie and Liam could be trolling us and they are already a couple, I am referring to an on screen romantic confirmation rather than the beginning of their romantic relationship 💕)

[drchucktingle]

sometimes buds ask’ what is it like to be a neurodivergent artist?’ and this is great summary: the charts can look like this, and at same time people will be endlessly posting on how you are ‘not real’ or ‘a bit’. you can hold bestsellers in slot 1 to 4 and still not be 'serious'

i am ultimately ok with this. i love my trot and would not have it any other way, but i think it is worth investigation. when irony poisoning has seeped into everything, how many times does a neurodivergent person have to say ‘actually this is NOT so bad its good. its just good’

when you are autistic, or queer, or both, how much proof do you need to be considered good art? or good business? what do the charts have to look like for me to be a ‘real’ author? or allowed my face mask at a library association conference? or one person not a group of writers?

im coming up on a decade of writing tinglers soon, and people are still talkin about my ‘serious’ works vs my ‘joke books’ and at every turn, as kindly as i can, i shout from the rooftops: THEY ARE ALL SERIOUS BOOKS. THIS IS NOT A BIT.

but its hard when buds have had ‘the correct way to be a writer. the correct way to be an artist. the COOL way to react to a book that is TOO weird’ pounded into their heads by internet culture. 'kill it with fire' they say. 'i need eye bleach' they say without thinking. a line.

heres the thing, the tide IS turning. theres buckaroos jumping in and saying, ‘I want to be a part of this’ and for that they are being rewarded. the publisher who took me seriously is lookin pretty dang good right now with these charts and these sales. i am honored and moved

over time there will be more buds who shed that irony mask. the tide of sincerity is powerful, and the tide of love is inevitable. it is difficult to stand strong in our uniqueness but it also pays off, and I hope to be a shining example. eventually THE TIMELINE BENDS TO YOU

so this is not a thread to complain. i have been trotting long enough that these things do not really bother me. being made fun of and disparaged as ‘not legit art’ while also being objectively successful at the things im made fun of about is kind of the ocean that i swim in.

no. my point of this is to say THANK YOU to those of you who have been trotting by my side over these years. THANK YOU for proving love to me. im so honored by your support, and you should know that YOU have seen beyond the irony poisoned veil that stops many others. YOU get it.

and to those with their own unique perspective on creation: look what you can do. yes there will likely be a lot of resistance to something different, but there is also a LOT of reward. YOU can trot a new path. YOU can prove love is real, not in MY way, but IN YOUR OWN WAY

anyway thank you for reading buckaroos. thank you for your support. LUCKY DAY comes out next summer and it is probably as FAR OUT and existential as the tingleverse has ever gone. you can preorder it here

[the-s1lly-corner]

Oooh idk if someone already asked for it but what about how TADC cast would react if they were under a mistletoe with their S/O

TADC cast x reader under the mistletoe!

i know i literally just said that i was going to post because i just came down from a little..... emotional high (negative) but i feel too guilty not answering stuff today so im probably going to answer this and a few more simply because im going to feel so guilty if i dont do anything today which is just going to make me feel worse than i already do so uhuhuhuhuh... jack stauber coming in clutch rn i know i usually answer stuff in the order of them being sent in but to do a silly compromise for my silly people pleaser mindset im going to knock out the ones that are easier for me sooooooo

CAINE:

oh you just know that hes the one who planted the mistletoe in the first place.... i mean as soon as he found out about the tradition, assuming he didnt already know.. i just know hes going to do whatever he can to get you under it. does he know that he can ask for a kiss? yes! but he wants to be festive and do some traditions and stuff! gives you the biggest "kiss" he can give you when you finally get stuck together under one... probably knocks you back a little bit from how enthusiastic he is...

POMNI:

very shy about it, i think she would give you a cheek kiss rather than a mouth kiss, especially if there are other people around. pomni doesnt strike me as the type to one to full on kiss their partner when theres an audience, so i hope you can understand her aversion! its not that she doesnt want to kiss you, shes just shy about the eyes watching the two of you... though, she would be more inclined to do it if it were just the two of you in the area!

RAGATHA:

honestly she looks like she would love christmas. i dont know why and i cant explain why. so i think she would love most of the activities and traditions surrounding it. and yes, this includes the mistletoe! i think for most of these, the mistletoe would be hung up by caine to really sell the festive mood.... and ragatha likely wouldnt have planned this, but inevitably you guys get under it at the same time. not as against PDA as some of the others, i think, so i think she would give you a very gentle kiss on your lips. very bashful if you beat her to it, though. kind of folds her hands together and digs her foot into the ground... you know the stance, hopefully.. kind of swaying a little while her face is burning up

JAX:

probably makes a big stink of it, whether trying to deny the kiss or to lean into it. i can honestly see both... does NOT let you be the one to initiate the kiss, since while he hates PDA, i think he hates it more when hes on the receiving end. say it all the time, its a vulnerability thing for him. he doesnt like other people seeing him flustered... now will a simple kiss from you make him pink in the face? probably not, but he would rather not risk it! plus, he wants to take this as a moment to tease you! will not let you live it down if you even get the slightest bit embarrassed from whatever hes going to do under that mistletoe

KINGER:

think i mentioned this in the kiss cam request, but kinger is not against giving you kisses when theres an audience. like he wont full on make out with you in front of others (ignoring the fact that he doesnt have a mouth, much less a functional one) but i am a firm believer that he and other characters with a nontraditional mouth just nuzzle into your face in place of kisses... hmm... probably make a big show of asking if he can go ahead, afterall hes royalty! whats a royal without chivalry! very gently presses where his mouth would be against your lips for a few seconds before walking you guys to where ever you were planning to go before someone stopped you and alerted you both of the mistletoe above. generally very sweet and dorky, i think

ZOOBLE:

does not like giving or receiving affection in public, the furthest they are willing to go is hand holding and simple name calling.... if no one is around when you guys are under the mistletoe, theyre more than willing to let you have your kiss, but if theres even one person around, theyre going to show a little aversion to it... on one hand i want to say that they might suck it up and lean into their "its whatever" attitude, but i dont feel... like that suits them, and on top of that whats the point if someone is clearly not having fun/not comfortable, you know? so theyre more likely to gently reject you... though i like to think that they make up for it by giving you a kiss behind closed doors!

GANGLE:

freezes like a deer in headlights when someone loudly announces that you guys stopped together under a mistletoe, the eyes of her mask going wide and her mouth just going straight... if she has her comedy mask, she might be a little less.. frozen, but not by much... but with her tragedy mask? nope, shes totally still and quiet, poor thing.... you almost feel bad, so really theres a chance you just take her away from the scene rather than kissing her.... doesnt like being put on the spot for things like that, especially if the person alerting you guys of the mistletoe is making a huge scene (either caine or jax... though with caine it would be more so lighthearted fun with no malice, whereas jax is just being jax)

[rivangel]

hello! how r u doing?

can u write something angsty with either no comfort or comfort at the end (whatever u want). basically, reader has been having a pretty shitty week and has been working nonstop, and is the type to not about what's bothering them until they can't contain it anymore or they're calm enough to talk about it because they know they can get snappy and say some very sharp words that can be very hurtful. levi of course knows that, because he is our observant pookie, and leaves the reader alone, just acts normal. one night, let's say levi maybe says something snarky or whatever, that the reader has been some pretty bad attitude which is unlike them, and usually reader wouldn't take his words seriously and know that he's perhaps trying to help them open up. this time, it doesn't go the wau it's supposed to, and reader just fully snaps at levi and say some very harsh, petty and hurtful words to him. the rest is up to u!

and thank u btw, i love ur content❤️

yes, yes i can. ty for such a detailed rq :) this became angstier than intended😭but it's ok bc it was 10x more painful to write being mean to levi.

reader/us also has a distinct personality kind of built off the way you described, so i hope it's what you expect😅

➥ pairing: Levi x gn!reader

➥ c/w: college!au, Levi pov, Levi not realizing he has trauma for 1400 words, apologizing, selective mutism...?, heavy hurt and some comfort

➥ wc: 1.4k

If ever he ranked cleaning activities in his mind (which he has), organizing isn’t very high, but it doesn’t occur to him not to help you out with the little things when your week has been poisoned with the dual evils, shitty and exhausting.

Ever since you got back from class, you’ve sat there at your desk. He’s kept you in the corner of his eye, and that same scowl from an hour ago is still there, illuminated by the light of your laptop. You’ve paid it more attention than to anything else—which is not at all, even to your basic needs. 

It’s best to give you space when that look is on your face, and has and will continue to, but not when it comes to eating and-or sleeping. Other than that, he’s content in the background. Whatever he does to help out, you always notice, and tell him thank you with a weak smile, but not today—today when you look particularly like you’re at your wit’s end.

When he finished organizing the apartment (including the fridge), he bypassed your desk and sat on his computer playing solitaire for a solid half-hour. Inevitably, he gets bored, and he’s giving you as much time as he’s willing to before he drags you out to eat something.

Unsatisfied without the job completely done, he rolls up his sleeves and starts at the end of your desk by emptying your pencil sharpener, making a face at how full it is.

To his satisfaction, your focus hardly wanes. Which is good, but he knows how you like everything anyway. With an undistinguishable but distinct fondness, he notes your quirks; even the way you hold your pen melds with your existence in his mind. 

Or no, maybe that’s wrong. You’re a part of him; not a visitor, or even a resident, of his heart and mind.

“Levi, I need those pencils; leave them there.”

You’re referring to the plastic tin of a few colored pencils in his hand, which sat near the middle beside your computer. He looks at you, but you’re definitely serious about it, so he sets it back down.

“If you say so.”

You say nothing and go back to your work. Skipping the tin (which he wants to wash because of all the gross graphite smears and shavings at the bottom), he takes the pencil case beside that, and pops it open. An eraser found its way into a sea of colored pencils somehow somehow, as well as crayons—probably Hange. Not too long ago you had them over working on a class project. He starts picking out these imposters.

“Levi,” you huff, your expression severe as you look daggers at him. “Just leave it alone.”

“Tch, you’re kidding. You’d rather I waste my time sorting the bookshelf in reverse alphabetical order instead? That’s stupid, so why?”

He always gets ‘Are you okay?’ wrong, but this time you turn towards him with your fist tightly curled over your notebook. He doesn’t look startled, but he barely catches the beginning of your revile.

“Stop messing around!—I just told you to stop fucking with it, so quit being a fucking idiot and get out of my space!! This is so stupid, do you not see I’m busy!? ‘Cuz you clearly can’t listen!”

Ironically the angrier you sound, the less emotion shows on his face. Only at the end—you already look guilty—amidst silence like a bomb’s fallout, he wears the scowl of a frightened animal.

He waits until your lips start moving to turn around and leave. 

At the door, he stops again with his hand clutching the knob, and glares at you over his shoulder. When your lips go to form his name, he slams it harder than necessary.

This is so stupid.

That was far from the first time someone has yelled at him in his life, and besides, is getting yelled at not an experience absolutely everyone’s had?

Even so, he can’t seem to make himself do fuck-all besides quietly sit, sit in your dark kitchen at the dining table, his legs folded to his chest. He feels like a gargoyle—odd, ancient, and unthinking. 

Maybe he just never expected you would ever lose your temper, which is naive of him.

He doesn’t know what to do, until, your voice speaking softly makes him bolt up straight. 

“I’m sorry, can I turn this on…?” you ask softly.

For now, your profile is merely a black shadow in the doorway, with your back illuminated by the one in the tiny hall. The switch you’re gesturing to would light up above the oven, rather than the whole room.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. But it’s not a no. 

Despite the nature of turning on a light, it feels so slow.

He must’ve sat a while, because he even cringes, blinking feverishly. Before his vision even adjusts, the guilt etched into your expression is almost painful for him to look at, like a cavernous gorge shoveled into the earth miles wide and deep. You’re holding something to your chest.

“I’m so sorry for snapping like that. You didn’t do anything wrong at all. I’m so sorry, Levi. I’m never, ever too busy—fuck, I was frustrated and I never should take it out on you, not in any way, ever. I’m the one who’s an idiot.”

As you speak, you come until you’re by the table, standing like a magnet constantly being repelled from it. 

Then you set what you were holding down in front of him—one, an expensive piece of paper (the kind that bends, not tears) with a drawing of some sort he doesn’t want to look at right now, and a rice cake wrapped in clingy wrap. 

His favorite. 

“I’m so so sorry,” you continue apologizing profusely. At this point your eyes are wet, but they keep darting away, with your nails surely leaving half-moon-shaped indents in your knuckles. You pray very quietly, “I’ll do anything ‘cuz you’re everything.”

Wide-eyed, he can’t seem to respond except for a raw sound in his throat after you say that. An instinct seems primal, as much as pumping blood is, that if he says anything, the likelihood that you’ll leave him will increase an unknown amount. 

Normally he’s so calm under pressure, and he didn’t say anything before either—you’ll get the wrong idea. The best thing he can think of is to robotically slide the offerings closer.

You’re still trying not to cry when you go. 

He stays there, just as he was, for another little while. He’s not really feeling anything, but at the same time, he’s running out of breath from the effort to calm down. 

Ugh…

The way you clearly felt is probably what you get, but he doesn’t want that for you anyway. Even if you did mean any of it.

But you didn’t.

It’s midnight or so—too early for Levi to usually be asleep but very late for him to be coming to bed—when he taps the bedroom door open with a few fingers and slinks inside. To prevent from waking you up, he did most of his business in the bathroom in the dark. 

It now helps him make out the shape of you under the covers on your side of the bed. He comes like a wraith, so much that he’s near-silent crawling into bed beside you, and using the edge of the covers to slip under.

Your back is in front of him. He wants to make sure you know it’s okay… but he doesn’t know how. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead right between your shoulder blades and the thin material of your tank top, the only place you’re touching. You’re warm, you smell good. 

By the slight hitch in your breathing then, you know he’s here. 

After a while, he brings his hand up to your waist, or rather a bit before it. It’s not long before you gently rest your fingers on top of his. He lets them slot in-between.

His eyes are heavy. He doesn’t bother opening them as he reaches around, bringing you his way, with your head nestled in his chest. That’s the only time you make a move, since he made it clear it’s okay for you to.

He holds you tightly and breathes you in. You both relax.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Parenthood-Maki, Mai, Nobara, and Miwa X Male Himbo Reader Pt.2

@exolocke : Hey I saw ur Jujutsu Kaisen women with Himbo reader, and I was curious if that could get a part two for when the relationship is more developed and more life long topics are brought up in it, stuff like the topic of kids, or other things that come up in a long term relationship, I didn’t see ur stance on NSFW topics so I totally understand if that’s not something included if it’s out of ur comfort zone.

Anyway thanks for taking time to read this and have a nice day 😊

(thank you for the request! I’m perfectly fine with NSFW though I will admit I’m not all that good at it. Originally this was going to be mostly NSFW but then the writing goblin in my head kind of just… took the request idea and ran with it in a different direction.)

But enough of that, YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!

Warnings: Light Angst, Suggestive Content, Mentions Of Violence

Words: 1,693

Maki

You and Maki have been together for years.

There were of course highs and lows as with any relationship.

But the both of you moved past them with a bit of hard headed determination and a lot of the two of you being the two of you.

And this of course led to the inevitable that everyone could see from a mile away except you two.

Marriage, the merging of the last of the Zenin clan and your own family.

It was something that neither of you ever expected to happen while everyone else had money on how long it would take before one of you popped the question.

Of course Gojo won that bet, even from beyond the grave, but he’s not important right now.

So now the two of you are married.

And the both of you were being very, very, very stiff around one another.

It was worse than when the both of you started dating.

All because the both of you had a question they wanted to ask the other.

A question that sat between the both of you like a loaded gun.

A question that you were the first to ask.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Maki…” You began to say before trailing off while the both of you lazed about on a slaw day while the rain was beating against the building.

“Yeah?” Maki tentatively asked, already knowing the question about to be asked and still not knowing how she would answer it.

“What’s your thoughts on having kids?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Maki’s world screeched to a halt as she turned the question over and over in her head.

“What did she think about having kids?”

It was never something she thought about.

Never something she ever considered to be possible.

And yet now that she had been asked the question she had to decide if she wanted to have one.

It was something she could answer easily.

Yes, she’d love to have kids with you, and raise them with you.

But there was more to it than that.

There was…

No, they weren’t here anymore, she was free of that place.

And if there was one thing she’s learned from you it's this.

Don’t just think, feel too.

So Maki did exactly that and answered your question in the only way she knew how.

With her whole being.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Inumaki was concerned about Maki.

Sure she could probably slap a curse and kill it but still… She was a friend.

A friend who hasn’t come to training in quite a while.

Which for anyone else would be perfectly fine.

But Maki wasn’t other people, she was Maki.

Training was what she did for fun.

And Inumaki wanted to know why she wasn’t coming to training and why she was always sleeping or eating weird foods.

Well, weirder foods than usual that is.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Inumaki slipped behind the corner as you and Maki talked.

“-you okay?” You asked the muscular woman.

“Yeah, just tired, and nauseous, why the fuck does growing a kid make you feel like you’ve just gotten off a damn roller coaster?” Maki asked with a groan while leaning on the wall.

Meanwhile, Inumaki was having his world flipped on its head at the sudden information he had been given.

Maki Zenin, the strongest woman he knows bar none, is pregnant with your kid.

And he just figured this out because he stuck his nose where it shouldn’t have been.

He needs to run, and fast.

Really, really, REALLY fucking fast.

So that's exactly what he did as soon as the two of you weren’t paying attention. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Inumaki’s current train of thought could be most accurately described as “Oh god, Oh fuck, Oh god, Oh fuck.”

And it was for good reason considering what he just learned.

He prayed to god Maki wouldn’t kill him if he accidentally let it slip.

Oh who was he kidding, she absolutely would.

Inumaki burst into the faculty room where his friends minus Maki sat.

“Whoa! What's wrong with you, Toge!?” the large ball of fluff known as Panda asked.

And without thinking, the white haired man exclaimed “SALMON ROE!”

He then slapped both his prosthetic and his real hand over his mouth as dread overtook him.

Meanwhile everyone in the room looked like Inumaki had just pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it.

Mai

Mai Zenin sat on the couch, devouring her fifth bag of chips from a bowl that was placed on her swollen belly.

“You're a hungry little shit ain’t ya?” Mai affectionately asked the small human growing inside of her.

Mai was not expecting a response when she asked this but she got one in the form of the baby kicking.

For the very first time.

“…Oh.” Was all Mai was able to say as a flood of emotions overwhelmed her.

Mai was someone who never let out what she was feeling.

It was something she learned from when she was young.

A tool for survival.

But now she had no need to use it.

Her life was filled with friends, with family, true family.

She had a life filled with love, with everything she could want plus more.

She even had you, one of the most powerful living sorcerers as the one who loved her.

And now, even more was about to be added to this dreamlike life of hers.

A child, one she wouldn’t let go of even if she was dead.

A human that would receive as much love as Mai could offer.

A human that would receive as much love as you could offer as well.

A human that wouldn’t have to fear what she did, not only because the Zenin were gone, but because Mai would simply never allow that to happen.

That is the promise she made to the child growing inside of her in that exact moment.

That is the promise she made to her child, the one that she would raise and support, no matter what.

Nobara

Nobara held her daughter in her arms, looking into her sleeping face with her one good eye.

It was a surreal experience.

“Ya know you were a lotta trouble to bring out here right? How the heck are you so dang peaceful now?” Nobara whispered the question before turning her face to look at you a few feet away from her, sleeping in a chair, your arms crossed, but more than ready to turn any cursed spirit that tried to show its ugly mug into ground beef.

“Prolly cause of your dad, he always had a good poker face, though it was probably a good thing Yuji got to that Mahito guy before he did, If what I’ve heard bout’ that warpath he was on after I got taken out of commission and his domain expansion is to be believed he would’ve turned the entire area into one of those crazy things that M.C. Esher guy made.” Nobara muttered to herself before looking back at her child.

Her Child.

Nobara turned the phrase over and over in her head.

Didn’t quite make sense to her yet.

This small, tiny little thing in her arms came from you and her.

This little girl was the very manifestation of the love you and Nobara shared.

A physical manifestation of everything you and Nobara went through to reach this point.

It was something she needed to wrap her head around, though her heart was more than already there.

She could already tell that this little girl was going to be the greatest part of her life with you.

And she couldn’t wait to get that life truly started.

Miwa

You, Miwa, and a small, little boy dressed for school walked side by side on the street.

“I’m gonna make so many friends!” the small boy exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air, copying his fathers excitable nature.

“Oh I know you will, ain’t that right Kasumi?” You asked your wife and the love of your life.

Miwa turned her eyes down to her son and then raised her eyes to yours.

Eyes that were filled with sadness.

“Of course, our little boy will be the most popular boy in school.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

You and Miwa waved goodbye as the two of you walked away from the school.

“Heh, pretty sure that teacher thought we were Yakuza.” You said with a chuckle.

“If you started to wear your clothes right she might not get that impression.” Miwa said with a slightly teasing tone that held a sadness within.

“Sigh What’s up with you Kasumi? You’ve been acting weird since this morning.” You asked your wife in concern.

“It’s no-” Miwa began before being cut off by you saying “Don’t say “It’s nothing of concern” Kasumi, I can tell when something is wrong with you.”

Miwa was silent for a moment before trying to say something, but stumbling all over her words “It’s… I… schools and… and curses…”

“Don’t worry Kasumi, curses aren’t going to go after him, not with the both of us around.” You told your wife in an attempt to soothe her.

“B-but what if-” Miwa began before you wrapped your arm around her, pulling her close to you and saying.

“We can’t worry about what if’s, we won’t be able to protect him from everything, it's impossible to do that, but we can do everything we can while we are here for him to lean on. As long as we love him and as long as we do our utmost to protect him from everything we can while steering him right, that’s the best we can do. I know you want to keep him away from the things that took our friends but we can’t, all we can do is what we can do. I’m just as afraid as you are but being afraid won’t do anything, doing what we can will.”

“I-i know, you're right as usual, but can we just go over that place, one more time tonight?” Miwa asked, wanting to do everything she can to protect the little boy you and her made together.

“Of course, I was just about to suggest the same.”

[freelanceexorcist]

OK. I watched the first chapter of Ever Crisis First Soldier episode 2 and of course I have thoughts.

Cut for spoilers and length.

Sephiroth has officially become a sympathetic character. I mean, he always was, but there's no doubt about it being official now.

The way he's acting toward people, pushing them away? He's not being arrogant or sullen or a dick. He's a sad, traumatized kid with crappy self-esteem. He's in pain and grieving the loss of Glenn, Matt and Lucia's friendship. He's trying to convince himself that he's a soulless machine because machines don't have to feel what he's feeling. He's pushing everyone away because he doesn't want to make the choice he had to make between saving Rosen and saving himself and his friends. If you're cold, calculating and ruthless, such choices are a lot easier.

Except he's not any of those things or he wouldn't be acting the way he is. He wouldn't care, but he obviously does here. If you push everyone away and keep them at arms length, it doesn't hurt so much when they inevitably leave.

Except Angeal ain't havin' none of that. He's gonna make Sephiroth his bro if it kills both of them. The dynamic between these two so far is

And you know it works, too, and at least they get ten good years as friends after that.

So yes, the Sephiroth from Episode 1 is still there, but he's depressed and traumatized. If he returned to Midgar between episodes, he probably got a good dressing down from the top brass at Shinra and suffered who knows what at Hojo's hands. He's hurting and I think on some level Angeal knows that, which is why he's trying so hard to break through.

Now let's talk about Sephiroth's dream. I hope that was just a regular dream and not Jenova fucking with him because that would be a real kick in the nuts. I'm going to say it was an actual dream triggered by seeing Alissa "Definitely Not Jenova" Goldie and her uncanny resemblance to Lucrecia. And he was handed an empty bowl and told it was pumpkin soup because he doesn't know what pumpkin soup looks like. He just knows it would be good and that his mama would make him some if she could.

And speaking of Definitely Not Jenova. Nope, definitely not Jenova or Hojo mindfucking him. Not at all.

But since I'm a glass half full kinda gal when it comes to these things, I'm considering another angle. Yeah, purple and purplish pink are colors associated with Jenova, but those lights swirling around Alissa remind me of will o' the wisps or spook lights. Depending on which culture's folklore you're looking at, these can represent elemental spirits, the fae or demons (demons as in "spirit that never walked the earth in physical form" and not the Biblical nasties).

What if a forest spirit or similar entity took an interest in Sephiroth and wanted to get a closer look to see what makes him tick? Such an entity wouldn't really understand humans, so throwing Hojo in his face wouldn't strike it as being cruel or malicious. It was just curious to see how he would react.

Yeah, it's probably Jenova. "Those you hate, those you fear, those you love" after all. The other idea is worth considering, though.

Some odds and ends:

*i'm glad that the existence of female SOLDIER operatives has been confirmed. Not sure how I feel about them having to wear coochie cutters while the guys get real pants, though.

*I wonder how Sephiroth will get Masamune from its namesake. I'm going to be optimistic and say Mr. Epic Eyebrows will deem him worthy of receiving it, because that's how that seems to be shaping up at first glance. My prediction is that Masamune will pop up at times throughout the story to observe Sephiroth and test his mettle. He already knows Sephiroth is worthy, and these interactions will serve to verify that.

*Bachman's kind of a pain in the ass, isn't he? Sephiroth isn't your show pony, dude. He didn't even know you'd be tagging along.

*EC is really playing up how innocent and good these kids were back in the day. Angeal certainly had it helped along by his upbringing, but it took work for Sephiroth to maintain his goodness. He's the way he is despite his childhood, not because of it.

*I know I sound like a broken record but bog standard villains just don't get that kind of development. We're not supposed to see them sympathetically. At least not the ones for whom a redemption arc isn't in the works. We're supposed to cheer when they get what they have coming in a movie or on a show. We're supposed to feel accomplished when we beat them as the final boss in the game. We're not supposed to see their inevitable defeat as the heartbreaking last act of a tragic life.

*EC took pains to make the connection between the purehearted pre-Nibelheim Sephiroth and the Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation. It's looking more and more to me like EoC Sephiroth and the Sephiroth menacing the party are two different people. Or, more accurately, two versions of the same person from two different universes/timelines and one of them isn't answering to Jenova anymore (if he ever did in the first place).

*I mean come on. The symbolism. The white feathers (which pop up all over Rebirth, too). This:

*That's not there by accident or because it looks cool. It's a single white wing to contrast with Jenovaroth's single black wing and highlight the differences between the two. The battle theme that plays during the behemoth fight is called White Winged Angel, fercryin' out loud! I will die on this hill.

That's all for now. Thanks for sticking around to the end of this if you did.

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [1/?]

hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

“A wedding,” Vincent repeats.

“Yes,” Yves says. “A wedding.”

It’s his cousin Aimee’s wedding—she’s four years older than he is. Back when he’d gone with his family back to France over the summers, she’d been one of the people he’d grown quickly to look up to—someone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.

Yves has always been used to being looked up to—one of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate family—and he likes to think that he’s good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But he’d grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.

Aimee’s getting married to Genevieve—someone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. All in all, it’s a wedding he wouldn’t miss under any circumstances.

Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimee’s friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincent’s plane ticket to their wedding in France in the spring—a bit of a last minute arrangement, but she’d sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (“I’d love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone, “would it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, I’ll send him an invitation,” and she’d sounded so excited about it that he hadn’t had it in him to turn her down).

“It’s very last minute,” he says, “but my cousin’s getting married, and she really wants to meet you. It’ll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says she’ll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but you’d probably have to take a couple days off.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking at him. “And you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do,” Yves says. “I think it’s more a question of whether you want to be there.”

Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d take lightly.”

“They want to meet you,” Yves says. “And I wouldn’t mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.”

“It would be a waste of your time,” Vincent says, quietly, “to introduce me as someone you’re serious about if we’re just planning to break things off.”

Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincent—the trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacy—has an expiration date. The fact that he doesn’t know when the expiration date is doesn’t change the fact that it will, inevitably, end—when Erika gets the point, or fades from Yves’s life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. 

Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isn’t much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. It’s not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partner—as someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not always—and to leave it at that?

“It’s not really going to be my day, in the first place,” Yves says. “My relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we haven’t even been together for a year. I don’t think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what I’ve been up to. So it’s really up to you.”

“I think it would be fun,” Vincent says, “though only if you’re sure about having me there.”

“Great. I’m sure,” Yves says. “Everyone will love you.” He does think it’s true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.

—

The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.

Vincent agrees it’s best shared on a need-to-know basis—they won’t be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, they’ll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.

But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.

“So you and Vincent are taking the week off,” Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.

“Yes,” Yves says.

“Any plans?”

“I’m actually flying to France,” Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincent’s involvement—if Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, there’s no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. “One of my cousins is getting married there.”

“Oh,” Cara says, all too knowingly. “What a coincidence. Vincent told me he’s also planning on going to France.”

“I… heard,” Yves says, slowly. “He’s told me as much.”

“I didn’t realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,” Cara says, smiling at him. “I thought most people went over the summer.”

“You know what they say,” Yves says. “France’s beauty knows no seasons.” 

“You should ask Vincent which part of France he’s visiting,” Cara says, with a smirk. “Maybe you guys can book a hotel together.”

Yves is positive he’s being laughed at. “It’s the third largest country in Europe,” he says. “I’m sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.”

“I think Cara knows we’re fake dating,” he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. “I mean, the dating part, not the fake part.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Yves says. He doesn’t think they’ve been that obvious about it. “I just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I told her I was attending a wedding there.”

An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions might’ve come from.

“That would do it,” he says.

Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. “I don’t think she’ll say anything,” he says. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d assume.”

Vincent seems to consider this. “It’s fine,” he says. “Though it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.”

“We can figure that out when it happens,” Yves says.  

At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how it’s always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before he’d met Erika. He’s sure he’ll be prepared for it when it happens.

—

The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.

Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawn—4am, on the dot. Victoire’s in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. 

Yves sits in the middle—there’s not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincent’s sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.

Leon says, “This is the earliest in the morning I’ve ever third wheeled.”

Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Likewise,” Vincent says. 

“Yves has told us all about you,” Leon says.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What has he said about me?”

“Mostly that you’re super hot,” Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.

“You make me sound so shallow,” Yves says.

“But also that you’re really good at your job,” Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. “Did you know Yves likes people who he’s slightly intimidated by?”

“I never said that,” Yves says.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mikhail says. 

“You guys are conspiring against me,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs. 

Leon launches into a series of questions—about how they met, about who asked who out first, about what it’s like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.

“No wonder Yves is totally whipped,” Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how he’d given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who had—due to unforeseen flight delays—found out last minute that she wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. Yves hasn’t heard this story before, but it doesn’t surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. “You’re exactly his type.”

Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t invited you over for dinner yet,” Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation she’s actually been awake for, Yves can’t say.

She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (“Sure,” Vincent says. “Just tell me the date in advance. I’ll clear my schedule.” Yves will have to apologize to him after this—for some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)

Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesn’t so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if he’s always up this early, or if he’s just naturally immune to tiredness—another signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.

For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually he’d be distinctly more alert by now. There’s a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbs—it’s the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasn’t been getting enough sleep for awhile.

It’s fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of them—they’ll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.

As they’re unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, “Your family’s nice.”

Yves laughs. “I’m relieved they haven’t scared you off yet. Sorry for the… well, interrogation, by the way.”

“I can tell you’re close to them,” Vincent says, a little more quietly.

When Yves looks over, something about Vincent’s smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If he’d ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when he’d lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, he’d ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes he’d had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.

Yves doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?

—

Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. 

They’re a few rows away from the others—I wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincent’s ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so you’d be sitting next to him. 

Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.

“You must not be new to flying,” he says.

Vincent nods. “I’m not.”

“Eight more hours,” Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesn’t have to. “It’ll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.”

“I have some work to get done,” Vincent says. “Only after the plane takes off, though.”

Right—no electronics larger than a cell phone until they’re 30,000 feet in the air. “I thought this was supposed to be your week off.”

“It is,” Vincent says. “I just want to make sure everything’s still in one piece by the time I get back.”

Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers him—it’s more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfort—all of it compounds. It’s usually difficult to get to sleep, but he’s so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.

There’s just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New York’s climate is generally more extreme—colder in the winters, hotter in the summers—so all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. It’d be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. It’s definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that he’s just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.

“Do you think Aimee will be convinced?” Vincent asks.

“Convinced?”

“That we’re together.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,” Yves says, with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s why you invited me,” Vincent says, “is it not?”

“Pardon?”

“To show the rest of your family that you’re not still hung up over Erika.”

“I invited you for a lot of reasons,” Yves says. “For one, you’re good company.”

“So are all your friends.”

“I thought we could both use a week off,” Yves adds. “It’s France, in the springtime. What could be better?”

Vincent says, “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“What?”

“Your cousin paid for my flight,” he lists, counting off his fingers. “Your family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.” He says these things as if he’s listing off all the ways in which he’s indebted to them. “It’d be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Yves blinks. “I don’t think you’d need my help to make a good impression.”

“You could’ve taken anyone with you, but you’re taking me,” Vincent presses. “There has to be something you need me for.”

If there was nothing, you wouldn’t have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincent’s expression. 

“My favorite cousin is getting married,” Yves says, fervently. “To her fiancee—who is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think I’d choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didn’t like?”

“Maybe,” Vincent says.

Yves shakes his head. “It’s true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didn’t want you to come to France with me, I could’ve come up with an excuse.”

He twists around in his seat so that he’s facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincent’s hand. “I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary—if you have fun on this trip, that’s more than enough.”

Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. 

Yves has a feeling he’s said too much. It isn’t Vincent’s fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything that’s come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have fun—to take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimee’s sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. 

“Is that… okay with you?” Yves asks.

“Yes,” Vincent says. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry if I misled you, or anything.”

“You didn’t.” This time, Vincent really does smile—a sly, quicksilver thing. “For the record, I am very excited to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

“Thank god,” Yves says. “That’s good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.”

He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. It’s probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.

He shuts his eyes and tries. It’s no use. He’s tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but it’s too cold to get to sleep—it feels impossible to get comfortable like this.

So he picks up a novel he’d been meaning to get to—something suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.

When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. 

“Is it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?” 

Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New York’s cold winters, so Yves isn’t sure he’s the best point of reference.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“No,” Yves says quickly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “If you’re certain.”

He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to reading—or, more accurately, trying and failing to read. It’s mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, and—finally, defeated—dog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.

The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves can’t quite make out. Yves asks for orange juice—it’s not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.

The flight attendant pours him the orange juice he’s asked for—no ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)—and sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasn’t eaten all day, but strangely, he doesn’t have much of an appetite.

He doesn’t register the flight attendant from before—the one Vincent talked to—is back until he hears Vincent’s quiet “thanks” to his left.

Something brushes against his arm.

He looks up. It’s one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadn’t given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reserved—given only upon request, maybe. 

“You said you were cold,” Vincent—who’s holding out the blanket for him—says, by way of explanation.

Yves blinks at him. He’s about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that it’s not that cold—that he would’ve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didn’t have to go out of his way to ask for one.

But his head hurts. He hasn’t been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “This is perfect. I won’t be cold with this.”

He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around him—like a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if he’d had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.

It’s nice. He’s still a little cold, with the blanket, but it’s enough to keep him from openly shivering.

He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. It’s going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that it’s light out.

“I’m going to try to nap,” he tells Vincent. “But wake me up if I need anything—elbow me if you have to. I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“You can wake me whenever,” Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks he’s working exactly as hard as he should be. “No promises.”

It’s not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shut—it’s certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincent—on the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe it’s the cup of black coffee he’d downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.

In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.

—

Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m up.”

“A ‘light sleeper,’ you said,” Vincent says. “We just landed.”

Yves says, “I’m wide awake.” The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Vincent’s stowed away his laptop already—Yves hopes that’s a sign that he’s done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.

“How was the flight for you?” Yves says.

Vincent looks at him. “Uneventful,” he says, at last.

“Not enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?”

“They were very enthralling. How was your nap?”

“Good,” Yves says, even though he doesn’t feel particularly rested. He’s just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. He’s sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, he’ll feel much better. “I probably needed it.” His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncoming—

“hH-’IZscHH’iew!” 

The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels… off.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.

Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. “Thanks.”

Everything—from the moment they step off the plane—is exhaustingly hectic. 

The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport they’ve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, it’s international customs, baggage claim, and then they’re headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something that’s worth commenting on.

Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostly—about Aimee, about how she’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (“She was practically an older sister to me,” he says, “except we never fought,” to which Vincent says, “You make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,” to which Yves says, “It definitely is.”)

His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in already—they’ll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if it’s not too late. He probably won’t see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfast—and even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimee’s been telling him about.

The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isn’t really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.

He’s cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way that’s difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. He’s starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadn’t been the problem after all.

None of that is particularly visible to any of the others—that is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shut—

“God, sorry, I— hh-! hHehh’iiZZSCHh’iiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that he’s joking. “That would really be the worst timing.”

“I’m not,” Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. “I promise.” Or, perhaps more accurately—he can’t be.

It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and she’s one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. He’s here, in France. Tomorrow, he’ll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and he’ll get to give Aimee the gifts he’s gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as planned—the welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.

It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and he’ll give the speech he has prepared at Aimee’s wedding, and they’ll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that he’s coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.

He’s going to make sure of it. 

[ Part 2 ]

[bobattef]

just for fun.

“It’s not even that serious, just for fun”

You tell your best friend for the umpteenth time as she rolls her eyes at your comment.

“Just for fun?” She repeats you, which makes you look back at the screen connecting your video call, was it delayed??

“Y/N…there’s so many reasons why you shouldn’t be doing this..” her serious voice comes over the speaker but you can’t help but smirk at her.

“Ergh, which is probably why you want to do this right? For the wrong reasons?” She asks you as you fake your offence at her words with a dramatic grab to your chest.

Yes, you were perhaps showing your rebellious side a little too much with this latest antic of yours.

But being brought up in the Stark family, it was almost inevitable that you would bend the rules.

And if there was a rule to say ‘don’t fuck around with any of your Dad’s work colleagues” then you’re definitely a rule breaker there.

*ping* 

Your phone lights up the same way your face does when you see who the message is from.

Completely ignoring your best friend asking if it was him, you open the message as your heart starts to pick up its pace.

Doll?

You awake?

He was never the best at messaging but then again he was over a hundred years old. 

“You’re not seeing him tonight are you?” Your best friend asks you as she sees a cheeky grin flash across your face, confirming her thoughts.

“Y/N! Your Dad is home” She almost shouts as you bring your fingers to your lips to shhh her.

Yes you were in your own room a whole floor above your Dad’s and Peppa’s bedroom but you never know how good a hearing they might have these days.

I’m up Soldier 😘

You type back to him as you quickly say your goodbyes to your bestie.

“Stay safe you absolute nut case!” She half laughed as she switched the end call button.

You quickly discard the over sized tee you had been lounging in as you rummage around for a better looking top.

You’ll keep your leggings on, one day you might meet up with him in a skirt or dress, I’m sure he’ll love you in one but for now it’s trousers of some kind seeing as you’ll be climbing out the window in a moment.

Your Dad gave you the best room available inside this compound.

Up and away from the others, it was almost an attic room only sharing its hallway with a storage cupboard on the end.

With massive floor to ceiling doors leading out to a balcony which was linked to the side alley of the building.

I mean, who wouldn’t choose to sneak out once in a while when it was set up so perfectly to do so.

ETA 23:05

You giggle a little at yet another blunt message as you carefully slide the door shut behind you.

A quick glance from left to right just in case anyone else was out for a midnight stroll, you hopped over the barrier and almost silently climb down the railings framing the side wall. You landed perfectly on that one soft part of grass to muffle the sound of your boots.

You’ve become a pro at this now, being the 6th or 7th time you’ve met up with the super soldier on the sly.

It always happens the same way, you’ll bid your good nights downstairs to him in the common room along with the rest of the avengers on camp and then a few minutes, sometimes hours later, your phone will ping with the same messages.

You wait in the shadows for him, you’ve always liked this part.

The hiding down the alleyways, the hushed voices, the standing flush against the wall with that cool metal hand of his wrapped around your mouth, keeping you quiet as you’ve had to wait for the coast to be clear.

You lean your head against the wall, looking up to the stars as the feel of the brick mixed perfectly with the rising heat of your body.

“Doll?” You can hear his smile through the whispering of his voice.

You know he can see you perfectly with his heightened senses but you can only make out it’s him by the faintest of light bouncing off his arm from the lamp post nearby.

You loved it when he didn’t cover it up.

“Waiting long?” He asks you but doesn’t give you much time to answer for his lips are already on yours.

You almost gasp into his mouth as his whole body leans into yours, pushing you further into the wall you were stood against. 

“Sorry” he grins at you as he pulls away, leaving one hand casing your face.

“Been a long day?” You ask him. You could always tell if it was a good or bad day by the urgency he gave you when you met up with each other.

Some nights you’ll just sit in the dark somewhere and talk absolute rubbish until it was almost dawn.

Other nights he could barley contain himself and would pounce on you as soon as he laid eyes on you.

He was one of the best kissers you had.

Despite him saying he was lacking experience giving his past, you longed for them each time.

You’re not sure what you wanted from this.

Yes, your bestie thought it was purely about hurting your Dad but you can’t lie and say you didn’t find the super soldier very attractive.

He stood out to you the first day your father had introduced him, he didn’t want to touch you, not even for a handshake as quoting his words ‘he thought you were made of glass’.

You quickly taught him just how tough you were when he watched you train with Nat.

You can’t even remember how this came about and yet it was only 2 weeks ago, if that.

You enjoyed being with him so you just left your thoughts at that as he grabbed at your leggings, pulling them down to the tops of your thighs.

“here?” You breathed, the feeling of his hands on you where you needed it most causing your voice to waiver.

“Here” he smiled at you before kissing you deeply.

Groaning slightly into your mouth as his fingers pushed inside you.

“Fuck doll, so wet already?” His deep voice against your lips sent shivers down your spine.

You expected him to lift your leg up, wrap it around his waist.

If he wanted it here then the best way was to fuck you up against the wall but he took you by surprise as he spun your whole body round, you were now facing the brick in front of you.

His fingers never leaving their place buried inside you, you were so focused on the feeling he was giving you with the teasing of his hand that you didn’t quite hear the undoing of his belt.

Only realising that he had his cock out when you felt the tip of it pushing against your ass cheeks.

You’ve lost count the amount of times you had both slept together in the small space of time you had been meeting up like this but you still were in awe at the size of him.

Pulling out of you with his fingers, he pushes your underwear to the side so he could line himself up with you.

You shuffle your feet slightly, parting your legs to widen yourself.

The gravel underneath your boots being the other sound apart from both your rapid breathing.

“Ready doll?” He whispers into your ear as he gently bites at your neck.

He’s not silly, he won’t make any obvious markings on you, no matter how bad he wants to. 

He makes a quick glance from left to right of either side of the alley, like it’s not too late to get out of this situation if someone was to catch the both of you.

He grabs your waist a little too tightly as he pushes his cock inside you.

You both groan out in sync.

He fills you to the base as he stalls his movements, feeling your walls contract around him to fit him inside you.

A quick kiss to your neck, that had already started to sweat a little, he pulls out of you just as slowly as he went in.

You want to push your ass outwards, not wanting him to leave you but you’re quickly taken by surprise as thrusts hard back inside you.

You moan out loud as you feel a hand of his grab you by the back of your neck.

“Shhh doll” he tells you as he jerks his hips up, pushing deeper.

You bite your lip as you know you have to be a lot quieter than you’re being right now.

“This…” he plants a kiss on your cheek as he starts to talk to you “is going…to be hard” he kisses your neck again “and fast…” his kisses become tiny nips at your skin “I’m going to need you to be very…” he trails his mouth down your neck “very… quiet for me ok?” He brings his gaze back up to yours “can you do that for me?” 

You bite your lip as all you could do in answer was to nod your head slightly.

You knew how hard he could go, you literally broke the camp bed you had both been fucking on a couple of nights before.

That was a difficult one to explain to the team.

“That’s my girl” he says to you as he kisses you

 hard once more.

Your lips are almost swollen by the time he’s finished and pulls away.

He adjusts his stance a little, pulling your hips out a bit further away from the wall so he can angle himself better.

You take a deep breath as you lean your head against your arm that was holding you up on the wall, balling your hand into a fist after that first deep thrust he gave you, wishing you could cry out.

He lands a slap to the flesh of your ass before picking up his pace.

The noise of his skin against yours was heavenly.

You honestly couldn’t care if someone else could hear this right now.

His pace was something else.

You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this fast. You don’t think any one can fuck you this fast ever again.

The brutal force from his hips was causing your whole body to move alongside his.

If he wasn’t gripping so tightly onto you, you’re sure you would have been fucked into the wall rather than up against it. 

The movements were causing your arm to drag up and down the wall, the sting of the bricks biting at your skin, grazes forming across it.

You’re sure you can taste blood also as you bite harder into your own lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud.

And you just know the imprint from his hands are going to be left behind for a few days.

But you can’t feel any of that, you feel only him.

The way he’s reaching so deep inside you.

The way he’s holding onto you, like he never wants to let go.

The way he’s also struggling to keep quiet as your cunt grips him so perfectly.

You start to see stars as you’re sure he’s close also.

His hips start to falter their movements as his hands move away from yours, trying to grab at the flesh of your ass instead, as well as pulling on your hair to steady himself.

You want him to finish, you want to feel that familiar feeling of filling you up with his come but you also don’t want this to end.

You know it’ll only be a few more days, hell, could even be tomorrow night that you next see him but you still want to milk every moment with the commander.

“Fuuuuck” he makes one last stifled moan before almost collapsing against you, the whole weight of himself leaning into you causing you to almost face plant the wall. 

You laugh slightly as you’re pinned between him and the brick.

“I…Er..Bucky?” The strain of your voice causes him to come back down from his high.

“Sorry doll” he breathes out as stands up straight.

Pulling out of you as you feel his warm liquid start to drip down.

He tucks himself back into his combats as you can barely stay stood on your feet right now.

Turning round so you can lean your back up against the wall to better balance yourself whilst you pull your leggings up.

You notice him just staring at you as you try to catch your breath back.

“What?” You barley whisper out, feeling like the air had been fucked out of your lungs. 

“How you going to haul your ass back up that trellis?” He asks you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ha..You can always carry me up?” you manage to say as he laughs.

[cosmic-nopedog]

Could you possibly share more of your kirakira swap au... it is very inch resting to me!! (also- cute art :D)

THANK YOU, I AM GOING INSANE WITH NO ONE OTHER THAN MY BROTHER TO TALK ABT THIS OH MY GOOOOODDDDDDDD

ok ok so, its a very simple swap au as i've said and im gonna be shooo honest with youo, its ciel x ichika, i like the ship i think they are cute together SO ITS GOING TO HAPPEN, BUT ANYWAYS THIS IS GOING TO BE KINDA LONG

In this au, ichika is a fairy from strawberry mountain, and goes off to paris to learn about sweet making like ciel in the og, however unlike ciel, she goes alone and does learn from jean pierre and gets shot into the lime light, but the thing is that she kinda feels like somethings missing.

yeah she makes a lot of kiraru with her technique alone and her passion for sweets making but it feels a lil.. empty, she is a very lonely girl and at the beginning very clumsy [its still ichika cmon dsfjn vg] so she kinda also has this like BIG imposter syndrome thing going on, she masks it well enough for PR and what not but shes kinda worried that this all is just a big stroke of luck and some day shes going to inevitably fail.

I will say i do have kind of a storyline in mind so bear with me dfkjbnjkdf.

Anyways, she goes on her life in paris as Uzuki Ichika: Prodigy Patissiere [am still making the au so bear with me for there will be changes here n there] and nothing more, UNTIL, she runs into Usami Satomi [aka Ichika's mom in the og storyline] and they talk, and she learns that Satomi is a doctor and lives in strawberry mountain and all that stuff and shes in paris temporarily as part of her job, and i want them SOMEHOW i've yet to really think about all the details to develop a sorta soft ish guardian&kid relationship like, thats not ur kid but might as well be type thing.

ANYWAYS, after enough time [yet to be determined] i feel like ichika starts confiding in Satomi alot of the feelings she has going on and Satomi brings up the idea of taking a break and going back to like her home town, and Ichika does agree and all [BUT I WANT SOME REALISM HERE RIGHT not too much tho we still have fun,] but does bring up the fact that she probably wont have a place to stay if she does so [excuses cus she could very much so stay with the fairies] and CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG but a long time ago i did read something about how if you know like, a family in a country well enough they can like take u in for some time? like Adopt you so tospeak AGAIN I MIGHTVE HALLUCINATED THIS but if not yeah, THATS what happens.

So shes staying with the Usami's! yay! well just the dad cus Satomi does have to travel cus of her job n what not, and goes back to strawberry mountain to hopefully clear her head and maybe remember why she did all of this in the first place.

THATS THAT ON ICHIKA, which im going to be sho honest with you, shes the one i've like thought abt the most, mainly cus i like making the pink cures depressed kdsnbjkfdb BUT ALSO because shes in SUCH a situation and i find that inchresting.

I WILL ALSO SAY, im not swapping everyone, just ciel n ichika, mainly cus i find making ichika a fairy and ciel a cringe fail amateur patissiere very fun and inchresting BUT I DIGRESS.

NOW, AS FOR CIEL, shes a normal girl that has just moved into strawberry mountain, ysee, she is originally from strawberry mountain but moved out at some point in her life and decided to sort of move back in to take care of her grandmother who still recides in there, Rio also came along with her cus I LOVE MY SIBLING DYNAMICS OK.

SPEAKING OF, the way i see their dynamic is that they are very close and yes they stil have their shared interest in sweets and what not but ciel is more of a What happens if I double the amount of batter type interest and Rio is more of a Watches 3 bilion youtube videos on alot of recepies that he sometimes asks ciel if they can try out. Which ofcousre has a very diverse rate of success kdjfhbjbk.

They have the Passion and all the Feelings into it but Not alot of technical skill, I do think they meet Pekorin the same way Ichika met Pekorin in the og story, AND I DO WANT TO MAKE RIO A CURE, HE WILL BE A CURE I WILL MAKE THIS HAPPEN.

OH speaking of, i did kinda change Ichikas and Ciel's cure names, Ichika is now Cure Meringue and Ciel is now Cure Velvet.

AND THATS PRETTY MUCH WHAT I HAVE LIEK SOLIDIFIED AS OF RN!!!

I do have some liek spare thoughts here and there like, Ichika and Pekorin Have a sybling dynamic slash are actual sisters and at somepoint i want ichika to get stained in shadow maybe same with Rio but i have yet to figure out a cohesive storyline for that, BUT I WILL FIGURE IT OUTTTTT!!!

Also do NOT spoil me shit, I have NOT finished Kirakira Precure as of rn, IM CLOSE BUT NOT THERE YET.

LAST THING: i will call this AU very simply Strawberry Meringue Au

That is all.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Time Flies

(Masterlist)

hi back again !! i said it wouldnt be long

(Content: suicidal ideation, death mention, alcohol mention)

=======================

Delta’s back was against the wall. He needed it to brace himself, feeling far too dizzy to even sit up on his own. He sipped at the soda can, not thrilled with the flavor. Simon had given it to him by way of apology for having totally ignored him for two weeks. The scientist was sitting down on top of an overturned test dummy. Delta didn’t know why he’d chosen to have this conversation in the gym. The scattered dummies all about the arena looked like dead bodies. But maybe that was just where his mind was.

“He’s alive,” Delta repeated back to Simon slowly, rolling the words over in his mouth without any particular emotion.

“Correct,” Simon nodded, “He’s stabilized. He had the foresight to arrange a bunch of organ donors at Thales, which is good, because he’d probably be dead otherwise. I just wish he had the foresight to wear some damn body armor.”

“Death wish?” Delta hypothesized.

“Don’t say that. It’s not funny.”

Delta hung his head. Simon went on.

“The chancellor went ahead and fired the entire security team. They’re investigating them for conspiracy. And they’ve narrowed down the actual assassin to a list of ten people. I don’t suppose you saw them, right?”

“No, sir,” Delta answered quickly. He had been studying the floor of the stage at the time it happened. Besides, the shock had erased much of his memory.

“Right. Well, I don’t have to tell you it’s bad news. They’re going to find a way to make Nezu responsible, even if he didn’t do it originally. On their end, Paris is too weak not to take advantage of. Civil war is an inevitability. But on the bright side, the assassination attempt has actually done wonders for His Highness’s polling numbers. Funny how that works,” Simon hummed, a wry smile crossing his face.

Delta didn’t understand why Simon was telling him all this. It was a lot more context than he needed for the role he would play in it. He supposed it was a kindness. Of course, Delta was relieved that he would not be passed over to Nezu. In theory, anyway. The actual relief was slow coming; the dread had not left him. He could still feel the blood on his face.

“He’s alive?” Delta repeated incredulously. Simon gave him a sympathetic look, bordering on very condescending.

“Yes. He’s recovering from the surgery, but he should be back in two weeks. You won’t have to worry about another custody dispute.”

Delta nodded, taking another sip of the soda. His head was spinning. He’d been so ready for the change. He’d built himself up to die; he was planning on how he’d slit his own throat when Nezu came to collect him. That bad. Now, that was clearly off the table. His thoughts drifted back to the laptop in his room. A part of him wanted to destroy it right now. He would try to reclaim his innocence and bury any rebellion within his heart. 

Ha. Good joke.

================

Simon locked him back in his room. He guessed this would be the procedure until Paris returned. Not that he minded. He pushed the chair back in front of the door and returned to his computer.

There was the same frenzied white noise he was still getting from the original thread, plus all the spam in his DMs. But one message stood out to him.

sunspot: Hey I wanted to say thank you for the advance warning on Cyannet. It prevented a massacre for us.

Delta read it over and over. His heart hurt.

ndhakdvsnnd: you dont have to thank me

Really, it was the least he could do. Left alone for so long, the guilt had begun to marinate. He used to feel so terrible for going behind Paris’s back, so totally undeserving of the mercy he’d been shown. That had melted down into something else entirely. He had a number now. He’d done it manually and was sure of its accuracy, a standard deviation of <100. It had been 22,534 people just within the confines of his memory. The true count was probably higher; there were dark spots in his life that he knew were also filled with violence. 

So there was no question about it really. He was evil. It was a surprisingly easy thing to accept; it’s not like he ever thought he was good. The realization didn’t drive him any closer to hysterics than anything else in his life ever had. It just existed as a quiet truth in the back of his head. He had done a lot of evil in Empire’s name. The only way he could see to make up for it was to prevent further deaths. Besides, he had come to hate Empire. He was ready for it to be destroyed.

================

Paris peeled the fabric of his shirt back, revealing the thick layers of bandages around his chest. He was leaning back against the headrest, wearing loose, breathable clothing. 

“Lung transplant. They said my heart is bruised.” He said in a hoarse voice. His eyes were totally bloodshot. Delta couldn’t look at him straight on. So much of Paris’s body was swollen or bruised from the surgery. He had been out. If he’d been anyone else, he would have stayed out. Paris was incredibly lucky to be alive. He didn’t seem too thrilled about it.

“Happy?” The prince hissed, his expression turning sour. Delta raised his hands in mock surrender, apparently having stared too hard for his liking. It’s not like Paris was physically in any position to hurt him. He could barely move. Regardless, there was a kind of danger to him now that had not been there before. His eyes were crazed. Delta excused himself. 

“I don’t want you hanging around him right now,” Simon had said to Delta in a hushed voice when he first returned. As if it was something he had any say in. It was all he could offer in terms of a warning. 

Paris was still in treatment for weeks afterward. The recovery had forced him to detox, no doubt contributing to his terrible mood. He was going through alcohol and nicotine withdrawal in addition to the healing process, each facet building off the other to create a kind of endless crisis in his body.

It was the worst Delta had ever felt for another person, though with him that wasn’t saying much. Sympathy was a pretty novel concept to him. Even at the time, he sensed he was misdirecting it. It didn’t change anything. Delta had made up his mind about Empire. Paris wasn’t excluded from that. He wasn’t innocent. But Delta could recognize the ways that Paris had been made victim to his own legacy — and it hurt him deeply to witness.

================

sunspot: Why are you talking like that?

ndhakdvsnnd: like what

sunspot: I don’t know. You just seem kind of down on yourself?

ndhakdvsnnd: why does that matter

sunspot: I thought it might matter to you

ndhakdvsnnd: not really

sunspot: :/

ndhakdvsnnd: what is this i dont have time for this

sunspot: Sorry. Maybe I shouldnt pry so much. i just wanted to know if you were okay!

ndhakdvsnnd: im fine can you stop asking questions about me it makes me uncomfortable 

sunspot: I’ll stop bugging you then. But Im here if you need anything! Like I said we are really grateful for the help so if theres anything we can do please just shout

ndhakdvsnnd: whos we 

ndhakdvsnnd: ?

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Crutches and Crushes

Chapter Three of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Four

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.9K

TW: Unhealthy relationship and mentions of cocaine

Chapter Overview: You run into Frankie while you are out shopping.

Notes: Hey everyone ! I love that I'm still going to say no set posting schedule even though I have been consistent in my posting schedule. I just don't want to give a day and then miss it and blah blah blah. ANYWAY I'm absolutely beside myself that people wanted to be on the tag list for this series (i could cry) so thank you to the people that are investing time into this just like me (: my asks are always open if you want to chat about this series in particular or literally anything else !! happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

With a whole week of work at Brass Knuckles now officially under your belt, your dad wanted to celebrate. He called you and asked if you would come and eat lunch with him on Sunday afternoon. You knew that this meant you would be the one selected to go pick up and pay for lunch at some restaurant, but it was the fact that he remembered in the first place. Your dad was the kind of man that remembered globally recognized celebratory events: Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Thanksgiving. However, he struggled a bit with remembering ones that hit closer to home: your birthday, his own wedding anniversary, and any school function you had. You knew that he never did this with any malice or bad intentions, that wasn’t in his nature, but that didn’t ever numb the pain when it inevitably happened. 

“Did you really have to get me a salad?” 

You already knew that he was going to ask this. “Yes, I did.”

“Well could you have at least ordered me one that is topped with fried chicken and not this skinless bitch chicken.”

“Fried meats are one of the main foods that you have to avoid because of your diabetes,” You narrow your eyes at him. “So eat your ‘bitch chicken’ and be happy.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, Sweet Pea. Thank you for bringing the food and for putting up with me.” 

“Of course, dad, but speaking of putting up with you…how has your physical therapy been going with Miss. Maggie?”

“I have my good days and my bad days. I actually managed to hold myself up on the uhh…what’s that thing called again? The one that has those horizontal poles on either side of me?”

“The parallel bars?”

“Yeah!” He snaps his fingers together. “I managed to hold myself up on the parallel bars, but I used all my strength focusing on not falling over which meant that I didn’t have much left in me when it came time to try taking a step.”

“I’m still really proud of you! Doing everything that you’re doing isn’t easy. All that anyone can ask is that you take it day by day and to try your best.”

“When did you grow up and get so smart?” His voice sounds airy. 

“When you blinked.”

“Is that so? Okay, smarty pants, what’s the first thing that I’m going to do when I can walk on my own again?”

You lean back in your seat and ponder his question. It wouldn’t have anything to do with playing cards, since he has that poker tournament every Sunday evening. It wouldn’t be going on a date, although you suspect he might have a little thing for Miss. Maggie. As you rack your brain for the answer a car fires up its engine in the retirement home parking lot. Got it.

“The first thing that you’re going to do when you can walk on your own is go to a car show. Then after you’re done, you’ll probably go get the greasiest burger you can get your hands on just to spite me.” 

“Fuckin’ hell. You got me all figured out.” 

“How about this? We go to the car show together, but skip the burgers.”

“Or we go to the car show together, skip the burgers, and get a basket of fries instead?”

You know when you're in the middle of a losing argument. A frustrated sigh comes from you as you nod your head at his counter-proposal. 

“Deal, dad.” 

***

You should have known this was a bad idea. You should have turned your car around the moment you saw how packed the parking lot was. Days like today were the reason why online shopping and curbside delivery were invented. Unfortunately for you, you had no better way to spend the afternoon of your day off than braving the hectic crowds of IKEA. Your desperate need for items inside the store outweighed your hesitation to go inside. You have only just grabbed a basket when your phone starts ringing.

“Thank fucking god you called, Robbie. I just got into IKEA and I need someone to talk to so I don’t get completely overwhelmed here.” 

You spend the next 45 minutes wandering in and out of different furniture sections while filling Robbie in about your new job and friends. You tell her about Benny and how he has become your closest friend so far down here. She audibly gags when you mention Brunson and how he acted when you first met him. Although you reassure her that Benny stepped in and shut him down, she still has a few choice words that you hope the family standing next to you can’t hear through the phone. 

By the time you finally bring up Will, Pope, and Frankie your basket is quite full. You found all the kitchenware you needed: pots and pans, cups, plates, bowls, utensils, etc. Then for your room you got a nightstand, a dresser drawer, a lamp, decorative throw pillows, and a full length mirror to hang on your closet door. You wrote down the item numbers for some of the items that are too big to cart around, kitchen table and chairs and a couch, so you could order them on a later date. 

“So, Santiago is Pope, Will is Ironhead, Frankie is Catfish, and Benny is…just Benny?” 

“It’s weird, I know.” You laugh. “They’re all really sweet, but Frankie is by far the most attractive one in the group.” 

“What did I fucking say?! I knew that you would have better luck finding a boyfriend in Florida than back home!”

“He’s not my boyfriend! I just think he’s cute, damn!”

“Tell me about him! I need a good mental image.”

“He’s a few inches taller than me, maybe 5’11? His hair curls at the end and is this beautiful brown which matches his eyes. Broad, and I mean broad, shoulders.” Robbie squeals on the other end of the phone. “Big nose and probably 10-15 years older than me?”

“I told you that you like ‘em older.”

You playfully roll your eyes at her comment as you walk into the section of the store that carries the bed frames.

“But I think you would really like Will. He’s tall, ruggedly handsome, has a sexy southern accent, and seems really smart.”

She’s quiet on the other end of the phone while you explain more about him to her. You love Robbie, but the men that she has dated in the past couldn’t match her on any level. She needed a partner that could challenge her intellectually and push her out of her comfort zone. Will is the kind of man that could do that for her. 

“Basically, what I’m trying to tell you is that you should date men that are actually men.”

“Well, it looks like I’ll have some homework to do when I come down next month for spring break.”

“Just give him a chance, that’s all I’m asking. Hey, I should probably go. I’ve already been here way longer than I intended and if I keep talking to you there's no telling when I’ll finish.” 

The two of you make plans to talk later and you hang up the phone. Now to find a bed frame and get the fuck out of here. You survey the room to see if anything catches your eye and something does. The only issue is that it's not a piece of furniture. Familiar curls peek out from underneath a black cap. He’s facing away from you which allows you to read the lettering on the back of his shirt.

B.K.B.G Sponsor of the Month

Tire Town Auto Body Repair Shop

When you first met Frankie, Benny had accidentally cut it short. You have been embarrassingly hung up on the fact that you didn’t get to talk to him the way you had with the other two men that evening. Now the universe has allowed you a second chance by placing him just a few feet away. You find yourself stuck in between feeling excitement and apprehension to approach him. Would he think you were weird if you came up and talked to him? Would he see you as Benny’s little receptionist and nothing more? These questions and countless more plague your mind as your feet guide you over to him. 

“Uhh…Frankie?”

He turns around and looks down at you with those enchanting eyes. The wrinkles that form around them when he smiles softly at you echo the photo you saw of him. The front of his shirt has ‘B.K.B.G Friday Fight Night’ written in a large font across his chest. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

You shily gesture to your very full basket. “Turns out that one of the many consequences of moving quickly is having to buy all new furniture because you didn’t have time to bring the stuff you already owned.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” he chuckles and scratches the nape of his neck. “That was a stupid question.” 

“No, no it wasn’t! At least I have a job now so I can pay for it all.”

“How is that going by the way? You just finished your first week, right?” 

You try to convince yourself that him remembering how long you had already been working at Brass Knuckles for wasn’t a big deal. He had come into the gym on Monday and since today is Sunday, a logical person could conclude that you had completed your first week. Try as you might, you couldn’t stop the balloon-like swelling you felt in your heart. 

“I did! It was pretty good, honestly. I feel like I’ve got the hang of everything I’m in charge of. Speaking of Brass Knuckles, I like your shirt.”

He looks down at the shirt he probably didn’t think twice about throwing on this morning. 

“You don’t have one of the fight night shirts yet? I think this is the one my job sponsored.” You laugh as he tries to look over his shoulder to read the back of the shirt.

“No, I haven’t been to the fights yet. You work at Tire Town Auto Body Shop?”

“For the time being.” His eyes drift away while he says. You can tell that there is more to the story than he is letting on.

“Well it’s comforting to know that you work there,” His gaze falls back on you. “I have the worst luck with cars so it’s only a matter of time before I’ll need to find a shop.”

“I hope nothing goes wrong with your car, but if it does, just bring it over to me and I’ll take care of everything for you. Wait, wait…did you say that you haven’t been to the fights?”

“In my defense I have only known about them for a week! Benny is the only one I know there, but he is either preparing the fighters or organizing the event as a whole. I would feel out of place if I went by myself.”

“Well now you know me and Will and Pope. Come with us.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he rests his hand on the edge of your cart. “It’s actually a pretty fun time. I would love it if you went with me- me and the guys.” You watch his fingers pick anxiously at a piece of tape on the end of one of your boxes.

“Sounds like a plan to me, Frankie.” 

Upon hearing you agree to go with him the corners of his lips curl into a smile. It’s so infectious that you find yourself beaming in the middle of the bustling store as well. His shyness makes you yearn to know what makes him tick. Makes you want to know how to coax that coveted smile out of him. Because maybe doing that will help you smile more as well. 

It looks like he is opening his mouth to say something when he’s cut off by the blaring of his ringtone. He easily takes the device out of his pocket, but falters when he sees the name that's displayed on the screen. His once relaxed demeanor has now been replaced by something tense and foreign to you. 

“I’ve uhh I’ve gotta take this. I’m so sorry.” He hits the answer button and places the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“No worries,” You whisper to him. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.” 

You watch as he nods and starts to walk deeper into the store. Before he gets out of your ear shot you hear him say the name ‘Rochelle’. Leave it to you to be into a man that already has another woman first in line.

***

“Why do we always have to come to this dump? They don’t have any good drinks and the music sucks.”

Frankie sits across from Rochelle at a random table in The Barrel. He knew better than to let her sit at the guy's designated table. He didn’t want her to corrode them the way she had done with him. 

“Why do you want to get back together, Rochelle? We never made each other happy. Our whole relationship was a coked out blur.” 

“But you liked it.” She places her hand on his. It was cold and wet since she had been using it to hold her beer bottle. 

“I’m not the same man I was before, Rochelle. I can’t do shit like that anymore. I don’t want to do shit like that anymore.” He forces himself to look her in the eyes. “You know what it cost me.”

She meets his plea with a scoff and brings her drink to her overlined lips. She never seemed interested in conversations where she wasn’t leading or the center of attention. 

“You were fun. I was fun. We were fun. So what if we needed a little bump every now and then to get there?” Her fingers curl tighter around his hand. “I miss you, Frankie.”

He missed having someone ride shotgun. He missed having someone there when he needed to vent about the shitty day that he had at work. He missed having a warm body to sleep next to at night. He missed having someone to care for. He just didn’t know if he missed her. She gave him a distraction when he needed it in the past, but could she give him the support he needs now? The support he would inevitably need in the future?

“The only way I would consider revisiting ‘us’ is if it's just us. No more coke.”

He can see the annoyance in her eyes as he lays out his boundaries on the table. She slowly retracts her hand from his and coils it back around her glass. 

“Fine.” Her tone is flat.

“I’m not kidding. I want a fresh start. If we are going to try again I want to do it right.”

“Then let's start with that woman’s voice I heard on the other end of your phone today. Who was that?”

“Are you serio- I ran into Benny’s new hire while I was out shopping for stuff for my place. She’s new to the area and doesn’t have a lot of friends here yet. It was just a friendly conversation, Rochelle.”

"Well,” Her voice is syrupy sweet. “You don’t need to be her friend because you’re already mine.”

He really wanted to believe her when she said that. He really wanted to believe that she cared for him enough to change and grow as a person. He really wanted to ignore the sound of the water calling his name the longer he sat with her. 

***

By Wednesday, you felt completely at ease working in the gym. You recognized and chatted with regulars, became quite the sales woman for both memberships and Friday tickets, and were able to kick the washing machine into submission without Benny’s help. Your desk was also coming along nicely too. You had posted notes in your favorite color, a photo you and Robbie took together in a photobooth shoved into the top right corner of your computer, multi colored pens, and even a small filing basket so you could better organize your paperwork. Your new found confidence in the job gave you the push you needed to officially pitch the idea of gym wide air fresheners to Benny.

“I don’t want this place smellin’ like a fruity little spa.” 

“You do know that they make dozens, if not hundreds, of different kinds of scents right?”

“People come here to workout, not pretend that they are on a tropical vacation.” 

“People can’t workout if the smell suffocates them.” You retort.

“It’s not even that bad!”

“You’ve gone nose blind, Benny! Please know that I say this out of the kindness of my heart, but it is fucking rancid in here.” 

“Now you’re just bein’ mean.” 

“Listen, what if I buy some, only the most manly smelling ones of course, and let you test them out? It’s a win-win because you won’t have to charge them on the company card and if you hate them I can just return them all.”

“Alright, but you promise that I will get the final say?” 

“You’re the boss, Benny. Oh, what should we eat today?”

The two of you have been eating lunch together during the week. There is a good window of time right after the gym’s lunch rush and before the after work rush. You even made sure to block off at least an hour in Benny’s schedule around that time so he could have a much needed break. 

“Have you tried that burger place up the street? Goddamn, they’re so good.” 

“Burgers it is then. Text me your order so I know what to get you.”

What? Just because your dad has to be on a strict diet doesn’t mean that you have to be on one.

***

Benny had wheeled his rolly chair all the way from his back office and crammed it behind your desk. Both of you sit snugly with your feast of burgers and fries littered in front of you. The silence is only broken up by the occasional ‘can you pass the ketchup?’ or ‘are there extra napkins in the bag?’. When you have eaten half of your burger you decide to set it down and bring up what’s been on your mind. You know you can’t just come out and ask it so you opt to bring it up gradually. 

“I saw Frankie the other day while I was out and he suggested I come to the fights this Friday.”

“I’ve been askin’ you to come since you got here!” His mouth is still full from the last bite he took. 

“Gross, Benny!” You swat him in the shoulder. “I know you have been asking, but you’re busy helping organize things! You’re the only one I know here.”

You can’t tell if he chooses to keep his mouth shut because you’re right or because you just reprimanded him.

“Frankie said I could go with him and the other guys. Plus I have no social life and it's starting to feel like the walls of my apartment are closing in on me.”

“Regardless of who convinced you to go, I’m happy you’re comin’! You’re gonna have a blast! Fish and the guys throw down pretty hard at these things too so you’ll be in good company.” 

“Yeah I think I will be too.” You have to shove a fry in your mouth to hide the smile you can feel making its way across your lips. Only once you have finished chewing, you don’t want to be a hypocrite, do you bring up what you really have been wanting too. “Can I ask a question? It might not be my place though.”

The man across from you motions, burger in hand, for you to continue. You take a deep breath and rip the band-aid off.

“Well, Frankie and I’s conversation was actually cut short when he got a phone call. I wouldn’t have said anything except- except he looked so tense when he got it? I don’t know, maybe I’m imagining things.”

“No you’re definitely not imaginin’ things. I don’t want to get into Frankie’s business because that's his own shit to talk about, but long story short, a woman is tryin’ to come back into his life that shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

You pick your burger back up and take a bite as he carries on with his story. 

“The guys and I all found ways to cope with comin’ back to reality after dealin’ with the worst of the worst in and out of the service. Mine was openin’ this place, Will’s was helpin’ other vet’s, Pope’s was bein’ a military consultant, and Frankie’s was…well Frankie’s was Rochelle.”

“Rochelle.” You wanted to feel how her name felt on your tongue. “I heard him say that name when he was walking away.”

“Damnit, Fish.”

***

“So, remind me again why we are here?”

Frankie pulls into Brass Knuckles’ parking lot with Pope in his passenger seat. He knew he should have done this without him. If anyone was going to sniff out that he had a small thing for you it was going to be Pope.

“Benny left some clothes at my place last week and since we were in the neighborhood I figured I would just drop them off.” 

“As opposed to giving them to him on Friday? Which is only two days from now, might I add.” He looks in the backseat and grabs the small cardboard box. “I think he would have made it until then without a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.”

“Shut up and get out of my truck, man.” 

Frankie takes the box of clothes out of Pope’s hands when they both round the bed of the truck and start walking towards the door. He can see you entranced by something on your computer screen through the windows. 

“I also invited her to come to the fights with us this week.” Frankie flicks his chin in your direction when Pope looks at him. 

“You already have her number? Damn, Fish. I thought I worked quickly.”

“No, man,” He groans. “We ran into each other while I was at IKEA on Sunday. I just thought it would be fun, you know? It’s not like that, Pope.” 

“Fish, you were a bad liar when we served together and you’re a bad liar now.” He turns to look at Frankie. “Come on, you think she’s cute don’t you?”

“She’s just cool.” He should have never brought Pope.

“Whatever you say.” 

The chime of the door bell pulls you from your emails. You’re shocked, but not unhappy, when you look up and see the two of them coming through the door.

“Hey guys. I didn’t know y’all were coming by today.”

“I would have texted you, love, but I haven’t got your number.” Pope flashes his signature beaming grin in your direction. 

“Well you never asked, love.” You tease. 

“We wanted to drop some things off for Benny.” Frankie says as he comes up and places a cardboard box gingerly on your desk.

“Who's ‘we’?” Pope gabs. 

Your attention stays on Frankie as you speak. “Oh, sure! He’s in the back office doing…actually I'm not really sure what he does back there.”

When Frankie doesn’t immediately move, Pope reaches over and slides the box towards himself. 

“Hey, what are you-?”

“Let me take this for you, Fish. Why don’t you stay here and get her number for me? Strictly for scientific purposes of course.” You can see a playful look in his eyes when he turns back to his clearly panicking friend. 

“Wait, no it’s-”

“It’s no big deal, exactly.” Pope whisks the box off your desk and starts walking into the gym, but not before tossing you a wink. 

It suddenly feels a little harder to breathe when it’s just the two of you up front. You want to compliment the soft, yellow jacket he is wearing, but no words come. The only thing you can selfishly focus on right now is your heart and how it's beating so hard in your chest that he can probably hear it. 

“It’s nice to see you again.” You think you can hear his voice shutter a bit.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Frankie. Still alright for me to come with everyone on Friday? I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing!” The words tumble out of his mouth. “You’re not imposing. I invited you, remember?” His tone settles.

“Thanks again for that by the way.” 

A silence falls between the two of you. You both must have been racking your brains for something to say because you speak at the same time.

“Did you-?”

“Were you able-?”

Comfortable laughter blossoms and it dawns on you that he might be just as nervous to talk to you as you were to talk to him. 

“No, no you go first!” You choke out while trying to catch your breath. 

“Did you end up getting anything else after I left the other day?” 

“I actually did; thanks for asking! I found a bed frame I liked. It took me longer than I'd like to admit to put it together though.” 

Frankie has never been more grateful for the front desk than in this exact moment. Images of your naked, writhing body cuffed to a bed frame flood his mind. God, he could do anything he wanted to you. He would take it slow at first, not wanting to leave any part of your body undiscovered by his tongue. Then, only when you were begging him, would he give you what you wanted. 

“Frankie?”

“I-I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I asked if you were able to find anything? You didn’t have a basket when I saw you.”

“No, I didn’t. The thing I wanted was just out of reach-stock! The thing I wanted was just out of stock.” He corrects.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You pray your voice doesn’t give away the curiosity you have about his little slip up. “Here. Let me give you something to make up for it.” 

You take out a pen from its holder and move your stack of sticky notes in front of you. His eyes capture your every move. You write out your number slowly on the small piece of paper as you revel in the knowledge that you have his undivided attention. When you’re finished you sign it with your name and a tiny heart and pray that you haven’t misread this situation. 

“I know Pope was the one that asked for this, but I want you to hold on to it.” 

Your cheeks burn as you hand him your proverbial olive branch. When he takes it from you and reads what you had written he laughs quietly to himself. 

“You know, so you can text me about this Friday.”

“Not for scientific purposes?” He mimics his friend's earlier statement.

“Unlucky for Pope, I was never really that into the sciences.”

“Lucky for me then.” 

He folds up your note and carefully places it into his front shirt pocket. His timing couldn't have been better because Benny and Pope emerge from behind the brick wall as soon as he’s done. 

“I hear that you managed to convince our girl here to come with y’all to the fights, Fish! Good on you!” He comes up and claps his friend on the back. “I’m not at all jealous that you did it when I couldn’t.”

“Benny.” you chide.

“Why don’t you make it up to Benny and come to the bar with us?”

“One step at a time, Pope. One step at a time. I do have something for you though.”

He comes over to you as you start writing your number out again. Out of the corner of your eye you see him give Frankie and Benny and thumbs up. Oh you poor, sweet, incorrect bastard. You nonchalantly pass it to him and hope Frankie see’s that there is no heart drawn on this time. 

“Your reward for being such a big helper today by returning Benny’s clothes. If you text me in the middle of the night and wake me up I swear to God I’ll kill you.” 

“What bliss that would be.” 

“Hey! Unless y’all are gonna workout y’all better get a move on. Just because we are friends doesn’t mean y’all can take up valuable lobby space in my gym.” 

“We’re going, we’re going.” For a man that is getting ushered out of a building, Frankie sure looks happy. 

“Bye, guys!”

They both wave and say ‘bye’ to you and Benny as they open the door and head into the parking lot. Benny heads back to his office before they reach their truck, but you keep watching. As Frankie’s hand curls around his truck door, he looks back at you, and pats over his shirt pocket. Then he disappears inside and drives off with Pope. 

Frankie could feel the note he placed in his pocket burning a hole through his chest the whole ride back to Pope’s place. It made it hard to carry on a simple conversation with him because that fiery sensation was all he could focus on. It was the type of heat that seeped into his very bones and made him feel as if he was glowing from the inside out. He knew you had unknowingly seared yourself onto his heart and that feeling scared him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @pimosworld @c-justhere @javicstories @saltybutteredtoast @hoeslingz @avastrasposts @bitchwitch1981 @smol-beb @cutesyscreenname }

[michelleleewise]

Miss You

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Warnings: all the angst, ambiguous ending, mentions of breakup, hurt, pining, regret, unrequited love, heartbreak

Summary: when two hearts can't let go...

A/n- this came to me when the lovely @springdandelixn sent me this song, and the angst fell out of me lol

You waited until he left, his heavy footsteps traveling down the hall "I can't do this right now." He had said. Same fight...different day. You were used to, numb to it. You knew the dark secret that laid dormant in your soul, and so did he. He had told you he loved you many times when all you could offer in return was a smile. He was patient, forgiving, kind to a fault...but he wasn't him.

Hearing the front door open and close you got up from the bed, slipping your robe on you walked to the couch sitting down as you unlocked your phone. You cursed yourself for what happened as tears welled in your eyes. why did you say it...why did his name leave your lips when you were tangled with another. You never wanted to hurt him, you cared about him immensly, but why couldn't your heart let go...let you move on...heal.

You let out a sigh scrolling through your contacts as you landed on his name. Looking at the time you knew he was awake, but what if she was with him...would he even talk to you. A tear slipped out landing on the screen of your phone as you hit the green button, taking a deep breath you held it to your ear...holding your breath as it rang...waiting to be sent to voicemail...knowing you would be rejected when the other side picked up...hearing his voice on the other side making your eyes burn.

"Hello?" His deep voice sending a shiver down your spine, your own voice caught in your throat hearing him. "Is anyone there?" He asked again, silence engulfing you as your heart raced...you should hang up...you shouldn't have called him. Clearing your throat you did your best to find your voice "l..loki.." you eeked out wiping your face hearing shuffling on the other end "y/n? Why are you calling so late? Is everything ok?" He asked, urgency laced in his voice "y...yes, im fine, I just..." you trailed off looking down "i didnt mean to disturb you." You whispered "you are not dear, but its a bit hard for me to talk right now." He whispered, hearing a door open and close on his end.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheek. "Darling why are you crying?" He asked, your thoughts swirled in your head as you finally spoke "i..I miss you." You said closing your eyes, waiting for him to inevitably hang up on you "y/n..." he said, sighing into the phone "I'm sorry, I just...remember that trip we took last year to Paris..." you said, remembering the week long trip. The museums, art galleries, the nights spent tangled between the sheets with him "how could I forget?" He laughed making you smile.

You cleared your throat looking out the window into the night sky "what happened to us? We were happy werent we?" You sighed feeling your lip tremble "I don't know y/n, it just...maybe we weren't meant to work." He said making you frown "does he know you called me? I don't want to cause you any problems." He said softly "he...he isn't here. He went out." You replied, feeling the knot in your stomach remembering the argument from earlier "is...is she there?" You asked hesitantly feeling your heart speed up "yes, she's in the other room that's why I must be quiet, but I'm sure she doesn't know." He whispered.

You smiled hearing water running in the background, knowing he was making his nightly tea as the silence overwhelmed you "are you still there darling?" He asked shuffling something around "yes...I'm here." You whispered looking back down to the floor "it's kind of funny you called, I had a dream about you last night." He said, you could hear the smile in his voice over the line "oh...what about?" You asked smiling "I probably shouldn't say." He laughed again making your heart skip "I dreamt of you too.." you said back, the knot in your stomach tightening. "You know, sometimes I wish she was you.." he trailed off clearing his throat "me too.." you breathed, feeling the burning in your eyes again.

"Loki..." you whispered, your emotions floating to the surface hearing him sigh "hearing my name from your lips..." he whispered "you know what it does to me." He continued "tell me again...please." you breathed into the phone "your voice is a balm to my soul. Hearing my name fall from your lips is like the sweetest honey, it makes me weak...you have the lips of an angel...my angel...my salvation, you make it hard to be faithfull..." He said making you shiver, your face heating at his words "I wish..." he started when you heard him shuffle the phone

"Loki, are you coming to bed?" She asked, making your chest tighten "yes, I'll be right there darling." He said back to her. You closed your eyes about to hang up "love, are you still there?" He whispered "I'm sorry i...I shouldn't have called." Your voice trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. "I...I never want to say goodbye, but..." you trailed off feeling a tear stream down your cheek. "I guess neither of us truly moved on did we?" He said, his voice wavering as he sighed. "I will always love you Loki." You whispered, fighting the sob that tried to escape. "And I you...my angel." He said, his voice cracking as you pulled the phone away hitting the red button ending the call.

You slid to the floor, pulling your knees to to your chest you finally let go. The arguments...the accusations...the toxicity that had turned your happily ever after into a living nightmare. Your heart breaking a second time knowing you may never see your happy ending as you leaned your head on your knees, your shoulders trembling as sobs wracked through you. The "what if's" running on repeat when you heard the front door open and quietly click shut. You straightened up a bit, hearing him take his boots off you wiped your face trying your best to compose yourself, hearing his heavy footsteps come into the living room as he walked over kneeling in front of you.

"Y/n, I think we need to talk." He said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked up, your eyes meeting his bright blue ones seeing the sadness in them as be reached up wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb "o..ok Thor." You breathed, bracing for what was to come.

@vbecker10 @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @kinky-faerie @xorpsbane @midnights-ramblings @simping-for-marvel @holdmytesseract @kkdvkyya @slpnbty2001 @lokixryss @vane28282 @violethaze @coldnique @aniar4wniak @nate-ate-hate @buttercupcookies-blog @brattymum96 @dukes2581 @your-taste-on-my-lips @mybaby @blog-the-lilly @irishhappiness @sinsandguilt @filthyhiddles @lovebyloki @kikster606 @javagirl328 @misunderstoodself @highkeysimpingforloki @eleniblue @commanding-officer @athalialaufeyson @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokiandbuckysdoll @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @high-functioning-lokipath @kittiowolf210 @slytherclaw1227 @joyfullymassivewhispers @wolfsmom1 @libbybeaz @lokikissesmyforehead @goblingirlsarah @thomase1 @harlequin-hangout

[miguelsfangservice]

BEYOND THE SPOTLIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!Famous Idol Reader

Warnings: Negative and positive stereotypes about the industry (idk, probably later in the story), and not the best english lol (sorry in advance). Summary: It doesn't matter he's at HQ trying to keep the multiverse afloat, your face, your voice, your smile and laugh follows him everywhere. No, he is not loosing it (yet); it's just that its kind of inevitable when most spiders under his command are... how did Gwen called it? Ah-staning you? Well, he can't really complain, it's his girlfriend,after all.

“The first time you hear it it may seem shallow, but I’m telling you,bro,when you pay close attention  it’s one of the best pieces of art depicting the oppression of individuals for expressing their sexuality, y’know what i mean.”

An awkward silence settled in the room before Pavitr and Miles let out some nervous chuckles.

“I thought it was a love story” Miguel's ears hurt just by hearing Pavitr retort with his mouth full of god knows what..

“...I’ve listened to it a couple of times and I have to agree with Pav.”

Before Hobie could open his mouth to reaffirm his earlier claim, Miguel slammed his fists on his desk.

“Do I need to remind all of you we are trying to have a serious discussion here?”

Silence. For at least a few seconds before Pavitr can’t resist anymore and turns to Hobie once more.

“What part of the song are you referring to, because I think-”

“It’s specially obvious at 1:30 when she sings-”

“Get out- If you’re not taking this problem seriously,OUT”

“ But I'm…” Miles tries to argue back, but at this point and with how exhausted Miguel is, he just doesn’t care about whatever they have to say.

“THE THREE OF YOU, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT”

While leaving his office, Hobie and Pavitr still have the absolute audacity to continue their discussion in hushed voices (mostly Pavitr, Hobie does not care if Miguel hears him”; Miles doesn’t speak again but Miguel can see him trying to hide his amusement.

If Miguel had eaten anything, if he had gotten enough sleep or, most importantly, if he had seen you at least once today, he miiiiiiiight’ve been in a better mood to confirm that yes, Hobie was right, it was kind of your intention to convey those themes in your last single.

He would know, he was there giving you feedback  and taking care of you when you put your heart and soul into writing that song.

Also, even if he had the mood to discuss it with those kids, he wouldn’t try his luck and let them get suspicious enough for them to put everything together and figure out he’s been dating you for over a year now.

Miguel wouldn’t hear the end of it if any of the spiders knew about their huge and scary boss dating the “pop divinity”, the “fan´s delight”. Besides, it would get a lot harder for you to sneak into the HQ to spend some time together after your rehearsals or just when about every spider went home.

Although, he couldn't deny he was getting tired of keeping the relationship a secret; he hated hiding to every person he deemed close to him the fact that he wanted to spend the rest of his miserable (and probably very short) life with you.

But he knew you were not quite ready yet. Not until you were able to live with the fact that yes, your boyfriend is Spiderman, and he’s not only putting his life and sanity at risk in your universe, but also putting an unimaginable burden on his shoulders by trying to keep several other universes safe.

You already had a lot on your plate with the sudden burst of fame and all the work you were putting into creating your first solo album.

Sometimes, Miguel kinda wished you were still doing activities with your girl group, it put a lot less pressure on you and your health. But he felt guilty just for thinking about it.

This was your dream, having your own solo activities, showing the world your songs and what you were capable of. And he was so proud of you, so happy to see your face light up after you finished writing a song or when you learned a difficult choreography. 

Miguel O’hara had the heart of steel to do a lot of harsh things, to take the decisions no one else wanted to take for the sake of hundreds of universes and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to see your sad face if he ever questioned what you were doing to achieve your dreams.

“Lyla, I'll be calling it a night. Got to get home.”

Just when he was about to exit, she appeared right in front of him with a huge magnifying glass in which he could see her eye getting bigger, examining him; Miguel grunted and tried to brush her off as if she was a bug

“This early? Who are you and what did you do with my boss? I’m gonna put the emergency lockdown if you don’t answer me right now-”

“I’m trying to recall at what point of your creation I made you this damn noisy.” he hissed, walking faster and then swinging away from her. “Besides, no te hagas tonta (don't act dumb), you know damn well where I’m going and with who.”

“And I appreciate the trust you put in me by telling me your secret–” she started saying, solemnly.

“We both know I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“But, as your best friend and the one who knows you best–”

“Firstly, I don’t have a best friend and secondly, the one who knows me best is Y/N, not you!” Miguel interrupted and pointed a finger at her, trying to poke her, but his complaints were ignored as Lyla continued with her ramblings.

“I think I have enough authority in your life to give you some well needed love advice” Miguel couldn’t help but snort at the ‘authority’ affirmation.

At this point he decided to completely ignore her voice and focus on getting to your shared home; it had been a long day and all he wanted to do was bury his face in your shoulder and try to sleep with his girl by his side.

❃❃❃❃

A/N: Well, this is my first fanfic for the fandom. If you liked this, please, consider following, leaving a comment, like or reblog, I would really really appreciate it, specially cuz I'm not sure if anyone would like to read more about this.

[myhandisfatemywordislaw]

what if Brian was Bertie? find out in this fanfiction..

credit to @dripping-void for the initial idea

claustrophobia is a running theme of this fic. I do not have claustrophobia so let me know if I portrayed it badly but I did my best

Bertie had always been a little claustrophobic. Before, it hadn’t been much of a problem; a slight tightening of his chest in a lift, a quickening of breath in a crowd, but usually he could avoid situations he knew would be stressful or push down his fear long enough to get through it. But now? Trapped in the endless twisting tunnels every second of every day, the oppressive, humid air thick with the stench of death choking him, the rough walls seeming to close around him, at every moment terrified they would collapse and he would be trapped, buried alive with no-one to help him, Bertie couldn’t tolerate it anymore. Being with Tim helped, but even he had to tackle Bertie to the ground and hold him tight as he struggled while the others helped cover them in lead in microwave attacks. Dimly Bertie knew that being cooked alive was a far worse fate, but no amount of reassurance from Tim could stave off the inevitable panic attacks as he was trapped in a space even more confined than usual, bodies pressed desperately against each other until Bertie wanted to scream. So yes, he knew it was stupid and dangerous as he clawed his way to the surface like an infected ant, distantly he knew he could die, probably would die for his moment of madness and desperation, but he couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t spend another moment trapped down there. When he finally crawled out onto the dusty surface, desperately gasping air and crying with relief, he was trapped inside a bulky spacesuit he’d stolen so he wouldn’t immediately die (he wasn’t completely stupid, after all) but he hardly cared. He was free.

When the shell detonated, blowing chunks of rock from the earth and kicking up a ferocious dust cloud, Bertie suddenly found himself soaring away into space, and he thought vaguely that it seemed appropriate, it seemed right. Parts of the suit melted against his skin, burning then freezing the skin beneath. The Moon grew smaller beneath him; the force of the powerful bombshell could easily overcome its weak gravity. As Bertie lost consciousness, he made peace with his death; he just wished he could say goodbye. I’m sorry, Tim, he thought, as darkness flooded his vision.

When Bertie awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was lying in a hard white bed, parts of his body covered in thick white gauze. He looked around; the thick, heavy metal door suggested vacuum sealing. Was he in a pressurised dome on the Moon? No, that was stupid, the Moon Kaiser controlled those. Where, then? The room gently thrummed with energy; an engine? Was this a spaceship? That seemed the most likely. Why was here? He’d only been on a spaceship once before, when he was deployed to the Moon. Maybe they were taking him home again? His heart jumped in his chest, and he barely dared to hope. But where was Tim? He didn’t want to go home without Tim.

The door opened with a hiss of air, and someone entered.

“Hello,” they said softly. “I’m Everett. What’s your name?”

“Bertie,” he whispered. He swallowed thickly, realising how dry his throat was. “Where…” his head throbbed as he trailed off, looking around.

“You’re on a spaceship, Bertie. I’m afraid we’re quite far from where we picked you up now. It looked like there was some kind of war, and we had to get out before the ship got damaged any more. We’re going to stop on a planet for supplies soon though. For now, you should probably get some rest.” They smiled warmly and Bertie nodded.

“Okay,” he replied quietly, feeling very small and very tired, and he quickly fell asleep again.

He awoke to the sound of distant panicked shouting.

“What do you mean the front thrusters won’t fire?”

“I mean they were damaged and you kept putting off the full ship review so we haven’t had time to find and fix it, and now they won’t fire at full power, so we can’t slow down!”

“Can’t we just pull away from the surface again then?”

“No, we’re too close and don’t have enough fuel. We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing any of us can do!”

“No, there has to be something! What if we spin the ship around and use the rear thrusters?”

“Not enough time, not enough time!”

“There must be something we can do!”

“We are doing everything we can!”

“We’re out of time!”

A violent impact jolted through the whole ship and the metal screamed as it twisted and failed, and Bertie’s head slammed into the metal wall of the ship, and he passed out. Again.

He awoke gradually. When he touched his head, his fingers came away covered in blood. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the metal wall, his legs shaking, and made his way to the exit. As he crawled through the warped metal, he tried not to think about the tightness in his chest. Where was he? Was it a spaceship? When he fell, gasping for breath, into the open air, he saw that he had been right; a small spaceship, its front half crumpled in the small crater in which it lay.

“Who are you?” someone called. He turned to see them, a person standing several metres away and looking at him and the spaceship with a look of disgust.

“I… I don’t…” he started to respond.

“What’s your name?” the person continued harshly, stepping forward. He stumbled backwards slightly.

“I…” he hesitated. What was his name? Who was he? His head throbbed painfully when he tried to think. He thought his name might have started with a B. Had it been Bob? Billy, maybe? “…Brian?” he said uncertainly. It sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, he didn’t think that was quite right either, but it would have to do for now.

Brian, as he now called himself, became obsessed with figuring out how the ship he had arrived in worked and took it apart and put it back together over and over, then began to wonder how he could create something new with it. The others of this planet did not care for technology, but he couldn’t let go of this; it was all that remained of where he had come from.

When they threw him into the sky, it seemed right to him, it seemed natural, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying as his skin began to freeze. Hadn’t this happened before? A name dragged itself to the front of his mind. Tim. It wasn’t his name, he knew that, but it was important, he was sure of that. Who are you, Tim? he thought as he lost himself to the encroaching cold.

It took a while for Brian come to terms with his new self. He didn’t look like himself at all; his face had already been scarred when he reached the planet, and Carmilla had been forced to approximate what he looked like from frozen flesh already damaged beyond recognition, and he couldn’t see any of his own features in the mirror anymore. His heart all that was left of him, locked inside a metal prison, and whenever he thought about it too long he began to feel trapped and claustrophobic, until he wanted to tear out his heart, just so it could be free.

“We have to save him.” Brian said firmly, with no room for argument.

“What- why? Why do you care?” Jonny replied irritably.

“He could be- he could be fun. He’s very good with guns,” Brian cast around for what might interest Jonny enough to agree. “He’s- he kills people, that’s fun, isn’t it?” Brian was so glad he was in ends-justify-means, so he could tell himself that saving this life was worth it compared to the hypothetical life that might be lost as a result. How could he tell the others, how could he tell Jonny his real reason that he wanted, that he needed this man to live. Looking down at him, even with his eyes burnt out, Brian knew this was his Tim, he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember who he was or why he needed him to live so badly, but he knew it was important, more important to him than he could ever remember anything being.

When Tim awoke and joined the crew, Brian burned with the longing for his touch, and when Tim spoke it dredged up a distant memory of Tim holding him and whispering reassurances. But it was like Tim looked straight through him, seeing nothing but a stranger.

Tim was quietly stalking an octokitten to prank Jonny with when he heard small, hitched breaths from behind a door, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. Abandoning his task, he crept closer, and carefully opened the door. It was Brian, curled up on the floor and quietly crying.

Static filled Brian’s ears and his vision glitched and blurred as he desperately gasped for breath with an awful mechanical wheezing, his hands clutched over his heart, trapped inside the metal cage that was his body. He was trapped again and he didn’t know what to do this time, his existence a prison. Vaguely, he thought someone might be talking.

“-ian? Brian? Are you- are you okay?” Tim’s blurred face was filled with concern and his hand hovered near Brian’s face, unsure whether touching him would help. Brian made the decision for him, grabbing his hand and pressing it against his cheek as he sobbed.

“Brian, what’s wrong?”

“I- I- I’m scared- can you hold me? like- like before,” Brian responded jerkily through gasping breaths. With that, he buried his face in Tim’s neck.

“Like before?” What did that mean? Tim thought back over his time on the Aurora, he had barely even touched Brian, let alone hugged him. But- well- wasn’t there something familiar about him? Something about his mannerisms, the way he carried himself, the way he walked, the smile he seemed to save just for Tim. “Bertie?” he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

Bertie. Yes, that seemed right, like it had been on the tip of his tongue yet just out of reach for all these years. “Yes,” he whispered. Bertie raised his head and looked with tear-stained metal eyes into Tim’s own mechanical eyes. Tim wrapped his other arm around his head and pulled him closer and they kissed, metal colliding with flesh.

[arosnowflake]

The part where Marin tries to wake the Wind Fish is probably my favourite part in the entirety of Link's Awakening for how effectively it plays into the overarching themes and message of the story, utilizing Marin's character.

Marin tries to wake the Wind Fish because she believes this might make her wish come true. This is not interpretation, this is text. Earlier in the game, Marin states directly: "They say the 'Balled of the Wind Fish' is a song of awakening. I wonder, if the Wind Fish wakes up, will he make my wish come true?"* We also know what she wished for because of this piece of dialogue during the beach scene: "If I was a sea gull, I would fly as far as I could! I would fly to far away places and sing for many people! ...If I wish to the Wind Fish, I wonder if my dream will come true..." Although Marin refuses to tell us what her wish to the Wind Fish was, this piece of dialogue also makes that abundantly clear. Marin believes that waking the Wind Fish will allow her to fly to many places and sing to many people, like a seagull.

And she is not wrong! If you get the secret ending (obtained by not dying during the game), you see a vision of Marin change into a seagull after the Wind Fish wakes. Marin's attempt at waking the Wind Fish and her repeated assertions that waking the Wind Fish might grant her wish is, in part, clever foreshadowing for this secret ending. This is clearly part of its function.

But another, arguably more important aspect of Marin's attempt to wake the Wind Fish is that it serves as a kind of dramatic irony for the player, regardless of whether they know about the secret ending or have even finished the game: at the point of the game where Marin tries to wake the Wind Fish, you, the player, have already had Koholint's Big Secret revealed to you. Marin, on the other hand, is entirely ignorant. We know that waking the Wind Fish would make Koholint vanish, but Marin doesn't.

An isolated, surface-level reading of the situation is as follows: Marin, in her naiveté, is attempting to accomplish something that would doom her. This reading is, to a certain degree, understandable: Koholint's transient nature, and its inevitable end, is certainly sad. We can wonder whether Marin, knowing the full extent of the consequences, would have still wanted to wake the Wind Fish. That was her home, after all, and while she would like to explore the great wide somewhere, she might have been less eager to if she understood that this is only possible if her home did not exist anymore.

But ultimately, this reading is shallow and does not engage with the explicit themes present all throughout Link's Awakening. While Koholint's inevitable end is sad, yes, it is also ultimately not a tragedy. The Nightmares in the world have the aim of controlling the dream and, to accomplish it, are prolonging it unnaturally. The only people who ever protest your quest to wake the Wind Fish are those same monsters, the obvious bad guys of the story. In the end, after the Wind Fish has woken up and Koholint has vanished, we leave on a shot of Link watching the Wind Fish fly off, smiling. It is the nature of dreams to end: all throughout the game, this is made abundantly clear, spelled out in the Wind Fish's final speech, and crucially: this is not a bad thing. The bad thing is forcibly prolonging a dream, clinging to it and refusing to move past it, as the Nightmares were doing.

Engaging with the game's themes, the cynical reading holds no water. Koholint's end is no doom; its doom would be existence in perpetuity, especially if ruled by the Nightmares, as would be inevitable (they are the ones keeping the Wind Fish asleep, after all). By attempting to wake the Wind Fish, Marin is not dooming herself. In addition to all of the above, again: there is an ending where she does have her wish come true, if the Wind Fish wakes. She was correct.

So what, then, is the purpose behind this scene? If not the dramatic irony of unwittingly working towards your own doom, what does it want us to take from it?

Marin is an interesting character on Koholint. While its other residents routinely and consistently fail to comprehend even the general idea of a world beyond this island (as shown by dialogue such as "Dude! You're asking me when we started to live on this island? What do you mean by 'when?' Whoa! The concept just makes my head hurt!" by the children in Mabe Village), Marin asks questions. She's restless, as evidenced by her frequent visits to the beach, her need to know about the world beyond Koholint, and, of course, her attempt to wake the Wind Fish. Why is Marin capable of these questions, whereas most of the other residents are at best unconcerned with the outside world or, at worst, incapable of even thinking about it?

It is up to interpretation, but I posit: for the same reason the Owl is. More or less, anyway.

The Owl is perhaps the strangest part of the dream, not just more aware than the other residents, but more aware than you, as well. It acts as your guide, purposefully so; it references being 'instructed' to help you ("I was instructed to give you directions... Your next goal is north, in Goponga Swamp!!"). The reason for this becomes clear during the ending sequence, where the Owl reveals: "As part of the Wind Fish's spirit, I am the guardian of his dream world." The Owl has a much more direct connection to the Wind Fish than the other residents, which makes sense; as the dream world's guardian, it would have to be aware of its nature and its mechanics in a way none of the other residents would be.

'As part of the Wind Fish's spirit' is interesting; the most literal way to interpret this is the literal one, where the Owl is a part of the Wind Fish's spirit in a way most everyone else on the island isn't. This is supported by the mural you find in the ancient ruins that tells you Koholint's secret, which depicts the Owl immediately alongside the Wind Fish.

But it is important to note that all of Koholint is a part of the Wind Fish; its dream, if nothing else. While the Owl obviously has a different role and greater connection to the Wind Fish than the other residents, it is not unfair to assume Koholint's residents all reflect parts of the Wind Fish, as dreams often reflect parts of ourselves, as well.

The Wind Fish is being forced into a slumber for much longer than is natural by the Nightmares. Repeatedly, the Owl references the Wind Fish growing restless as you get closer and closer to waking it. Before entering the seventh dungeon, the Owl states, directly: "Go! The Wind Fish grows restless!" Upon exiting the seventh dungeon, you can find Marin on the bridge, after having attempted to wake the Wind Fish.

I say the reason Marin tried to wake the Wind Fish, as a matter of fact, the reason she wanted to leave Koholint at all, is a reflection of the Wind Fish's desires to do the same. Her role in the dream is to reflect the Wind Fish's restlessness; or perhaps, that's a fancy way of saying that this is one of her main thematic purposes in the game.

Marin is Koholint's personification. Not necessarily in-universe, but for the purposes of gameplay. It is harder for the average player to get attached to the whole of an island than it is to get attached to a singular girl, who is opinionated and likeable, with a strong personality and hopes and dreams. Without Marin, Koholint's inevitable fading would have much less emotional impact, as Marin shows us that Koholint's residents are people, and provides a microcosm of the island as a whole for us to get attached to. Marin is, effectively, Koholint's representative to the player.

As such, Marin mirrors Koholint in many ways: sweet but mischievous, a bit weird but lovingly so; her name is literally 'Marin', meaning 'marine' in at least French and probably Spanish (I don't speak Spanish and only a little bit of French) and it's one letter off in English as well. When Marin tells you not to forget her at the end of the game, this is connected to the Wind Fish's declaration at the very end, that Koholint will now only exist in memory. This demand to remember her not just meant to be taken literally; it's also meant to be taken as a declaration by the game to remember Koholint.

As such: Marin's restlessness are intended to be reflective of both Koholint and the Wind Fish. Her desire to leave the island and fly away is the Wind Fish's, and therefore, Koholint's, as Koholint is a part of the Wind Fish. The purpose of having Marin try to wake the Wind Fish is to signal to the player that the island wants to wake up; the island's representative made an attempt, and the Nightmares' monsters punished her for it. She needs you to help rescue her, like you need to rescue the island.

Having Marin attempt to wake the Wind Fish is one of the strongest moments of writing in Link's Awakening, showcasing the story's themes and overarching message in an interesting way that adds a lot of character to Marin as well and I'm very, very normal about it.

*All quoted dialogue in this post is taken from the Link's Awakening DX script on gamefaqs, which I would truly love to hyperlink in this sentence but Tumblr is refusing to let me, so it can be found here: https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/gbc/197769-the-legend-of-zelda-links-awakening-dx/faqs/38914.

[waywardstation]

If I come off as rude you can ignore and delete this but can’t we have both wips? As a treat? I’m incredibly happy with all your content and your wips are always exciting. I’m in love with the Phione AU snippet but I’m also curious (probably more than I should be) about the other one.

This is not meant to put in any pressure and you can ignore it. But it’d be nice to see the other one as well.

I’m sorry for being annoying but I’m just enjoying your content.

Not at all anon!! I don’t see it annoying at all, In fact it really means a lot to me that you say you enjoy my content and you’d like to see more; thank you very much!! ^^

The other one is from a fic I have completed but cannot post yet, as it’s meant to come right after another that I am still working on. It’s called Entropy Syndrome, and the overall concept is kind of sad, but like all my works I don’t leave it like that in the end and at least imply things will work out.

Below is the WIP you would have gotten if Angst won the poll; enjoy!

————

“You are not going to go out like this, or any other way!” The sharper corners of Akari’s words emboldened her tone. “I’m here! And I’ve been able to stop every single instance of it! I’m going to keep doing this every single time-”

“You will not-” A much more assertive tone than Akari ever expected out of Ingo, but she did not falter.

“Yes I will!”

“You’re getting HURT, Akari!” Ingo jostled her firmly by the shoulders. He spoke with a compelling energy that she had rarely heard from him, and had yet to ever direct at her in such a manner. “Today, it is your hand, but the future may very certainly hold a much worse injury if you continue down this route! You must understand that these are not light accidents by any means – my fate is attempting to derail me. I will not allow you to stand on the tracks, lest you be killed in the process of trying to prevent what cannot be stopped from reaching its set destination!”

Divisive agony. The misty eyes darkened under the shade of his hat were welling with the emotion.

He did not want to talk to her like this, or acknowledge his imminent fate with such absolution; he already felt so backed into a corner, trying to dodge the punches while knowing the inevitable hit would only be a simple matter of time. But Akari knew he was trying to keep her out of that corner, lest she be struck first while attempting to warn or protect him.

But she could dodge too.

“You’re only still here because of me!” The edge in her voice gave all it could before it relented to the wavering of frustrated grief in her heart, and throbbing pain in her hand. “I’m the only one who knows when these things are going to happen! If I do nothing, what are you going to do?”

Whether his intentions were not known even to himself, or the implied verge of tears in Akari’s voice prevented him from telling her, Ingo said nothing.

“I know you don’t want to just let it happen either.”

“No. I do not.” Ingo spoke quieter now.

“Then what will you do?”

“…The correct procedures moving forward are unclear to me.” Ingo sniffed. He finally moved one of his hands to wipe at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I do not know what I will do.”