#if you couldn't tell that i was that sort of person

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

SOMEONE TO STAY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you wanted anon :) i wasn’t sure if you meant pogue!reader or actually meant pogue!rafe so i kept this open as to not interpret it incorrectly !!

A/N: my drew starkey & characters masterlist is here !!

WARNINGS: cursing, hurricane, fear of loved ones dying, crying, panic attack, arguments, angsty love confession, angst to fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SECOND PERSON +

The storm came fast and without mercy. What had started as a mild tropical storm rapidly intensified into a Category 4 hurricane barrelling toward the Outer Banks. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for the Pogues and parts of the Cut, but for the Kooks in Figure Eight, the luxury of reinforced homes and private shelters meant hunkering down. The air felt thick with panic and pressure as everyone prepared for the worst.

Rafe had been at his father's old office on the more secure side of the island, trying to sort out some financial mess left behind by Ward, when the weather reports turned grim. His phone buzzed incessantly with texts and calls from people checking in or offering refuge. But Rafe didn't care about any of them.

He cared about one person.

"Y/N, just listen to me for once!" Rafe snapped, pacing the office as the storm began to howl outside. His voice was sharp, desperate even, as he tried to reason with his girlfriend. "Don't try to be a hero. Don't stop for anything. Just get in your car and come straight to the safe house. I'll meet you there."

"Rafe, I'll be fine," you said over the phone, your voice calm but firm. "I'm already on my way."

"You're sure? I can come get you. I should come get you," he pressed, running a hand through his hair. "This storm's getting worse by the second. I don't want you driving in this."

"I've got it under control," you reassured him, a smile in your tone even though he couldn't see it. "I'll see you soon."

But the second the line went dead, unease settled deep in Rafe's chest. He tried to tell himself you were capable, smart, and resourceful—qualities he loved about you. Still, that didn't stop the gnawing anxiety that clawed at him as he headed toward the safe house.

—

The drive was hellish. Rain lashed against your windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Floodwaters licked at the sides of the road as you maneuvered carefully toward Figure Eight. It wasn't long before you lost signal entirely, your phone cutting off mid-text to Rafe. You cursed under your breath but pressed on.

You'd been almost to the safe house when a thought struck you like lightning. Earlier that week, Rafe had been pouring over some old financial records and papers that he needed for his next move with the family business. He'd spent hours meticulously going through them, and you knew they were stored in his father's house.

Your chest tightened. If the storm destroyed everything, Rafe would lose all that work. Against better judgment, you turned onto the road leading to Tannyhill. You told yourself it wouldn't take long—just in and out.

By the time you made it to the safe house, it was well past dark, and the storm had intensified. The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows and slamming against the door as you stumbled in, soaked to the bone.

"Rafe?" you called, setting the plastic bag containing the saved papers down on a table. "I'm here."

It took less than ten seconds for him to appear. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing. The moment his eyes landed on you, relief flickered across his face—but it was quickly replaced by something far darker.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, storming toward you. His voice was a mix of anger and panic, his chest heaving as he stopped in front of you. "I've been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea—" His voice broke, and he ran a hand down his face. "I thought something happened to you."

"Rafe, I'm fine," you said, trying to placate him. "I—"

"You're not fine!" he snapped, his voice rising again. "You think this is fine? Driving through a hurricane, ignoring my calls—what were you even doing?" His eyes darted to the bag on the table, and something clicked. "You stopped for papers?"

"Rafe, I know how important they are to you—"

"Papers?" he interrupted, his voice incredulous. "You risked your life for some stupid papers?"

"They're not stupid!" you fired back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've been working so hard on this, and I didn't want you to lose it all."

"I don't care about the damn papers!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Don't you get it? I don't care about any of that fucking shit if it means losing you!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his breathing growing erratic. His hands trembled as he backed away, pressing his palms to his temples. "I can't—God, I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you were dead, Y/N. I thought I lost you out there.”

"Rafe—"

"You're all I have," he said, his voice breaking completely as tears streamed down his face. "You're all I have, and I can't lose you. I won't survive it."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the raw vulnerability in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned. You stepped toward him cautiously, reaching out to touch his arm. "Rafe, I'm here. I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm right here."

But he didn't seem to hear you, his breathing growing more rapid as he sank onto the couch. His chest heaved, and his hands gripped the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching at the sight of him falling apart. "Rafe, look at me," you said firmly, taking his hands in yours. They were cold and clammy, shaking like leaves in the storm outside. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He tried to match your breaths, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperation clawed at him, his gaze wild and unfocused. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. You guided one of his hands to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. I'm here, Rafe."

Something shifted in his eyes as he focused on the steady rhythm beneath his hand. He gripped your shirt like a lifeline, his breathing slowly evening out. "You're here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You're here."

"That's right," you said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the only sound was the quiet rise and fall of your breaths. Finally, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was just so scared."

"I know," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I should've just come straight here."

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his blue eyes searching yours. "I don't say this enough—or at all—but you mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you. You’re my whole world. Not work, not money, not anything; you. I love you, so fucking much.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were from something far warmer than fear. "I love you, too," you said, leaning into his touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms as the storm began to lose its fury. Whatever chaos the hurricane had brought, it couldn't touch the calm you found in each other.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i hope this is what you wanted anon !! this was such a cute one to write and i love me some angst to fluff😫

pls request some more angst guys !! i absolutely LOVE writing it :) and as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[marvelandponder]

I'm gonna speak from my experience and it's probably going to be different than OP's and that's okay

I had super bad social anxiety from about 10th grade through most of university. I straight up believed that if I didn't have anything "worthwhile" to say, it was a burden to say anything at all, because then you'd be subjecting people to a painfully awkward social interaction they didn't want

So basically everything I had to say wasn't "worth it" and I felt like I was failing every social interaction, or cowarding out by hiding myself away when it became too exhausting

I think over the course of those years I had about 4 or 5 therapists?

Each was helpful for different reasons but the one that was the most helpful was a guy who had me write out what I believed about socializing. And we picked them apart until we got to the underlying truth

The one that really stuck out to me was we basically got to a point where he was like "so you believe human beings are inherently judgemental"

That didn't feel right. Like, yeah, we have automatic passing thoughts, but most people don't really care about what's weird with others for more than few seconds. Then they're focused on themselves again

So that stuck out to me as a belief I could revise. Where were examples of when people didn't care about me being awkward or not knowing how to socialize?

We devised a plan to test the new theory

I was in university at the time, and there were scheduled meet ups in our LGBTQA+ centre's on campus. That seemed like a pretty safe place to try things- I had even been there before

So I went. I went a few times. It was still tough sometimes but I started to feel more safe saying things, contributing to set discussion topics, or just being quiet when I didn't have anything to add (and not beating myself up for having nothing to add)

That built a little bit of confidence, then I had a few job experiences that helped too. At first those sucked - I would have panic attacks sometimes. But then around the time I was doing this therapy, I got one where I could tell my managers first thing, hey, I've got anxiety, this is what it might look like if I have a panic attack. And I didn't have a single one that term, or the term after.

I built up confidence just by reinforcing my new beliefs that people really weren't as hyperfocused as I was. I became more social - I had a cubicle of three other students around me, so I joined in on their discussions and even had a good time

Fast forward a few years, I'm now more comfortable and confident in any social situation than ever. I call with friends every week, I go out with my partner and do all sorts of stuff together, I have this huge community of people around me in all kinds of capacities!

I'm not you, and what worked for me isn't gonna be what works for you. Also? It's valid as fuck to not be in a place where you can at all comfortably socialize with any human beings at all, and to be there for so long that you just straight give up. Or maybe it's all you've ever known

That's fucking valid and you don't need to feel ashamed for it. And also, in my personal experience as someone who couldn't socialize without anxiety for several very formative years, people can become social

Doesn't mean you have to, or that one is better than the other. I'm just saying I was in a big doomer place before about my own ability to socialize and if I was talking to my past self, she'd be so fucking relieved to hear that things get better and she doesn't have panic attacks about talking to people anymore. She actually likes it

people are way way too generous in assuming that you can just “learn to be social” and everyone will welcome you with open arms and forgive you forever for all the years you spent not talking to people. sorry no. if you don’t start out social you never get the opportunity to become social. people assume that’s just how you are and treat you accordingly, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 6 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Windfur gently tries to recommend that Olive name her two kits. It's been a moon, and they deserve to have some names. Olive bites back at Windfur, saying there's no point - no thanks to Windfur, she still has a broken back and there's no promise the woods will spare her kits. Windfur bristles. He tries not to take it personally, but he does.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 20 moons) (Olive, mediator, female, 62 moons)

Hopechase overhears the argument between Windfur and Olive. Her ears droop as she finishes playing with Olive's kits. Windfur has been trying really hard to care for Olive - his life as a medicine cat isn't as easy as it seems to be.

(Hopechase, warrior, female, 88 moons) (??? Lilac pelt kit, kitten, female, 1 moons) (??? Brown pelt kit, kitten, female, 1 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 20 moons)

Windfur teaches Shiverpaw about basic herbs and their uses. He's surprised when she asks if there's any rhymes that can help her memorize clan rituals, like assisting a queen's birth or preparing a funeral. [SKILL REVEAL: LOVER OF STORIES]

(Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 6 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 20 moons)

----

"Well...yes, there are. I can teach them to you later. Those are usually more advanced medicine that you'd learn later in your apprenticeship," Windfur said

"Helping with a labor, I get. But..." Shiverpaw stared at her feet with a guilty look. Windfur waited for her to get on with it, until he saw the sadness that pooled in her eyes.

Ah. Right. Warblerkit.

Windfur sighed. She must've seen him prepare the funeral pyre - something that was genuinely quite rare for ForestClan, but a necessity if the body was still present.

He really didn't want to talk about death and funeral rites with Shiverpaw on the very first week of her training. But...this was ForestClan, and death would be a common occurrence. Reluctantly, he stared at the wall and looked through the funeral herbs lined up in the shelves. He prepared himself as he offered to give a basic rundown.

"Well...I'll tell you about the fine details later. But truth is, Shiverpaw, Warblerkit's situation was...different. Rarely do we have a body to burn."

Shiverpaw's cobalt blue eyes were wide with shock, before it seemed like she remembered why. Her bristled fur flattened. "...So...we wouldn't make a fire, usually?"

"No. Not a funerary one, anyway. We'd cook their favorite dish if they had one instead, and the Clan would partake in it. Instead of burning anything, we'd bury important mementos of theirs in our graveyard."

"That sounds different from what we did for Warblerkit." Shiverpaw said, her head tilted. "Why? Why do we burn the body?"

Windfur paused. He knew why. He knew exactly why they burned any bodies they could physically retrieve. But looking at the young apprentice's eyes - he couldn't do it. As he remembered the screaming chaos of the late greenleaf storm, as he left for just a split moment to staunch bleeding coming from Olive - the sight of tendrils retreating into the darkness with a small, pale bundle shook him. He wanted to bury the memory and let the woods take it too.

Windfur must've failed to hide his emotions, as Shiverpaw's curious stare rescinded. She shifted uneasily. "It's...It's okay, I don't need - "

"It's just what we've always done," Windfur sputtered. "We just...we burn the bodies, if we have them. We...we don't like seeing the woods taking our clanmates. I heard from Hopechase that it used to be a FieldClan ritual that we adopted after they were destroyed. To honor them."

A lie, Windfur thought. Shiverpaw looked at the funeral herbs that Windfur had taken out of his stores. She gave a soft nod, deciding his answer was honest. Windfur sighed. He wasn't good at this. He wasn't like Chicoryglint. She'd have had some sort of answer for everything. He felt like an apprentice being told he was now the adult supervision for the nursery. But here he was. An apprentice teaching an apprentice.

"...So, like you saw during Warblerkit's funeral," he started, pointing to the herbs he pulled out, "we use fennel, rosemary and catmint, if we can spare any, to decorate the body. This is to hide any unpleasant smell that may arise while we're pending rites."

Shiverpaw stared at the herbs carefully, then pouted a bit. "...No rhyme to memorize?' "...There is one."

"Can I hear it?"

Windfur shuffled a bit in place. "Uh. Yeah. Hold on, I have to remember how it goes..." He cleared his throat, remembering the melody as something almost march-like, as though trying to sing while dredging through layers of dense forest - breathy and rapid. He wasn't sure if he remembered the melody exactly right, but he had to give it a try...

"Bring the fuel to stack the fire, Let the flames climb ever higher, Hear it crackling, hear it singing, Blazing heat is all-cleansing. Weave the mary-of-the-rose, Fennel, catmint, by the row."

Shiverpaw's ears twitched intently, focused on his melody.

"Our hearts may cry to forestall, But this brave soul answered the call... Bring the fuel to stack the fire, Let the soul free from the pyre, Let our prayers sound free, Loved ones bound to memory. May their ashes be preserved, Round the marker, one with earth."

Windfur stopped, grooming his chest fur. Before Shiverpaw could make a comment, he continued. "That ah, last part is what we do after the fire dies down. We collect the ashes of the dead and try to wrap it in something - leather, large ferns, whatever. Then we bury it at the graveyard out west."

"It kinda sounds like a battle melody, but it's a...a requiem?"

Windfur's tail twitched. "I, ah...I guess. Where'd you even learn that word?"

"Requiem? From one of Barleywave's stories, when I was little," Shiverpaw insisted.

Windfur decided to push that aside, choosing to help refocus Shiverpaw on memorizing herbs, now that he got her attention - especially with fennel, which had nearly a dozen uses.

Windfur didn't think about the nursery rhyme for the rest of the day. Truly, he didn't. Cloudthunder had cooked the Clan some smoked meat, Redstar and Hopechase had shared with them their plans to reintroduce the Plentiful Gathering on a small scale. He checked up on Olive again and did his best to respond softly to her grief-stricken lashes. He dismissed Shiverpaw and let her join Morningpaw and Barleywave on learning how to make bulrush rope. By all means, this was a good, productive day.

Which is why he hated that the moment he lay in his nest, he couldn't help but stare at the walls of the medicine den. He told himself he was admiring the beauty of nature, how the giant oak fell and left a massive log den, to be hollowed out by years and years of carving and pillaging by insects. Now, the walls were sturdy and flattened by cat claws. Yes. That's definitely what he was thinking about.

If it weren't for the memory of Chicoryglint's shade settling behind him. The molly gave him a dry smile.

"Did you know that there used to be another part to the rhyme?"

Windfur remembered how his younger self replied. "Really? Can you tell me?"

"Well, there isn't much use to that part of it anymore, Windpaw. The second section was more of a cautionary segment than a ritual explanation. Besides, it's quite...morbid."

"Well, of course it's morbid. It's about funeral rites. Like...maybe it's rare, but surely there's rites for bodies that are really badly gone? Like, the flies got to them already?"

"Oh, no, it's the same rites. We just apply a lot of chive, and break out the mint and lavender if it's really bad. It's the only time those herbs are used - they're poisonous otherwise."

"Well, now that you've told me, I'm curious," Windpaw had said with a twitch of the tail, his dark blue eyes narrowed with frustration. "You can't just tell me there's another part and then refuse to tell me."

"Oh, alright, fine," Chicoryglint's pale grey and golden tail twitched, purposefully tapping the apprentice on the shoulder. A look of mischief appeared on her face. "But it is still very disturbing, nothing like the first half. Might be the most frightening thing in my repertoire. Because its melody sounds more like a battle chant, some lorekeepers suspect this song had a different purpose, once."

"Chicoryglint, no offence, but after vowing to protect StarClan's secret, nothing else really terrifies me."

A tense silence fell in the air for a brief moment. Chicoryglint casually used a single claw to separate two different sets of herbs. Then, after Windpaw had quietly sat curled up with his tail around his paws, Chicoryglint let out a small exhale before giving him the second verses.

"Blood and gore, by the score, Falls to the woods' core.

Show our might; annihilation, Wipe out all foul creation, For our flesh is not our own, When the woods puppet our bones. All scream out their final breath, To the cunning roots of death.

So ignite the funeral pyre, Pile the bodies ever higher, See them burning, see them seething, Saved from the woods' scheming.

So ignite the funeral pyre, Sound the screaming of the choir, End the Fake Cats from rising, Standing high upon your graves."

Windfur blinked. He felt the fur on his pelt stand on end.

He quickly shook his head, chasing out the memory from his mind. He took a deep breath, then curled up tightly on himself, burying his nose into his pelt.

He decided he would never mention the missing verses to Shiverpaw.

Those ones would die with him.

---

<PREVIOUS | NEXT>

[thechaoticcheese]

EDIT: I was a dunce and posted the draft that I was working on - THIS HAS BEEN CORRECTED - YOU ARE NOW READING THE FULL THING I AM SO SORRY FOR THE MISSHAP

A Vampire Wheat Farmer(Ghoap) - Chapter 1 - Meeting the Vampire

Soap was making his way down the dirt path through all of the fields of wheat. He's never seen crops so well taken care of or bountiful. They were taller than he was used to, coming up to his chest and seeming to yield more grains than the usual plant. His blue eyes scanned the field before he spotted a tall figure at the end of one field, looking into the sea of wheat. From this angle, he couldn't tell if it was a scarecrow or a person, but when the hooded figure sharply turned their head towards the Scot, Soap found his answer.

He glanced around the field to see if he could figure out where to go to meet the person quickly approaching him, but decided to stay in place, unsure if he even should move. As the figure got closer, he saw their clothes more thoroughly. They were wearing a balaclava with a skull sewn into it, plastic, or some sort of other mesh he was sure. Or he hoped. After all, he was hoping to meet a bloody vampire. The person wore a grey hoodie and jeans, black gloves with bones were worn on his hands and black boots left light tracks in the ground. As he got close enough, Soap noted how the person’s skin was covered by black face paint, or something similar.

"What's your business?" His British accent was noticeable, Manchester perhaps, but it felt a bit faded, a bit different. It was slightly hypnotizing as Soap stared into the man's eyes. They were something else, being a dark brown with a circle of yellow around the pupil, a sign of being turned into a vampire.

"Yer da vampur I've ben hearin' 'bout!" Soap said excitedly, coming up more energetic than he expected as he took a few more paces closer to the man who quickly took quite a few steps back. The distance between the two grew faster than Soap could register.

"What's it to you?" He growled, voice deepening. If that didn't send a shiver and made Soap's heart skip a beat, he’d be lying. It also made him stop in his tracks.

"Oh! I uh, I'm John MacTavish. People call me Soap." He introduced himself with a big grin, holding out his hand to the mask figure. "I wanna study Vampires and help 'em be apar' of society an' not shunned."

The vampire gave a glance over the man's hand, trying to see if there was anything wrong with it. There wasn't though. It was just a normal human hand. Then he hesitantly approached and firmly shook it.

"Call me Ghost." He replied before quickly pulling his hand away. He circled the buff Scott, as if sizing up the male. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that Soap couldn't quite place. "Why they call you Soap?"

"Oh uh, was a kid tha' ate soap a lot... I-I've grown ou' of it! Don'ye worry!" Soap said, watching Ghost's quick movements. Dang, Vampire were quicker than humans. Part of him wondered if this was as fast as he could go.

"Why here?"

"Well... You're pretty easy to access. No one has seen yer face in... well millennia.. An' yew've ben said ta be a pretty good wheat farmer." Soap started to list off the reasons, he soon felt Ghost wrap his arms firmly around his chest, pulling him in close. His back pressed flush against the vampire’s chest. There was a look in his eyes that Soap couldn't quite read, though he didn't doubt that it was an act.

“And you’re alone. Humans shouldn’t be alone.” Ghost growled as his mask nuzzled against Soap’s neck. The Scot’s heart pounded in his ears, before he blurted out.

“Y-Ye ken ye can drink animals blood an’ survive… R-Right?” Soap stammered out. He hated that he was getting so flustered by a stranger that he just met. Though the nuzzling stopped before a low rumble that almost resembled a chuckle had left Ghost. He slowly let the human go before moving away.

“You’re interestin’.” Ghost commented. “I know. Usually humans freak out more. How many vampires have drinken your blood?”

“Uhhm… Not sure… I donate my blood ta places tha’ give it out ta those who need it due to their bodies rejectin’ animal blood.” Soap said, quickly gaining his composure despite his heart rushing in his ears. He bet Ghost could hear it too.

“Very thoughtful.” Ghost muttered before starting to walk further down the field, leaving Soap behind. He stopped and glanced back. “Ya comin’?”

“O-Oh! Y-Ya!” Soap said, surprised that Ghost was offering him to follow him to wherever he was about to leave the Scot. He jogged to catch up, pulling out a notepad and pen before looking at the masked vampire and smiling brightly, “Ye min’ if I ask a few questions?”

“Shoot.” Ghost responded, leading the human through acres of wheat fields.

“When d’ya turn?”

“Gotta be durin’ buildin’ Manchester.” Ghost replied, rubbing the fabric where his chin is, remembering the night he turned.

“Really! Ye help buil’’ Manchester?” Soap asked excitedly, scribbling it down.

“Yea. You’re listenin’ to an original Manchester accent… Albeit a lot faded.” Ghost said with a soft chuckle.

“Aye…” Soap agreed softly, despite not being alive at the time. “But weren’t it built by da Romans?”

“Yea. Was a soldier for ‘em.”

“So yer a Roman?”

“In a way, yeah.”

“Woahh.. But ye got bit here, so technically you’re British.” Soap glanced at Ghost, not realizing that they were approaching a pretty old looking building. It was built with wood that looked like it was replaced at least 100 years ago. A small stone wall was around it, the pebbles at the bottom suggest its age from the weather years before Soap could be even considered a construct. A stone chimney was awkwardly added to the side of one wall. There were windows with shutters on them, but they were latched shut.

“Wha’ever works for ya.” Ghost said with a shrug as he opened the wooden door, ducking inside. Soap was surprised that he even had to duck inside. Though once in, both could comfortably stand tall, though Ghost probably had about 6 inches above his head before he might run into something, like the lightbulb that had a metal covering. Though Ghost seemed to know the layout of his house as he quickly went to an old stove, hucking a few logs in before lighting it with a match and putting a kettle on with water.

“Tea?” Ghost offered, looking back at Soap who was awkwardly standing right in front of the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob as he was closing the door behind him, glancing around the home. It was like one big room, a small section for the kitchen to the left, in the middle was a table, to the right was a space for a king sized bed and a desk. Things felt a bit crowded, herbs being hung from a rack above the stove along with old pots and pans that seemed to have just been gathering dust.

“Oh uh, ya.” Soap responded, fully closing the door before awkwardly standing by the table. Soap’s eyes drew down to his feet, seeing an old goat skin rug on the ground beneath it, part of it going underneath the legs of the table. His blue eyes then looked to the bed. It had fur blankets on it as well.

“Gots lots’a furry 'tings in ‘ere.” He commented before Ghost pulled out an old chair that looked about ready to be replaced, gesturing for his guest to sit.

“Yeah. Got a few more recently… Mid 1900s I think.” Ghost replied. He seemed to want to talk, but yet, something was holding him back. Soap in the meantime had sat, writing stuff down and doing quick doodles of things he saw in the home as the water boiled. Ghost curiously looked over the Scot’s shoulder.

“Nice drawings.” He commented before going back to the stove.

“Oh er… Tanks.” Soap blushed once more. This vampire was smooth. A lot of them were, but he wasn’t expecting it from a recluse. He hadn’t mentally prepared to be wooed, intentionally or not, today.

“Wha’ made ye settle ‘ere?” Soap asked, trying to go back to researching the vampire.

“Mmm… Good place to have wheat fields.” Ghost hummed as he thought before responding nonchalantly. Soap wrote it down without a second thought.

“Did ya build ye house?”

“Yeah. Sown the fields too.”

“Interestin’...” Soap whispered softly, writing quicker than before. “Ye ever ‘ave a lover?”

“Why? Ya lookin’?” Ghost teased, watching as the Scot’s face soon turned a bright shade red, his mouth agape before trying to say something before the vampire chuckled and shook his head. “Pullin’ ya leg. Yeah… Once… In a way. Arranged. No feelin’ towards ‘er.”

Soap took in a sharp breath before nodding, writing down the answer.

���Keep track of yer kids after ye turned?” 

“... No.” The slightly warm tone that Ghost had previously suddenly turned cold. Soap tensed, he had hit a nerve.

“Oh… Sorry.” The Scot said softly, not writing down the answer and gripping his pen tighter.

“What made’ye stay over ‘ere?” Soap continued, clearing his throat.

“Next question.” Ghost’s voice remained gruff and unwelcoming.

“Uhh… ever… ‘ave… a dog?” Soap had tried to come up with a different question than his usual ones. The rest were about Ghost’s past, specifics. So, Soap decided to go a different way. Ghost paused at the question. The breath that the human was holding soon left, he hadn’t even realized that he was holding it at first.

“Yeah… ‘ad a few during the World Wars, during the black plague… I think the last one was in the 80’s…” Ghost responded before the kettle started to whistle violently, letting the men know that the hot water was done. The vampire took down two mugs, putting a tea bag in each, then red powder in one. Soap could only assume that the powder was dried blood. He poured the water out of the kettle. Soap watched curiously, noting how even the mugs seemed hand made.

“Ye dabble in pottery?” Soap asked curiously.

“Probably.”

“At one time.” Ghost responded calmly, putting the mug without the red powder in front of Soap before sitting across from him on the other side of the table.

“Ye think ye can still do it?” Soap asked, scribbling the answers down.

“Will ye show me?”

“Maybe.”

Soap huffed softly before grabbing the mug and softly blowing into the tea before testing the temperature against his lips. It was a bit too hot, but he took a small sip. The tea was good, strong and slightly bitter, but strong.

“Ye make the tea yerself?” Soap asked, putting his mug down, pen ready to scribble down the answer.

“Yea. Basically everything in ‘ere I made. Minus the stove, anything electrical, and a handful of silverware. Those were gifts.” Ghost replied, answering a handful of Soap’s next questions. “Ye write down everythin’ we say like a damn scribe?”

“Almost e’rytin’. Want me ta not include somethin’?” Soap asked. He quickly stopped writing as he looked up at Ghost. He didn’t look irritated, but genuinely curious.

“Nah. Just don’ ask stupid questions.” He responded with a huff.

The two shared a few more simple questions back and forth before an alarm went off on Soap’s phone.

“Awe shite.” He mumbled, annoyed at himself for forgetting about the meeting he had in 30 minutes, but that was miles away. If he ran and caught a cab early, he might make it 30 minutes later. But he couldn’t be late. Not for this.

“What’s that?” Ghost questioned before sipping his cup of tea.

“An alarm fer a meetin’ I’m supposed to be at in 30 minutes. Far as fuck though. I don’t think I’ll make it.” Soap said standing up quickly as he chugged the rest of the tea he so wished he could enjoy.

“Let me help out.” Ghost said, standing up as well while Soap pushed in his chair.

“Nah, you don’t gotta. I’ll just run an’ haul a cab.” Soap said, pocketing the notepad and pen.

“You’ve entertained me these past few hours. Allow me to help.” Ghost insisted.

The words he used made Soap tense up a bit before shaking his head, heading towards the door, reaching for the doorknob. Ghost’s gloved hand gripped Soap’s as soon as his skin touched the knob.

“Let me help.” Ghost said in a soft voice.

“R-Right… Speed…” Soap murmured softly. Ghost nodded before the Scot huffed, “Aight fine.” The masked vampire let go of the human so he could open the door. The two ducked out of the house and right as Ghost finished closing the door, Soap was in his arms bridal style. The rush of movement change made Soap’s stomach churn slightly. He wrapped his arms around Ghost’s neck, holding on tightly.

“Jus’ ta the nearest cab area is fine… Thank you, Ghost.” Soap requested before he tightly shut his eyes. Wind hit him as if it was chunks of snow being blown into his face. He could now understand why Ghost covered his body, well, other than the sun of course.

“We’re ‘ere.” The soft tone of Ghost’s voice said as Soap opened his eyes, he was standing on a busy-ish street, but Ghost was nowhere in sight. Soap hailed a cab and informed the driver of the location of where he needed to go. The human checked his phone as the car pulled away. Ghost ran for only a few minutes and saved him 40 minutes. He’d be able to make it.

Soap cursed and hit the back of his head against the headrest of the cab. He forgot to leave something to let Ghost know he’d be back. Hopefully at the same time next week. He’d just have to make the trek without announcing his presence, again.

That would be next week's Soap problem though. He needed to focus on that meeting today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Goddamn another 2k words. I am just busting out writings today! (wrote 5k words within my awake time) Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy! This is probably just going to be an every so often work. No set schedule or anything. Just whenever brain says we shall right.

Inspired by this post

[starwarskawaii]

Annoyance and Empanadas Pt. 2

A Miguel O'Hara fic

A/N: In which I make yet another self-insert fic. This will probably be a series. If I make a couple other disabled folks and Miguel-actually-has-a-personality-not-just-a-hot-body understanders happy, it's all worth it.

edit: Just a warning, this one is longer

CW: Reader is implied again to be autistic, or just awkward as hell, 2099 cursing, more mentions of chronic pain, mentions of past hurt due to disability for reader, reader has a brother, reader has a niece, brief suggestive content, still pretty PG, one use of damn, pretty much same content as last one, tone is a little more serious than pt 1

Miguel stepped into your apartment with you. Your messy apartment. Shock, how did you live like this?! There were blankets everywhere, you never made your bed (a complete waste of time, you had no one to impress), your laundry was permanently overflowing (how did you own this much clothing?!), there were figures and dolls and knick knacks absolutely everywhere, books stacked haphazardly on shelves in an attempt to make them all fit, comics tucked in between, fan art on the walls... There was so much sensory input he almost felt dizzy.

You flopped down on the couch, somehow hitting your leg with a forearm crutch on the way down. Only you. You tossed the aids aside and Miguel picked them up off of the ground and leaned them against the doorway. You almost never used aids inside your apartment unless it was a bad day. Better to fall at home than in front of a bunch of strangers, was your reasoning. Miguel did not agree with your reasoning. Miguel kind of wondered how you had managed to stay alive before him.

As you cozied up on the couch, Miguel began to make your empanadas. Beef and cheese, your favorite. You never had a taste for the chicken. Admittedly, neither had he, so this suited him just fine. You two had fallen into a sort of routine. Monday through Friday you worked your normal job, and he would come by after you got home to cook with you and help with all the things you would never ask him to go out of his way for but needed, and Saturday you would spend the day at the Spider Society, helping Miguel map out Spider's lives. He used to work extremely long hours, since most other Spiders would have to go home, and he technically already was home. But since you came into his life, he had finally learned to delegate more.

Today was Saturday. You loved Saturdays, and so did Miguel, though neither of you had ever actually told the other. Maybe, Miguel thought, maybe it was time to tell you. He knew you were attracted to him, physically at least. He knew you cared about him. He just wasn't sure if you loved him like he loved you. But something in him as he made those empanadas and reflected on your routines together made him realize that those feelings, the ones he wasn't sure whether they were gratitude or love, were absolutely love.

You sat on the couch, holding a plush and willing yourself to get out of your uncomfortable day clothes and into something that didn't make you want to scream. Miguel had seemed so uncomfortable with you being in your pajamas the first time he saw it. You weren't really sure why, bodies are just bodies, right? Maybe because he was such an awkward nerd? He couldn't be attracted to you, could he? Not back then, anyways. He called you "hermosa" now. Seemingly platonically? You really weren't sure. You're not exactly great with social cues, even after years of practice. Plus, you're a disabled woman. What man wants that? Who signs up for a lifetime of their partner never being able to give them what a normal woman can? You weren't even sure if you could have kids with all the unknowns with your health. Not to mention that Miguel and you were from different universes. You were pretty sure he wanted to have kids again. How would that even work? How would any of it work?

Back in the kitchen, Miguel wondered many of the same things you did. How would it work? How could it work? Did you even want him? Your parents were long past too far gone to help you, having disabilities of their own, and no one else around you had even tried to. If he made this awkward, you might feel like you had to part ways with the one person who was caring for you. He didn't want that. Still. You were always so mature. You were friends with people who you had crushed on who had rejected you. Why wouldn't you do the same for him? And he was a genius who invented multiversal travel, who said he couldn't figure out how to make an interdimensional relationship work? In some ways, you two already did. That settled it. He had resolved to tell you.

You changed into an oversized nightgown, with soft seams. You had cleaned up some of the blankets you left out along your way to your room. You knew Miguel hated messes. The blankets were still out from having your niece over a few days ago for a sleepover. You pondered whether you should tell Miguel how you felt, more explicitly than the hints you had been dropping. He was so dense... You hated pursuing, it gave the other person too much power. And you were already permanently stuck in a power imbalance with any and every man you meet. Disability put you at a permanent disadvantage in relationships. You had a very pesky genuine need for a partner. You thought about your family, your brother, your niece, your parents... How would they feel about all this? How could you even tell them about it all?

You entered the kitchen and Miguel turned around to tell you the food was almost ready. His heart stopped. Somehow you looked even more beautiful than usual, wearing the same ratty nightgown that you refused to get rid of, believing that you were doing your part for the environment by wearing it until it was scraps. Something about knowing that he loved you made him love looking at you even more.

"Miguel?" you questioned, seeing the strange look on his face. "You alright there, love?"

"Do you call everyone love?" Miguel blurted it out before he even realized what he was saying. Shock. Shockity shocking shock.

"I mean, only people I care about, but I suppose I call a lot of people love, why do you ask?" you raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was going to lecture you on proper coworker etiquette (as if you two weren't past that point), make some smart mouth comment, or finally address your flirting. The possibility of the last one made your heart nearly stop. Half the reason you flirted was because Miguel would never pick up on it.

"I think I love you"

"What?"

"I mean I know I do. I mean... We've been close friends all this time, and you're the only person I have ever been able to just be open with and... Shock, this is coming out all wrong."

"Migs," you said tenderly, as if you were approaching a wounded animal (which you basically were, he is half spider). "I love you too"

"You do?"

"Well duh, your smart mouth and endless brooding isn't easy to put up with without rose colored glasses." Love did not dull your sharp tongue. Not even a little. Poor Miguel. You were still very annoying. No matter how much he loved you. "Can you handle being a relationship with me, though?"

"What do you mean, cariño?"

"I mean I have a broken brain and body. The stuff you do for me after work will become a full-time job. I am a full-time job. I am so much work... And I haven't been worth it for anyone yet." You hated saying it out loud. You believed Miguel loved you. But you also believed that loving someone didn't mean you could love them well. You had to be sure Miguel knew what he was signing up for, because you loved him. You wanted him to be happy with you. The real you. The 24/7 broken brain and body having you.

Miguel leaned over and kissed you gently on the forehead. Somehow, you knew exactly what the gesture meant. You knew your Miguel. You knew all his buttons, you knew his story, you knew his heart. You knew you had it, in spite of whatever was broken with you. He knew he was signing up for a life of doctor's appointments and medication issues and flare ups and wheelchairs and fighting your insurance company. And he didn't care. He did it all already, and he loved it, because it was for you.

"I can handle you amor" Miguel spoke after what felt like a perfect, peaceful lifetime of just staying close to you after the kiss. "You are so worth it. Worth every single trial that comes our way"

"I'm surprised you told me. I'm surprised you didn't catastrophize the idea of being with me in your head until you were convinced that being within the same universe as you would kill me. Which, to be clear, it won't. Any bad things that happen are just a part of life." You reassured him. You felt a little bad for teasing him at a time like this. But he did catastrophize everything. "What about kids? I always assumed you would want more, now that you don't force yourself to carry the weight of the entire multiverse on your back and stopped blaming yourself for what happened. How would that even work, for us?"

"You want a baby with me already? Dang, looking to live out some of your fan fictions?" Miguel grinned. You glared. He stopped, and spoke "I'm honestly not sure, mi amor. I would need to run some tests, and there's your health to consider... Maybe we would adopt from your universe? We probably don't need to figure it all out now though, mi corazón."

He raised his brows at you and smiled. Just then, the timer went off for the last of the food. He made all your favorites. Whether he consciously knew or not, he was always going to tell you tonight.

"I do have one question though, on that topic. Can you... Are you even able to... Would it hurt you if we..." His voice kept trailing off. Weird. What is he- Oh. OH.

"Yes, I can do that, I'm just more limited in how. I know we're in love and all, but I strongly prefer to wait for that until much farther into the relationship. Like wedding night farther." You were bright red. Miguel had thought about that? With you? You were slightly under the impression, given the way he worked so tirelessly, that this Miguel variant was a sexless being. So much for that theory. You regained your composure a little. "Sorry, I realize that probably isn't what you were hoping I would say."

"Don't apologize, you were just honest. Besides, it's been ages since I..." His voice trailed off again. "I will be completely fine waiting for you. Anyways, we have much more important things to figure out, like how to have a cross dimensional relationship"

"And how to eat all this food you made." You added, salivating at the spread in front of you.

In front of you was elote, some cut up fresh fruit (when did he get that? You really ought to see what he's doing in your kitchen more often...), and, of course, those empanadas. You could kiss him. You should kiss him. He was yours now, wasn't he? As much as you did your best to not oversexualize him and to see him as a person when you were a fan, he still looked like THAT. You had still wanted this for so long. Gosh, you should kiss him.

You leaned over to him as he set down the food, attempting to find the best angle to meet his lips. Why did you have to fall for this damn tree? He was over a foot taller than you. A freaking tree, a very hot tree, very kissable tree, that loved you... What were you mad at again? You finally decided there was only one way to get what you wanted: asking.

"Kiss me?"

You weren't sure how this was all going to work. Probably pretty similarly to how it was now. You weren't sure how you were going to tell your family you were dating a cartoon character. But it would probably be fine. You weren't sure how life with Miguel would end up, what your family would look like. Would your family be the two of you and a cat? A kid? Just you two? In spite of all the unknowns, as he pulled you in for that kiss, you were somehow sure it would be fine.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in this series!

[cassianlord]

He let out a little breath, a zip of electricity lighting up over his teeth as he gave a small grin. He chased the feeling with his tongue, a habit he likely would never break. A tell he'd never be able to hide when he was nervous. Although this thing with Gwyn was undefined, Cassian already knew he wanted more. It was far too soon to say anything about it if he was going to say something at all, but he still wanted. He was a greedy thing and he wanted to covet Gwyn like he had never wanted to covet another person before. He didn't understand it. So it was best to just go with the flow. Maybe seeing other people was a good thing.

"I, well -- Uh," Cassian stuttered, "I don't know. Maybe you should know about one? You know my friend who convinced me to come here? He's actually a councilman. Roland de Rochefort. We've known each other a long time and we just sort of leave things and then pick them back up when we see each other again. It's been going on for... At least two centuries."

Cassian admired Roland a great deal and had since he had been a wyrmling. There had always been something about how grandiose the vampire acted, how smooth and certain he seemed to be. He was powerful and held a powerful position. The dragon in Cassian would always have stars in his eyes about it. He shifted his coat to help wrap Gwyn up more inside it. Cassian knew the sith probably didn't mind the cold all things considered but that didn't mean that Cassian couldn't lend his immense warmth.

"My patients are few and far between, don't worry," he chuckled deeply, "I spend most of my time doing research for personal projects. If you come to visit, I'll actually take breaks."

Cassian's hand was a welcome weight, the perfect encouragement for Gwyn to lean sideways against him and get comfortable against the dragon's shoulders as he sipped his drink with a soft noise of satisfaction. Sweet and rich and perfect, by the sith's metrics. There wouldn't be nearly enough to give him a buzz, but the point was more to make the cocoa palatable to his stomach. There was little to do done about the whipped cream, but Gwyn had already committed himself to suffering a little later to enjoy such small pleasures now.

"Dabbled, eh?" He wiggled his brows at the other as Cassian met his eyes, picking up the implied meaning easily, "Glad to see you're fitting in without a hitch. Not that I had any doubt!" They'd met off a one-night stand, after all, clearly Cassian was used to these kinds of things and he was handsome enough to catch plenty of attention. "Anyone interesting? Anyone I should know about?"

His smile widened at the invitation, Gwyn immediately warmed by the notion. He nestled a little closer, pillowing his cheek against Cassian's coat. It was hard to resist the urge to get comfortable around the dragon. "Careful, doctor. Your other patients will start making complaints if you let me take up all your time."

[miametropolis]

My condolences for the containment breach I get how having thousands of ppl say the same joke over and over in the notes of your genuine analysis post can get annoying 😭 😭😭😭 I’m extremely down to hear more about the differences between the ninth and tenth doctors if you have any other insights you want to share though!!! I’ve been turning your post over and over in my brain like a rotisserie chicken ever since I read it it’s so good

omg thank you for your condolences...it really is the containment breach of all time...let me think!! I have a MAJOR tenth doctor video essay I may or may not make so here are the cliff notes:

-To begin. Anne Carson wrote that to live beyond the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

-in many ways, the 10th Doctor is cursed from his inception b/c he is born at the end of the Doctor and Rose's romantic arc (from a certain point of view) AND YET he is born sheerly out of love for her / to love her

-(we all know the fanon--or is it canon?--idea that Ten's face was subconciously selected to be one that Rose would like, and he's gone for her from the beginning...hello, The Christmas Invasion.)

-all that said, by the time The Parting of the Ways occurs, Rose and Nine have completed a full narrative arc:

-Nine whisked Rose away from the life of boredom and sheltered drudgery she experienced on the estate; she brought life back into the eyes of a hardened war veteran/The Last of the Time Lords

-more importantly, they complete a kind of mutualistic ultimate sacrifice (in a Shakesperian sense?) wherein Rose 'becomes' the Doctor by absorbing the literal heart of the TARDIS (we don't have time to get into that) and erasing the Daleks into dust, finishing the last of the Time War AND saving the Doctor's life

-he immediately returns the favor, absorbing the energy that's destroying her with a kiss (let it be known--the ONLY kiss between the Doctor and Rose Tyler proper--neither Tentoo or Cassandra really count imo), returning her to humanity, life, and safety

-all that said, Nine dies both saving AND being saved by Rose in a kind of unrivaled (?) parity between Doctor and companion. it's perfect synthesis.

-THEN 10 is born. uh-oh.

It is here that I would like to quote Michael Kinnucan's fabulous essay 'The Gods Show Up' on Greek tragedies:

The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant he is something like divine. And then he dies, because there’s nothing left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask.

I think one of the most fascinating 10 v. 9 moments is that one scene that got cut where Rose says "I miss him." and the Doctor replies "Me too."

As many people in the notes of that original post point out (god help me) 10 is ALSO born IMMEDIATELY into heartbreak--whatever vestigal version of Nine lives inside him died with the despair of losing Rose

-TEN is the man that went sauntering away. perhaps that's part of why Ten is so terrified of/resentful towards regeneration. I think he's lived precisely the worst cost of it.

-The notion of 'talking after death' and 'wearing a face that's a mask' is a existentialist take on regeneration itself--ten EPITOMIZES this tragic hero archetype, esp. after Doomsday (literally! Doomsday!!)

-during his life, I wonder if Nine already considers himself lost in a sense? He's lived past the Time War, past the destruction of everything, and he's also the first NuWho Doctor. HIS ability to indulge in love (even in mortality, given his short lifespan) is different.

-TEN on the other hand has that INCREDIBLY frightening (for him) confrontation with Sarah Jane in School Reunion--knitting him back into canon continuum of Doctor Who, stitching him to the myth of The Doctor that has to live on and on and on in perpetuity--and seems VERY haunted by (im)mortality

-How much time does Ten spend running from Jack? A human being who CAN follow him to the end of time? Ten can't decide if he wants to be mortal or immortal, human or Time Lord. Think of the way he acts with Martha, with Wilf, with Donna. He is totally frozen inside of the space of his seasons. He has time paralysis (fatal, for a Time Lord)

-he is the first doctor that we see reallllly try to stave off regeneration

-That's why there's a certain frantic escapism to his adventures with Rose in S2--he knows, more than she does, that they are hurtling toward's disaster.

-he can't love Rose in a consumate way, even if he wanted to (he wants to) b/c he's trapped inside of his myth. he's like sisyphus. or that guy getting his liver ripped out by the eagle. Nine and Rose are lines that can cross. Ten and Rose are parallel lines. if they touch, the universe dissolves. hence why the narrative/God/Russel T. Davies had to lock her away in another universe

anways!

Ten once canonically carved a statue of Rose by hand with every inch of her body absolutely perfect, from memory, and I think that's crazy

[gingacd]

had an idea for an au thingie for tf2 guys where Soldier works in a bakery after tf2. I think he’s the sort of fellow who just puts his heart into any job he’s asked to do so he’d obviously be a great baker (and teleport so much bread)

[mad-hunts]

JACK MATHIS, THE CONTORTIONIST — expert thief and fauceur of the mathis family.

[kittytheartist]

Hello! Hm, I very much disagree and would like to give my input.

Let's start from the top, you seem to think Akane is a very possessive guy, like he needs Aoi in his "possession" which is..a far cry from the way he shows his love

But you said that he stopped listening and started acting similarly to what he said he hated about Aoi, but he was listening and asking questions, he was worried about her and trying to understand her, he hates Aoi for pitying herself, running from her problems, outcasting herself and never trying to understand people because she shuts them out

It took a turn towards making actions instead of talking because Aoi literally attacked him, although she definitely wouldn't have under normal circumstances (such as NOT BEING DRUGGED OFC) But nonetheless he does not pin her down in a way of claiming her, instead he puts himself in front of her and claims his love once more

Aoi is doubting him and he doesn't understand so he tries to reaffirm his love, which is what he knows best, it may not be the most healthy but Akane has always used his love as his motive, drive and reason

He's protective because he has seen her get bullied and pushed around just because she is pretty and nice and Akane can't stand when someone doesn't stick up for the themselves so he chose to protect Aoi no matter what, purely because he loves her and wants her to be safe

This is why it was so hard on him when he lost Aoi, not because he has an intense need to possess, keep, or seek out some sort of relationship with her but because he has always been there to protect her, he has always comforted Aoi in the fact he would be there and love her...what happens when he can't keep his word? Aoi is his world and even after the severance he had no cool down on trying to figure out how to get Aoi back

Akane constantly tells Aoi he loves her not because he needs to convince himself no, but because he genuinely wishes to express his affection regardless, he doesn't need Aoi to say she loves him aloud he just wishes for her to know he loves her and always will be there. No he does not need to fulfill some need for a fantasy Aoi or even just a person to love him he's just content with however Aoi likes their relationship. That is verryyy different from staying in some wonderland dreaming of some Aoi he needs to possess.

Akane grew a strong attachment to Aoi during childhood and that has definitely fucked him over to a degree but not in a way where he just needs "Aoi" or however he invisions her but in a sense that he values Aoi's preferences than his own

Namely when Aoi and him were walking through the tunnel to get out of the far shore and she couldn't see the light so she was sharing her own interests and apologizing once she asked for his own interests he said he just likes her, that's not exactly what she wanted but it truly hurt her because she'll never be able to say it back (that is, until they reunite which she was not expecting) but this is what their relationship lacks

It lacks Akane, it may be a humorous side piece but the reality is he really does change what he does and how he presents himself because Aoi mentions it, it's less of a need for validation and more of taking your love and appreciation for someone too far, obsessive is definitely a word that could fit

When you love someone you love their interests, but Akane seems to take it farther into wanting to become those interests. It's not like he has no opinion for himself, quite the opposite but even when he hates the supernatural in after school once Aoi was interested in some occult type games he started preparing immediately

Now... there was no gaslighting in chapter 69

Aoi was trying to run away and kill herself, Akane got stabbed which of course would make you tense and idk about you but if I felt like I'd die if that wound's messed with I wouldn't be super patient also Aoi will not listen to him, she's too caught up in this idea she has of herself and other people

Let's start.... Akane wakes up and Aoi patched him up, he proposes like usual but Aoi says yes.

Aoi continues to explain that she's nothing like how he views her but that's not true..she's just been too focused on isolating herself to notice, that's also why their relationship remained stagnant and superficial. They both had the idea that they know the other better than they think but rather because they never communicated they're both still unaware of some particular feelings

But she won't let him speak. She places herself in this glass box that no one else can reach

He needs to get her attention and this seemed to be the only way he could pull her out of this mindset right away (here he also admits that he had no clue she felt that way)

So he says what would truly get her. "I hate you" ...He says this because he knows this makes Aoi sad, it shows she cares because of the memory he recalls during their childhood where he said he hated her during an argument and started crying, for the first time during their friendship

He knows how that saddens her and sure, it's not the best way to go about it and he says he lied but it's completely reasonable to hate a part of the person you love, especially if it's self destructive.

Akane never said any of that out of anger, nor because he was growing tired of some sort of need for Aoi. He said all of that because Aoi was trying to leave and she wouldn't listen. It wasn't because he was angry at her or himself but trying to get through to her was not working with the soft talk and they couldn't stay here forever, Akane's injury would only get worse and if she continued to try and leave it'd only be a back and forth, Aoi needed that reality check

Truthfully Akane has never been good at words or comforting, nor has he and Aoi had a straightforward way of communication but they understand each other so well that the odd way they go about it is not lacking in words

When he asks if she really does hate him or like him even just a little bit and instead of a response Aoi rests in Akane's hand, that was enough

Akane ends it by saying there's no need for words as he's known her since childhood.

The reality is Aoi does love him and they both understand that, that is also why he continued to confess no matter how much she hides or runs from the fact. He accepts that she is overall cowardly and doesn't want to face her feelings but would rather spend every day telling her he loves her.

Even after they're close to official (still complicated) Akane waits, he will always wait for Aoi even if she never verbalizes it she will also always love him and always has

In the new timeline she even loves Akane and wishes to be with him instead of her engagement with Teru.

You talk of Akane like Aoi's speech is spot on when they both got each other wrong, no matter how right they thought they were

Aoi wrongly believed Akane to be a liar and just like everyone else, she thought Akane only saw her for what she showed him but Akane knew her far more than she ever knew, her own problems and ego in the way of her judgement

Akane chose to say some harsh words whether they were true or not he still got it wrong. The way he handled things was a temporary salutation he thought would last when it only made Aoi lose faith in him more, although he did not know she wished to leave it all behind or that she wants nothing to do with relationships (because she is too scared to face it, she'd rather run and never return) he still made it worse

They both lied and hid secrets thinking the other never knew when they did, it may be their curse to know each other so well.

After their fight, their reunion, Akane changes his behavior after they have cleared up their misunderstanding, it doesn't have to be superficial anymore and he knows Aoi does not fancy the cheery proposals, their relationship has deepened and it all feels more intimate and caring

Although Akane was never aversive to being real with Aoi she always had her walls up and nothing was talked about so of course it was more surface level...now the gentle care and communication brings a new warmth to their relationship (might I point out if he really did feel a need to control her well being why does he let jer express and feel her feelings?? He comforts and trusts her and what she thinks is better such as keeping her hand a secret. He let's Aoi work it out with Nene...never forcing her, he does nothing to force and/or control her way of behaving and decisions)

If he really did just want some sort of "doll" or Aoi for looks he wouldn't feel the need to understand, love and protect her instead he wishes to work it out and change whatever needs changing

He truly does love and want the real Aoi

Loving the Aoi of this timeline does not mean he will accept and want any idea he gets of "Aoi"

He still sees the Aoi he's always loved in her, you think it would be an immediate differentiation on how he treats Aoi? In his mind not much of their lives would have been changed because you'd think they didn't have much to do with the timeline becoming a mess, that is not the reality and it pains him to be apart from Aoi and even wonder if this timeline is better for her

After all their communication they finally made it to a point where they were happy but then this happens..the pain of wondering whether the timeline where you're pining for your love is better for everyone else.

This arc we have gotten an IMMENSE amount of sad Akane panels, because his love is engaged to Teru of all people who seems to be the only person he genuinely thinks could win over Aoi (even though Aoi does not like him Akane sees Teru as the only threat when it comes to liking Aoi) he's not acting possessive in any way, not even close to toxic.

Akane's confession here is wildly different from his previous confessions

We can see how sincere he feels here, what in this reads possessive😭

I'll stop here if anyone has any questions I'm open and ready to make a part 2

The way Akane stopped questioning Aoi's behavior in the shinigami arc and just started acting.

For Akane to discuss the problem with words through his mouth? Yeah, lol, not far removed from the Aoi he condemns, he's also a big inventor, he's also stuck in his own theory and sees confirmation of it in everything. He doesn't need to find out Aoi's reasons and get to know her better, he consoles himself with the fact that he knows her better than others, he quickly drained the conversation about "what the hell is going on, Aoi, why are you doing this, I'm worried about you" to stupidly keep Aoi to himself. And what's wrong with that, it would seem that not wanting to let Aoi die is normal, but it's just _how_ he did it.

I believe in Akane's trauma now more than in anything else. He needs Aoi to support the trauma, so why talk to her normally? He needs to stupidly get her, so that she would be in his field of vision, in his complete control, that's why he was trying to get her every day. That's why he thinks that they simply need to become a romantic couple, and not just be together as friends, Akane needs to get whole Aoi completely.

But as soon as she suddenly moved away from him more than a hundred meters - he got stuck, he didn't even want to figure it out, Aoi shouldn't leave him. So he grabbed her, said all sorts of things out of anger, because he was tired of himself, tired of watching her, pretending that everything was fine, all his emotions were directed at her, she could really start to irritate him. And he finally pushed her to be his.

Aoi doesn't need to answer Akane that she likes him, he will convince himself of this, the danger has passed, Aoi will not leave him anywhere, and the rest is unimportant. "The Aoi in your head", Teru is right here lol, Akane is the only one playing this game, he literally doesn't need the real Aoi for this, he doesn't need to ask her opinion, he will make it up himself, Aoi is enough to just lie like a doll in his arms. Aoi wanted to leave and so he snapped, didn't let her, but what happened between them won't help them at all, Akane is still feeding this unhealthy need to control Aoi's well-being, Aoi doesn't understand what's going on. I feel sorry for Aoi the most here. As if she is some kind of evil temptress, or a masochist with a crush on her yandere friend, she is maximally intimidated by other people's behavior and confused.

Just as Kou must learn to live and let go of the dead, so Akane must learn to live apart from Aoi. It's a painful topic, he is not ready to let it go, but he should. But instead of moving towards healthy separation, we have 69 with gaslighting (Akane gaslights both Aoi and himself lol). Instead of some therapy, he only feeds his anxiety and the opinion that without it the world will collapse 😭 but wow, it's romantic

[ijzermansdriesen]

Two years later and on the other side of major depressive disorder, I don't remember ever crying for maandag 11:03 like I did today.

[shoechoe]

Thinking about Jonathan some more; while I do think he isn't very interesting or particularly filled with depth compared to the other Jojos, the big thing he has going for him is that he's a dude you just can't really hate. He exudes this good vibe that makes you like him despite not being a very unique protagonist, especially when he's surrounded by nasty characters like Dio and the rest of Phantom Blood's tone is somewhat bleak as he's put into tragedy after tragedy. That's probably what makes people so quick to defend him from people calling him a bad protagonist for not being interesting enough- he's just... a likable guy.

[fracturedodr]

"Yeah, he... followed Hogni, apparently?" Maybe this wasn't his story to tell, but... context was fine, right? "I remember them arguing about Hogni not telling Hedin that he was gonna leave. They-" and he can't help but flush red here, knowing what was really going on between the pair- "really like each other? I think? B-but don't spread it around, I don't know if they want anyone to-" But he cuts off when he hears voices that absolutely weren't from Miss Eina.

What on earth were Hogni and Lili doing here? Lili being with Hogni he understood, they didn't want him wandering unattended until they felt they could trust him (why he wasn't ALSO being watched when technically he was just as potentially dangerous, he DIDNT know) but. Why here?

Or rather, if he could gauge off the conversation - why him?

"Uh. W-well. Um. S-see, Miss Eina? I'm not lying. He's... here. In Hearthstone, in... Hestia Familia." HERE here, too, for some reason. In the meeting room. Why?

Endlessly curious about what could have warranted such an interruption (Hogni seemed more the sort to leave people be if they were mid conversation about Personal Things, anxieties aside) Bell couldn't help but look at the pair interestedly - and, admittedly, confusedly.

"...I know you just said you forgot, but... why are...? Uh - did something happen? I really hope not, the only battle I want to be a part of right now is training so I can remember how to use two knives at once." Because for some reason he hadn't been allowed, in Freya Familia. A question to which he'd never once received answers.

...This was unheard of. Not one, but two Freya Executives, left her. Hestia Familia just gained two level 6s...Eina seemed to be in a state of shock. Silence lingered in the air as she processed the information given to her.

"Hedin...Selland..." she repeated his full name quietly. Hogni, she could kind of understand...But Hedin?

Before she could question anything, there was a quiet knock on the door and the first elf in question peeked into the room, only to realize Bell had company--he'd only heard he was in this room in particular--and was quick to hide himself behind the door. That was, until he was nudged in by Lili. Her turn to chaperone him. "If Master Hogni is going to go places in his own home, he shouldn't be scared that someone might be there," it might've seemed like she was scolding him, but in her own way, she was encouraging him.

...Hedin probably would've said the same thing, actually.

"I--Misfortune befell me, I cannot fathom the thought--the idea that brought forth my actions--"

"...You forgot why you wanted to talk to Bell?"

[the-everqueen]

did the postdoc interview.

[misskamelie]

Head in my hands, I'm doomed, this can't be going on for this long good grief. What the hell does my subconscious want to tell me. Hate the pms hormonal storm