#it even looks okay on mobile excuse me????

[trying414]

OKAY

It took me a little under 3hrs to get this far (timestamps included below). But here is the lowdown on boops.

There are three colors for boop paws: white, orange, and black. To know what color you'll get from a person, go to their profile. The little boop button's color paw will be what shows up.

Three badges: first sent, 314 sent, 1000+ sent

Also, if you only turn on those three badges, it will be off-center in the box and lowkey triggering.

You can launder boops by booping yourself.

When on desktop (and *only* desktop), you can send super boops, which will show 3 paws at once on your screen, by holding your mouse over the boop button until it spins and then clicking.

However, the gradient notification will show up on both mobile and desktop. Super boops don't change the counter more than a normal boop. They just look fun.

On mobile, once you hit 1000 boops, it will show MAX. But on desktop or mobile *browser*, it will show LOL and then OMG. (Please excuse me switching between devices for this lmao)

I've stopped getting notifications about boops, even from my boop laundering scheme. So OMG is probably the max. (Would be interesting to see WTF or something though 😂)

UPDATE: I HAVE NOTIFICATIONS AGAIN.

ALSO I SAW SOMEONE HAS A WOW? SO NEW LIFE GOAL.

I think that's everything, but let me know if I missed something! Happy booping!

Edit 2: the most up to date version can be found here!

Just in case it doesn't have the info, SOME people have found a way to do super and evil on mobile, however, I am not one of them. I tried in 3 different browsers and my app. My phone will not give in 😂 so, if you are one who can, kudos!

[pa-pa-plasma]

okay, because I haven't seen any posts mentioning specifically where/when to put readmores:

if your writing is longer than 300 words, put a readmore after the first paragraph. please. i am begging you. they are more likely to be reblogged when we aren't worried about inflicting a wall of text onto our unsuspecting followers. the readmore option looks like

or

start a new paragraph & then click that. it will then look like

if you are on mobile you start a new paragraph & then type :readmore:. it will look like

thank you for coming to my readmore tedtalk or whatever. happy writing

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“So, are you just going to stare at my pretty face all day, or…?” The villain crossed their arms in front of their chest and rolled with their eyes. It was embarrassing enough, the hero didn’t have to rub it in.

“Is that such a crime?”

The villain let out a humourless huff. Their anger was evident, their frustration obvious.

And the pain, god, sometimes the villain couldn’t even breathe. Getting out of bed was already hard enough but being forced to work under these conditions?

Of course, it could have been worse. As part of their rehabilitation, they didn't need to do much, their work wasn't even that demanding.

But with their injuries, every move seemed to be unbearable.

“Just fuck off.”

“I have some documents to sign for you. My boss insists.” The hero fished a folder out of their bag and, unfortunately, they had indeed more documents. The villain found it quite unbelievable how much they had to sign. Although they knew it wasn't clever not to read over all of the pages carefully, they were too tired to do so.

They didn't really care that much either.

“Or better known as your excuse for visiting me,” the villain joked. Their side started to hurt again, a pain so cruel and prominent that they had to remind themselves to take everything slow.

It was actual hell. Not being able to do anything. Not being able to move freely. Although the doctor had assured them they were healing and doing well, the villain felt everything but fine. It had been over three weeks now and they were still waking up in the middle of the night. Pain robbed their sleep and pain robbed their mobility. They were impatient, they were annoyed.

The interrogation room was very familiar to the villain by now. Every week, they got to meet the hero. Either documents or lectures — whatever topic the hero chose, it was always a long conversation the villain’s body couldn’t manage towards the end.

However, they never said anything. The hero's visits were better than work. They were the best part of the entire week.

“I don’t need excuses to visit you,” the hero said, winking. They pushed the document towards the villain. “Sign here.”

The villain sighed. They didn’t even look at the paper.

“Can you ask them to increase my medication again at least?” the villain asked softly. They took in a deep breath and signed the document on the last page, their pen following their shaking hand's command as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry, you're already on the highest dose possible."

"Oh." The villain put down the pen and stared at their nemesis. Their nemesis who had captured them. Who had put them in this situation in the first place. They seemed to be recovering just fine. They seemed to be fit and healthy, seemed to be in the prime of their life. Attractive and kind - perfection had carved itself through the hero. "...do you think the people here are honest? The nurses and the doctors, I mean?"

"Some of the best people in the country are working here," the hero said. "That includes medical staff."

"Okay." The villain's voice was quiet. They didn't understand the logistics behind a place like this, they didn't understand anything about the things the hero gave them to sign. "Did you know they're experimenting on me?"

"They take samples from your tissue or blood to look at in the lab. Seriously. You're not in any danger." The hero smiled sweetly and scratched the back of their neck. "I check the reports regularly and I talk to your doctor on a daily basis. It's their priority to help you."

"Why?"

"Well, you're a victim, are you not? We don't know much about the supervillain and their powers, so helping you recover could help us get more information on them. And considering your past, we have to...observe you in a special place like this." The hero leaned over the table to get to the document. Their fingertips touched the villain's knuckles by accident. "That's only one reason, of course. Most importantly, you were beaten to death and needed help."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Half your organs were hanging out of you when I found you," the hero said. Their voice was quieter now, maybe lost in their thoughts even. "I donated a kidney for you."

"You can be so romantic," the villain said. The sarcasm didn't really come across and the villain knew how half-hearted their jokes had become. It wasn't like they weren't grateful, it was just difficult to be saved and have a life when they had accepted their outcome a while ago. That day, they had accepted that they wouldn't survive. They had made their peace with it and then the hero had saved them.

And now, the villain had to live with this horrible pain.

With the nightmares and the fear. They had become a stranger in their own body. It didn't feel like they had control over themselves anymore. Although the hero was right, they couldn't help but feel like a lab rat.

"The point is...you're the only person who has survived them and if they find out you're alive..."

"A facility like this won't hold them back," the villain said. "It would be a minor inconvenience."

"I know, that's why-" the hero held up the document "-you just signed a request for special protection. With me being your caretaker."

Again, that sweet smile spread across their face but the villain didn't really know what that meant. Their poor heart skipped a few beats.

"Are you saying you'll be staying here?" The villain's neck started to heat up. Wasn't this a bit too much? Had they asked for too much? With the medication and the doctors...wasn't this too much effort for the hero to put in?

"I am saying you're coming with me if this gets approved. Which it will."

"Like, to your house?"

"Yes, darling." The hero leaned back in their chair and took in a deep breath. "I've been working on this ever since I found you. I knew the agency wouldn't let you recover in a prison that easily. I argued that you're a victim and a source of information. That brought you here. But still, they made you work in here which I argued to be counterproductive. The law department is pretty annoyed by me."

"I...I'm not sure what to say," the villain said. Their head was reeling. Maybe everything would be a little easier. Maybe waking up would be easier. Were they actually dreaming? They could be out of here soon?

"You don't have to say anything." The hero stood up and walked up to them. Once they were closer to the villain, they sat down on the table, looking down at them. "I just need you to rest."

"You didn't have to do this," the villain said. Their voice was shaking. "You didn't have to save me again."

"I can't help it. By the way, we have matching scars, did you notice that? I can't just leave you in here."

"You suck," the villain said, but there were tears in their eyes. The relief they felt was indescribable. This place was alright. The people were alright. But they weren't the hero. They weren't comforting. With their chair, they moved closer towards them. "You're so horrible."

They leaned their head against the hero's arm, too tired and overwhelmed to hold up the weight of their head anymore. Quickly, the hero went through their hair with their fingers, holding their jaw in their hands and guiding them to lay their head on their lap.

"Oh, honey..." They played with the villain's hair and scratched their scalp softly. Their fingers went over the villain's face, carefully avoiding their bruises. "I promise I will take care of you."

They stayed like this until visiting hours were over.

[karlachismylife]

i told myself i'll take a break in my failing attempts to write a couple things on Karlach x Soap in english and go back to writing a couple other things in my first language for the upcoming fandom combat deadline

so here's a thing i wrote instead and it's neither of those :D

Very much inspired by my precious friend that is obsessed with some datesim I know nothing about and talks my ear off about her sexy chinese dudes while I make her listen to me simping for my dead scottish ADHD meow meow. We don't know shit about each other's fandoms but we're so excited for each other... Also excuse me if this idea has already been done (I swear I thought of it on my own, but I will tag anyone who's done this before if you send me a link) + my English writing still sucks.

I also encourage you to check out these smaus, they're brilliant and I somewhat looked at them when wrote Kyle's text messages and this wonderful thing about Ghost and Animal Crossing that also inspired me to look into these silly military men and mobile/video games.

Task force 141 and their reaction to their S/O playing dating simulator games

CW: gn!civilian!reader (if I slipped into one or the other gender somewhere, please tell me & I'll correct), mostly fluff with a bit of spice, pet names, mild cursing, unserious jealousy and banter, long-distance (Gaz), describing nudes and mild sexting (Gaz), soft Ghost, mentioned spanking (Price), mild dom!Price, alluded reader recieveing fingerng and oral (Soap)

Word count: ~5k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

That silly app you downloaded because its (very compelling) ads were repeatedly shoved in your face became surprisingly convenient when Gaz got deployed and wasn't within reach for weeks. A slightly clay-looking guy on your screen didn't hold up in comparison to the smoothest bastard sergeant with the tightest grip on your heart, but a cute feature with app notifications stylized as loving text messages from the virtual boyfriend somehow helped cope with the radio silence from Kyle. You knew he would be fine, how could he not? You gave him a very proper goodbye kiss (and goodbye sex that was a bit more improper) for luck, and he was too damn good at his job to fail. You weren't going insane from worry, at least not more than usually.

But the loneliness, the fucking loneliness was a little bit more bearable when you still got your "good morning beautiful xx" and "thinking about you before bed" even though the font was wacky and some phrases were clearly poorly google translated. To unlock these little snippets you opened the app every day, usually tapping mindlessly on all the required interactions before going to sleep and eyeing some of the ingame wardrobe options that wouldn't work too bad on your man. In fact, you even took a screenshot of a nice suit - if tailored right, Kyle would look in it sharper than the tactical knife he knew so well. You just needed an opportunity to show it to him.

And the opportunity barged in with a sudden surge of texts right when you were already getting ready for some shut-eye.

Three weeks of muffled unease wiped out and replaced with that never-tiring giddy feeling bubbling inside as soon as you saw Kyle's name pop up on top of your screen.

"hi baby"

"finally can text, miss you terribly 😘"

"what are you up to angel?"

You could feel your own cheeks strain with the stupid smile plastered on your face. No doubt, Kyle texted you at the first opportunity - he was there, he was okay and he missed you. All sleepiness in your body withered away, leaving you energized at eleven pm, squirming in your bed as you rolled over to start vigorously typing back. You never knew how much time you both have to chat, unstable signal or simply never-ending duty could interrupt you at any given moment, so you had to get your fill of premium class Garrick right there and then - no matter how drowsy it would make you the next morning.

Eventually you sent him the screenshot you took without second thoughts:

"btw thought you'd look good in smth like this baby, what do you think?"

Instead of a normal reply on the topic, though, you recieved an immediate jab followed by short pause:

"the fuck is that baby? 🤣"

"wait i think i know"

"replacing me with a vr boyfriend already? jesus fuck angel i haven't been away even for a month"

"i'm wounded, truly. he doesn't even look that good and can't spell correctly. what a downgrade 😔"

If only you could communicate the muscle-straining eyeroll you had through text. Chuckling and snorting, you immediately came to defence of your pixel prince charming, simply for the sake of it.

"how dare you. he's not a mere replacement, this is true love, garrick 💕🥰❤️✨"

"look at the top, we're already level 29 intimacy"

"gonna get him to send me nudes soon, they unlock at lvl 30"

Gaz could probably hear your bratty giggles on the other side of the globe, sheets rustling as you wiggled in your bed, absolutely proud of your impeccably fine-tuned wit and properly excited for the upcoming smartass comeback, since Kyle would rather die than let you have a win. But you've already calmed down with your cheeks mildly flushed, and the messages were still left on read.

Weird. It wasn't the first time your chatting ended abruptly, but usually Kyle had time at least to tell you he had to go - maybe even exchange little "ily"s. Did the signal cut off? But it was good enough for him to download a picture even, surely he'd notice if it started lagging and tell you. Did something bad happen? An emergency? An ambush?

A slight frown etched in your face as you started unwillingly thinking of the worst. Then - in a moment - that little green circle signaling Gaz was online came back. And still no answer.

Did he... get actually upset? Over a fucking datesim app?

It was hard to believe. Impossible, even. Kyle was never prone to jealosy fits, smug bastard definitely knew how secure you two were. But maybe... maybe it was the fact that you were seeking comfort he couldn't provide? Being told you needed a whole ass app simply to tell you goodnight while he was god knows where, unable to hold you and cuddle you to sleep - that could sting.

Shit, you shouldn't have started this. Gaz wouldn't outright admit he felt even the slightest bit insecure over an unblinking 3D monstrosity with a sexy Korean voice. He'd think it was stupid - and he would be right, frankly, but in this case this wasn't completely unreasonable.

Already anxious, you put your thumbs back on the phone to type out a careful question, but before you could even think of a right way to formulate it the chat chirped and loaded in a bunch of attachments.

Absolutely scandalous. Hastly unndone uniform, sweaty shirt pulled up and - you knew it even if it was outside the frame - clutched in his teeth, bared in a self-assured smirk, belt unbuckled and hanging from the loops of pants pulled down just a bit; just enough for his hand to slip inside and gather into a delicious grasp around the bulge you knew was straining against his boxers. Fucking tease, pulling the elastic band with his thumb to let you see just the base of his cock - you had to swipe several mouth-watering closeups on his chest, v-line beautifully adorned with dark hair and that bloody hand you already ached to feel on your thigh, before you finally got your reward. Hard just from the thought of you, tip glistening with the pre-cum he definitely smeared all over specifically for that picture.

"wanted to ask if your pixel bf can beat these"

"but i think your silence already says enough 😏"

You groaned, belly warm with the familiar longing. What an angel of a man, finding time to somehow snap packs of perfect nudes in the middle of wherever he was. Already turning over to slide your hand down your body, you sent a very sulking "hate you garrick. first made me worried and now horny, shameless bastard" and got an obligatory "sure you do. i'll fuck that attitude outta you as soon as i get back angel".

Somehow all the need in a virtual replacement vanished after this chat. Not only did Kyle text you more regularly - sensing a competition maybe, huh? - but you also got yourself enough material to be comforted before sleep. Sure, you'd rather have your man there in person, but no perfect-looking anime prince could offer a view better than Kyle's flexed arms or a cheeky sneak peek of his plump ass and a smooth back arch snapped over his shoulder.

No wonder you two threw yourselves at each other when Gaz finally showed up home, tired and a little roghed up, but very much alive and pent up for you. Once you were done relieving some of that frustration and cuddled up after a nice, hot shower, though, Kyle nipped your earlobe teasingly.

"No such level to unlock this experience, huh, angel? Something your app boytoy can't provide."

He caught your arm before you could elbow him playfully and grasped you tighter aroung your waist, using his free hand to get his phone and hold it in front of your face.

"Besides, I think he likes me more."

"How the fuck did you get to level sixty, Garrick?!"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Twilight was peaking how many years ago? And they still have this stupid choice everywhere."

Simon, the unmoving domestic shadow spread in a comfortable sitting position on your couch for the daily quiet together time, turned his head lazily and gently squeezed your thigh, careful not to disturb your legs thrown over his lap as he leaned a bit closer with a mildly interested "Hm?"

"It's this dating game. They're making me choose between a vampire and a werewolf. Can't think of another conflict for the last decade, really? Why not elves versus orcs? They never make stories about sexy orcs. But there's a market for it! Why stick to the same broken record all the time? Or, I don't know, invent beef between fairies and mermaids!" You huffed in exasperation, waving your phone in a vague gesture meant to express your disdain for the lack of creativity in the supernatural romance visual novels department. Ghost's usual intense stare boring into your face could mean anything - from him silently judging you for lacking respect for the culturally impactful vampries-werewolves feud to a wordless question whether you were in the sexy orc enjoyers market.

But when he finally spoke, scarred lips slightly curled upwards in a hint of an amused smile and eyebrows raised, he asked what seemed to catch his attention much more than what fantasy creature you would like to bang.

"A dating game?" His smirk became more prominent, eyes narrowing as an indicator of him looking for a way to quip in the most unbearable way possible. "What's all that about, love?"

The fact that he didn't know wasn't that surprising, you'd be much more astonished if Ghost did know what a dating simulator game was, but the need to explain still caught you off guard, forcing you to pause with the expressive phone gesturing and actually try and describe the phenomenon.

"Well, it's a mobile game, where you, like... have to play through a story with the main thing being befriending and romancing characters. It's mostly reading a story, really, but you get dialogue options to unlock special scenes with your chosen romantic interest or you can give them gifts..." A stolen glance at Simon told you that he was surprsingly paying attention. "But there's often a plot too. The one I started recently is about, well, vampires and werewolves... a Twilight ripoff, basically, but the player gets to be Bella." You paused, gauging his reaction, but other than his calloused fingers kneading the meat of your thigh Ghost didn't even move, leaving you to look at him with suspicion mixed with amusement. "Want me to show you?.."

Finally, his hand stopped its methodical massaging, only to pat your thigh approvingly and help you sit up, cozily snuggled up to the man whose hoodie you shamelessly stole just to wear around him. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, Ghost leaned his head against yours and prepared for the highly educational lecture on the world full of opportunities to get turned down because of having too low approval with the character.

You showed him the exact story that got you so riled up, explained the quite primitive mechanics behind gaining attraction points with the characters and rehashed the entire plot up to the point where you were stuck now - the one where it was obvious the game wanted you to pick a side. Simon listened carefully, gruff chuckles at some of your grumbling and a lot of very insightful commentary on each and every character ("that one's got Johnny's fucking mighty schnotz" and " 'course he's a fucking twat, look at his bloody necktie, a hemp one would be an improvement on 'im"), inculding your own avatar that you spent considerable time making to look like you wanted.

"That supposed to be you, love?" He didn't even try to mask the snarky tone, and you definitely prepared to be offended. You put so much thought into the character looks! So what if they didn't match your real ones fully? It's the game limitations, not your fault. "Hmph. Maybe good enough for these two muppets to fight over. But I reckon I like my version better. Comes with high-quality visuals."

His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you up for a short and sweet kiss, rough thumb stroking your jawline tenderly and pressing up under your chin when Ghost pulled away with a crooked smirk, shattered with scars into an artful mosaic.

"Trying to get your approval higher, sir?" You teased, eyes darting between his smiling - what a view, honestly - eyes and ready to be kissed again lips. His response was predictable. "It's working, innit, love? Think there's enough for a special bonus scene yet?"

Despite you clearly pretending to think and count his imaginary attraction points, Simon already started pulling you up into his lap, holding you securely and running his fingers along the curve of your back. "Might need a little more convincing, gamer. You didn't even bring a special gift to this date." Ghost's half-lidded eyes sparkled with hidden competitevness and his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as he reached out to take your phone out of your hand softly.

"Gave you the hoodie. It counts." Ignoring your not very convincing protests ("It's mine already, of course it doesn't count!"), he tapped something on your screen and then put the phone away, wrapping his arms back around your form and slowly leaning into a tangled cuddlepile in an almost lying position. All your squirming successfully restrained with a bearhug, you huffed and placed your chin on Ghost's chest, looking up at him. He was there, with you, but deep in his gaze you noticed a certain swrling cloud of thoughts. Reading Simon's eyes was a must with him, he knew you could and didn't ever hide them from you.

"What are you thinking about?" You carefully inquired, running your hands over his shoulders and squeezing gently, a habit helping both of you to ease some tension. Simon blinked, tilting his head slightly, and let out a small sigh, seeking the right words. "You're not playing that game because I'm not doing enough, are you, lovie? 'Cos if you are, I'd rather you tell me what's wrong."

Always straight to the point. At least, when he finally decides to speak up. The big, scary dog worried about a silly mobile game as his competition? Cute. But the seriousness in his eyes called for a proper answer, not a teasing joke or a simple "aww, don't worry".

"You're doing more than enough, Simon, and you know it. It's a game, just living out my fantasies as the main character. But I can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable, it's no big deal, you know?" The tiniest bit of tension you felt underneath your fingertips disappeared, leaving Ghost sinking even further into the couch with you properly wrapped in his protective embrace.

"Nah, gorgeous, you keep playin' whatever shite you wanna be playin'. Just promise to keep me updated on the bloke so I can upstage him in every way." His voice got muffled since he buried his face in your chest, eyes closed peacefully and pure bliss written in all the relaxed features. Cradling his head, you hummed in agreement, but then perked up again.

"Wait, what bloke? You picked one of them for me?" - "Mhm." - "Oh come on, Simon, what happened to the freedom of choice!" You could feel his smile get more prominent despite being hidden in the softness of your chest covered with the thick hoodie material. "Which one did you choose? The vampire 'cause he's wearing all black?"

"Nuh-uh. The other one. The mutt."

You giggled at his choice of words and let out a quiet "oi" when Simon pinched you for disturbing his calm enjoyment of a "bonus scene" with the chosen romance option, that being you.

"Why? You're a Wolf Man fan or something?"

"'f course I am, love. He's British."

Captain John Price

When you saw the notification that the game you got sucked into with the active help of your friends got a "sound update", you knew what that meant - they finally added English voiceover lines for every single hunk of a man you had in your virtual harem, and you couldn't wait to hear what voices they gave your favourites. Given the nature of the game, you decided to put your earbuds on and started listening through the whole voicelines library, busying your hands with mundane tasks like folding laundry. John was sitting in the kitchen, fully immersed into his reading - potentially work-related. Or at least enthralling enough for him to miss your flushed cheeks or periodical giggling.

But no matter how important his reading was, what he couldn't miss was the sultry male voice coming out of your phone with a whispered "Wouldn't you love that, bunny?". Of course the parinig connection between your phone and the wireless earbuds had to get interrupted exactly when you were pouring yourself a cuppa and couldn't even drop the kettle in order to shush the suggestive purring of your digital fave.

You could feel Price staring at you. You could practically hear his bushy eyebrows slowly rising as he patiently waited for you to say something first. You were fully contemplating brewing yourself some poison instead of tea to avoid getting confronted by your man who just heard someone call you bunny on the phone.

So when you didn't start first, John, more amused than anything - he knew you too well to read through all your tiny microreactions and conclude that this wasn't hardcore evidence of an affair, but something much more suitable for future teasing (were you listening to porn or something? a naughty audiobook? oh so many golden opportunities to make you squirm under the steel gaze of the captain) - asked very nonchalantly: "What was that, darling?"

"What?" There was no point in pretending you didn't know what he's talking about, but you still tried. If anything, it allowed you to stall while you very hesitantly turned around and saw John and his smile, not even a hint of sterness in the round plumpness of bearded cheeks and little crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "What was what, honey? You want some tea too?"

A futile attempt at deflecting and bribery rolled into one. You were lucky you were not his subordinate. You were unlucky the voice of some other man, dripping with mirth, came back into your ear once the next voiceline loaded in and the connection with your earbuds got restored. This was equal to admitting your crimes in front of the judges, but you slowly took your phone out of your pocket and hit pause.

"Does the tea come with an explnation who's the bloke whispering in your pretty ears, bunny? 'Cos if so, I'll take a cuppa, thank you very much."

He was beaming. Leaned back in his chair, knees wide apart and burly arms folded on his chest, Price wanted to have a wee little pause in his serious reading, and watching you squirm was the best distraction and brain-reloading he could ever get.

"I-it's not like that, I promise." Was that a bead of sweat running down your nape? John grunted, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his chin into his chest to stare at you from an angle that best conveyed that "I am not convinced, love" look. "It's just a little game, John, promise. Not a real man, just a made-up character."

Those piercing eyes narrowed even more, silently measuring you up for potentially bullshitting him, and then a heavy hand patted the broad thigh. An order, not an invitation (an order you could always disobey, though...)

"Show me."

Forgetting the option to disobey with little consequences, you hung your head down and dragged yourself and your fresh cuppa over to John, settling in his lap. The tea didn't even make it to the table, he snatched it from your fingers, careful enough not to spill, and sipped loudly, patting your side condescendingly. Any more stalling could result in various stages of burning buttocks, so you complied with the demand without Price repeating himself and opened the app, disconnecting your earbuds in the process.

He clearly wanted to hear that embarassing shit.

Your explanations of what a datesim was seemed to amuse John greatly - knowing his love for farming games, you made sure to mention all the best ones mixing the two genres, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.

"So wha', sum muppet in your phone callin' you bunny and you like 't? Maybe I should start too, huh?" You had to close your eyes to stop the internal screaming, and John's gruff chuckle hit your burning ear with a gentle puff. "But these, erm..." - "Companions." - "Riiight, these companions, they ain't whispering something... naughtier, are they?"

There was a hint of seriousness in his question, so you opened your eyes again and turned to look at him. His face was still smiling calmly, but the expectation was that of an honest and direct answer.

"Well, they do have more explicit scenarios and voicelines..." - "They talkin' dirty to you, eh? Guess I should step up my game." He flexed his jaw and leaned even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips over the tender shell of your ear, soft beard tickling you and leaving you helpless. "Can't have my sweetheart wooed by sum app game fockers, can I? C'mere you little bunny, Imma show you sumthin' to hop on."

He stood up suddenly, lifting you with a soft grunt and dragging you away from the forgotten phone and empty cup. No amount of "John!" squeaked out could save you from that bear of a man groping your ass before throwing you onto bed and climbing on top. His weight squeezed the air out of your lungs as he roamed his big palmes all over your sweet body, even more enthusiastic about the impromptu break in his work.

"Ugh, fine, Johnathan Price, I won't be listening to the spicy dialogues! Just let me finish my-" Absolutely futile, your plea to get back to housework you had planned got cut short by a deep kiss, John's tongue sliding in your mouth as the most efficient (okay, maybe, second most) gag he could use on you. Your hands, previously pressed against his furry chest in an attempt to push him off, relaxed and buried themselves in his thick hair, ruffliing it and tugging him closer by the strands. A low grunt let you know what you already knew and felt much lower - John fully approved both that and your promise to keep away from the horny digital harem.

"Why even bother with 'em bloody games when you can 'ave the real thing, huh?"

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Whit are ye smiling at there, bonnie?"

Before you could even process the question and come up with any answer (excuse) about the silliest giddy smile that a cutscene in your chosen romance route got out of you, your massive - the only way to not be thrown off by Johny "Can't Sleep Still" MacTavish - bed creaked underneath the impressive weight of a fine Scottish specimen. Like a curious pup, Soap squeezed his head through the loop of your arm, earning himself a choking cuddle in the process, and stared into your screen.

"No, Johnny, piss off! It's personal!" You scrambled to turn your phone away from him and held it to your chest, a traitorous warmth in your cheeks threatening to give away what kind of personal it was. Of course, Soap caught on immediately, playful glint in his eyes as he simply yanked the phone out of your grip and turned over onto his back, shamelessly using you as a pillow while he unlocked your screen (why the fuck were you two so trusting and shared passwords!) and looked at the animated cutscene.

And why did it have to be the first spicy one you finally unlocked?

"What's tha'? Didnae peg ye fur a hentai type, bonnie." Soap watched the looped animation for a few more seconds while you wrestled against his heavy fucking carcass helplessly. With a single tap he closed the cutscene and let out an amused hum when met with the continuation of your unlocked chapter. "Och, so ye're reading smut too? Naughty."

You squirmed visciously, fighting for your dignity as he started reading aloud through the desciption of what didn't make the cutscene. The experience was downright horrible, humiliating and arousing at the same time as Johnny's thick brogue and mocking tone killed every ounce of spice in the steamy scene and somehow added new ones. Along with his stuttering. This lad... you even tried to grab his arm and chew on the meaty muscle in hopes of distracting him, but he didn't even flinch, simply pulling his limb out of your grasp and putting it behind his head comfortably. Outraging.

"Slender aristocratic fingers squeezing supple..." he smacked his lips so loudly that you groaned, "...flesh nae hard enough tae leave marks, but enough tae el... elicit pleasure, his breath hot in yer ear, whispering... Hauld yer horses- how come is yer name 'ere, bonnie? Who's writing this fur ye?" You nearly bounced off the bed when Soap suddenly sat up straight, relieving you from his (quite welcome, to be fair) burden, and frowned at your phone, scrolling through the erotc piece as if he could figure out who was the author just from reading it carefully enough. The pout he turned to you with was nothing short of absolutely heartbreaking. "Who's tha' "Laird Sebastian" prick writing a' kinds of nasty shite he wants tae dae tae ma' leannan? Am ah nae enough fur ye, bonnie? Dae ye wanntae leave me fur some posh bastard wi' a stick so far up his arse tha' it pokes outta his yapper?"

It was so obvious that Soap was just taking the piss, but his bottomless puppy eyes with the longest lashes fluttering as if on the verge of tears were working their dark magic, crashing your train of thought like a whole gang of outlaws from the Wild West and coercing you into making an apologetic expression and reaching your arms pleadingly for a hug. "Aw, come on, Johnny, it's just a-"

"Ah dinnae think tis a good idea, love. Ah dinnae have slender aristocratic fingers, wha' if a'm awful lot o' a commoner tae yer tastes..." Soap tilted his chin up, a perfect depiction of dignity suffering horrible offence, and turned away defiently, immediately peeking back at you from the corner of his twinkling blue eye. You knew those little smiling creases too well to miss them forming despite him holding a pout quite successfully, so you scoffed, still slightly flushed from being caught red-handed, and rolled your eyes, snuggling up to Johnny from behind and starting to kiss behind his ear.

"I'm so, so sorry, love of my life. No posh bastards come nowhere near you, you're my favourite commoner. Fuck Lord Sebastian-" You realized you chose the wrong wording when Soap couldn't hold back a snort. "Aye, well, seems lik' ye were planning on doing exactly tha-" - "Oh shut the fuck up, MacTavish!"

Shut the fuck up he did, turning back to face you abruptly and tackling you into the sheets, lavishing kisses with his searing hot lips all over your face. A real mutt pouncing the handler he has no respect and all the love for. There was no choice left for you other than wrap all your limbs around Soap and writhe underneath him, nearly missing that very inconspicuous way he reached his arm out and dropped your phone on the nightstand before cradling your head for much deeper, sloppier kisses.

"Gonna show tha' laird sod how tae fuck mah bonnie real good, aye? Mak' ye come wi' thae fingers right 'ere, nae aristocrat bullshit." Lapping up your neck with his wet tongue, Soap planted a greedy kiss right underneath your jaw and sucked at the soft skin until it showed a little pinkish hue. The bastard was set on making you sing for him, big rough palms grabbing handfuls of your flesh, squeezing and massaging while Johnny kept decending down your body with clear determination. "C'mon, leannan, let me hear ye. Say yer ol' Johnny's better than tha' bawbag Sebastian."

Sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, you held his nape before tugging on his slightly outgrown mohawk, your own head falling backwards in an exhausted yet adoring sigh.

"You know it's just a game, right, loverboy? A dating simulator, not a real thing? Oi, watch it!" A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Soap chomped on your side and immediately nuzzled into your stomach to blow raspberries into the soft plush, catching you once you started squirming and giggling. No intention of letting you catch your breath until he heard what he wanted. "Fine! Fine, Johnny, you are so, so much better than Lord Sebastian."

Satisfied, he loosened his grasp on you and lifted his head, grinning like he's just won you over from somene actually threatening in terms of romance. Hooked his fingers into your housewear bottoms, slowly tugged them down and started trailing hot-mouthed kisses down from your solar plexus, sky blue eyes glazing over with the never-satiated hunger for your taste on his greedy tongue.

You held your breath. A joke was itching inside your mouth, begging to be let out, dancing on the tip of your tongue...

"You're lucky I didn't choose Duke Aaron's route. That's some serious competion."

"Och, away 'n bile yer heid, bonnie!"

Thank you for reading! I appreciate all interactions, likes, reblogs, comments and requests (send in anything for now! I can filter them myself, but I am open to smut, including rare kinks and some dark themes. Keep in mind though that I am limited by my skill & overall prefer sugary fluff. I will write for any of the task force 141 and baldur's gate characters, including parings, poly, x reader and x OC), I will write drabbles, headcanons and whatever else formats you can think of.

Also any corrections are welcome as long as you're not being mean! Thank you <3

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin x Time!Traveler!reader

chapter 1

Chapter 2 here

Okay I’m a little new to writing romance so please take it easy on me. Btw I’ll try to keep y/n as neutral as possible but since this is set in the ancient era and religion is very important, y/n shall be hinted as being Hindu since that’s the only one that seems neutral in this situation.

“Alright that's all for the lesson. And since its complete I expect all of you to be thorough with ‘Life of King Baldwin iv’ during this weekend since there will be a test on this very topic next wednesday. Have a great weekend by the way.” The professor stands up and closes his laptop and all the other students start packing up.

“He had a pretty hard life didn’t he?” One of your friends chimes in. You look at her unsurprised. “You mean king Baldwins?”

“Duh! Poor man suffered an incurable disease almost his entire life! Imagine having skin infested in bacteria, euggh!” She recoils in disgust. “Imagine the cure to that disease being bacteria itself! Pretty sure Leprosy can be cured using multi antibiotic therapy.” Another friend joins in the conversation. You finished packing up your bag so you get up. “But no matter what, you gotta respect him. He never used his illness as an excuse to be a bad king.”

“That’s true….” Your first friend agrees. “He’s tough. When I catch a normal cold I give up all of my responsibilities since I’m sick. Wonder how hard it must have been for him.” All of you exit the classroom. A few minutes go by and topics have changed. A fun conversation lasted for a while before it was time to go, so you three parted ways.

As you entered your home your first thought was to take a cold shower after a long, hot and sweaty day. While eagerly hopping into the shower you get reminded of the conversation you had with your friends a while ago. What did king Baldwin even look like? There were no images in your textbook. Curiosity got the best of you, making you draw back the shower curtains to leave. You wrapped a towel and went towards the table where you kept your mobile, typed a quick ‘King Baldwin the 4th images’ and hit enter. Two images popped up. One being an actual painting from the 12th century while the other being an image reconstructed by scientists which looked…realistic to say the least.

His face in the second photo was majestic. His mouth and nose were almost non-existent, having only two triangular shaped holes instead of a nose. His skin was dry, withered and stretched while having the hue of a dry leaf during autumn. Even though he was severely disfigured his eyes were pure and bright, having a child like innocence towards them. King Baldwin was…Quite handsome.

Okay that’s enough now snap out of it! It’s probably just some AI prompt message image anyway. If anyone found out you found him handsome they’d call you crazy. Plus now is not the time to fangirl over a dead king, now's the time to study. In an attempt to distract yourself you pick up your books to do work. Hours painfully go by as you study but finally, finally it was bedtime. You could care less about eating dinner or even taking a shower, you plop yourself onto your bed and wrap the soft blanket around your body. Thoughts about King Baldwin strike your mind again. Seriously, what's wrong with you?! Why is this man plaguing your thoughts all day?

A sigh escaped your mouth from irritation. If only it was possible to console him for his losses or better yet, cure him entirely. The world would have been a better place if he had the lifespan of a normal man.

But there is no point thinking about this, time to go to bed now. As you try to go to sleep your body keeps doing the fake fall thing, annoying you to the core. And finally when your bodys heartbeat was steady and your breathing was quiet, your body did that fake fall thing again but this time it was actually a real fall.

Eyes widen as you try to grab onto the air to prevent your fall but of course, you fail. Adrenaline rushes through your veins for that split second before you finally make an impact on the cobblestone path?

Owch! That fall really hurt, especially at the back of your shoulders! You hope it’s not bruised there. But after that reality check, you look around only to find yourself in some village?

You can see a few small huts and buildings beyond the grassy field. Where are you? How are you here? Why are you here? Too confused and dazed from the fall, you try to look around for people for help. That is until a holographic screen with text pops up.

Congratulations Ms. Y/n. Your wish to cure King Baldwin has been approved by the ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. You are now at Jerusalem, Year: 1181.

“What?”

Yes it’s true Ms.Y/n, you really are in the 12th century.

Your blood is now boiling in anger. “Just because….Someone wishes pity over a dead king DOES NOT ACTUALLY MEAN THEY WANT TO CURE HIM!” You try to grab onto the screen to shake it vigorously but your hands go right thru.

Now now, let’s calm down and try to get over with this together I’m sure we’ll find a solution.

“Calm down…CALM DOWN?!?!?!? I’m in the middle of nowhere in Jerusalem during the 12th century and you want me to CALM DOWN???? I don’t even know French and not to mention I’M NOT CHRISTIAN!” You were screaming with your hand in the air. Pretty sure you woke someone up.

Y-Yes but that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about communication, the language module for french had been uploaded into your brain while you fell here.

The screen flickers a little, maybe due to fear.

Uploaded knowledge? “But I’m a woman from the 21st century! I can’t live here! I’m wayy to accustomed to the privileges of my time!”

That’s one of my perks miss! By using currency of this time you may purchase products of your time thru me! The screen changes to an online store. For now you have access to basic necessities like food and clothes. As you complete missions you shall unlock other parts of the online market! The screens display brightness increases due to enthusiasm, convinced it has impressed you.

You however look at it in exasperated shock. “How is this even possible?” You say with dread in your voice. “Who sent me here?” You ask, no, demand.

Like I said You’ve been sent here by ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. I’m pretty sure you can’t read that since mortals don’t have the capacity to….

Mortals? Is this the play of some higher being? God even? Too many questions float through your head, making you visibly tired. You can feel the bottom of the skin beneath your eyes folding, an indicator you’re developing dark circles.

Ah. It looks like you’re tired. It’s night anyway. You should sleep.

“But where do I-”

“Excuse me madam.” You turn around to see a man standing behind you. “I’ve noticed you’ve been talking to yourself.”

So he can’t see the screen. From his ragged outfit he seems to be a commoner. He also genuinely seems worried so you guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.

“Yes, sorry for that.” You say embarrassingly while you get up. “You see I’m from the family of wandering traders, here to sell spices from my land. I was talking to myself since I was quite irritated at how I didn’t have an inn for the night.” The explanation seems responsible enough I guess.

“But I don’t see any goods with you… And how did a young lady such as yourself travel alone? Where is your husband?”

Crap. He’s doubting you. You need to give him a reasonable explanation fast or he’ll call you a witch or something.

“Oh no sir you’re mistaken! My father is the one who has the spices, it’s his business after all. We had to split ways during travel due to inconveniences, I’m merely here to help him!” You put on your best smile to convince him.

“O-Oh I’m sorry madame! H-Here let me lead you, I know an Inn nearby.” Good. Looks like he believes you. But now it’s your turn.

“I’m sorry sir but how can I trust you?” You step back a little. “What if you take advantage of me? How shall I testify my innocence? The locals would definitely believe you over me.”

“No no please don’t! I’m a married man. My wife’s right there.” he points at the lady standing just outside the house, looking worried. You look at her and she nods her head in reassurance. “You seem like a noble from your land madame judging from your colorful dress, why don’t the both of us show you where the inn is?”

Hmm….Guess colorful clothing is rare here. And he really does seem like he wants to help.

“Very well then. Both of you show me they way.” The man eagerly tells his wife the incident and both of them show you around. The screen follows you, showing you a winking emoticon.

Congrats Ms. Y/n! You have officially begun your first mission!

[webslingingslasher]

can i request frat peter comforting and taking care of reader on her period?

i wrote this at work, do not EVER question my loyalty to frat!peter

w: talks of blood/period (i’m on mobile and can’t add a read more tag)

“Hello?”

It’s daytime and you’re calling Peter, he almost didn’t answer but something told him it was important.

He didn’t leave the lunch table, instead crossing his arms over his chest as he answered, his chair tilted back on two legs. Eyebrows furrowed in focus mode, he heard a slight shuffle, he assumes it’s a buttdial but he hears a whisper.

“That you, trouble?”

You must not have heard him the first time, the audio becomes crystal clear. You speak so loud and clear he can see your mouth pressed against the edge of your phone in his mind while you talk low.

“Peter, I need you.”

Oh. Well that’s a nice lunch break.

“At school? You really are tro-“

“No! I need you to come do something. I need help.”

The last part is a mumble, you didn’t want to admit. Peter slammed his seat down, “what do you need from me?” Instantly in go mode.

“It’s embarrassing,” his chest doesn’t feel as tight, nothing life or death.

“Spit it out junior, you’re making me miss out on my sandwich.”

“igotmyper-bloodisever-help?”

You heard silence then loud chewing, Peter’s voice came out garbled, his bite stored in his cheek.

“I heard blood and help, did you stab someone?” You whine out on the other end, you said you needed his help but he’s taking the piss.

“No! I’m…” Peter’s heart races when you sniffle, it’s the first time he’s ever heard you cry. He speaks to you so softly it catches the attention of his friend across the table.

“Hey, trouble. Stop crying for me, okay? Just let me know what you need and I’ll be right there, alright?”

You nod and realize he can’t see, you take a deep breath to stop your tears.

“I got my period.”

“Yuck! Why are you calling me?”

“Because,” why did you? You didn’t even think, you were in panic mode and for whatever reason he was the one you thought of calling. “Can you please help?”

Peter groaned, “call one of your girl friends, they’re prepared for this.”

“Yeah, but you’re my-“ my… my what? He wasn’t your anything. “Never mind, I’ll call-“

“No, no. I’ll play hero for you, where are you?”

You looked down at your ruined pants and cringed, “um, the downstairs bathroom in the lab building.”

Peter takes a beat, his mind trying to connect the dots.

“Why are you in the… trouble, were you coming to see me?” He’s not even in the room and he makes you feel flushed, “no! I was just passing by and noticed.”

“Give me five minutes, don’t move.”

—————

“You can’t be in here.”

A straight to the point fact. You can imagine the hoity toity expression on the girl's face, you don’t blame her for questioning but if a guy comes into a woman’s bathroom you’d assume it’s for a reason.

“Excuse me! I said you can’t be in here!”

“Fuck off, my girlfriend got her period.”

Your breath hitched, you know he didn’t mean it like that but wow did it feel nice.

“Oh. Well, still. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Yeah, noted. I ruined your day.” A two knuckle tap on the stall door, you heard the main door open and a few choice words directed at your boy. He didn’t acknowledge it, his only focus on you.

“Trouble, you doing alright?”

“Yeah,” you stare at his shoes under the door.

“Want me to come in?”

You look at your pants and wince, you didn’t expect it to come early. You didn’t leak through a tampon or pad, you freebled and the back of your thighs proved it.

“It’s bad,” because it was. Even for your standards.

“Yeah, you’re gross. Can I come in?”

You stand from the toilet, you’d never rest your jeans on the seat normally but they’re already trash. You slide the lock on the handicap stall and it slowly pushes open.

“Hi,” you look shy and embarrassed, Peter pushed past that entirely.

“Hi, c’mere.” You melt into his chest when his arms wrap tight around you, his mouth places a kiss on your hairline.

“Alright, shark week. Let’s see the damage,” you peer at the ground and turn slowly. “Ah shit, okay. Hold on.”

Peter tugged his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. A togo bag was folded up, he pulled it out and handed it to you, you held onto the cardboard handles.

“Put your nasty, hazardous material covered, underwear in here. And use one of these, or both, I dunno, I don’t have… one of those.”

Peter hands you a pad and a tampon, your eyes sparkle when you grab them. “Where did you get these from?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “Matt’s girlfriend, I asked if she had something and she asked what you used, I didn’t know so I asked for both.”

You clutch the paper thin plastic to your chest, “thank you.”

He pauses then nods, as he backs out his hand holds the top of the stall door. You wait to make sure he’s not coming back in and you start stripping, you follow his instructions and pull your pants back up. It’s an uncomfortable sticky, you can’t wait to get home as soon as possible to shower.

The stain is still your biggest issue, there’s no way you’d face the entire campus with it.

“Peter-“

The door swung back out, your boy smiled. You clutched the bag shyly, you would have to walk back to your dorm, with a fat stain.

“Give me the biohazard,” you shake your head fast, there’s no way you’d let Peter see what’s in the bag.

“No, no way. It’s disgusting.”

“Trouble,” he gives you a look you haven’t seen before, “give me the damn bag,” you hold it out and he snatches it. Closing it carefully and stuffing it back in his backpack before zipping it closed.

“As for that,” Peter points at your red stain. He drops his bag to the ground and pulls off his outer layer. An open faced flannel, a plain white tee shirt underneath.

Peter pushes your elbows up, “arms up.”

You took a deep breath when he approached, he smelled so, so good. Peter tugged you closer by your hips and gave you a very light smile, his arms looped around you, his flannel in his hands.

You're brought closer when the arms of his shirt are tied tightly around your waist, he crouches in front of you to hang the sleeves just right, leveling them so they hide your crotch.

Peter’s fingers tap your knee, “spread for me,” you do as he asks and he looks you over before standing.

“I think I just helped you cover up a murder, we’re bonded for life now.”

Funny, he jumped right into action and guided you when you were too frazzled to think for yourself, yet you still feel shy.

“Thanks, I don’t know why I called you. It’s not your job.”

Peter’s hand cups your face, “hey,” you look into his eyes, he doesn’t seem so scary, and not in the slightest disgusted or bothered.

“You’re my girl, right?”

You nod into his touch, his thumb brushes your skin, proud you know the answer.

“That means you call whenever you want and I’ll come running.”

“Thank you, petey.”

He didn’t fight you on the nickname, his thumb rested over your bottom lip until he gave in. Peter gave you a bruising kiss, one that made him prove how much he actually cared for you, even if he couldn’t make the words leave his mouth.

You pulled back, not trying to makeout in a bathroom.

“Can you take me home?”

Your boy scoffs, “absolutely not. I have three quarters of a sandwich waiting for me, getting soggier by the second.”

When you frown at him his thumb catches it and tugs it back up. “But-“ Your eyes light up, he can’t help himself and places a chaste kiss to your mouth, “I’ll give you a key so you can hang out at mine?”

A key? A house key? He’d give you a house key?

“I would’ve thought hell would freeze over before you’d give me a key to your place.”

Peter shrugs, “eh, that’s before I knew I was dating a squirter.” He giggles when you smack at his arms, you grunt when a sudden cramp hits and you squeeze his arm in support instead.

“Alright, crampy. Go home, I’ll give you a cuddle when I get back.”

You nearly skip out of the bathroom with Peter behind you, he looks around before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?”

You can’t help but to sigh dreamily, “yeah.”

[cuubism]

physical therapy part 4

--

It takes some time, but finally, Dream's hand starts to feel better when he's painting. Granted, his grip strength still needs some work, and he's had to adjust the way he holds a brush to accommodate the lingering stiffness he gets in some of his fingers, but he's finding it hard to care when a few months ago he couldn't draw a straight line without it turning into a scribble. He'd known Hob was good at his job, but it still feels like a miracle.

The only downside is that once he makes enough progress Hob will surely decide to end their sessions. And while he had said that he liked Dream, that he cared about Dream... Dream is finding it hard to feel assured of those feelings. Someone's feelings can change on a dime, and it's impossible to predict.

But finally the day does come when Hob deems him progressed enough to simply continue his exercises at home. "At this point I think you've regained enough mobility that it's just a matter of gradually increasing how much you're using your hand," he says. "You've made a ton of progress."

"Have I?" Dream is less sure. Some things are certainly easier now, like doing tasks around the house, and picking things up. Art is another matter. Though perhaps he is simply making excuses because he doesn't want to stop seeing Hob.

"Yeah, look." Hob pulls out a folder from amongst his files, and shows Dream several sketches--the ones Dream's made in session, which he's apparently kept. Dream picks up the oldest sketch, the cats he'd doodled at his first appointment. They're shaky and uneven, like something he might have drawn when he was barely four. He supposes he can't deny the progress since then. He's torn between wanting to tear the drawing up, for it's too wretched a reminder--and wanting to hold it close to his chest.

"It's not that I think there's no more room for improvement, or anything," Hob says. "I just don't think continuing these frequent sessions is going to offer more than a marginal benefit."

Dream thinks that the benefit he is receiving at this point is more in being able to look forward to seeing Hob each week, than the physical therapy itself. He needs something to look forward to. He's put Hob's objectively terrible finger painting on his fridge. It's still the only spot of color in his empty flat. He needs that.

"So," Hob continues, "I thought I'd take you out to celebrate."

That pulls Dream from his head. "You... will?"

Hob winks at him. "Promised you, didn't I?"

Yes. Dream supposes he had promised that if Dream's feelings held true Hob would act on them. Is that what he's doing? Dream's growing disappointment swiftly morphs into something else. Hope.

"I--" he swallows hard. "I. Would like that." It's still strange, to have something he wants. And to feel like it may be okay to express it.

"Perfect." Hob grins, gets up, holds out a hand.

"Now?"

"You got somewhere else to be?"

Dream never has anywhere else to be, and doubts he would go there if he did. He takes Hob's hand.

Hob takes him to a Chinese restaurant nearby, and Dream looks at him suspiciously as Hob passes him a pair of chopsticks with a cheeky grin. "Now you are just testing me."

"Yup. 'Course if you can't use chopsticks in the first place then it's moot."

Dream can use chopsticks. Could. No, can. Death would say that he should think positively.

So he takes the chopsticks.

Once their food comes, Hob, the absolute bastard, puts down his own chopsticks and picks up a fork instead. And Dream knows, somehow he just knows, that it's not because he can't use them. He's teasing Dream. Or perhaps ensuring that Dream won't compare himself if he struggles. Or both.

He should feel hurt by the teasing but... somehow he's not.

"See?" Hob says when Dream manages to eat his noodles with the chopsticks. It's... not that hard. It doesn't even hurt. Maybe Hob is better at his job than Dream even thought.

It makes him tear up. Such a silly, small thing to start crying over when he's barely cried at all, even when he'd first hurt his hand.

"Hey, it's okay," Hob soothes him, wiping away Dream's tears with his thumb. "I think the noodles are salty enough without the addition of tears, hm?"

Dream laughs, wiping at his eyes when the tears keep falling. "Good tears," he manages to say.

"I know," Hob says, and smiles at him.

Dream surprises himself by having an actually nice time. He hasn't had a nice time doing something in so long. It feels good. He doesn't want it to end.

Of course, it does end, and he finds himself lingering outside the restaurant, hesitant to go home. Particularly as he no longer has a set time when he will see Hob. He feels aimless without that, but. It is hard to ask.

"Dream..." Hob starts, likewise lingering in front of the restaurant. The lights of the signage above cast his face in shades of violet. Dream has thought him handsome before, but never so much as now.

Hob hesitates over what to say, then finally just steps over to him. "Come here."

And before Dream can decide how to react, Hob folds him into a hug.

Dream goes still on instinct. Then, gradually, relaxes into Hob's strong hold. He... can't remember the last time someone hugged him.

He lets himself tuck his face into Hob's shoulder.

"Hey," Hob says. His voice is so close to Dream's ear now. "I'm proud of you."

Dream hears himself make a tiny whimpering sound. He. He does not know how to be proud of himself. He thinks he would only be proud of himself if he could go back in time and stop himself from getting in that terrible relationship to begin with. But he does like how it sounds when Hob says it.

Hob gives him one more squeeze, then, disappointingly, releases him. "I almost forgot. I have something for you."

He digs around in his bag and comes back with a box that looks rather like art supplies of some kind. "It's modelling clay," he explains. "So you can play around and work on your hand without just doing, you know, boring exercises all the time."

Hob is too considerate of him, truly. Dream holds the box close.

"You okay to get home?" Hob asks, and Dream nods. His ex has not bothered him again, and Dream is now hopeful that he won't. Though that does not necessarily mean he doesn't want Hob to follow him home.

"Good," Hob says. Then, while Dream is still thinking about the hug and the clay and everything else, Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. "Goodnight, Dream."

Dream stands paralyzed until Hob is gone, and it's only then that he realizes he failed to set another time for them to meet. He supposes he does have Hob's office contact info. Still, it is disappointing not to have something to look forward to.

But when he gets home, and opens the box of clay, he finds a note inside. It has the name of a coffee shop, and Tuesday, 3pm?, and Hob's personal number. At first he's confused. Why wouldn't Hob simply ask him while they were together? And then he realizes that Hob must be trying to give him a chance to comfortably back out if he wants to by letting him decide in private. It makes him want to cry again. Hob truly is too considerate of him.

But he takes out his phone and types in Hob's number, and a simple reply. Yes.

[koolades-world]

I absolutely LOVE your headcanons esp the Indian ones they make me feel quite seen even if I'm from a country that have super similar cultures (Mauritius) 💗🫶

But now I have to ask, I'm the eldest cousin so whenever there's a family gathering I'm usually the one stuck looking after all of my little cousins so if I brought one of the brothers with me they would all be wondering who he is to me and would interview him just being like, "Are you his boyfriend?!?!?!"

Any chance I could get any headcanons for the brothers for this? Completely okay if you can't!

hello! yes of course :)

this request was send in more recently but I just got back from a family gathering (as of 5/25 this is very prewritten haha) and got a fresh taste of this because im the eldest cousin too! i understand your pain haha. all of my cousins are little. chasing after kids you sometimes barely know the name of in a sari, lehenga, or salwar kameez is no fun

god this will be so fun to write!! (there’s still a whole bunch of random aunties, uncles and little kids at the house so I’m hiding since I don’t get to leave until tomorrow) like yesterday, most of this was written on mobile since I’m traveling so excuse autocorrect please :)

enjoy <3

Mc who babysits their younger cousins at a family gathering w/ the brothers

Lucifer

he’s getting war flashbacks /j haha and it’s written all over his face

he left home to get away from his brothers and basically entered an environment that’s exactly the same but with easily one hundred times the people

he’s almost impressed on their ability to never shut up and now knows why you’re so good at handling his family

however, he is dadcifer™️ so he’s great with the kids, and will try his best to answer their questions, even ones regarding your relationship status

Mammon

nothing gets past kids, and they can sense his weakness when he’s talking about you. they are ruthless

before they can break him, you have to step in and tell them to pick one question each to ask. he’s not sure how you’re corralled them so well, or how you can even tell some of them apart to the point of reprimanding them for tricking him. no wonder you can keep his family in line

once he realizes your job isn’t over until the night ends and their parents come to get their kids, he tries to sneak off a few times, but he always ends up with a couple shadows and has to come back

eventually he’s resigned to his fate, and finds he much prefers the cute little babies since they’re more than happy to mess with his jewelry, and he gets to pinch their cute little chubby cheeks <3

Levi

as much as he hates it, the kids love him and whatever device he brought along to play with

after promising to replace anything they break, he sits down and plays games with them and finds out he actually enjoys it

the older ones actually engage in the game with him and ask him game related questions, which he's more than happy to answer, and the younger ones can be handed a disconnected controller and still be kept happy

this is to the point where the kids actually forget to question him about who he is, and only ask if he'll be at the next event. who is he to say no?

Satan

you’re prepared, and he thinks he is too until he gets there haha. but, he keeps it together and adapts well

you’ve thought of just about everything, from wearing extra, cheaper bangles to hand to them to keep them happy to man knowing every trick in the book to get them to finish their dinner and he can only hope to reach that level someday

he's very collected though, he tries his best to deflect their questions and keep them off that topic

however, part of him knows that's impossible and eventually he caves and just answers the questions to the best of his ability, hoping you aren't listening. never have you seen him so out of his element

Asmo

if it’s a dry event and for some reason isn’t on the dance floor, or there wasn’t one to begin with, he’s so in love with the job you hate so much haha

he’s so attentive with the kids and adores them. he’s got lots of tricks up his sleeve to keep them entertained

of course, he owns it when one kid asks if he’s your boyfriend and proudly tells them yes, he is, (even if he’s not) and answers any other questions they have even if you’re embarrassed

now, the kids look forward to seeing him and expect him everytime

Beel

he’s very chill and almost finds it enjoyable, mostly there to keep you from losing your mind

when the kids eventually decide the food they picked out wasn’t what they wanted, and instead whatever he’s eating, he’s more than happy to share with them. after, they’re you’re flesh and blood, so they’re his family too

of course he’s their jungle gym and he takes turns tossing them in the air, and giving piggy back rides

he’s not quite sure how to respond to all of their questions, but as long as you’re alright with it, he’ll answer honestly

Belphie

as a youngest himself, he’s overwhelmed. is this what he’s like?

the kids won’t let him sneak away to nap, because they’re hyper aware of everything and will catch him

honestly, he’s more annoyed than anything, but he might take a liking to a few and spend all his time with them. he feels like he’s being attacked by all the questions

he’s a lot nicer to you after that, since he realized that’s your life, and he only got a small taste of it

[belladonnadawn]

Sakuverse men phone headcanons!

Silly headcanons about men and their phones! ft. Kayson Mayer, Andrew Marston, Isaac Rhoades, Xanthus Claiborne, Elias, and Dontis

Kayson Mayer

Will have those clear case where he puts a picture of listener or his family on the back of his phone.

Merged his calendar with listener's so he'd be able to plan dates and breaks with them.

Has an album dedicated for his family and listener, I also believe that he curated a playlist for them.

Plays those volleyball mobile games.

Kayson is the type of guy that will see two cats or any silly picture and send it to listener with a caption 'us'.

Probably did a tiktok.

Andrew Marston

I'd say that he'll have those fuckass flip cases that grandparents have but that'll be harsh 😭

He'd have those quotes from classic literature as his lockscreen and of course he'll have his darling as his wallpaper.

Deleted his social media after what happened, but I'd like to think that he had Facebook where he used to connect with his family (even uses it to search for his twin).

Has candy crush, believe me he does.

His note app are filled with poems and ongoing literary works, some of them are dedicated to his darling.

Isaac Rhoades

Plain black case.

Black lockscreen and wallpaper before the listener came into his life.

He probably has a stolen picture of pickle as his wallpaper or lockscreen. And he sometimes stare at it when he's having a bad or hard day.

Not gonna lie, I kinda believe that when he takes pictures they taken in such angle in a way that makes it look like something you'll see in a true crime documentary. He's literally a private investigator, so those angles are not a surprise.

Probably has no apps except the default ones just like Xanthus, but in a way that he's paranoid that a small info can immediately track him down because of his line of work.

Xanthus Claiborne

Okay, Xanthus probably does not care for phone cases. He probably believes that he's so fast and he'd be able to catch his phone before it falls on the floor or if it does and it breaks, he'd just buy one again.

Everything is default, he probably doesn't use it that much except for communication and information.

If he has a social media, he'd probably lurk on those forums where they discuss historical events or artifacts. He'd sometimes comment if he's so invested.

He probably tried to take a stolen picture of love, but he can't get his angles right. So he'd make a stupid excuse to take a picture of them and put it on his wallpaper.

He gets sentimental when it comes to pictures, since the people that he knew or loved never had the privilege of having one.

Dontis

His phone cases are personalized, fit for his aesthetic.

Instagram feed so good people thinks that he's a model (he should be).

He's the type of person that you'll see in comment section hyping up people or cheering them on.

His phone is so lively, like you'd discover apps that you never knew before and you'd be shocked on how good it was.

He'd send you pictures of himself, what he was doing, or his location just to update his hunter.

He loveeess video calls so he could see his hunter.

Elias

He sticks to dark colors so his phone case is probably plain black or has simple design.

His wallpapers are stars, galaxy, or the nightsky (probably taken by him)

Of course, he has games on his phone!

He follows NASA on his social media, best believe he's updated on space facts.

He has a playlist for when he's gaming or stargazing.

I'm sure that he has Discord, but he only uses it for gaming.

Unironically had an emo phase where he shares lyrics from mcr, ptv, fob, and 21 pilots.

Elias probably played roblox and convinced his listener to download one so they can play with him.

[steddieas-shegoes]

sew you up

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hurt/comfort' rated t wc: 993 cw: injury tags: post-vecna, someone finally takes care of steve's bat bite, getting together

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

He just had to get them all safe. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to keep an eye on Eddie, make sure no government officials tried to take him or let the police arrest him. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to help Wayne get them moved into their new trailer. Then he could take care of the bite.

Excuses kept piling up, one after another, and the pulsing, searing pain of the bite became easier to ignore. That meant it was healing, right?

But one month later, the bite was still as open and ugly as it had been when the bat latched on, and he had to face the facts.

“You okay over there?” Eddie asked from his bed.

He was mostly mobile, but moved much slower than he used to and had a lot of aches and pains from still-healing scar tissue. He rested in bed more than he did anything else, and Steve usually kept him company long after everyone else left.

“Yeah, think I’m just tired.”

He was tired. But he was also in pain, and could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he clenched his jaw to avoid groaning.

He’d just moved wrong a little while ago and the pain wasn’t subsiding like it usually did. He’d be fine.

“You’re pretty pale, Stevie.”

“Might be coming down with something,” he shrugged it off. It could be true, after all. He was feeling feverish.

“Oh! Meant to ask you the other day. How’s that bite doing?” Eddie asked casually.

Too casually.

Steve stared back at him, eyes squinting in suspicion.

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Mine’s kinda hurting still. Can’t bend down all the way.”

Still so casual.

“Yours was worse than mine, man.”

Eddie nodded, seemingly accepting that as a response, almost looking like he was going to move on.

“I saw a doctor for mine. Many doctors. A few nurses. One government person who took an hour bandaging it up. Not sure what that was about,” Eddie shook himself out of a thought. “But you didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Steve bit his lip.

“No. But mine wasn’t that bad. It’s healing.”

Eddie put his notebook down and took in Steve’s posture. Steve tried to sit up straighter in the desk chair he was lounging in, but as soon as he tried, he let out a hiss and small whimper.

“Let me see it.”

Eddie’s tone was short, serious, something Steve had never heard from him before.

He stood up slowly, wincing as the area around the bite pulled painfully.

Eddie slowly moved to the edge of his bed and parted his legs, waving his hand to get Steve to come closer.

Steve moved closer, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when Eddie’s hand gripped his uninjured hip to tug him even closer.

His other hand lifted Steve’s shirt up enough to see the wound.

“Steve,” he breathed out. “This needs to be stitched up. It’s too deep to heal on its own. You’ve just been walking around with this?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s gotten a little better.”

Eddie looked up at him with wide eyes.

“This is better?”

Steve nodded.

“This is. Steve, does Robin know it’s this bad?”

Steve shook his head.

“Does anyone?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Alright. I’m fixing this.” Eddie started to get up, gently pushing Steve away from him, but not removing his hand from his hip. “You lay down. I’m grabbing my sewing kit and alcohol.”

“Wait. What?” Steve felt himself panic. “You can’t- you’re not!”

“Steve. Do what I tell you to do before I call Robin and tell her you’ve been ignoring a fucking demobat bite for a month.”

So Steve got as comfortable as he could on the bed, lifted his shirt up to his chest, and waited.

Eddie took his time, but Steve didn’t mind, would much rather wait than Eddie hurt himself worse.

Eventually, Eddie came back and pulled the chair to the side of the bed.

He worked slowly, but confidently. He gave Steve a pillow to hold so he wouldn’t flinch too much while he worked, closing up the main part of the bite so it could actually heal.

When he was done, he bandaged it up tight, and then traced the edges of the bandage.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He whispered.

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Steve whispered back.

“You didn’t think an open wound like that was bad? Jesus.” Eddie shook his head. “I knew you were self-sacrificial, but this is insane. You can’t hide this shit, Stevie. You could get an infection, you could die.”

Steve gulped.

He’d considered it a few times, but figured he would have already ended up in the hospital if it was going to happen.

“Yeah. But you fixed it, so I’ll be fine.”

“You better let me change your bandages every day for the next week so I can make sure it’s healing right.”

“Won’t that get annoying?” Steve asked.

Eddie didn’t answer for a moment, just watched as Steve pulled his shirt back down.

And then his lips were gently pressing against Steve’s forehead, lingering heat making Steve close his eyes.

“You could never annoy me. The only thing annoying to me is that you thought that being taken care of was annoying,” Eddie said, lips still resting against Steve’s skin, his breath almost tickling.

“So you’re my nurse, now?” Steve asked with a smirk.

Eddie pulled back and cupped his cheek.

“Yep. You better be a good patient.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll steal your hairspray.”

Steve gasped.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. So you better do as I say and make sure you take care of this.”

“Fine. Do I get a real kiss for being on my best behavior?”

Eddie bit his bottom lip, his cheeks going red.

“Maybe if you make room for me in bed.”

“Deal.”

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin Ice (Hockey Player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Reader)

A/N: Hehehe. Hiii :) if you haven’t noticed, I gave the chapter titles, and if you know what I’m doing with the titles then I’ll love you forever Lmaoo. Also I’m accidentally making the chapters shorter then I would like but idk how make them longer lmao. As usu, not completely proofread so excuse any typos or grammatical errors. Also I tried to throw in a small parallel cuz I LOOOVE parallels in writing. Okay enjoy:).

(Y/N)- Your name, (f/c)- favorite color.

Swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of sex/sexual stuff (No smut or NSFW content.)

Word count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: That sticks around like summat in your teeth?

—

“Sooooo… wanna tell me why Miguel ‘figure skating isn’t a real sport’ O’Hara was talking you up before practice?”

Oh God. You knew this would happen.

“Okay, first of all he wasn’t talking me up-“ You rolled your eyes as you and Logan walk to your uni’s on-campus Starbucks after practice together, your (f/c) gym bag hastily thrown over your shoulder, so the bag was resting fully on your back.

“Me when I lie-“

“And second all,” you send him a playful look for interrupting you mid-sentence as you finally reach your destination, pulling the handle to the glass door, entering the busy coffee shop. “I’d rather not think about it.” Because it was all your were thinking about now.

Logan just took his hands out from his hoodie pockets and raised them up in defense. “Okay, okay… didn’t think me asking about the person my partner despises so much, would be annoying .” He joked with a small smirk, you just rolled your eyes and let out a small annoyed groan as you and Logan both grabbed your mobile orders from the counter, before making your way to a small, secluded table in the back of the cafe.

You did a quick look over at your surroundings, before leaning in slightly and began to speak in a low tone. “Okay… am I going insane, or had Miguel been acting…different towards me since last week?” You asked, Logan leaning in a bit, taking a sip of his iced coffee, before replying.

“oh no yeah, something is up with him.”

You started to nervously nibble at your bottom lip,“You’re supposed to tell me I’m going crazy.” You say with a sigh, rubbing your temples in hopes of preventing an oncoming headache for all the overthinking you were about to do, Logan just shrugged.

“As much as I’d loove to feed into your delusions, I’d rather much more make fun of you for this.” He grinned as he crossed his arms on the top of the wooden table. You quickly shot him a glare and lightly hit his shoulder, mumbling a “not funny”. Before sipping on your drink a bit. Your reaction only made his grin widen, “This is gonna be fun to watch. Do you think he’s into you? I think he is. Oh my god, is this gonna be like one of those romance novels that Kate-“ Kate is your dorm mate, “is always going on about?” You groaned as your shoved your face into hands to help hid the blush that was creeping on to your cheeks.

“Hell. No. He’s an asshole, and I hate him. I’d rather slit my throat with my own skate blades before even giving him a chance. Besides , I don’t like hockey players, especially the ones here.” You ranted after you felt your face cool down enough to finally lift your head out of your hands to look at Logan again, you knew if he saw how red your face felt, he’d never let you hear the end of it. “Not to mention, I’ve heard about all the rumors about him on campus. He’s a total manwhore.” You finished with a scowl, your hands playing with your cup. You’ve honestly lost interest in your drink, but you paid 7 dollars for it, and you’re a broke college student, so you forced yourself to take another sip.

“You say that last part like you’re considering acting on something.” You hate how he said that so causally, like you two (plus a few of your other friends) weren’t always complaining about him and his little hockey team.

“That’s- that’s not what I meant by that and you know it.” You huffed, your eyebrows furrowed together and you puff your cheeks out a bit as your lips draw together into a thin line. “Even if he wasn’t a massive dick, he isn’t my type.” Logan let out a small snort, him and his fucking snorts.

“When you say massive dick, are you sure you meant he’s a massive dick? Or did you mean he has a mass” you quickly covered his mouth with your hand before he could continue.

“Trust me Logan, he’s the last person on campus I’d want.”

—

“So you just, all of a sudden, decide to wake up one morning and be nice to her? Are you sure you don’t have a crush on her?” Peter Parker, The Spiders’ winger and Miguel’s dorm mate/best friend (wether he’d admit or not) teased the taller man with a sly smile. Miguel let out a frustrated huff as he went to try and hit Peter on the shoulder as a warning to shut up, but the shorter man quickly dodged it with a laugh.

“God. You heard me compliment her one time, and now you’re gonna misinterpret every conversation with her?” Miguel grumbled as he sat on his bed in his dorm room, Peter sitting down across from him on the floor, his back resting against his own bed as he took a handful of fries from the McDonald’s bag next to him before shoving it in his mouth.

“Mmm, yeah.” Peter replied with a full mouth, Miguel had to look away to stop himself from cringing. “So.” He swallowed his food, taking a sip of his soda before continuing, “what’s the deal? You’re actually trying to be a nicer person, or do you just wanna get in her pants?” Peter deadpanned.

“I’m not-Jesus, Peter. Do you have to say it like that?” Miguel huffed, rubbing his face a bit with his hands in an attempt to help his current feeling of embarrassment from how blunt Peter was being. “I just…didn’t realize how good she is at skating before is all…” He added in a slightly softer tone, his large calloused hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders coming up with a slight shrug.

“Oh yeah, you’re trying to get into her pants.” Peter grinned.

“Peter.”

“Miguel.”

“Believe it or not, but I don’t only think with my dick.” Miguel deadpanned, his head tilting to the side slightly as he raises a brow.

“Ehhh, I don’t know… the amount of times you’ve kick me out of our room says otherwise.” Peter’s lips twitched up into a sly smirk, this time Peter didn’t dodge Miguel’s hand. “Ouch! Why are you getting mad at me? You’re the one who can’t keep it his pants…” He whined as he rubs his shoulder.

“I haven’t had a girl in here for weeks Parker, you know that.” Miguel glared down at Peter, before shoving his hand into the McDonald’s hand next to his friend on the floor. Earning a small “hey!” In protest from the other man, and began to nibble on the fries.

“Surprisingly…” Peter grumbled. “You going through a dry spell or something?”

“No. Just, trying to focus on school and hockey.” Miguel said as he leaned against his bed, resting his weight on his forearms. Peter scoffed in response.

“Miguel, you’re bullshitting and you know it. If you stopped messing around with half the campus for little miss ice princess-“ Miguel felt a slight burning sensation rip threw his chest when Peter referenced you by ice princess, it bothered him for some reason even though he called you that name all the time, “then who cares? But don’t try and deny it.”

“Trust me Peter, she’s the last person on campus I’d want.”

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert

[cowgurrrl]

Graceland Too

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: okay but I kinda want to write this into a series (gif by @loregifs)

Summary: “I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Seventy Years of Sleep #4. nikka ursula aka Miller/Williams family time plus one [1.1k]

Warnings: Pregnancy talk, tooth rotting fluff, can be read as an additional part to What Sarah Said and Sweet Jane but can also be read as a stand-alone, that’s all

"How's are the Miller's doing today?" He asks as he walks into your shared room. You're laid on your side, counting baby kicks obsessively and trying not to fall asleep. It's still the middle of the day, and your sleep is already fucked. Rest has not gotten easier as the weeks have passed, but it feels especially impossible now at thirty-four weeks. 

It's been a relatively normal pregnancy. Your morning sickness returned with a vengeance and got so bad that you had to go to the hospital to get fluids because you were throwing up so much. It's subsided a little in your second and third trimesters, but even the slightest smell can make you nauseous for the rest of the day. Poor Joel had to switch soaps three times before finding something that didn't agitate either of you. These days, you're exhausted, sore, and ready not to be pregnant anymore.

"This one," you point to your swollen stomach. "Has been kicking my ass all day. I barely got out of bed before I had to lie back down." You sigh. Joel kisses you before leaning down and kissing your belly. 

"You be nice to your mama," he says, and you laugh when the baby kicks in defiance. You grab his hand and place it where you just felt them, and he smiles when the baby kicks at him, too. "Stubborn." 

"Wonder where they get it from." You hum, and he smiles. For a while, you two lay together, feeling for tiny movements as the sun shines high in the sky. He lights up each time the baby moves against his hand, which is more than enough to tolerate the constant kicks in your ribs. He loves this baby so much already.

"You're in the home stretch now," he says. "Any last guesses on what you think it'll be?"

"I still think it's a girl. I'd be shocked if we had a boy."

"I think it's a boy." 

"Because you want a boy or because you actually think it's a boy?"

"Excuse me, I do think it's a boy, and I'd be just as happy if we had a girl," he says as he runs his hand over the hill of your belly. "You're carrying lower. My mama always used to say that was a good way to tell what someone was having."

"Alright, I'll let you have it. Ellie thinks it's a boy, too. She said she just felt it," you look down and poke at your stomach. "Whoever you end up being, can you come out soon? I'm tired."

"Couple more weeks."

"Easy for you to say."

"That's true," he says as you push the hair out of his eyes. "D'you think we're ready?" 

"I think it's a little late to ask that, cowboy," you laugh, and he rolls his eyes. "But, yes, I think we're ready." You, Ellie, and Joel spent weeks converting one of the old rooms in the house into a nursery. At first, they were fine with you helping, but as the weeks passed and you got bigger, they put their foot down. Even if you picked up an empty box or a paintbrush, Ellie would yell from the other side of the room and take it from your hands. When they painted, they barely let you in the house because they thought the fumes would harm you and the baby. You've had to remind them that you've been the one to save their asses multiple times, and you can still do things even though you're pregnant, but you might as well have been talking to a brick wall. 

Joel and Ellie built most of the nursery together— everything from the crib to the rocking chair to the space mobile hanging from the ceiling. They painted the walls a pretty yellow, making the dusty, old room fit for the newest Miller. They painted a growth chart by the door and even marked their own heights and ages in pencil on the wall. You came in when you heard them giggling, and then they insisted on marking how far your bump came out on the wall, too. You couldn't say no when they looked at you with those stupid grins and big eyes. Ellie took a polaroid of you standing in front of the chart as Joel pressed a paint-stained hand to your stomach and kissed you.

Seeing her so excited about the new baby made both of you feel so much better. She's talked nonstop about everything she wants to do with the baby pretty much since she found out you were pregnant. You were unsure how she would react since she's been your only priority for years now, and she's getting older, but she's ecstatic. She held your hair when you woke up throwing up, and Joel was on patrol. She made you soup and reminded you to take the way-too-expensive prenatal vitamins. She even learned to play lullabies on her guitar to sing to the new baby. She'd be a great mom.

"I'm so excited to meet them," Joel says softly, and you smile.

"Me too," You say. You lean in to kiss him and barely graze his lips when the baby kicks in Joel's direction. You try to ignore it and kiss him again when they do it again. They kick you hard enough that Joel feels the baby's foot against his hand, and you both laugh. "I can't believe we're getting cockblocked by a fetus."

"How do you think you got here?" Joel asks loudly, looking down at your stomach.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ellie asks as she walks into your room, and you laugh.

"Every time I try to kiss Joel, the baby kicks at him," you say. She gives you that classic Ellie stink face, and you hold out your hand. "C'mere." You urge. She hesitates before walking over to your side of the bed. You take her hand and let her feel the baby's movements, making her smile.

"That's so weird," she says but doesn't move her hand. She lingers, having a semi-private moment with the baby as they turn and wiggle against each of their hands. They are moving back and forth between Joel and Ellie, like they can't decide who they want to hang out with, but they want to be involved. Ellie crouches down next to the bed, resting her chin on her hand, and Joel traces little patterns into the fabric of your shirt. Slowly, the baby settles down and falls asleep, their movements less crazy but still sporadic. 

Ellie and Joel come to the same conclusion but don't move. They stay there with you and the baby as the day rages on outside. Let it rage, you think. I have everything I need right here.

🍓

🍓

🍓

tag list: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts

[chuubacca-writes]

Hi there! Could I request a smut of Barbatos smut? Oh with male reader. Possessive Barbatos tailfucking his lover?

A/N - sorry it took so long! I just moved and also depression is a bitch. anyway, I did my best here. I've never written for a male reader before but it's such a hard thing to find that I decided to give it a go. The formatting is kinda rough because I wrote this on mobile but i hope I did okay!

Pairing - Barbatos x Male!reader

Summary - Barbatos sees a hickey on your neck and is overcome with the need to claim you as his.

Warnings - SMUT, minors dni, amab reader, male appendages, anal sex, tail play (wtf do you even call that?) handjobs, hickeys, choking (kinda, barb puts his fingers in your mouth), name-calling (reader gets called slut once), lmk if I missed any

Word Count - 1722

Barbatos was restless. It wasn’t a familiar feeling for the demon. he was used to being calm, put together, and stoic. But he couldn’t keep his mind focused on his duties. He nearly spilled Prince Diavlo’s tea. Barbatos never fumbled with tea. It was all because of you. You had come by to have tea with him and the demon prince like you did every once and a while. He always liked it when you came over, it gave him an excuse to sneak sly glances at you when you weren’t looking.

That's what brings us to today. The tea kettle had almost slipped from the demon's gloved fingers and crashed into the young prince’s cup when Barbatos’ sharp eyes caught on the way the collar of your shirt just barely concealed a dark purple bruise at the junction of your shoulder.

A bruise that looked suspiciously like a hickey.

“Are you alright, Barbatos?” Diavlo asked. the prince’s brows furrowed at the uncharacteristic clumsiness of his loyal butler.

Barbatos recovered quickly, his composure sliding easily back into place. “Of course, no need to worry about me,” he reassured with a tight smile. But his mind was racing. Who could have put their hands on you? Which demon took what was his? It sickened him to think about anyone other than him touching you, kissing you, tasting you.

He had to excuse himself from tea that day, unable to look at you without his gaze immediately zoning in on the hickey.

The next time you arrive for tea, Diavlo is nowhere to be found, it's only Barbatos smiling politely and inviting you inside. Even you can tell there’s something different in his smile, but you happily join him for tea anyway.

You watch as Barbatos gestures to the table with an unusually tense smile. you hear the soft click of the lock and turn to see his long, gloved fingers on the doorknob.

“Barbatos what–” you start, confused.

He’s towering over you in a split second, eyes glowing with a possessiveness you’ve never seen before.

His hand hovering over the crook of your neck, the soft fabric of his gloves ghosting over your skin.

You’re breaths come out shallow, eyes blown wide as you stare at the man in front of you.

“What are–”

“Undress.”

Again your words are cut short by his rough voice. the command sending electricity straight between your legs.

Barbatos noticed the growing tent in your pants and his lips curled into a smug smirk. He shook his head, still smiling wickedly. “I’m waiting…”

You have no idea what came over you, but you stood and feverishly scrambled to tear your clothes off.

Barbatos chuckled. his sharp eyes catching on every little detail of your body when you finally stood naked before him. His smirk fell when his gaze landed on that bruise on your neck. He stepped closer. his boots made heavy, dominant thuds as he stalked ever closer to your already trembling body. His hand comes up to cup your cheek and you melt into the feeling, your head pressing into his touch. He would have thought it cute, and endearing if he wasn’t so irritated. Do you give away your affection so easily? Let demons leave hickeys upon your tender, human flesh without a thought? That luxury should belong to him and him alone.

His thumb brushes along your bottom lip and you assume he’s going to pull you into a kiss until he pushes his gloved finger between your teeth. You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Take them off,” Barbatos growls and it takes you a moment to realize he means his gloves. Your teeth bite down on the tip of the glove, careful not to graze his finger. You tug, and he replaces his thumb with his index finger. You repeat the process until his glove falls from your mouth and his bare hand is again grasping the side of your face.

“Good boy.” He purrs before his hand moves to wrap around your throat and pull you close. close enough for his lips to meet yours in a rough kiss. The sound that comes out of you is undignified, but your eyes flutter closed when his forked tongue pushes its way into your mouth. Your hands instinctively move to tangle in his hair, but something wraps around your wrists and pulls them behind your back. You open your eyes to see that he has shifted into his demon form, his tail binding your wrists. Barbatos pulls away, his eyes practically glowing at the sight of you. lips red and kiss-swollen, panting, hair disheveled, completely bare in front of him.

“You look pathetic.” Barbatos observes, but his tone is amused, especially when you whine and pout and say “‘s your fault…”

He hums in acknowledgment, his hands moving to grip your hips and drag you into a sitting position– on his lap.

A whine escapes your throat when your erection rubs against his knee. precum smearing on his dark slacks.

“Look at you… making a mess.” he mused, his hand tangling in your hair and tugging your head back, exposing your neck. Now he gets to leave some of his own hickeys. His tongue dances along the column of your throat, teeth nipping and biting to wrench whimpers from your pretty lips. “Barbatos… please,” you beg. your neglected dick is throbbing for some sort of friction, hips bucking into the air of their own accord.

The demon simply chuckles at your predicament, tail still stubbornly wrapped around your wrists so you can’t take matters into your own hands. “You think you deserve to be touched? After all the teasing you put me through.”

Before you can ask “What teasing?” he’s flicking open a bottle in his free hand. You have no idea where or when he got lube, but you could care less about the logistics.

“But I need to see your face when I finally wreck you, so I’ll give in for now.”

He uncoils his tail from your wrists and shifts his legs so that you’re straddling him. He allows you to anchor yourself by holding onto his shoulders.

“Be a good boy and keep them there,” he orders. You nod. Something cold and wet presses against your ass, making you gasp and jolt into him, surprised. He lets out an amused sound, setting down the bottle of lube and letting his hand settle on your hip. You could see both of his hands, so what was–

You bite back a lewd groan when the tip of his tail pushes past the tight rim of your ass. Barbatos’s hand moves to wrap around your throat again, clicking his tongue.

“I want to hear all the noises you make, don’t you dare hold them back.”

His tail pushes deeper, brushing against your prostate. Your toes curl and you yelp, your face burying into Barbatos’s shoulder. Curses slip from your lips as Barbatos starts thrusting his tail in and out, setting a brutal pace that makes you arch and curl into him.

You uttered his name like a prayer, ironic, seeing as he’s a demon, but it sounded so sweet on your tongue. Barbatos grunted when your hand slipped from his shoulder, dragging down his chest and landing directly on his crotch, right up against his erection. It had been completely an accident, and when you noticed, you squeaked out an apology that sounded half-hearted with the way your voice tapered off into a whine.

Barbatos licked his lips, eyes alight with pure sin. The way he gripped your throat like you belonged to him. the way his fingers pushed against your tongue in punishment. the way his voice vibrated in his chest as he ordered you to “suck.”

You obeyed, of course. Lips closing around his digits and eyes rolling back when his tail rubbed against that sensitive spot inside you. His free hand wrapped around the base of your aching cock. at the same time, his fingers push deeper into your throat. You gag, tears pricking your eyes as a choked cry barely makes it out of your mouth.

“Getting close?” Barbatos asks, his sadistic grin and lust-blown eyes boring into you. You nod frantically, tears slipping past your waterline.

“Do you think a slut like you deserves to cum?” he growls, his hand squeezes your cock, pumping fast. You were going to cum if he kept at it. You tried to warn him by digging your nails into his shoulders, but he only sped up. His tail thrusting and his fist pumping. You let go with a strangled sob of his name, your hips bucking into his hand as you painted his shirt white.

Surprisingly gentle, Barbatos removed his fingers from your mouth. He slowly pulled his tail out of your abused hole, tenderly setting you down on a chair. Your brain was still hazy from your orgasm, barely able to keep your head up. You blinked down at Barbatos as the butler cleaned you up. he was already dressed in a fresh shirt and pants, looking as clean and professional as always. as if he hadn’t just fucked your brains out.

“Was I too rough?” he asked softly, helping you pull your pants back on.

You shook your head, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, a lovesick grin on your face. he smiles, his hands softly trailing along your chest. his fingers pause over the bruise on your shoulder. your eyes followed his gaze.

"like my bruise?" you asked, "mammon dropped a book on me when we were cleaning the library." your lips curled up at the memory. Barbatos stared at you for a moment before clearing his throat and handing your shirt back to you. "of course…"

you raised a brow, observing him inquisitively. you put the pieces together, a sly smile spreading across your face. "did you think it was a hickey? is that why you got all possessive of me?" you blushed and pursed your lips, giving him big puppy dog eyes. "of course not!" Barbatos insisted, but there was a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. you tugged on your shirt, standing and wrapping your arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to the demon's lips. "don't worry, Barbatos. I'm all yours…"

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

My Queen Chapter 2

Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Warnings: smut, slight domestic violence, minor character death

Previous chapter Next chapter

Friday came and Steve was fuming.  His mother was constantly hovering nearby, fussing with his collar as he left his room and chattering at him about royal protocol as he walked towards the front door.  “You’ve grown so much since you last went to an event, you’re so handsome!  I’m sure she’ll love you–”

“Ma,” Steve said warningly.  

Sarah put her hands up in surrender.  “Okay okay.  Well good luck my dear,” she said as he walked to the car pulling up for him.  The driver quickly opened the door and he settled into the seat.  He thanked the driver and nodded to his mother as the door shut then sighed heavily when they took off towards the palace.  He had not been to any royal events in years, due to his embarrassment.  His mother was right, he had grown physically over the years, so he was sure Queen Y/N wouldn’t even recognize him from the last time she saw him.  He probably wouldn’t recognize her either.  They had barely become adults the last he saw her, and it wasn’t like they were ever properly friends, just acquaintances.

When they pulled up to the palace the door was opened for him again and he was led inside and through some hallways until they reached a large sunroom with a table prepared with two places settings.  Steve marveled at the almost fully-windowed room.  There were sun catchers placed in the awnings above him, little iridescent mobiles tinkling against each other from the breeze of an opened window and casting rainbow prisms along the adjacent wall and floor.  There were scores of plants lining the long window sill with a section in one corner covered by a long cushion and a blanket folded up next to it with a book sat atop.  He was left to wait for her and in the silence he strode up to the window seat and picked up the book.  Steve didn’t recognize the title, “Beauty” by Robin McKinley, but read the synopsis and thought it interesting.  A fantasy reader, he mused.  He set the book down and walked along the window inspecting the plants.

“Rogers,” a voice gruffed behind him.

Steve turned and then smiled.  “Wilson.”

Sam laughed and approached him, giving him a long hug.  “It’s been a while.”

“It has, how are you?” Steve asked as he clapped Sam’s shoulder.

“Well, thank you.  I’m sorry to hear about your father.  I would have come to the funeral–”

“Please, I know you were out of the country with Her Majesty.  It’s fine,” Steve waved away his concern.  “We got her card.  All is well.”

“Hm.  So…your mother…” Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

Steve sighed again, hanging his head.  “I know, don’t get me started.”

Sam laughed again.  “It’s alright, Her Majesty is well aware of how Sarah is.  You have nothing to be worried about.”  Steve gave him a small appreciative smile.  “Speaking of, she’ll be here in just a moment.  I just wanted to come say hello before I’m dismissed.”

“And now you’re free to go,” Y/N walked through the door just then, her lady’s maids following behind and distracting her so her eyes were turned away looking at the fabric they were showing her.

“Ah, excuse me,” Sam gave Steve a head bow then turned to Y/N and bowed to her.  

“Oh, shoo, all of you!” Y/N snapped, pushing away the fabric and waving Sam away, who quickly pushed the lady’s maids out the door and closed it behind him.  “Ugh, I’m sorry, Your Grace, I–” Y/N finally looked at him and paused, her eyes slightly widening.

“Your Majesty,” Steve walked forward, bowing to her.  Y/N automatically gave him a small curtsy and gave him her hand which he took and kissed her knuckles lightly before releasing it and standing straight.  “Thank you for your card.  We were most appreciative of your condolences.”

“Of course,” Y/N said, giving him a polite smile.  She tried not to ogle him.  Steve had grown over a foot, gained a lot of muscle and had become incredibly handsome since she’d last seen him.  He was no longer the scrawny, sickly boy she’d met years before.  He sported a slightly longer haircut and a clean cut full beard, making him look rugged but put together.  “Shall we?” she gestured to the table.

“Yes,” Steve said and held out a chair for her.  She thanked him as she sat and he walked around the small table to the other chair facing her.  Once he was sat Y/N picked up a small bell and rang it, resulting in a few maids and footmen bringing out plates of food and drinks.  As they placed it all down in front of them she thanked each of them with a smile before dismissing them.

“So, long time no see,” Y/N ventured starting the conversation as she put her napkin in her lap.

Steve huffed a laugh as he did the same.  “Yeah, I uh…” Y/N watched him as she piled her plate with food from the dishes in front of her.  He snorted as he looked away.  “I know I should apologize for not being social, but I won’t.”

Y/N smiled widely.  “You have nothing to apologize for.  Being antisocial is not a crime.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Steve mumbled.  Y/N laughed at his deadpan tone.  Steve seemed surprised at her laughter and a wider smile lit up his face.  

“Yes, she is…tenacious,” Y/N said, hiding her mirthful smile behind her teacup while she took a sip, giving him a playful glance.

Steve smirked.  “I feel like I need to apologize for her, though.  I do not condone such behavior,” the crease between his eyebrows returned.  Y/N wanted to run her finger down that crease to help him relax.  “My parents sent you letters asking for increases.  That was not acceptable and you were right to deny them.”

Y/N felt for him.  His embarrassment was palpable, and she could tell he didn’t particularly want to be at this lunch date.  She sighed, setting her cutlery down as she leaned back in her chair.  Steve was surprised again at her change in demeanor.

“May I speak frankly with you, Steve?”  Y/N cocked an eyebrow at him.  Steve nodded warily.  “As your mother may have told you, I’m looking for a husband.” Steve’s eyes narrowed at her.  “But I’m not.  My advisors are.  I’m turning 33 this year and they have decided that means I’m becoming an old spinster.  They’re threatening a Parliamentary takeover if I do not secure a partner to help me create an heir soon.  And since our Parliament is full of imbeciles, I’m afraid of what that could mean for our country.” She looked away from him and out the window, watching the hummingbirds at the feeder outside.  “I do not need a husband to rule.  This is the 21st century, for fuck’s sake.”  

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up his throat at her cursing.  Y/N laughed with him, shaking her head.  “I can tell you are embarrassed by your parents’ behaviors, believe me I know what that’s like, and now you have quite a load on your shoulders to bear when it comes to securing you and your mother’s futures.  A union with me would be highly advantageous to you.”  She leaned up against the table with her arms, looking at him conspiratorially.  “The suitors my advisors have been finding for me have been as idiotic as they are.”  Steve snorted at her candor.  “So when Sam said you were coming for lunch, I knew it was the work of your mother, but I thought it would be interesting to see how it goes, since I remembered you as a kind but quiet boy.  Now you’ve grown into a full-fledged man, and strikingly handsome if I do say so myself,” she smirked at him.  Steve blushed at her compliment.  “I don’t like playing games and I don’t like wasting my time.  If you do not wish to pursue anything romantic of any kind with me, please say so now, so I may know how to proceed with this lunch.”

Steve gawked at her.  Y/N had grown into quite the impressive woman, not just because she was the Queen, but also because of her tenacity and passion in governing the country.  She had made leaps and bounds beyond what her predecessors had been able to accomplish within just 15 years of her reign and made a reputation for herself as a blunt but fair ruler.  She was very attractive, he’d always thought so, but even more so now as she aged and grew into herself and her own personality.  He found her incredibly alluring and loved that she was straight forward with him.  

“To be honest, no, I wasn’t planning to pursue anything romantic,” Steve decided to be honest.  

Y/N nodded but didn’t look hurt or embarrassed.  “I appreciate your honesty.”

“Not because of anything to do with you personally!  Just because I have not wanted the same relationship I’ve seen my parents or others in nobility with arranged or advantageous marriages have,” he paused, trying to find the right words.  She nodded.  “But I do find you…quite charming.”

Y/N giggled at him.  “Charming?  I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming before.”

“Really?” Steve said, genuinely surprised.  

“Perhaps some polite euphemisms that refer to my blunt nature…sometimes intimidating,” she trailed off.

“That’s what makes you charming,” Steve then copied her stance and leaned forward on the table.  “Alluring.”

“Alluring?” Y/N’s eyebrows raised high.  “My goodness Steve, are you trying to make me blush?”

“Maybe,” Steve smirked at her.  He felt himself getting more comfortable with flirting.  “It does bring such a pretty color to your face.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she did blush that time.  She couldn’t hold his gaze and quickly looked down at her food.  “Thank you,” she muttered, giving him a quick glance.

“Are you not used to receiving compliments, Your Majesty?” Steve teased her.

“Y/N, please.  And I receive plenty of compliments, but they're usually from people trying to get something from me,” Y/N answered honestly.  “They're also not usually coming from such a pretty face.”

Steve blushed deeply, having to look away from her this time and fight the smile on his face.  “Pretty, am I?” he laughed.

“Ridiculously,” Y/N laughed with him.  They stared at each other for another moment.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Steve said hopefully.

Y/N gave him a lopsided smile.  “Yes.”

The rest of lunch was them eating and getting to know each other better.  By the time they had finished their plates and the conversation began to wind down, the sun had moved in the sky, casting shadows into the sunroom as the afternoon wore on.  A knock came at the door, interrupting Y/N in a story about Sam, who walked through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve laughed.

Sam gave them both a disapproving look then turned to Y/N.  “Your Majesty, your meeting with the Prime Minister?”

“Ugh,” Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, wiping her hands and her mouth on her napkin then standing.  Steve quickly stood with her.  “I’m sorry to cut this short, Steve–”

“Short?  You’ve been talking for three hours!” Sam said incredulously.  Y/N’s eyebrows raised at him and he shut his mouth and looked down.  Steve chuckled.

“As I was saying, thank you for coming to lunch, Steve,” Y/N turned back to him and lifted her hand.  He quickly took it and kissed her knuckles again.  Instead of dropping her hand he decided to be bold and pulled her hand, making her step towards him.  He then dipped his head and kissed her cheek, making her inhale sharply, her fingers grasping his hand tightly.

“It was my pleasure, Y/N,” Steve said quietly next to her ear.  She looked up at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open.  “I’ll call you about that date.”

“I look forward to it,” Y/N said politely, but there was a hunger in her eyes.

Steve smiled and bowed to her before walking toward the door, Sam staring at him wide-eyed as he followed him out.  Once they were out of earshot Sam pushed him, making him trip forward a bit.  “What the hell?” Steve scoffed at him.

“What was that?” Sam chastised him.  “You can’t kiss her face!  Or call her by her first name!” 

“Well I just did,” Steve smiled.  “We have a date.”

“A date?” Sam whisper-yelled at him.  “How?  She hasn’t wanted to date anyone…ever!”

“Guess I’m a pretty good flirt,” Steve shrugged.  Sam led him back to the front doors, the car already waiting for him.  “Hey, what’s her favorite flower?”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look.  “Sunflowers.  Why?”

“Just checking,” Steve said, clapping Sam’s shoulder before getting in the car.  His mother would never let him live this down.

[extracurious]

Well trying to write a story until BTSV trailer drops.

꧁༺

❂Word count: 6.7K

❂Fandom: Spiderverse

❂Pairing: ghostflower(AU, no powers) [Miles-26, Gwen-25]

❂Tags: friendship, love, family, trauma

༻꧂

Eɳʝσყ Rҽαԃιɳɠ! 😊

  ᙡՐ❍ᑎↅ❤Ʀ❍ᑌԷⲈ

“Well even though I don’t believe in consistency, I could surely tell that you aren’t okay with it. The variations in your behavior are quite unsettling to me. To my opinion, going there would help you acquaint with likeminded people, explore new ideas and passionately work on it and in fact come in contact with those bright students of the school. That’s what you longed for right?

 Miles, man you really need to come out of this. You are becoming unresponsive and unfocused frequently. I indeed challenge you to fight for yourself!”, remarked Hobie after being completely failing to make the mood lighter around them.

 “You know already, that all these days I have been trying so hard to come to terms, well to be more precise, I was escaping…from……everything! "His eyes glistening with tears. 

"Those moments are burnt into my memory. They even keep popping up when I am indulged in a crucial work”, Miles sighed wearily while looking out of the second-floor balcony of his newly rented apartment. The breeze was cool and gentle thus bringing a soothing vibe and lessening the effect of gloomy atmosphere. 

 “Can you even imagine that I went so furious today while explaining a simple topic from mechanics to my student and thereafter I scolded him for not understanding it and having the guts to take admission in Visions”, spoke Miles, who being purely disappointed for his sudden outburst.

“That’s not what you call extreme man! I expected much more drama from you.”, joked Hobie while nudging Miles’s shoulder. The latter is not in a mood to get offended so easily as he has been occupied with other thoughts lately. 

“You should definitely consult my humble friend. If we go by your words, modern problems require modern solutions, isn’t it?”, deliberately making the last attempt only to realize it may become futile soon.

“I guess, that’s the only thing left to be done”, uttered Miles with almost zero hopes after being quite for few seconds. 

With a wide grin, Hobie cheered up his friend “Alright, then decided. I’ll make the arrangements and your task is to reach at correct time. Unless he would be busy with any medical conferences, there won’t be any delays.”

“I’ll do it. But not because you told me to”, patting him on the back, Miles returned to his study desk, smirking slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by Hobie."Did you just use my…...well, anyway leave that!” replied Hobie smiling. 

"See you later man! 

And... and just be yourself. Goodnight! "

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇

“Excuse me. Can you help me to get inside of this room?”, asked a man with a smog of confusion in his face. He wore a rumpled white shirt where it was printed “Best dad”. But to be specific his appearance seemed much grayer along with those dull eyes searching for something in the void. Miles assumed that he may be around sixty years old, but felt that he has already seen him somewhere earlier in Brooklyn.

Putting down his groceries on the floor, Miles fully turned back to give proper attention to the elder person. Before that he has checked his phone for any new message from Hobie about his appointment. Of course, his friend kept his word. His doctor’s visit was scheduled at 7:30 in the evening. Keeping his mobile in the pocket, he spoke"where are the keys?”

“I actually don’t have them with me. Must be with my daughter, who is busy finding a job in New York. Just help me to break this damn door, young man.”

“Sir ….um…if you ask me for a perfect solution then it’s not the best way to get there. "Replied Miles, who simply can’t understand how to tackle this situation.

“Then it’s not the best idea to stand here until she comes back, right? And I have already left my phone inside which I generally not take it with me when I am out, so no chance of calling her up!”, a frown slowly dawning on him.

Purely bewildered by this old man’s sayings, Miles hesitantly took his phone out and asked if he at least knows his daughter’s number. And thankfully he remembered that much.

“Hello am I speaking to Miss Stacy? "Asked Miles. But he received no response from the other side. 

"Hello...Hello are you there? Where's your voice gone to?"

“Yeah...I can hear you. Maybe a technical glitch. "

“Oh fine. As a matter of fact, this is our first convo. The truth is your dad has been standing here for a long time without the possession of his absolute necessities. In short with no keys. I suppose you took them while you both were out and forgot to return”, said Miles playfully.

“That’s impossible! I never bring keys with myself. First of all, ……. wait………Oh…my goodness...…I know what just occurred…please ask my dad to check his pockets carefully.  This is the sixth time he is obsessed with this. "Chirped the girl over the phone.

And finally, the keys were found, the door was unlocked, the girl thanked him with utmost generosity, but Miles was completely perplexed by this whole circumstance and thought to himself, “How irresponsible someone can be? "

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇

Miles eyes scanned the small chamber and he noticed that one of the overhead lights was flickering thus casting a dim glow over the room. “Can’t they just resolve the problems of these electrical devices before a patient arrives?" thought to himself.

“Here Miles! Don’t worry about the poor conditions of the room. I’ll talk with authorities. My commitment to providing quality healthcare will remain steadfast! ", told the doctor happily while gesturing the seat in front of him.

On hearing the backstory, Dr. Peter B Parker who according to the British guy is the best neurologist in Brooklyn, asked “You’re becoming disinterested too in your teaching field. 

So, tell me Miles, is it really beneficial to linger on such mental trauma that surely affects your daily routine? "

“Should I try to present you an award for bunking school? ", simply questioned him and it was quite easy to figure out that he has a knack of humor.

“Are you trying to jerk me around? If that’s the case then you’re definitely not helping me.” replied Miles while nervously sitting on the chair and fidgeting with his hands.

“Oh…not at all. "Said the doctor as he chuckled heartily. He then cooed his little one, Mayday, sitting on the table, who has been busy playing with his father's medical instruments. 

“I think I have found a rescue remedy without any kind of strong medications. Like, now hold Mayday and bring her close to your chest, cause it’s quite rejuvenating!” chirped the doctor while adjusting his glasses.

And amazingly it worked to calm Miles down even for a short duration although he constantly denied first. He looked at her affectionately and whispered, “Do you know how cute you are? Always carry this innocence with you, cause nowadays it is hard to find. "

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇. 

After finishing his dinner, Miles tried to engross himself in making of the question papers for the next term, which had been pending since the last week. This has already become a new normal for him. Keeping everything for the last minute. Now who was the "irresponsible one"? 

Although Saturday morning was not a good start, especially with that elderly, somehow the day's conclusion was well managed. 

 Dr. Peter was not ready to prescribe any kind of medicine for its serious side effects; however, Miles was not convinced with his only form of "rescuing," so he allowed him to intake an antidepressant and a medicine for sleeping well. But he made sure Miles visits for his monthly checkup and also asked him that if he feels low, he could come over and have a good time with Mayday; just inform him earlier about his arrival. 

 When almost one-third of the writing and solving equations were complete, he heard the calling bell ringing. He looked up from the papers to find the clock showing 9:45pm."Who was supposed to be here right now?".

Moving himself from his comfort position, he walked across the room and pulled the door open. 

"Sorry to disturb you at this hour. By the way, I am Gwen Stacy, your neighbor. 

 I earnestly beg your forgiveness for troubling you this morning. Actually, it was my fault for not being cautious about it. If you weren't there, I guess I would have lost him again," said the girl honestly. 

 "You know what? I won't chide you for entering my home. I hope you could tell me if anything is bothering you." said the person, who himself was not ready to disclose previously and doubted every time. 

 "Are you sure?" asked the girl with a surprised look. "Yeah, and why I won't be?" replied Miles casually. 

He felt his initial irritation wearing off. There was a certain placidity covering her face that genuinely left him with a small grin. 

Gwen declined the offer of coffee but at last accepted the glass of water. 

While sitting down, she couldn't resist the urge to peek at the other two rooms facing her. 

Miles quickly understood and said teasingly to the blonde, "It's just me. I enjoy the privacy and the tranquility of this big room. Although a little imperfect for a solitary lifestyle. "

 A slight blush crept up her cheeks, but she tried to ignore it. 

 "If you don't feel like sharing, it's still okay. I am never forcing you. That much I could assure. " said Miles, who took the empty place on his sofa just beside her, eventually maintaining a respectable distance. 

Without looking directly at his eyes, she finally spoke, while her fingers grew tighter around the glass. "No. I mean, umm, my dad is not well. In fact, he has been suffering from Alzheimer's for two years.

 All things feel like a maze on his mind, and... the loved ones easily become strangers to him. Well, the childish acts aren't uncommon to him."

"Often on gazing outside the window, if anything amuses him, he quickly follows that, thereby leaving his important items behind. And that's how he even forgets who locked his door. 

Most of the time, the ground-floor residents find him wandering aimlessly around when I am out. One day it became worse. He couldn't recall my number. He just told my name to the NYPD officers. One of them recognized and then helped him get home safely," she sighed.

The smile fell away on hearing her entire monologue. 

 "Just a minute... is he... George Stacy?" said Miles, who was quite shocked by the revelation. Now the blurry vision of the morning incident was becoming clearer to him. Gwen simply nodded her head at their agreement. 

Miles remembered his dad talking about his great bonding with Stacy. Good old times when they worked together under the same division. His dad used to praise George Stacy's immense dedication and resilience. Miles never thought his first encounter with the old man would go this way. 

 On looking at the pain in his eyes, Gwen said, “I know how it feels. Staying close to him yet so far. And funnily, sometimes he has mistaken me for my mother, Helen Stacy. 

They have been so compatible with each other. Like... a match made in heaven!"

On clearing her throat, she continued speaking, "Well, on the other hand, the frustration is real. I struggle to establish a proper relationship between us, although it becomes difficult most of the time due to his newly adopted nature.

All I know is that running away never saves the day."

 He felt those blue eyes getting a little watery. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. 

While shaking her head, Gwen said, "I... I think you could probably return to your physics. I am just gabbing a lot."

Thinking that his silence made her react like that, Miles immediately replied, "Oh, no, it was really nice having converse with you, Gwen! Moreover, I am a nocturnal guy.".

He could not decipher the gentle look that she gave. But he realized that misunderstanding was the main culprit, and that could eventually result in a huge mistake.

Deciding to shift to a lighter topic, Miles queried her, "So, your dad informed me about you looking for jobs around?"

"I guess there is no need to magnify the issue. I am already engaged in writing magazines, especially for the section considering wildlife and environment. And sometimes works as an editor for big teams. I have begun all these while pursuing literature from Brooklyn College. 

The rising costs of the duo is a predicament that can't be denied still. Maybe he has discussed that portion of my complaining to you.

" Answered Gwen merrily. 

 "I feel I should get going. Dad is in the sleeping mode but can still identify my absence. 

Catch you later, Miles! 

And...and never assume that you'll walk alone!" said Gwen with desperate sincerity as she went back to her apartment, biding good night to him. 

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"As soon as possible, I have to sort out these pictures. 

Holy Crap! This one appears terrible. 

Umm....this at least looks good than the earlier one. ", the photographer kept pondering over about his proper selections. 

He became distracted when he noticed the buzzing in his phone. Without any reluctancy, the man picked up the call. 

 

"You what? Am I not dreaming right Gwen! 

Let's go. "said Pavitr while jumping out of the chair celebrating their mutual joy. 

" So, what happened next? Tell me fast. I just can't wait to hear your lovey-dovey stuffs. "

"Stop getting so excited about something that isn't going to occur anytime! " said Gwen while rolling her eyes but inside she was indeed incredibly happy for the little progression she made today. 

"Enough of waffling over Gwen. You know what you were doing! Since the college life it was you who could not contain your small, to be specific, your gigantic excitement about him. 

Well, if I correctly remember it all started from Visions. Miles this... Miles that... he is the best... and the list goes on. 

And if I was in the same college as yours, I could have set you two up by now." told Pavitr with a smugly smile. 

"You are going too far with your imaginations Pav! " said Gwen. 

"They were not my imaginations instead were your fantasies. Just admit it, Gwen. " said Pavitr. 

"Okay... Ok... You win cause I admit that I feel a connection with him. But it is simply one-sided. There is nothing going to develop like what you're thinking. I don't want to intervene in his life. Just wish he remains happy with whatever he has. “, added Gwen. 

"At first I thought, we would be getting into a bitter exchange of words, which could be escalating into a heated argument. Fortunately, that didn't happen. But it appeared that he is still struggling with his parents’ death.

I am not sure that I did the right thing, Pav! " said Gwen. 

"You encouraged him to add life to his days. Not just act like a monotonous machine. And I can guarantee he was really glad to have you as his company.", replied Pavitr. 

" Umm...I need to tell you this, last night I noticed that tall guy again. "

"You mean Hobie? "

"Yup. He always accompanies Miles in important matters. But he visited only this Friday.  It has been almost two weeks after Miles moved in here. And today Miles went out somewhere in the evening while I was returning from my editorial place. Quite confusing to me. Hope everything is alright!"

"Sounding sus! 

Anyway, Gwen I have a pretty idea. Now that you two are familiar , so I feel you should definitely invite Miles to your birthday on Thursday. And surely, he won't be declining the invitation of a sweet girl like you. It would be mood refreshing for everyone of us. "said Pavitr. 

"Alright Pav, but don't begin messing with him then and there. Maybe he won't be supporting your jesting qualities! 

And before I forget, let me remind you that Monday's meeting is very important. Dare not to neglect it. See ya, bye! ", replied Gwen at the end of the call. 

 "Hallelujah!”, Pav exclaimed to himself." Just can't wait for the climax of their story. 

Will they? Won't they? "

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Mainly the anxiety attacks were shaping a bad feeling which hindered the proper completion of the task in hand.  These couple of days, he could himself point out the irregularities in his actions. Also didn't have a power to charge up his soul. So instead of performing few physical exercises after waking up, on following Hobie's advice for getting a healthy athletic body and mind, Miles had been sitting idle for over thirty minutes straight. Who would even say that he used to been a good basketball player in his school life? His name was registered in every tournament and the sport council members always used to appreciate his skills and improved stamina. 

Just......how fast the night changes.

While adding cherry on top of this, now it's that girl who got him so hooked up in those chain of thoughts since their meeting yesterday. Her soft melodic voice constantly echoing in his ears. 

At one time, Hobie asked him about his interest in any girl. He simply brushed it off. During his popularity in the school, some of the so-called beauties approached him too. But he avoided them. 

"She too studied in the same college as mine. How come I failed to notice her? Well even the branches were different for us, still...ughh... it's so puzzling to me! 

I had known that she was junior to me. Once dad told that Stacy's daughter has taken admission in the Visions too? 

Yet, I have to agree that my obsession with studies went to such a peak level, that getting involved in girl problems were beyond my scope “, Miles grieved. 

"Something......quite appealing about her which is making me go weak, almost getting me drawn to her. Handling these new emotions are becoming more complicated for me!", said Miles, seemingly unable to deal with it. 

The incoming call made Miles break out from his clouded thoughts. And at the same time, he heard an ambulance siren outside. 

"Unknown number? ", putting aside his unresolved feelings, he picked up the phone. 

"Hello! ", said Miles. 

" Hi, umm, Gwen this side. ", her voice faltered. 

" Are you ok? Anything serious? "Miles demanded, almost surprised by this strange way of conduct. 

"No, umm, I am now going to admit dad in a nearby hospital. In a hurry I just brought my dad's mobile with me. Calling you from there only. If possible, could you accompany me, I am feeling quite unstable? ", replied Gwen sadly. 

" Alright I am coming downstairs, just provide me some time to put my shirt on. "Miles assured. 

On their way to the hospital Miles could see her feeble attire.

" Just like any other normal day- he woke up, had his morning shower, began reading his favorite book although from the same page which had been finished a month earlier. The bookmark didn't help him a lot cause he often couldn't remember the place where he last kept it resulting in me finally searching the entire house and providing a new one. ", she chuckled softly. 

" It was just after the breakfast, that he felt dizzy and passed out. Unusually, it was first time observing him in this state. And before that he grumbled about his shortness of breath, which turned into an awful one. "said Gwen. 

 Utterly distraught by the news, Miles couldn't comprehend the old man's sudden illness apart from the mental condition. 

" You can count on me! ", he promised her while keeping a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezing it as a gesture of reassuring. 

On reaching the destination, George Stacy was then admitted to the ICU, and the patient party stayed in the waiting room. 

Later, the doctor informed that it occurred due to the falling down of blood pressure. Nothing major to be worried about. All the vitals were properly checked and the drip was on. 

When she was allowed to see her dad after his senses kicked in, the sight of him lying in hospital bed purely devasted her. Letting the duo chat, in the meantime, Miles went to complete a noble deed without telling her. 

Gwen rushed to her father's side, kneeling beside him, her hand finding his. "Dad, I don't like to see you in this way. 

Recover quickly and we would then go out for a daddy-daughter date together. “She blinked back her tears while her voice trembled. 

" Gwennie, who told you that I am not ok? Look, kiddo I am just fit and fine! "said George with all the strength he could muster. 

They both shared a laughter and a fist bump. "Dad, won't you like to talk with another visitor? asked Gwen, signaling Miles to enter the room. 

"Why did you have to keep your other half secret from me?”remarked George Stacy. 

"Dad! He is not my boy...", Gwen impatiently transferring the attention to Miles, her face turning red like a fresh tomato, silently pleading him not to bother with the nickname. 

"Umm....your daughter is telling the truth. We are just friends! " answered Miles although not denying the potential of "too close friends".

" Get well soon, Captain! This doesn't suits you! We can have the better introduction when we all get back home. "said Miles, smiling, but memories of his carefree days spent with Rio and Jefferson kept flashing back in front of his eyes. It felt fragile but filled with nostalgia. He somehow managed to hide his tears so that no one questioned him in his weak state. 

" And, young man, take care of my little girl. "said George teasing him. 

" Not to mention it, Sir. "replied Miles with a thumbs up. 

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Their friendship aged like a fine wine. The roots of it developed since the time spent in coffee breaks amidst the college classes, trying out of the box, sometimes blending music with physics. Like experimenting all the time. The bond grew stronger and yes, there existed a pure resonance between the two. 

"Laziness has been gripping your mind, man! Keep an eye on yourself Miles! And remake a schedule which you would genuinely follow from now on. 

Whereas the band performance has been a blast last day in Chelsea. A lot of crowds gathered and appreciated us! " said Hobie over the phone. 

"Great dude!  One day you would definitely reach great heights! " said Miles happily. 

"And about the balanced routine... Ok, don't get too anxious, I am gonna start working on it soon. Just let me settle the recent matter. " added Miles. 

"Which one? " asked Hobie, raising his eyebrow.

"I have never felt this before... There is a girl, I mean my neighbor, she is kinda becoming my bad habit. "

"Does she feels the same way? More than friend? " Hobie asked, smirking. 

"Maybe... maybe not! She is different than most of the girls. That much I know. Kind of having a demurring personality! "said Miles. 

" Just carry on with your game man! She won't be miles away from accepting your proposal. "said Hobie .But there existed an unfathomable emotion in his voice which lacked his confidence. Still Hobie appreciated the fact that Miles found his solace in her.

As Gwen approached Miles, he hurriedly said “I’m hanging up now. Catch you later! ", then awkwardly turned around to face her. 

"Can you stop being so good Miles? Why did you pay the medical expenses and the additional bills? ", asked the blonde, still in disbelief. 

"That's what friends do right! " replied Miles, his eyes still glued to hers. 

On looking down at her fingers, with the corner of her lips curling into a smile, she said "Alright! But next time it will me.Can't let you get away with it!

So, deal? "

"Can't promise you on that! Still sealing it, as per your saying. "said Miles, grinning. 

"Gwen, if I'm correct, then you haven't taken a bite since the morning. So, let's go to the canteen and finish our lunch. And I am not ready to hear any nos on this topic! "

While indirectly looking at him, she said, "Why can't more people be like you? ",her voice just a little above whisper. 

"Like how? " asked Miles without pressuring her. 

"Oh. Nothing! " said Gwen, casually dismissing it. 

 ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

 The clouds kept piling up as he seldomly closed the windows of his apartment. Anytime the rain was going to pour down heavily. 

The afternoon's meal was concluded, and after their evening visit, Miles insisted Gwen to stay the night over at his place, instead of living alone in her home. 

When the freshening up was done, she cleaned the disordered rooms, tied her hair into a ponytail and then brought the laptop along with her to finish the remaining portion of her deadline. 

Miles was occupied in making the dinner while Gwen got involved with her writing work.

The silence between the two lingered on. Neither of them discussed anything other than the medical issues. 

The air was charged with unspoken possibilities. In fact the consequently occurring embarrassing moments led Gwen to berate herself. 

She summoned the courage to call him this morning only, which she could have done previously on different occasion. Specially for expressing her feelings. The mugged-up phone number since the college days could have been utilized efficiently to convey her simple message. Often, she was found to write an entire block of text, just to initiate the chat. At last, everything was saved in her draft notes or mainly deleted before clicking the send option. 

On getting bored, she moved out of the sofa ,placing the laptop on the centre wooden table and went ahead to the kitchen, keenly watching Miles prepare the dish. His chopping of the vegetables gave an aesthetic view to the cooking. 

"Hey, Gwen! Do you mind giving the cheese grater? Yeah, up there on the left cupboard. " asked Miles gesturing with his hands. 

"Sure! Just a minute.....yes, take it. "extending the item to him. 

In doing so, their fingers touched slightly resulting in a shiver down the spines. Their cheeks reddened, eyes still fixed at each other, having a softness in them and the moment presently became electrifying.  

As the time passed, which felt like an eternity, the spell finally broke as the sounds of the frying pan floated to their ears. 

However, the fleeting glances continued. Their lips moving into the small smile and both of them tried to hide it. 

Upon the delivery of a notification on her phone, she darted away her gaze from Miles and focused on the messages from Pavitr. 

"How's your dad, Gwen? I was busy here with one of the photography workshops, so couldn't pay you a visit. "

"The bp fluctuations were the main cause. And the doctor told that, dad would be shifted to general ward late at night. Possibly, discharged tomorrow in the evening. Thanks for your concern, Pav, and no need to panic, Miles has been staying beside me the whole time." informed Gwen. 

"That's good! As expected from him.

 So, pause your overthinking and just don't ruin the pleasant mood that you two have been enjoying now. 

For any requirement, feel free to contact me, Gwen. "typed Pavitr excitedly. 

"The dinner is ready! "Miles chimed in. 

" You told not to cook too much dishes, so just made these Tortilla Rolls. I am sure you will like it!. "said Miles while sitting down. 

"Yum..yum,it is so...tasty! Didn't know you are such a good chef? "said Gwen joyfully, holding those wraps. 

But Miles looked surprisingly unhinged. 

" Miles? Is anything wrong? Earth to Miles! Why haven't you started eating? "she fired questions to him when there was no response. 

" Huh? Oh, Gwen! Sorry just has been diving deep into my thoughts. 

Actually, I learnt everything from mom. All credits definitely go to her. 

It was me standing near her, providing a helping hand and even getting little rebukes from her for adding the wrong spices. She used to tell,"Mijo, I suppose that's not the way of doing? It requires patience that you need to develop through constant hands-on practices. Put your soul into whatever you are involved in. Never support your fickle mind, dear. And then the result gained would be fruitful!"

As he became overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell down his cheeks. 

Everyone assumed, Miles was a sturdy person. However, the truth was that, he was just like a lone bird, who had come out of the cage but a piece of chain had been still attached to its legs. It rattled...when it moved... 

While caressing his face, Gwen cooed with positivity, " Everything's gonna be ok! Have your faith on yourself, Miles. 

You're the man who aspires people to dream big, analyses things critically, a person like you is born to accomplish wonderful things. Just don't let any upsetting series of events weigh down on you. Don't get lost! "

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he cried his heart out. 

While clinging to her, he said, " Same case for you, Gwen. Both of us need to be strong...We can't leave the battlefield like a loser, instead shine as a true warrior! ".

 

 The clock struck 02:30am. 

Miles stood up and stretched his arms, which had been paining since the last few minutes, due to constant modules writing. 

" What exactly has been the name of her magazine? Umm... right! Sunflower. 

That's such a cool name. Guess I would have to register for a monthly subscription of it! "exclaimed Miles enthusiastically. 

Turning his head, Miles noticed Gwen sleeping peacefully. Locks of hair scattered all over her face. The girl might be wandering around in the lands of her dreams. To him, she looked ethereal. 

Captivated by her serene presence, he moved towards her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering “Mi Lucero" to her. 

Adjusting the bedsheets, switching the lights off, Miles then went to the sofa to spend the rest of the night. 

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 On waking up, Gwen discovered a note stuck on her worn-out laptop. That means Miles had already left for school. 

"Good morning! I guess, oats would work as a good breakfast for you? All the items have been kept on the dining table. Help yourself. 

And I would be reaching home late today as I have to attend a teachers’ conference. By chance if I get there early then no issue at all! ", joined by a smiley emoji at the bottom. 

Finding a pen from the stand, she flipped the note over, and wrote" Thanks for everything! I'll ask my friend to go along with me. - Gwen".

After sticking it on a book, she found some medicines at the the corner of the desk. "Miles takes these pills.... that means... he couldn't .. work through his sorrow! 

Yet, he has not refrain himself from guiding me in his melancholy!"said Gwen with tearful eyes, utterly dismayed. 

Yes, Miles was absolutely a blessing to her. There existed no doubt. She felt lucky to have this man in her life. So, she promised to stay as his anchor forever. 

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

This time Gwen yearned for something simpler. And not a grand celebration of her twenty fifth birthday. Just inviting close friends were on her bucket list. 

Dad had been discharged on Monday and she had to handle everything appropriately. On consulting Dr Peter, he slightly raised dad's dosage and asked to visit the chamber next week for a check-up. 

That evening, while Miles was entering his apartment, he was introduced to Pavitr, who was just leaving the place after bringing the patient back home. As a result, Pav eagerly invited him to Gwen's birthday. 

On observing Miles frowning which became more pronounced, while Pav grabbed Gwen and gave her a bear hug, he immediately cleared the confusion and told with a mocking tone" Someone seems jelly with just a platonic embrace? "

"What? I mean.... no. Not at all" said Miles, nervously looking other ways. 

"Man, can you even imagine how much Gwen gushes about you? How much she lov-"before anymore words were spilled out, Gwen quickly acted by putting her hands to cover Pav's mouth. 

"Yeah, I was telling him how good human you are. Also, one of the best physics lecturers in Visions. " Said Gwen, grinning ear to ear. 

"Oh thanks! Very much appreciate it! " replied Miles, a blush forming on his face. 

"Any problem, just give me a ring Gwen. Don't hesitate ever. Alright I am truly tired. See you guys later! " as he left them standing together on the corridor. 

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Miles had his silky matte green shirt and brown jeans on, which was the last present gifted by his mom. Much ahead of the fatal car crash they were met while travelling to new Jersey for the college admission. Due to the head on collision, his parents were declared spot dead and only he was sent to the hospital for his serious injuries. 

On receiving the unpleasant news, Hobie reached there and stayed beside Miles each and every day until he recovered from his wounds. 

Looking at the mirror he traced his fingers along the marks. Those scars had been a reminder to that horrendous memory.. 

"What are you up to, man? It's a party where I at least don't wish to reach after cutting of the cake. " said Hobie, who was covered with one of his gothic punk rock metal black outfits. 

"Wait a minute! Let me fix my hair.... yeah....now ready to go! " said Miles excitedly. 

As Gwen welcomed them in, Miles was genuinely awestruck by her appearance. She was dressed in a stunning A-line blue gown which shimmered in the light and was able to perfectly capture the essence of her beauty. Just with a simple makeup, she looked absolutely gorgeous. Probably this was a gift from her dad.

On gaining his composure, he wished her many many returns of the day, and was about to introduce Hobie to her, when he noticed both of them staring at each other and became completely dumbfounded. 

"Are you guys familiar? "asked Miles desperately. 

" Nah... First time. Extremely glad to meet you, Gwen. Happy birthday dear! " greeted Hobie while shaking her hands. 

"Yeah, my pleasure to meet you! " said Gwen anxiously. Momentarily brushing off the subject, she allowed them to follow her near the dinette set. 

Thereafter, all gathered around the birthday girl, singing songs, providing her the presents and Pav continued clicking away pictures of her various poses. 

The space was intoxicated with the mingling scents of the served cake pieces, Irish dishes, shared laughter and joyful cries. Thus, weaving a tapestry of some heart-warming moments. 

 

"You're growing on me, young man! " spoke George Stacy, patting on Miles back softly. 

"You know what?

I am giving you the permission to take my daughter's hands in yours and declare your profound love for her. Get your girl! "

"Sir... I feel you're mistaking! " replied Miles with a flushed face. 

"Don't teach me about the hardships of a true relationship! I know how you two look at each other. So, I am not in mood to listen to your nonsense yapping. Just go and stop wasting time. " demanded Stacy. 

Letting Pavitr take care of the elderly, he moved out of chair and headed to the kitchen where both Gwen and Hobie chatted and cleaned the culinary sets. 

Thinking of lending a helping hand, he entered the counter. Naturally he overheard their conversation. 

"Does he know? " asked Gwen sheepishly. 

"That you used to bring those homemade foods to the hospital cause Miles complained about the taste and quality of theirs? "

Hobie looked over at her and resumed his narrative,"He complimented every single dishes prepared by you although the actual cook was unknown to him. Even today he mentioned that this type of cooking style seemed kinda friendly to him! 

You visited him daily but never got the confidence to initiate closeness with him. Every time you stood far. Your so-called gesture of "not interference", right? 

And when you saw him not awake, you went near him without disturbing his sleep, stroking his hair gently, whispering sweet nothings. "

"Also, what about your extra financial aid in his college studies and hospital bills, when I was unable to provide the full support? Even after organizing gigs, collecting cashes which didn't meet the costs. 

All these years, I have kept it confidential. However, one day, he will know somehow. How would you prevent that from happening, Gwendy? "

"You have a golden opportunity now. Just tell him without holding back yourself! 

And to be frank, you both are tremendously down bad. "

On hearing his past, Miles straight away went back to his apartment, saying that an important school work was remained untouched, which needed immediate attention for the next day. But it was in fact the opposite. It was an excuse to hide his pain. A way in laboring himself to get accustomed to those truths.

 

In the meantime, Gwen came out of the kitchen in order to open her presents given by her friends. Pavitr gifted her a beautiful diary, Hobie brought a premium quality chocolate truffles, and lastly a wonderful painting of her by Miles.

As her curiosity was insatiable, she wished to talk to her man, to know the story behind that incredible masterpiece. When she couldn’t figure him amidst others, Pavitr instantly nodded her towards the door.

On making her way to the balcony, where stood Miles motionless, she affectionately placed her hand on his shoulder. His eyes found hers. However, she failed to interpret his mental picture.

It was obvious that his heart ached watching her play the hide and seek for so long. So he tried to approach a different way to make her spill out those unsaid words to him. And also , to make her know how stongly he felt about her.

Hence, instead of answering her concern, slowly Miles motioned himself in the direction of her and started speaking in a tone which was barely above a whisper but carried so much tenderness.

" Your heart is now racing, isn’t?” Miles continued stepping closer…. more and more… The air was thick with tension between them.

" The words are abandoning you,your lips are softening….. and breath deepening, right?”

“Gwen, can you bear, if I come this close to you?”asking her teasingly, thus finally placing his hand against the wall, creating a barrier, which was both playful and flirtatious. He spoke again, his breath warm against her skin, "I have to tell you something! "

“What could possibly he want to say? Did he….anyway eavesdropped on our discussion?”, nervously thinking to herself, as she anticipated, her mind fluttering and gradually her breath becoming heavy too.

Miles leaned down slightly, his forehead brushing against hers, and spoke,“Actually I am not at all okay. Infact I am suffering from a rare disease whose cure lies with you only!”.His intense gaze at her was undeniable.

“I have become that person who has been left with the memories of his great times spent with family but he can’t move on and who constantly yearn to feel the pleasure again.

As if I don’t feel alive, kind of missing myself too. Amidst this chaos, you make me feel like I am breathing, Gwen!”

Without diverting the matter, knowing there was no escaping in love, she murmurred timidly,pushing a loose strand of her hair, " Extremely sorry for keeping everything secrets. I.. I couldn’t help to bring myself in front of you. Fearing you might never accept my proposal. And mostly….got scared in unknowingly hurting you in your grief. So ,I admired you from afar only. "

 “I get it where you are coming from. Good that at last you are trying to efface this emotional distance between us.” assured Miles with a weak smile.

“Enough of beating around the bush, so I am directly saying, that I wish to know you more. Won’t you help me with that Gwen?” asked Miles sincerely. The innocence in his eyes made her feel cherished and understood. Her heart skipped a beat and she agreed this was it.

As the world around them faded way, Gwen pressed her lips against him in a chaste warm kiss, the two souls reconnected with each other, discovering the passion and igniting fires in them.

“Guess, you were the one who cheered the most during those basketball tournaments?” asked Miles, smirking while pulling away from the kiss. His heart swelled with immense joy.

“My voice was not that loud. Yet, I prayed for your wins. And if I am being honest, you were an amazing player!” answered Gwen contentedly, gently slapping his shoulder.

“So, never try to conceal your feelings from me, alright? said Miles smiling at her.

“Promise! "said Gwen,her eyes shining while she gripped the back of Miles's shirt tightly and engulfed him in a hug, which felt genuinely intimate.

On settling her head on his chest, Gwen softly whispered,"All I want is this moment to never end!”

-extracurious

(Not to be reposted||like, comments, reblogs appreciated❤)

[some-creep]

Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”