#it's been a ROUGH year 25 was maybe one of the worst years of my life lol

[hikeyzz]

i'm 26 now!!!! i made it to 26!!!! i made it to my late 20s!!!! i'm growing up & growing old!!!!! i'm so lucky!!!!!!!

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 25: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: After your conversation with Frank, you start spiraling, and you find yourself at Jimmy's house, looking desperately for answers. Michael isn't too happy about that.

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, snooping around, snakes, allusions to child abuse & PTSD, Michael is pissed (and maybe a bit mean), rough grabbing of the arm (Is that a warning?), fighting, crying, semi-break up

Word Count: 8.6k

A/n: WOHOO I'M BACK!! Anyway, this chapter is only the beginning of this angst plot line, so... Don't hate me.

Tick, tick, tick…

One hour turns into two. Two hours turned into three. You’re alone, stuck in a house that isn’t yours, holding pictures of your sister who you haven’t seen in years in your hands because the man you chose to fall in love with has a family set out to destroy you; and for what? Because they aren’t happy with an adult man’s decisions?

Your life feels like it was written by a sadistic author; far more sadistic than yourself. You can’t keep up anymore.

Just a few months ago, you were somewhat happy working your ass off for some money at the Butterfly Effect. You made the process of brewing coffee for customers your life, and you enjoyed it. You fled your home to chase your dream of being a writer. What else are you supposed to do with your degree, anyway? And you were on a good path, saving money and trying to find an agent, but then Michael walked into your life. 

You don’t want to say that he ruined everything. You love him. You love him more than you have ever loved anyone, which is horrifying in itself, but you can’t deny that your life may have been a little easier if he hadn’t come into the shop that morning. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to get attached. Now, you’re involved with a family who is swimming against the flow of legality��and what scares you most about all of this are the thoughts you keep having that perhaps the Kinsellas could help you in a way not even the police ever could. 

You’re pressed against the wall next to the dining table, and your lungs keep forgetting that they are supposed to supply your body with life-sustaining oxygen. Every now and then, your eyes drift to the pictures in your hands. A tear rolls down your cheek, landing on the paper. It magnifies the size of your father’s face, and the memories that hit you at full force leave you clawing at the wood of the nearest chair. 

You were doing so well. You were an awkward barista with a safe future to look forward to. Now, you’re a barista using up all of her sick days because she isn’t allowed to leave the house of her Irish boyfriend—who just so happens to be part of an organized crime family. It sounds like the plot of a bad novel, but to you, it is very much real. 

Time was on your side until it wasn’t, and you have reached a point where desperation seems too kind of a word to explain what you’re feeling. Raw, unbridled anger fills your veins; the need to take the next plane out of Dublin is all-consuming, but you can’t be irrational. Not now. Michael was right about that part. 

You can’t help who you fall in love with, you know as much. Michael is damaged, but he’s yours. He is so human, you wish you could wrap him up and shield him from the world forever. From his family. From the pain. From the uncertainty. You wish you could grab him, your bags, and his daughter and run far away from this city. But those are wishes that seem too far away to even grasp.

If you have to get involved to prevent the worst from happening, you don’t have much of a choice but to do so. You only have one more thing left to lose, and she means the world to you. Breaking the rules—the law—seems like the lesser evil compared to waiting for the hourglass to run out of sand.

With shaky fingers, you dial the number you have dialed a few days ago. It’s still in your caller list. 

The line clicks, and the woman at Scotland Yard’s front desk answers again. It’s the same as last time. “Uh, hi,” you stammer into the speaker. “I called a few days ago, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I need to speak to Inspector Jones. It’s urgent. Would you mind connecting me with his office?”

Silence follows. Either she is taking a very pregnant pause to tell you something completely opposite of what you want to hear, or she is checking something in her system. You do hope it is the latter option. But of course, luck is still not on your side. 

The woman utters your name in the lowest tone possible. “Inspector Jones told me to inform you that he does not want to take your call,” she says. “He put you on his, uh, no-call list. I’m sorry, Miss. I wish I had better news.”

Her apology doesn’t bring back the hope he so mercilessly crushed in his bare hands and left it there, dying on the side of the road. Her apology doesn’t bring back your sister or supply you with the information on the case only Richard Jones has. He used to be so helpful when it happened. He told you that you could always call him. 

The question that nags you is, what changed? You haven’t called him in years, and now he suddenly acts like you’re the plague personified? It doesn’t sit right with you, but as soon as you’re on the no-call list, there is no way you can get through to him. 

You don’t wish her goodbye. You don’t tell her, ‘Oh no, it’s alright,’ because it isn’t alright. You hang up without another word, your phone slipping from your hand onto the floor. 

Swallowing a sob, you decide to pull yourself together. Michael keeps his laptop in the living room—though you suppose not always. You flop down on the couch with a huff. Of course, the device is password-protected. A picture on one of his shelves catches your eye, and you reach for it. Part of you is screaming to stop because looking at a picture of his daughter feels like an invasion of privacy, but you can’t listen to the left side of your brain. You turn it around, in search of the right combination of numbers. 

Anna’s birthday. It sounds so obvious—too obvious for a man as careful as Michael—but as soon as you type the numbers into the bar and hit enter, his laptop unlocks. 

“So predictable,” you mutter.

Instead of finding his desktop though, you stare right at an open folder you are sure is not meant for your eyes. It is also protected by a password, which you can tell by the little lock following the icon, but Michael must have forgotten to close it.

You should close the folder, open a browser, and do what you intended to do—write an email to forego the no-call list and guilt-trip Inspector Jones into finding the balls to contact you back. It is a desperate attempt that might get you a restraining order, but you have to try. For that, Michael would surely not be mad at you. If you start snooping though…

Your eyes have a mind of their own, following an instinct as old as time. You can’t help yourself. You tilt the screen back, and you take a closer look. 

The idea is so maddeningly risky your stomach churns at the thought of the possible consequences of your actions, but who else is going to tell you the truth if you don’t find out yourself? Michael doesn’t want to drag you into his mess as you’re dealing with your own, and while you get that, you are so far beyond common sense that you need to know what the man you love is involved in. You need to know what his family is involved in. If you don’t, you’re sure curiosity might actually kill you. 

You tried to avoid getting caught up in the dangers of the Kinsella family; you should have known that trying and succeeding hardly ever go hand-in-hand when it comes to your mess of a life.

You know Michael. You know how careful he is when it comes to dealing with delicate matters. He told you he didn’t want to get swept up in his family’s bullshit again, but as you look at what’s in front of you, you’re not so sure he told you the truth. 

The file contains mostly recollections of the family business. Drugs, weapons, larceny—not that it would ever change the way you feel about him, even if he did lie to you. This is not the worst you have seen, and it surely won’t be the last piece of dramatic information that will ever pass before your eyes. 

What catches your attention is the mention of Jamie, the record of his death, and a stolen autopsy report. And among all of that, you find a name Michael and Jimmy threw at each other’s heads the other day. Your hand still hurts just thinking about it. 

A loud thud echoes through the house when you forcefully shut the laptop. Every nerve in your body is burning itself alive. Your soul can’t withstand the storm of your emotions. The truth hits you. Around you, the world is falling apart, and you are unable to move anywhere but further into the chaos. 

Michael came into the café months ago because he was in desperate need of a reprieve—he was the butterfly that flapped its wings over in Asia—and now you are on the verge of getting caught up in something that you will never be able to get out of again; it is a catastrophe waiting to happen. 

Destiny and karma are very real phenomena, but so is the Butterfly Effect. Instead of innocent coffee though, you are staring into the face of disaster, and you have no idea what to do. 

An idea pops into your head. You shouldn’t seek out trouble. You really, really should not, but not even five minutes later, the door to Michael’s home falls shut behind you as you take determined steps next door. Not across the street, not to your car but next door.

The realization that Michael might never forgive you for putting yourself in this position moves to the back of your mind. You promised him not to do anything stupid while he was gone, but you knew from the start that you would never be able to keep that promise. 

Your feet are rooted to the ground as you ring the doorbell. At first, you receive no response. Just when you figured that you must have misinterpreted the movements in the neighboring home that you caught through the bedroom window earlier this morning, the gate opens, and you snap out of the endless spiral of your thoughts.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jimmy asks, his eyes trailing over your disheveled frame on his doorstep. 

Your eyes are red and swollen, and your outfit consists of a pair of Michael’s sweatpants and a shirt, but you weren’t planning on winning a fashion contest anyway. Jimmy deserves to see how miserable you are. Maybe then he will let you in.

He raises his eyebrows. “What? Came to hit my wife again? Last time wasn’t enough for ya?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, trying to hold contact with his dark eyes. “I need to talk to you,” you state matter-of-factly.

He eyes you again. “You look like shit.”

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

You expected him to snap at you—to lecture you—but that moment never comes.

You swallow thickly, then shake your head. “I’m here for answers,” you say. “And I feel like out of everyone in this family, you’re the only one who’ll be honest with me.”

“Why d’ya think I’d do that?” Jimmy asks.

“‘Cause you don’t like that I’m fucking your brother. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you couldn’t care less about what happens to me, which means that you also don’t feel the need to protect me or my delicate feelings.”

His lips curl into a smirk. As different as they are when it comes to their behavior, it is obvious that Jimmy and Michael are related. 

“I’m so sick and tired of not knowing. Not understanding. Not…not being in control.” Your lip quivers, and you bite down on it for a moment. “You didn’t act on Frank’s offer to threaten someone you don’t even know, so a twisted part of me feels like I can trust you. I won’t apologize for falling in love with your brother because despite what you all believe, he is an incredible man and he deserves the world. But loving him put my sister’s life at stake, and I need to know what I’m getting myself into before I lose her too. I–I just...I need five minutes. Please. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

Against all odds, Jimmy steps aside, motioning for you to enter. The house is as luxurious as you expected. High walls, big windows, and cool tones. The nature of your visit, however, only fills you with a sense of uneasiness. 

You close the door behind you and follow Jimmy down the hallway. You wouldn’t dare push your luck by saying something uncalled for.

Now that Jamie’s dead, you understand why Michael always seems so stuck in thought. The stakes are higher. You try to find a sliver of understanding for why Birdy was so cautious with you and asked you all the questions that you saw as a personal attack. She wanted to protect you, and maybe that is true, but she let Frank’s actions slide for a little too long and you don’t know if you can forgive her for that.

She ended up attacking you personally even if that was never her intention, and she let her brother attack everything you hold dear by trying to protect her own family, and that is not something you can let slide.

Jimmy walks up to a set of stairs that lead into the basement. You’re hesitant at first, standing at the top of the steps and staring down at him with narrow eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” you bluntly ask. 

He rolls his eyes. “Unarmed,” he says. “You can check me. I’m not carryin’.”

“What if there are guns down there?”

“There are, but I’m not gonna use ‘em to hurt ya. Michael would cut off my head and feed it to the dogs.”

You huff, but you eventually cave and follow him down the stairs. You hear him mumble something about you being complicated, and maybe you are, but can anyone blame you? You feel like you just walked into the lion’s den. Perhaps you are insane. 

You function on a very determined autopilot that wants you to do things you would never have done a few weeks ago, and you have no choice but to follow or else you will bang your head against the wall; Michael really shouldn’t have left you alone. 

The basement resembles a second living room. A leather couch stands against the wall to the right, and Jimmy has a collection of free weights to choose from to work out. There is even a pool table and a fridge you suppose holds liquor only. It must be the family’s layer for when they get together and discuss whatever a family like them has to discuss. 

Looking further, you notice the terrarium in the middle of the room. It’s gigantic. You step a little closer. The yellow anaconda is easy to spot. You don’t doubt it could strangle you if you put it around your neck. It is surely thick enough to crush your windpipe in an instant.

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

He hums. You can hear the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass, and he pours whiskey over it. 

“You like snakes?”

You look at him, and then back at the snake. “I find them fascinating,” you state. 

“They’re fascinatin’ creatures, alright,” he says. “You wanna hold her?”

You don’t miss a beat, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

You stand there in silence for a while, just watching the anaconda move her large body around her transparent living quarters. She sticks out her tongue. If you could talk to animals, you wonder what she would tell you. What has she witnessed in this room? The snake knows all the answers to the questions you are asking yourself.

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

“He’s a good man,” you answer. It doesn’t require much thought. “I told you. He’s a much better man than you give him credit for.”

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

He scoffs. “You have any idea what yer gettin’ yourself into?” 

“I knew from the moment I found out who he was. That doesn’t change how I feel about him.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s my fault that I got caught up in all of this, save it. I’m well aware of that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because I love him!” your voice echoes in the spacious basement. “I love Michael with all my heart. So much it hurts. I would do anything for him because you failed him over and over again, and he deserves so much better than you useless lot.”

Taken aback by the force of your words without actively yelling at him, Jimmy lowers his glass. He stares at you with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment in his eyes, and you’ve seen that look in Michael’s eyes one too many times. You want to smash something, but that would only make matters worse, and you really didn’t come to cause a scene.

Jimmy infuriates you in a way not many men have managed. You want to hit him, give him a shiner that will rival the one his wife is probably carrying, but realistically, you don’t stand much of a chance against this man. He is strong. He could feed you to his anaconda if he wanted to. Even if Michael would behead him, he would do anything to save himself. He is the epitome of selfishness, and you refuse to stoop low enough to be on his level.

You take a deep breath, lowering your voice again. “But I’m not just here because I love Michael. I’m here because your uncle decided that he had to let out his disdain for me on an innocent child,” you say.

“I’m not okay with that either,” Jimmy cuts in. “I don’t have control over Frank’s actions. I lost my son–”

“I’m aware, and I am so sorry for your loss, I am. I know how it feels to lose a child because my father killed my little sister and while she wasn’t my biological daughter, I was the one who raised her. And I raised Maya too. So, even if I left, even if I broke Michael’s heart and gave you what you so desperately want, my sister would still be in danger. My father would still be running free. And I’d still have no choice but to stay here because thanks to you, I am in danger too and Michael refuses to let me leave.”

A sigh leaves his parted lips, and he empties his glass. 

“This isn’t about me, Jimmy. It never has been. Not for me, at least. This is about Maya as much as your insecurities are about Michael. Except that Maya is a human being who has nothing to do with any of this. Not with Michael, not with you, and not with your godforsaken family. You don’t have to remind me how awful of a human being I am—I’m well aware of that myself, trust me, but I won’t stop trying to get answers until I have found a way to make sure she’s okay. That she’s safe. That I can get her back and end this once and for all because Frank didn’t leave me a fucking choice.”

You pull the pictures out of your coat. “He came to the house earlier. Gave me those. He said he told his men to leave her alone, but who’s to say that he didn’t already do irreversible damage?” you say. “I don’t know why Michael being happy is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I don’t care. I care about my family. Now, you can either help me or not, but don’t act like you have any right whatsoever to lecture me. You don’t even fucking know me.”

Jimmy takes the photographs. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares down at them. A drop of condensation from his glass drops on the paper, the same spot your tears dried into.

Your chest still heaves with every breath you take. “Jimmy,” you growl. The silence drills into your skull. 

When he finally opens his mouth, his voice resembles a steady tune. “I don’t stand behind Frank,” he says. “Not on this. He shouldn’t have done it.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

“None of us knew yer story. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For Frank, for Birdy—hell, I’m even sorry fer how Amanda treated you. If I’d known…”

“Would you’ve stopped her?” you counter. 

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

“There are ways to get rid of someone without puttin’ anyone in unnecessary danger. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

His expression is set in stone. You can’t determine whether or not he’s lying to you.

“Did Michael offer ya his help?” Jimmy asks then. “Regarding your, uh, father.”

You blink a few times, wondering if he really just asked you that. But you swallow your doubts, straighten your shoulders, and you nod. “Yeah, he did,” you say.

“Offered t’put a protective detail on her? Kill the bastard?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

“Because death would be too kind for that man.”

The faintest smirk starts playing on his lips. “Can’t blame ya,” he states. 

“Of course not,” you retort. “I won’t stoop to my father’s level. He deserves to be put in prison for the rest of his life. A bullet to his head would end his suffering, and I refuse to let him down that easily.”

“Is that why you came here?”

You shake your head again. “I need answers.”

“Why wouldn’t Michael give them to ya?” Jimmy cocks an eyebrow. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed.”

“He may love me, but he has a protective instinct that makes it almost impossible for me to get the whole truth out of him,” you explain. “Michael wasn’t there when Frank came over. Perhaps because he knew Michael wouldn’t be there. He caught me off guard. I was vulnerable, and he used that against me.”

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

“Just that he put an end to what he started. But I can’t believe that, now can I? He’d already started it.”

“You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

Your lips part in a bitter scoff. “I found some things on Michael’s laptop,” you tell him. “I need to understand what I got myself into here. Maybe find some common ground. In my mind, after everything that went down at Birdy’s house, you’re the least untrustworthy, and while we may not be the best of friends, I can’t limit myself to what Michael thinks is right. Take it as a compliment or don’t, but I’m desperate here.”

He murmurs your name as he makes his way over to the open bottle of whiskey to pour himself another glass. His steps are careful.

You are well aware that you should tread carefully, and Jimmy seems to be on the same page as you that this is a bad idea, but you were desperate and you saw no other choice. You would have crawled up the walls of Michael’s empty house if you had waited, staring at the bullet holes in the walls and wondering if you would end up dead at the end of this the same way his wife did; or if you’d merely lose everything you’ve ever loved and be left with nothing else left to give.

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out. 

Jimmy stops dead in his tracks. You hit a nerve. Seemingly with a sledgehammer, too.

“Because from what I heard and what Michael has on him, he’s a perilous man.”

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

“Please, I just want to know. What is Michael caught up in?”

“We’re all caught up in it.” The tone of his voice has changed and switched to a more dangerous octave, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Eamon—Eamon fuckin’ Cunningham had my son killed, and Michael thinks he’s too good to help us get back at him because of Anna. That’s what.”

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

“He’s our supplier. Drugs. If ya really wanna know. Changed his business model. Wants us t’be his bitches. He’s a power-hungry bastard, that one. I didn’t wanna cave, but then Jamie—and Frank—”

With an animalistic growl that resembles a string of curses, he wipes the small table before him clean. The contents shatter on the ground, scattering millions of pieces of glass around the basement floor. You flinch.

The echo of his shout remains stuck to the walls. One of the shards scratches your forearm—not nearly enough to draw blood—before hitting the ground. The force causes the bottle to implode, and the crystal glasses break beyond repair the second they hit the ground.

You want to tell him that Michael doesn’t owe him anything. You want to tell Jimmy that none of this is Michael’s fault, but you have enough empathy to know when to speak and when to just be silent.

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, then turns back around to face you. “I dunno what I can tell ya, but this family isn’t safe for someone like you,” he says. It sounds as though he actually cares, but you see right through him this time. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you answer, trying to pick your words with an incredible amount of care; don’t raise your voice, don’t shout at him, just tell him what’s on your mind in a way that is respectful and he might not lash out at you. “But Michael is fresh out of prison, trying to find himself a place in this world. I understand why he said that he can’t help you execute whatever revenge you have planned for whoever did this to your son. And I understand that this business you’re in is dangerous for every party involved, but that doesn’t deter me.”

Across the room, he meets your eyes. 

“I knew what I was getting myself into from the start,” you emphasize. “Michael promised me I’d be safe, and I trust him with my life, but now your family put my sister in danger, and we have to find a way to put an end to this mess because I refuse to let your little family dispute ruin my life. Michael can’t help me as he promised when he can’t manage to separate himself from you. Finding that file proved to me that he may have said that he’s done, but he isn’t, so I might as well accept that I’m not getting out of this either.”

He exhales, wiping his sticky hands on his trousers. “I underestimated ya,” he says. “But I suppose that’s what happens when your father’s a bastard.”

You shrug. “I just can’t run when you’re my only hope.”

Jimmy chuckles. “If we’re your only hope, I feel bad for ya.”

“Believe me, I feel plenty bad for myself already, but if I’d waited and told Michael about my plans, he wouldn’t have let me come here, and I still wouldn’t be much smarter than I was this morning.”

“Would you do somethin’ for us then? If we helped ya?” he asks. 

One hand washes the other, right?

The words for an answer get taken out of your mouth by the sound of the front door slamming shut. 

“Where is she?” Michael’s voice breaks through the ceiling. 

Your eyes widen. You have heard him feral before—when he was holding the gun to Frank’s head and threatened him, his voice lowering, barely above a whisper but every word as forceful as the next. His silent anger is the most dangerous form. It did something to you to see the man you love so livid because he saw your life at stake. 

You weren’t scared of him, you couldn’t possibly be, but the thought alone spikes the adrenaline in your veins, and your mind screams for you to run. It is the kind of effect he wants to have on people when he is angry; it is the type of effect he has on everyone because one looks at his fuming self and anyone would want to cower in the corner and cry. And maybe it makes your thighs clench just a little because no amount of fury could take away from how attractive this man is. But that is not the first thought that crosses your mind now.

The stairs creak with every heavy step Michael takes into the basement, and you hold your breath. Fuck. 

Jimmy stares at the mess on the floor, then back at you. You wonder if he’s scared that he might be the next in front of Michael’s gun. He surely didn’t hesitate when it came to Frank. Who knows if he would draw the line at his brother, but from what you have gathered from their relationship, there is a chance he won’t. 

“Jimmy,” is the first word on his lips when he makes it downstairs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his fists clench at his sides. The cuddly teddy bear you said goodbye to this morning has disappeared completely under an iron veil. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Michael sneers. 

Your first instinct is to step between him and his brother. Only then does he seem to take a look at you. You meet his brown eyes, your palms extended to press against his chest. 

“Easy,” you murmur. You don’t see the need to snap at him. 

He takes you in, his clothes hugging your curves just right, and in an instant, his large hands are cupping your face. “You alright?” he asks, and the fury is gone for a moment as he checks you for injuries. As though he truly believes that his brother would hurt you. 

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

Michael cuts you off. He pulls you to his side, almost behind himself, glaring at Jimmy. “Why’s she here with ya, huh?” Again, his demeanor changes. “She didn’t do anythin’! Frank put her life in danger, and you still treat her like a fuckin’ intruder?”

“Hold up, Michael. No,” Jimmy says. His shoulders broaden as he takes a step forward. “I didn’t–”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ did,” Michael interrupts him. “If you hurt or threatened her in any way, I swear to God—”

“No!” you raise your voice slightly, only enough to catch his attention. His head whips toward you. “He didn’t ask me here,” you confess. “I came here to talk to him, not the other way around. Jimmy…he didn’t do anything. I’m okay, baby. Please.”

His eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of your words, and he slumps. He turns to you, his hand on your bicep, and he asks, breathlessly, “You what?”

The emotions in his eyes are a whirlwind that burns through the guilt in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Come here. Frank came over, and he gave me the pictures he was planning to use to blackmail me, telling me about how he told his men to back off, but—”

Michael snatches them from Jimmy’s hands, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping them. 

“I was going crazy,” you say. “I called Scotland Yard, but Inspector Jones put me on his no-call list, so I thought I would write him an email. I was going to use your laptop, but you…you must’ve forgot to close one of the folders, and I accidentally started scrolling, and—”

“Jesus!” He shakes his head. “And you went t’ Jimmy about that?”

“I didn’t have a choice, okay? You said you didn’t want to get involved in anything illegal again, for Anna’s sake, but you lied to me. I don’t blame you. I know I’m not getting out of this, and I don’t want to because you mean the world to me, so I thought I could talk to Jimmy and we could find a compromise. After Frank…I didn’t think there was time to be rational about this. I’m sorry, Michael. I know you told me to sit tight, but I had to.”

“Five hours,” he growls. “You couldn’t wait five hours?”

Jimmy pipes up. “She was curious about Eamon,” he says. “I gave her the answers she was lookin’ for because you wouldn’t.”

Michael’s grip on your arm tightens, and it stings. You try to free yourself, but he won’t let you. 

“Whatever you two discussed,” he snarls, “It’s off the table.”

You glare at him. “What?” 

His fingers dig into your sensitive flesh. “Off the table, pet. You’re not gettin’ involved with this family.”

“What do you mean, I’m not getting involved with this family? I already am!”

“The fuck you are.” He drags you toward the door. 

“Michael,” you choke out, “you’re hurting me.”

You have never seen him like this, and you never would have thought he would grab you like this. 

He loosens his grip, but it’s still not enough to free you from his grasp. “I’m sorry,” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

You scoff. He may be sorry for hurting you, which you know was unintentional because he often underestimates his power, but he isn’t sorry for treating you like a child because he is still pulling you toward the stairs. 

“Michael,” Jimmy stops him. “Maybe we could talk ‘bout this?”

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him. 

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

His house isn’t even home to you, but you don’t have a choice. And as you make your way next door again, a feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that makes you sick. 

Are you actually scared of him? Meeting his eyes once the door is closed behind you though, you can’t stop imagining your father in front of you, and it makes your heart race up to your throat.

Michael raises his hand to his forehead, the other resting on his hip. “Fuck!” He doesn’t say it to you. He would never. 

He is trying to get rid of his anger to have a normal conversation—to talk this through because he doesn’t understand why you would put yourself at risk like that—but your brain doesn’t function the way it did this morning. To you, he is cursing at nothing but you.  

You see his hand out of the corner of your eye, and you flinch. Your entire body recoils, and the air changes. He seems to realize what he did almost instantly. You hug your arms around yourself, avoiding his eyes, hoping you won’t cry, but the tears are treacherous as they start to pave their way forward. It burns.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is soft again. His hand is gone, but oh, you can’t open yourself up to him again. “My love, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” He takes a step forward. 

He didn’t, and he still isn’t thinking, it seems. You take a step back. He is suffocating you. 

“I’m not angry,” he tries again. “I just wanna understand…”

You swallow thickly. “I explained it to you,” the words flow out in a monotone line. 

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

“If I’d asked you, would you have told me the truth?” You meet his eyes, and it hits him like a strike of lightning. “If I’d asked you about the folder, about what the fuck is going on, would you have answered or would you have tried to keep me out of it?” you ask again. 

Michael gnaws at his bottom lip. “I told ya we’d find a way. We’d make a plan,” he says.

He is diverting. He can’t give you the answer you asked of him, and somehow that breaks your heart. It drills a sharp knife through your ribs, causing you to bleed out in front of him. 

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

“I cannot have you doing dirty work for my family. Fuckin’ Christ!” The whisper turns into a desperate plea, “Why can’t you see that?”

You wipe your cheeks with a furious index finger. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked me.”

“Sorry?” He is taken aback by your tone of voice.

“You made me fall in love with you, knowing that being with you would put me in danger,” you cry. “I’ve always been okay with it, but you have to stop coddling me like I’m a child. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

“This isn’t fair,” he says. “I’m just tryin’ to keep ya safe.“

“But I’m not the only one who matters.”

“You’re the only one who matters to me!”

The silence that washes over you is charged to the maximum. Michael’s words echo in your mind. 

“I know you love your sister,” he murmurs, “but you promised not to make any rash decisions.”

“I know,” you reply coolly.

“You should’ve waited. You should’ve talked t’me.” Michael shakes his head.

You sniffle. You can’t look at him. “So you own me now, huh?” 

“No, that’s not—”

“You say you want to protect me, to keep me safe, but has it ever crossed your mind, even for a second, that I don’t want to be saved?”

His chest heaves with the breath he inhales. His hands remain on his hips. He fiddles with the fabric of his sweater—he always does it when he’s nervous, or when he’s fuming. You watch his body language and read it like an open book, but there is a distance between you. You thought maybe he would be a little pissed, but this behavior is worse. It tears your soul apart, piece by piece.

Again, he inhales, and he exhales again. “You’re reckless,” he states. Somehow though, he makes it sound like an accusation. 

“So what?” you retort.

“So what? Are you even listening to yerself?”

“Don’t snap at me.”

“I’m not—” he clenches his jaw. “Trust me, if I snapped at ya, it would sound a lot different. I’m just tryin’ to figure you out ‘cause I can’t fuckin’ read ya right now.”

You offer a sarcastic hum. You don’t have to think far to find the words. They are right there on the tip of your tongue. “Maya’s living with a monster who would raise hell if he found out the truth. The same monster who tortured me. The same monster who murdered my sister. Now, I feel like I’m being followed everywhere I go,” you say. “The family of the man I love would rather see me fall than accept me. I can’t go back to London. I can’t go home. I can’t…I can’t even go back to work.”

You sniffle again. “Brewing coffee used to be my life. I was working toward being something more. Someone more. I was writing, I was being creative, and I was somewhat happy. I had a plan, you understand?” With every word out of your mouth, your voice rises to new volumes. “I had a plan to get my revenge eventually and move on, but now...now my life is whatever this shit is, and I hate it. Okay? I hate it.”

You’re not angry; you’re broken, but saying it out loud won’t move mountains, and when the last word passes your lips, still nothing has changed. It won’t change. You can pray, you can beg, and you can scream at the sky in hopes that someone—anyone—will hear you, but it is a losing game. Life is a losing game.

Michael whimpers in the back of his throat. “Don’t,” he begs.

“I hate—” You stare up at the ceiling. The tears taste salty on your tongue. 

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

God, he knows that you only call him that when you feel like you have reached a dead end, but this time, he can’t save you; he, himself, has reached a dead end that he can’t escape from, and the ocean between you is far too broad to cross. You sob, and he wants to sob with you. 

“I hate what my life has become,” you cry softly. Your soft cries are the most painful to listen to. “And I hate that loving you hurts so fucking much I can’t breathe.”

This conversation feels oddly familiar. As if you have had it before. As if it is a daily occurrence as your demons fight against each other for dominance.

“I wish I could change that,” Michael whispers back to you. He is so far away, yet you still hear him perfectly.

You shudder. “Make me hate you, you mean?”

“No, not that. Although yes, sometimes.”

“I wish I could hate you sometimes, too,” the admission rolls off your tongue like a bullet from a gun. 

He nods. His eyes never leave your fragile frame, barely holding on by a thread. “I wish I could take it all away from ya,” he says. “The fear, the pain... And I wish it were easier to protect those you love. But I dunno how. And I dunno how t’be…better.”

A better man, he wanted to say. Better for you, better for Anna, and better for anyone else. Michael feels unworthy of your love. He had hope; for a few days, he had hope, but hope never lasts long with him. It always dies because everything he touches eventually withers like a fragile flower. He doesn’t say it though. He doesn’t know how.

You sniffle, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be better. I just need you to understand,” you say.

“I do,” Michael insists. “I do understand.”

“I’m glad you do, but I don’t. I need a chance at ruining the life of the man who caused so much damage I don’t even know what has become of me. I want to ruin his life the same way he ruined mine. I want to put him away for the rest of his miserable life so maybe my mother can get the help she refused to get when I last gave her the chance, and provide my sister with a normal life. That’s what I need.”

But what you need and can have are two different pairs of shoes. 

After a deep breath that lasts several seconds and allows the silence to stretch into a pregnant pause, you find your words again to continue. “The file I have on Ellie’s death is circumstantial, we both know that,” you say. “It won’t be enough. We won’t be enough—” Your voice cracks. “A security detail or killing my father won’t fix this. You telling me you love me won’t fix this. And saying ‘we will figure this out’ while you keep a folder on your family’s dealings that might as well also impact me now that Frank has painted a target on my back from me won’t fix this.”

He says your name in a way that sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. 

“I just couldn’t wait!” It is unlike you to yell, but you have reached your limit. 

Again, Michael curses, running a hand over his face and through his beard.

You lean back against the wall, defeated beyond relief. “What do you want from me, Michael?” you plead. “Because I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.” 

“C’mon,” he breathes, “I never said that.”

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

“I don’t want to lose ya, alright? That’s all I’ve got.” He sounds like a broken record. “I…I just found out that I probably have no chance at gettin’ Anna back, even after all I did, and I can’t…I just can’t…” 

The urge to reach out and take him into your arms is overwhelming. Tears glisten in his eyes now, and his body is quivering with agony. He’s holding back. He’s trying not to show you just how scared and in pain he truly is, but he can’t hide the truth from you.

On any other day, you would have crossed the room and hugged him with the promise of never letting him go, but can’t bring yourself up to get any closer because he is not the only one close to falling apart.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

“I can’t lose you too,” Michael whispers. “If I get involved again with my family—if I choose to fight—that’s another story. I am who I am, and I can’t change that, but yer not; you’re everything to me. And I won’t put the goodness of yer heart at risk. I can’t—”

You silence him with your hand. “I am not Anna.”

“I know, but—”

“I am not Anna,” you repeat. “I can’t replace her. I won’t replace her. I am not a consolation prize, and I am not yours to command.”

Your steps are heavy as you reach for your bag. “No,” he grunts. He reaches for your arm again, but you elude him.

“Don’t touch me.”

You’re not even sure if this can be called fighting. You were arguing until you weren’t. It’s a quiet storm, but it causes the most damage.

The door is calling for you. You can’t stay here. You feel like you’re drowning—like he is taking all the air out of your lungs. You can’t stand here and argue and fight, and you definitely can’t stay and be quiet with him. That hurts a lot more than being yelled at. Silent anger kills, and you’re not sure if you can come back from this. 

How did you get here? When he left this morning, he kissed you. Now, there seem to be a million worlds standing between you, and you can’t find common ground. You’re floating in space, and Michael can’t haul you back, but perhaps that is not the problem. The problem is that you don’t want to be hauled back. 

His hand finds your waist, and he pulls you against him. “You’re not leaving,” he says. The gruff sound of his voice used to be your favorite.

“Let me go,” you murmur.

Michael shakes his head. You suck in a sharp breath when he presses his forehead to yours. He smells of whiskey and rum. Did he have a drink on his way here? Did he drown his sorrows in liquor and God knows what else? You don’t want to think about how miserable he is. You don’t want to think about what could happen. You just don’t want to think at all. 

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

For a moment, you bask in the feeling of his skin against yours, but when it starts to hurt, you have to pull back. “I have nothing left to say.”

The arrow hits him straight through the heart. 

“I’m sleeping in my bed tonight.” You throw your bag over your shoulder, and you turn away so he won’t see you cry. “We’re no good for each other right now.”

He scoffs. It is a bitter sound that laces the air like a toxin. “We’ve never been good for each other.” 

You ignore the sting his words leave behind. “Then maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving,” you say.

The sound of the wall breaking under the weight of his fist is the last thing you hear before you step out into the cold evening air.

Your cheeks are wet with tears, but you don’t look back. You get into your car; you don’t even take another look at the house. You turn on the engine, and you pull out of the parking lot.

Michael’s house and the rest of the Kinsellas disappear behind you, your sobs echoing in the small space of your car. You might have to do this on your own, after all, and with that comes the realization that you might have just lost the love of your life, too. 

The question is just, was it worth it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

[urf1lterr]

lovesick | pedro pascal [4]

"and on this night and in this light i think im falling, im falling for you."

previous chapter: [3] series masterlist

summary: in which a 1975-obsessed film student accidentally falls in love with an older man she can't have.

pairing: actor!pedro x intern!reader

genre: acting world!au, big age-gap!, strangers to friends- maybe lovers?? au | angst, mature, awkward, love- eventually

word count: 10.6k

status: in progress

author's note: so sorry for the long wait! but i tried making this chapter longggg. i typically have my days off altogether and the rest of the week booked with work/school. i try to post many chapters within my short timeframe (bc im booked af) so pls expect another update soon after this one! sadly, it takes me around 8-10 hours to write one bc its hard to think lol. also, i don't want this to be too long of a series and kinda wanna connect the dots- slowly but surely, ya know? not edited.

"So, he just came knocking on your door at 6am?" Joon questioned, taking a sip of his smoothie soon afterwards. "I can't even wake up that early."

"We had to do that everyday for our last job."

"I woke up ten minutes before I had to be out the door," he shrugged. "Men get ready fast."

"Anyway," you eyed him as he cluelessly did the same, confused as to why you wouldn't look away. "I don't remember him coming."

"Yeah, because you fucking freaked out and hallucinated over Lady Gaga," Jules exclaimed, you automatically cringing just at the horrible memories you've recently faced with that damn cat.

Once she explained what had happened hours after you had woken up, you were disturbingly shocked.

And the fact that your sleepiness was to blame had you going insane- imagine all the other odd things you may had committed while under the covers.

But you will admit you did remember some of that night's events clearly, again like you practically making out with Lady Gaga- although she was the one who licked your face endlessly first.

Mortified just by the thoughts, you will never be able to face Pedro again sanely.

How could you when you recently dreamed about a man 25 years older being intimate with you- that's...confusing. And the worst part of it all was you couldn't say anything to anyone with the fear of being judged or laughed at- maybe both.

The thing was you couldn't quite understand why you had to dream about that. Maybe your time of the month was coming and your hormones targeted the first guy you had nonstop contact with?

No, that would've been Joon.

Attraction may had played a part but Joon definitely had that, Pedro as well but a little different...age-wise at least. There's no way you felt allured for men with bad jokes and rough skin- no offense. Right?

He did text you that same morning he dropped by and commented on how creepy you are half asleep and whether or not you agreed to his 'business' proposal. Not trying to start a conversation you knew you couldn't finish, out of second-hand shame, you just replied a simple:

LOL but busy with school atm to make a final decision- tell ya later

That later still hasn't arrived.

Unfortunately, you forgot to ask him why he made a random visit that morning- but you weren't going to ask him days later. In your mind, you need to avoid him. There's no way you'd be able to act normal after have unholy fascinations about him.

Not that it'll be a problem, you two hadn't seen each other for weeks before your cafe encounter, you're sure you can do it again without him noticing your distance.

It's been about two days since then which meant you didn't have to prioritize so much of your time on homework, you'll just save that for Sunday when it's all due.

"Did you bother to ask him why?" Jules added, turning to you. "He obviously wasn't coming to see me- I barely know the guy."

"You do know him!" you argue as she rolls her eyes. "You literally got mad at me for not recognizing him the first time we met."

"He's a celebrity- everybody knows him," she defends before tilting her head in curiosity. "But you two are oddly close, it's kind of weird."

"No," you shake your head, trying to laugh off her suspicions. "We are casual friends who fan girl over the same things."

People did take notice how close Pedro and you were but it wasn't anybody's fault you two had so much in common. Both of you loved Starbucks, going on hikes- when you weren't lazy, and believe Matt Healy is extremely attractive.

If they have a problem with that they can sue you.

"I see it," Joon adds, jumping up a bit. "Him and I barely talk and we're men- we should be bonding easily!"

"You're...you," Jules cringes, making Joon glare in return. "I can understand why he chooses not to be close to you."

Laughing, you watch as Joon quickly flips her the finger before he continues on with the conversation. "I just feel like he always comes around only to see you, it was pretty obvious since the first time he took us home."

Furrowing your eyebrows, you didn't understand what he meant by that. Pedro offered all three of you a ride home, not just you.

Already feeling done with this topic, you wanted to switch it before things started escalating and freaky theories started unfolding. They had every right to question your friendship, but you were starting to think they might be leading down a road where they may soon develop other impressions as to what your friendship might have been.

Why are you even thinking that? That's so inappropriate to imagine.

"You two are silly, he probably needed my advice on something or wanted to workout," you suggest, their faces showing they weren't fully convinced. "But anywho, did you call Yoongi yet?"

"I don't think that's a great idea," Joon declared, adjusting in your warm sofa. "He's not really a skating kind of guy."

Since it was Friday and you had no plans, you thought it would be a fun idea to be adventurous for once and do something you would never do on a regular basis.

Ice Skate.

Your friends were extremely down with the idea, but you needed a fourth person to make the group complete. Why not a skinny, impatient blonde man who would probably spend the whole night complaining about why this plan was awful?

Right now you could use some other grumpiness in your life.

"Just tell him to go," you beam back, clapping your hands in excitement as you'll soon be able to fall countless of times on the ice. "I'll buy him hot cocoa."

"You better do it or he'll never let that go," Joon states.

After hours of sitting around and blasting random music through your speakers, the three of you were ready to set off on your journey of locating the ice rink.

If it wasn't for Joon's constant whining to stop walking to take pictures of the scenery you probably would've arrived 15 minutes sooner than your actual arrival, but too bad your friend is a nature freak.

"You taking pictures of the pigeons better not be the reason why you're late," you heard Yoongi grumble as the three of you finally found him sitting on a bench near the entrance of the rink, staring directly at Joon who just scoffed.

"I'm sorry if my happiness bothers you," Joon snapped back as Yoongi just stood up from his seat and made his way to your trio.

Grabbing your ice skates wasn't too difficult as the long line seemed to flow by smoothly, but standing on them was a different story.

"I can't do this," you squeal as your hurriedly motion your arms around to find some balance. "I'm falling!"

Yoongi sent you a questionable look as he watched your poor attempts to stay still embarrassing. "We're not even on the ice yet."

Feeling a hand grab a hold on your shoulders and practically drag your feet towards the ice, you glance up to see Jules steadily directing you to face your fears.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Are you going to push her in?!" you hear Joon gasp a few feet behind you but you couldn't turn your head as you rather focused your attention on yanking yourself off of Jules.

"It was her idea so she'll be the one going in first."

"Ahh!" you screech, putting all your pressure on your feet to stop her hard pull. Spiraling your ankles in the most crucial ways, you start to lightly slap her arms off you as she continues to fight them off.

One thing about her was she's going to make sure to remind you that this was your idea.

Feeling an arm gently tug you off her grip, you landed on Yoongi's side as Jules whined in return, offended that he ruined her vicious plan. Respectfully, he kept you stable with an arm wrapped behind your middle back as you gripped his other one, fearful she might snatch you away again.

"Why would you do that?!"

"I don't think watching her fall face first on the hard ice would be a fun sight to see," he bluntly returned as Jules huffed. "The sight of blood gives me the ick."

"I was waiting for that moment all afternoon," Jules sighed, disappointed that she wouldn't be seeing you fall- yet.

Waiting for her to walk away to go on the ice, you see Joon follow her before you released your friend, relieved that she wouldn't be partaking in her scandalous scheme just yet.

"You do know how to skate, right?" Yoongi asked, his uncertain eyes on yours as you crazily wave your arms in front of him to rub off his questionable thoughts.

"Do I? Of course I do!" you argue, making your way towards the ice until you were two feet away from it. Putting your feet on the edge, you hesitate as you could feel the cold breeze wrap around you legs. "I'm gonna go now."

"Yippy," he states, waiting at your poor attempts to convince him.

Giving him a thumbs up, you clap your hands together to try to reassure yourself that you could do this, forgetting that he was right behind you secretly laughing.

Taking one final breath, you placed your right foot on top of the ice steadily, trying your best not to make any harsh movements, until you felt a hard jerk on your upper body, making you lose yourself in an instant.

"God, if you don't know how to skate why would you suggest it?" Yoongi grumbled, gliding both your bodies along the ice as he held tightly onto your arms. You were practically skating like a wet dog in front of him, begging with your eyes for him not to abandon you.

"I always wanted to try."

Sending you an annoyed look, you zipped your mouth as his arms were now securing you, closing any gaps there may have been and giving you the ride of your life.

Shutting your eyes harshly, you didn't dare to witness the environment around as you felt the icy wind slap your face the faster you two- or at least by Yoongi's swaying, got.

There were times where he did pretend to lose his balance, causing you to cry in horror and him immediately placing his hand over your mouth by how loud you weaped.

But other than that, you came to enjoy his help as your two other friends rudely abandoned you guys in order to practice their poor attempts of leaping across the rink.

"Okay," Yoongi started, releasing his left hand from your side and keeping you close with only his other. "Now you try on your own."

Fear creeping up in your face, you rapidly shake your head in disagreement and try catching his recent abandoned arm, which he denied. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" he countered back making you silent.

He did have a point.

"C'mon, it's not that hard. If Joon could do it, you can."

"He's literally on the ground right now," you whine as Yoongi quickly averts his eyes in search of your tall friend, soon finding Joon clutching his knee in pain as Jules records on her phone.

"No."

Sighing, he continues to look around, trying to plan out an idea that would at least convince you to slide a few feet alone without his help until he smirked and met your eyes.

"What would Matt Healy do?"

Widening your eyes, you were taken back by his question.

Only Pedro used that line on you.

And for some reason it felt odd when Yoongi did the same. You shouldn't be bothered by his choice of words...but you were a little.

He wasn't him to be saying it.

"He wouldn't force me to do something I didn't want to do," you reply back, causing him to groan.

"I feel like you just want to be in my arms," he retorted with a grin, immediately making you revolt and fly out of his arms, your bottom hitting the ice hard. "Well that's one way to make you skate."

Feeling immediate pain on the back of your thighs, you just knew you were going to be bruised and swollen the next day. But hey, this technically counts for your workout for the week.

Awkwardly swaying your body around, you couldn't get up off the damn ice. You were sure you looked like a fish out of water by how crazy you were moving.

"Get on your knees," Yoongi commented, causing you to send him a death glare as he lifted his hands up in defense. "It helps you stand."

Or he could just grab your arms and help you himself.

Cautiously following his suggestion, you slowly pull your right leg up and place it firmly on the ice before slowly trying to do so with your left one. As you began to feel satisfied with the weight being supported, you felt your body finally working and lifting up off the ground before he poked your shoulder- making you fall again.

"I'm going to murder you!" you threaten as you stare at him on your back, whole body restlessly laying on the ground in misery as he cackles loudly.

He may have advantage on the ice, but oh man- once you regain your balance off it you were going to end that slender man's life.

"Isn't this just a sight to see," you heard someone exclaim before hands grab your arms and soon lift you back on your feet.

Moving your eyes to the ones in front of you, you burst out in smiles. "Bella! Nico!"

"I take this as my queue to leave,'" you hear Yoongi mumbles but you swiftly grab his arm from his close proximity and halt his plans.

He was not going to desert you now.

"What are you girls doing here?"

Not seeing them for a few weeks didn't make things awkward, but different. It was like catching up with old friends, even though you barely met them less than three months ago.

"Had nothing to do tonight so why not ice skate?" Nico giggled.

Bella examined you up and down before pointing at your head. "My god, your hair grew so long. Has it really been that long?"

Rolling your eyes, you were about to answer her before Yoongi cut in. "No, it's her fake extenstions."

Gasping, you turn your body to him and smack his shoulder as he smacks you back. One thing about him, he's all about equality. You touch him, he touches you- simple.

You don't see the way Nico and Bella exchange smirks to one another before Nico slides in front of you and pulls out her phone. "We should take a selfie! You know, for memories."

Laughing, you agree. You took some pictures with them but never really out of the work environment.

Uncomfortably standing still, Yoongi hastily moves to the side a bit, not wanting to intrude this moment you were having with your friends. He was a pretty sociable person, but only if they had things in common and he fairly knew them.

Yoongi didn't know these two young girls and he sure as hell didn't want to be the one being kicked out of this picture- so why not kick himself out first?

"Where are you going, we need your long arm to get us all in the frame!" Bella exclaimed, motioning Yoongi to move back as he sent her a flustered glance.

"I can just take it with the three of you."

"Nonsense!" Nico argued back, shaking her head as you giggled. "We don't leave people out."

Biting his bottom lip a bit, he scratches the back of his neck swiftly before increasing the speed of his skates to the girl, accepting her phone. "I suppose."

Fixing your posture, you stand behind your friend as he carefully raises his right arm up in the air, positioning the phone that was able to capture all four of you in the frame.

Pulling out the gummiest smile, you bursted out a gigantic grin after seeing the rare radiant expression Yoongi was giving. He was never one to show much emotion so finding him giving in for a picture amused you.

Taking the phone out of his hands, Bella examined the screen before chuckling. "Wow, you've got one adorable smile."

You could've sworn you saw Yoongi blush as he lowered his head while shaking off her compliment, trying to act natural but he wasn't fooling anyone.

He was shy.

Gasping at the sight in front of her, Nico pointed at the concession cart near one of the exits of the ice. "They have hot cocoa! We must get some."

Faking a groan, Bella allowed her friend to drag her away but not before sending you a pout to follow, which you were happy to do. You were freezing to death without even realizing it until you stopped your attempts to skate for the picture.

"I was promised a free cup," Yoongi stated as he was gliding behind you, softly pushing your back as you proceeded to do nothing but allow him to direct you to where your desired hot cocoa was.

Scoffing a little, you shush him as you reached the exit ramp. Jumping off, the two of you slowly waddled to Bella and Nico who were next in line.

"Wait," you start, pausing your footsteps which resulted in him almost falling after slamming to your side. "Shouldn't we ask Joon and Jules if they want one?"

Peeking over your shoulder, Yoongi looks back down to you. "Nah, don't wanna ruin their fun."

Following his recent glance, you could see Joon and Jules in front of one another, both holding hands as they try to catch a faster pace while twirling in big circles.

You were sure they were eventually going to knock a small child over soon.

"Next," you hear the worker call out, sitting behind his register waiting for your arrival.

Quickly walking up, you place your order as nothing else but the hot drinks seemed to interest you. The total came out to be the cost as what four drinks at your local cafe would be, but you shouldn't be surprised since this place was pretty popular to the public.

Pulling out his wallet so fast, you didn't have to process what Yoongi was doing until you caught the view of his credit card as he handed it over to the man in front of you.

"No-" you try intercepting what had just happened by giving your card to the worker who just shrugged as he had already paid for the drinks on Yoongi's card. "Why would you do that?"

"You're too slow," Yoongi bluntly said as he grabbed the two drinks and moved to the side so the next person in line could place their order.

"But it hadn't even been three seconds since he said the total before you handed him the card," you protest.

He handed you your cup, hoping it'll shut you up as he took a small sip from his own. "And?"

Is he being serious? "'And,'" you question as he continued to be unaware as to what you were getting at. "Since the beginning I vowed to buy you hot cocoa."

Yoongi laughed at how stubborn you were becoming. "Vowed? What a great word choice for this scenario, fiance."

Rolling your eyes at his teasing, you hated the fact he was avoiding your question. You knew he did it because he wanted to be a gentleman, but the problem was he didn't want to admit he was one.

Again, he was being shy.

"I see you are kind," you smirk as he gave you a disgusted glance. "Don't worry, I won't tell people you have a heart."

Before he could leave a snarky comeback, Nico and Bella came back in giggles as Yoongi retreated back to his natural state of looking lifeless. "Oh my gosh- we went to get napkins and I kid you not I may have poured my drink on the back of this poor little girl."

Lightly gasping, you widen your eyes as Yoongi confusingly replies back. "May have? You don't know if you did or not?"

Bella makes an accountable face, scrunching her nose in the process. "Okay, I did. But she's the one who ran into me!"

"Well, she was really small and you kind of didn't search your surroundings before kneeing her," Nico exposed, causing Yoongi and you to give each other a concerned look.

"You kneed her?!"

"Only in her side," Bella excused herself, sending Nico a betrayed look. "It wasn't like it was her stomach."

"It practically was...," Nico mumbled but became silent when her co-star eyed her hard.

Coughing uncomfortably, Yoongi caught everyone's attention as he tried to avert the conversation into something that wasn't as horrific as striking a child with hot cocoa and a knee. "We should probably hit the ice again soon before Jules and Joon find out we got these drinks without them."

"Jules is here?!" Bella beamed, searching around for her through the large gatherings of people on the ice. "I missed that crazy lady, she was the only one who would get my coffee order right."

"She told me she would threaten to get the baristas fired if they kept getting it wrong," Nico recalled, chewing her mouth a little. "That's why I stopped letting her take my orders."

Sighing, you looked up in the ceiling in disapproval as you could feel Yoongi laughing his ass off beside you. That was very Jules of her to do.

After another two hours of trying to figure out how to skate, and basically latching onto Yoongi the whole time as Bella and Nico were doing laps around you guys, you finally made it home.

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement- you were drained.

No, seriously. You hadn't worked out this much since Jules and you almost missed the subway two months ago and had to run three blocks to catch it on time.

That day was dreadful, but you were sure if you went to bed you were going to wake up lifeless like a worm.

"I call the shower first!" you hear Jules scream, running to her room in order to grab her belongings but you were faster and instantly made your way to the bathroom, locking the door before she could break in. "You bitch! How dare you steal it with my back turned!"

Grinning evilly to yourself, you wanted to get your night routines over with so you could hit the pillows quickly. Even after taking off all your makeup, taking a very steamy shower, and doing your nightly skin care routine, you were sure you could easily knock out sitting on the toilet if you had the chance.

We all have done it once in our lives.

Opening the door, the steam flows out smoothly as you face your very displeased roommate on the other side, glaring at you. "All yours," you smile, stepping to the side but she roughly pushes you in response, causing you to yelp as you manage to catch your balance midway.

Mental note, burn her eggs next breakfast.

Stepping into your room, you change into an oversized hoodie and sweats before throwing yourself under your covers in excitement.

The moment you've been waiting for all day: sleep.

Closing your eyes, you feel all your senses slowly drifting away from your body as relaxation crept up from all around. It was truly intoxicating how in trance you were.

But of course with your luck, nothing goes as planned- ever.

Wildly jumping up from the loud blaring of your phone, you cover your face in agony as the vibrations and noise cause pain throughout your entire body.

Who the hell was calling you at 10 o'clock at night? This should be illegal.

After taking a minute to control yourself, the ringing stopped. Good, now you won't have to make time to engage in a conversation. Quickly falling back down onto your pillows, it wasn't even ten seconds later before you feel your phone going off like crazy again.

With you eyes shut, you move your hands around your bed until you feel the cool object underneath your pillow. Lazily pressing any button, without batting one eye open, you move the phone to your ear before releasing a groggy, "What?"

"What a lovely way to greet somebody, kiddo."

You instantly freeze, automatically thinking about the vivid dream you had about him, then Lady Gaga, and felt a blush creeping in.

Slowly pulling the phone away, you let out a loud but fast scream before moving it back. How the hell are you going to begin a conversation without thinking about his lips on yours. "What do you want?"

Pausing for a second, you can hear him move around through his end. "Did you just scream?"

It's not like you didn't just dream about him kissing all over your body two nights ago.

"Did you just wake me up to ask me the obvious answer?"

Act like you don't care. Like you are perfectly fine.

He chuckles lightly and you can tell by his tone he was close to passing out too. "Somebody's cranky, is it past your bedtime?" Pedro teased.

You were definitely not in the mood to handle his ridicules at this hour, especially by how nervous he was slowly making you. What did he want?

"Yes," you simply reply before hitting the red button, ending the call and laying your head back on your pillow. Good, just end it before you make a bigger fool out of yourself.

It hadn't even been another ten seconds before your phone was ringing once again. Pulling it up to your face, you let out a huff. What a shocker, it was him again.

"You better have an insanely good reason as to why you chose to wake me up in the middle of my dream," you immediately say as you press the 'accept' button.

Hearing him laugh, you just know he has a sarcastic comment coming any second. "Wake you up? Honey, you're still living your dream talking to me."

Honey.

No, not another nickname for him to call you in future dreams.

Shaking that thought away, you rejected the idea of him being in any more dreams- you forbid it.

Loss at words for a second, you almost let your next words trip over one another before calmly gaining your composure at the incidental choice of your pet name.

"So funny," you reply back, trying your best to sound sane. "Pretty sure I was dreaming of a very shirtless Matt Healy playing 'Please Be Naked' to me."

Why the fuck would you slip that out.

"Are you trying to hint at something?" he smirks, making you press mute and hold your hand over your mouth to hold back the screams you feared would release.

Feeling like your soul was about to leave your body, you couldn't believe he just said that.

Actually, you couldn't believe you would even recommend that song. God, your sleepiness was messing with your mind.

Finding your energy once again, you unmute the call and try to seem unfazed by his last comment. "Yes, that I want to sleep. Goodbye now."

Before you could hit the red button again, you could hear him chanting over the phone to do the exact opposite. "Don't!"

Groaning, you clutch the phone harder in despair. "I am so tired. Don't do this to me, please. I am a girl who values her sleep!" you whine as you hear him continue his light giggles in the background. "If I don't sleep I will die, is this what you want. Are you trying to kill me?"

"I can reassure you I don't plan on keeping you up long," he explains. "And I wouldn't dare wish for your death."

Your heart fluttering, you glare at your chest. "Then what do you want?"

Moving his phone from one ear to the other, he lays in his bed while smiling at his ceiling. "You," he declares, making you widen your eyes as he shuffles around in his blanket. "Tomorrow, let's hang out."

Sitting up against your bed frame, you furrow your brow. "Hang out? For what?" There's no way you will be able to act normal for a long period of time, your weak-self can't do it.

Placing a hand over his chest, he lets out a light hiss in fake hurt by your comeback before continuing. "Can't I hang out with you by choice and not by a work schedule? Unless you're so disgusted by me." That's when he started his fake cries. "I'm so sorry I am not Matt Healy and can't do a great British accent."

Shaking your head, you try to intervene as his ugly cries become louder through the line. "That's not what I meant, stop being dramatic," you complain as he instantly stops while smiling widely. "Is there a specific reason why you want to hang out?"

Taking a deep breath, he fiddles with the fingers on his non-occupied hand. "Does there need to be a reason?"

You pause for a second. He's acting too kind for your liking and it's making you question what his intentions are. In this point of time, you're sure he's going to take that moment to convince you to work with him in Canada.

"With you there's always a reason."

Scoffing lightly, he grumbles. "I just want to go on a hike and need a hiking partner."

Oh hell no, you already did enough working out this evening. You were not about to do that again, that's for sure.

"Yeah, nooo," you exhale lowly. "I already did too much working out with my body if you know what I mean and-"

"I don't know what that means," he cuts you off.

"It means I am going to be sore for days so my body has no strength to walk for more than five minutes," you declare as he falls silent.

After a few seconds that felt like forever, he replies. "Fine," he blankly states. "Have a goodnight, sweetheart."

The warmth as blood began drawing to your face became present as you quickly reply with a simple "night" before ending the call. And for some reason you felt as if you couldn't breathe normally by the pounding on your chest.

What the hell was happening to you. Looking up at the ceiling, you silently pray you don't have a Lady Gaga 2.0 fiasco.

As you were questioning why your heart made you feel as if you were going under cardiac arrest the night before, your body was currently making you feel if you really needed to make that trip to the ER by how tender you were.

It also didn't help that Jules was the one waking you up at the crack of dawn, half asleep with her eye mask clinging onto her forehead.

"W-why are you-" you grumble, rubbing your eyes as you look at the alarm clock near your bedside. "-waking me up at 6:18am? It's Saturday."

She sent you a death glare for assuming she randomly wanted to wake you up for the fun of it as she was the one who was woken up first. "Someone's here for you."

Positioning your body upwards, you squint your eyes up at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you take a look for yourself," she gritted her teeth, swaying her head towards your door.

Slowly standing up, you make your way to it before sneaking a peak of the view of your living room. That's when you see a very annoying man you were sure you both agreed on the phone last night to not go hiking.

Luckily, he didn't notice your wandering eyes as his were glued to his phone, scrolling through his social media.

What was he doing here? You can't face him without thinking about his body wrapped around yours and his lips doing dangerous things.

Oh no, you truly were screwed.

Lightly shutting your door, you nervously turn back to your roommate who looks displeased. "I told him no."

"No means yes, I guess," she replies, snaking her arms around her body for warmth. "I'm going back to bed."

You could hear her walk out of your room as you frantically begin searching for something warm yet comfortable clothes to wear on this undesired hike. You knew if you tried backing out he would stay until you caved, he was very persistent to get what he wanted.

And what he wanted was for you to get your ass up and exercise.

You were also certain you heard Jules let out a "thanks for the invite" to him before hearing her bedroom door shut.

Running out of your room, you made sure not to look in his direction so he wouldn't see your morning appearance clearly- well he already has but why reveal yourself in this state again?

Quickly brushing your hair, teeth, and washing your face, you change into a baggy green sweatshirt and some black workout leggings before slipping on suited running shoes.

Try to act natural. Give him little attention so he won't speculate anything. You aren't into old men and did not vision him smooching you on your sofa.

"You are so buying me breakfast," you deadpan as you walked straight out of your door, not even daring to wait for him to follow.

Good, be straightforward.

Laughing to himself, Pedro promptly jumped off the couch and jogged after you once you shut the door on him and continued down the halls to the elevators.

Finally catching up, he barely made it through the elevator doors as they were closing to find you leaning against the corner, mad and tired. "Good morning to you, too."

You let out a small cry as you lay your head against the wall in pain from how frustratingly exhausted you were. If one cold breeze hit you outside you were sure you were going to burst into tears.

"Oh, come one," he walks over to you and nudged your shoulder to wake up some more. If he unexpectedly touched you again you were sure you were going to rip his arm off. "In a few minutes you'll be wide awake and fine."

"How dare you assume I'm going to be fine!" you whine, trying to hit his side but he manages to capture your arm and that's when you give up and allow your worn out body to fall on him.

He instantly wraps his arms around you as your head falls just beneath his chin, your eyes slowly closing and your thoughts drifting away as his warmth was making you drowsy.

You tried to stay focus, but your poor state was taking over and you suddenly weren't as anxious as you once were. Being sleepy really made your mind roam.

"Hey, now," he whispers and looks down to see you snuggling up against him. "You can't fall asleep on me. I do not want your security guards thinking I drugged you."

Tightening your arms on how lower sides, you ignore him as you feel yourself easing closer to dozing off by the constant beating of his heart. "Stop," you mumble, clutching your ears softly before positioning your head on the other side of his chest.

"What?" he curiously glances down at you.

"You heartbeat's annoying me," you lightly whine. "It's pounding against my ears."

Pedro was extremely glad you were too tired to process his heartbeat and the bright red tint plastered across his face. Your drained-self definitely saved him from embarrassment.

Finally, the elevator doors opened and you still weren't moving. You were too comfortable to make any effort to walk on your own and if he really wanted you to hang out this morning then he was going to have to find a way to make you move.

And to him, dragging you was his best option yet. But with care.

Delicately keeping his arms secured around you, he gradually walked out with you still engulfed by him, eyes shut and only moving your feet with his pace.

Honestly, you were surprised how much rhythm you had.

Stopping to pull out his car keys, he unlocked his car and opened his passenger side door once you two reached the garage complex. Gently, laying you on the seat, you station you head against the headrest as he buckled you in. "God, I really hope security doesn't report me."

And once he made it to his side and hopped in, he laughed at the state you were in, head instantly bent to your side and legs tangled together in hope to create some kind of warmth. "Adorable."

But of course you were too dumb to not catch that.

You were awoken by a small speed bump and the instant hit of warmth through the heat vents, your eyes slowly glancing around your surroundings. Taking a quick peep at the screen indicating the time, you read that it was almost 7am.

Tilting your head and leaning against the headrest, you lazily stare at Pedro as he continues to drive to god knows where.

"Don't I look so handsome in the morning?" he jokes before meeting your eyes, sending you a warm grin.

And handsome on top of you.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you beg your imagination to please shut the fuck up.

"You mean drastic," you mutter, moving your head to the opposite side, against the window to force some sleep again.

Better to make time fly by faster knocking out where you were sure you wouldn't say anything stupid.

"Hey, no..." he whines, moving his right arm across to shake your chin softly to keep you conscious. "Don't pass out on me again, I'm lonely."

"And I'm tired, deal with it."

Shuffling in his seat, he looks over to see you curling yourself up in a ball with your legs to your knees and arms wrapped around. Not thinking things throughly, he hits the brakes hard for a split second and watches as your body jolts forward before swinging back against his seat.

"What the fuck!" you shriek, propping your body up and facing him in pure rage. "Are you trying to irritate me?!"

"I'm lonely and you're not helping," Pedro calmly states, shrugging as you continue your daggers his way.

You were beyond pissed. How could he think you would be energetic and talkative right now? How could he attempt to make you fly out the window? You could feel your nerves slowly fading away by the fury growing inside you.

If he wanted you awake then fine, you were going to be awake.

Doesn't mean you had to talk though.

Silently sitting up, you stare at the windshield in front of you and watch the cars drive as he continues to spare you a glance every once in a while.

Honestly, your silence was terrifying the fuck out of him. Normally, you would have some snarky comeback or violent punch to return to his evil tactics, but you were doing nothing.

Literally nothing.

And he knows damn well the sights of trees and cars did not interest you.

"Hey...," you feel Pedro lightly poke your side, pursing his lips once he saw your non-existent reaction. "You're not mad, right?"

Ignoring him, you continue your deep stare now onto more trees as you two were getting closer to nature than streets. You must've been out for some time as you barely noticed how far away from the city you really were.

Joon would really love this.

Gradually lifting his arm up, his places it on top of your own and gives it a small squeeze while laying it there. "C'mon, don't ignore me."

As if that would make you stop your scheme.

Blinking slowly, you acted like you paid no attention to his puppy dog pleads as the car was making its way towards an almost empty parking lot, all surrounded by a forest that only had one route starting within an old wooden bridge.

Pulling up to a nearby parking spot, Pedro parked the car before turning back to try and capture your attention but nothing was working.

You were so damn frustrating, it was infuriating. But he was still desperate to gain your attention.

"Are you just going to sit in here all day or what?" he questions as he waves a hand over your face to make you blink.

You didn't and that kind of frightened him. Work of the devil.

"I am going to cry," he warned, swatting his hand over his face to prepare for his fake tears.

Yet you showed no mercy. Sitting there patiently, you inhaled and exhaled softly, causing him to internally flip the fuck out because why were you being so aggravating when the two of you should be walking and pointing out the squirrels fighting over nuts.

And sadly, he was slowly giving up.

"Imagine if I really was crying," he began, offended you did not care one bit. "Really means a lot how unconcerned you are."

But when you suddenly started examining your nails and carefully picking at them is when he totally lost it.

Reaching over to you and moving his arm down your arm, he swiftly intertwined your fingers with his before moving you posture to face him.

His hand was huge.

"No, no-" he started, pulling a face as you gave him a blank stare back. Act natural. Pulling your shared hands in front of his chest, he sulks. "-please, for the love of whichever god you believe in, or if you're an atheist- for the love of you, please talk to me."

Watching him beg for forgiveness has always been funny in the past, but his pleading for attention now makes you feel bad.

"If you talk to me I will buy you breakfast and a very delicious milkshake that will make you extremely happy for the rest of the day," he continues, using his free left arm to wrap around you as his right one still clutches onto your palm.

He's so warm.

Pursing your lips a bit, you send him a skeptical glance. "Oreo shake with a lot of whipped cream?"

He instantly nods, a smile breaking out. "Of course, anything you want."

You look at the car's steering wheel before averting your eyes back to his. "And a red cherry?"

"I'll buy you a full jar of cherries if it makes you happy," he declares.

"And fries?"

Agreeing, he lets out a quick nod again. "With extra seasoning."

Biting your lip, you proceed to think about other stuff you may want with your milkshake and fries. "A burger?"

"My goodness, woman" he sighs, letting go of you and jumping out of the car before running around to your side and opening your door. "I'll buy you the whole menu, now let's go!"

With that, he vigorously yet cautiously pulls you out of your seat and throws you over his shoulders.

"Oh no!" you squeal, trying to find something to hold on to as he begins his journey, walking towards the bridge to start the hike. Grabbing a hold of his neck, you try not to choke him as you place your arm around it.

If you were going down, you were sure you were going to break his neck in the process. At least it would be a learning lesson for him.

"If you drop me I am never talking to you again," you threaten as he continues down a path.

"Said that before and just did it half the car ride here," he begins, moving his shoulder to give you a little fright of your life. "Now I just found out that all I have to do is buy you food and you'll yap again."

Glaring, you choke him a little to which he chuckles. "Didn't know you were into that."

Speechless, you couldn't believe his words. What the hell was he on this morning?

"Put me down!" you exclaim, immediately moving your body so he would lose his balance. Once he did so, you scowl as he ruffles your hair, making it tangle around. "Hey!"

"Can you stop being negative for a few minutes and enjoy the environment?" he asks, pulling his arms up to twirl around. "Just take in that fresh air mother nature gifted us."

Scrunching your nose, you frown. "It smells like rotten eggs."

"Because of the ducks," he pointed out before patting his pockets. "Which we will be feeding with the bread I brought."

Examining his pocket, you shoot him a curious glance. "How big are your pockets?"

"Not important," he states, grabbing your arms and dragging you along with him down the long trail. "What's important is finishing this trail to feel accomplished."

Pouting, you allowed him to drag you along as you miserably dreaded the next few hours to come. The energy you had to give off just for some damn breakfast.

Shame on you for loving food so much.

Encountering many frogs, lizards, and pigeons who loved flying right by both of your heads and scaring you to death, you had long forgotten about how anxious you were being around him. Being distracted constantly had you occupied which was a relief.

Eventually, you two finally found the drugs.

Or the ducks.

Walking by a huge pond, there were numerous amounts of ducks leaping around with their families following behind. It was really cute, but the smell wasn't.

"I wonder if they can choke on this?" Pedro muttered as he pulled out a large bread. Slowly nearing one medium-seized one in caution, he rips a piece apart and throws it. "It is kind of thick."

Taking a moment to check the bread out, you sigh. "Are you feeding these ducks bolillo bread?"

He pauses, not sure why you would care to ask. "Yes and?"

"They have thick crusts!" you exclaim. "And why not just feed them normal wheat bread?"

"Who even eats wheat? It's bland." he protests. "Plus, this is leftovers from my dinner last night."

"They're ducks! They don't care," you argue as he shakes his head.

"Just imagine if you were a duck," he began, making you huff in annoyance as you just knew he was going to say something ridiculous. "Wouldn't you love to eat this nice bolillo bread, maybe visualize a torta with some carnitas, onions, avocado, can't forget the refried bean-"

"The duck is choking!" you squeal and stare in fear as the poor duck starts to wheeze sharply.

Pedro's facial expressions drops as he sees the poor duck quacking in agony. Nervously rushing to its side, he looks up at you. "Do we pat its back? CPR? Call 911?!"

Pulling out your phone, you type away to find answers for your current problem. It was indeed true that you aren't supposed to feed ducks bread.

Especially thick Mexican ones.

"Give it mouth to mouth if you want chlamydia," you read aloud, causing Pedro to instantly leap away from the duck as it hastily begins to lay on the ground. "Wait, you get that from birds, not ducks. Silly me."

"Ducks are birds," he discloses, trying his best to softly pat the ducks back, finally giving it one powerful swat to help but instead the duck ends ups being thrown a few feet away by his force.

"Do I look like a fucking duck doctor?" you spit out, making him look up confused.

"You mean a veterarian."

Ignoring his last comment, you continue scrolling through more of google's suggestions, finally finding some information that may help. "You need to press down on its chest with 1-2 fingers or just give them water to drown it down."

Immediately grabbing the duck and placing it on its back, you worriedly watch over the duck from Pedro's shoulder as he works his fingers on the poor animal.

However, no luck was given as the duck was beginning to look weak and drowsy as pressure kept being projected on its chest. "We need water!"

Running towards the pond, you motion for Pedro to follow along with the duck as you look for a safe ramp to lead the duck onto. "Let's just lay him down near the water and splash him with it."

"He?" Pedro asks, stopping his movements. "But it looks like a she-"

"We are not arguing over its gender when its literally dying in your arms!" you exclaim, causing him to quickly nod and follow the ramp you found towards the water.

Gently, Pedro lowered his arms near the water with the poor duck taking over his hands. Trying to move the flow of water towards its face, he calls you over. "He's not accepting it, you need to scoop some up in your hand and pour it over his beak."

Rapidly nodding, you do as he says and take a handful and try not to spill it before gradually pouring it over the duck's beak. This water was not clean, but at least it was something. Nothing was happening until your third scoop once the duck began to actually swallow some of the water slowly.

"I-I think it's working! We did it!" Pedro cheered, trying to give you a high-five, failing incredibly as he somehow managed to lose his grip and dump the poor duck hard in the pond. "Oh shit!"

Squatting down, you try to reach for the duck as its face was buried underneath the water before Pedro's body slams into yours, causing you to fall into the dirty, cold pond.

The feeling of thick, muddy water overtakes your body as you lose all sight of air. Quickly moving your arms up and down, you rise back to the surface to find Pedro with his hands over his mouth and his jaw dropped.

He knew he wasn't going to hear the end of it.

"Fuck," he nervously muttered to himself before reaching out for you. "I am so so so sorry, the leaf made me slip AH!-"

He couldn't finish his sentence as you yanked his arm down with you, pulling with almighty to get him to land in the pond. The weight of the water going down with his body diving harshly against it, you knew he was completely soaked.

And probably pissed, but its okay. It's what he deserves.

Waiting for him to come up, he finally did so in seconds looking very unhappy. It made you delighted.

"You did that on purpose!"

Scoffing, you splash him and watch as he gasps harder. "You do a lot of things on purpose."

Using both hands to release bigger waves, he splashes you back. "Don't splash me!"

Growling, you slap his chest as he clutches your wrist afterwards. "You're so lucky I forgot my phone at home."

Gasping, you feel one of his hands fly underwater. "I didn't!" You hold in your giggles as he shuffles frantically before moving his gaze back up. "Wait, I never removed it from my glove department. Be fortunate I forgot it because if you destroyed it I would've made you walk home."

Furrowing your brows, you push his shoulders and make him move back by the force of it. "You're the one who started it. We're gonna get duck chlamydia now!"

Rolling his eyes, he pushed you back, causing you to fall under the water. Once you caught your breath again you notice the way he glares at you. "That's not even a thing."

"Just another STD to add to your list," you jokingly mumble to yourself, sure he didn't catch it.

You were wrong, again.

Launching himself onto you, the two of you fall underwater as he shoves you body around in revenge. Swimming back up, you gasp for air while slapping his arms off you as he tried blocking all your attempts.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he clings his face on your shoulder as he proceeds to try and bring you down under but somehow you manage to wrap your leg around his thigh, causing him to lose his strength and fall backwards with you on top of him.

He sure has one strong grip.

Now, not saying you were going to kill him. But this was your chance to kill him with no witnesses.

Well- besides the ducks, but they wouldn't quack a soul.

Regaining his energy, he lifts himself back up and holds you up, about to drag you under again before you crazily oppose while shaking your head, "Don't! We're gonna get sick!"

"That's not a very sincere apology," he tilts his head, his wet hair scattered across his face as he awaits your alibi.

Huffing, you fight back a rude remark. "Do you understand how much poop were swimming in right now? These ducks are probably laughing at us by how much they are quacking."

Swiftly looking around, the two of you check the surrounding ducks around who blankly stare back. The older looking ones hollering nonsense, probably making plans to kill you and Pedro.

"I bet their releasing their chlamydia right now," you cry, hiding your face in his shoulder as he bursts out laughing.

"I don't think that's how it works."

Glancing down on him, you're surprised by his strength. He's been holding you up by your waist for so long you're shocked he hasn't dropped you accidentally yet. "Let's not find out, let's get out."

"You're forgetting something," he smiles, staring innocently at you, knowing damn well you can't leave without his release. "And I wouldn't wait this one out because I am pretty sure I feel toads swimming near my feet."

Instantaneously, you clung onto him tighter in fear as you could imagine the feeling of something swarming around your body. It was like hundred of spiders crawling all over you, you needed to get out of here.

Pulling yourself back up, you place your hands on his shoulders as he impassively stares back at you, waiting. "Fine," you huff. "I'm sorry for claiming you had STD's before."

Pedro just stays there, not moving an inch as if he wants more. Groaning, you knew he wasn't going to give in so easy. "And I am sorry for stimulating the idea that you would get duck chlamydia," you apologize. "But you can get E. coli."

That didn't help as he just helplessly eyed you, not impressed with your poor excuses of your so-called apologies. What more did he want? You can't necessarily beg on your knees, you're in the water!

Whining, you knew you had to pull out your sincere face. You just knew your Oscar-worthy acting was about to award you freedom.

Softly, you move strands of hair stuck near his eyes away from his face and brush his hair back before quivering your lips and looking down upon him in sorrow.

He has really pretty eyes.

"I'm really sorry," you start as you push your face inside his neck and lock him inside your arms. "I know you don't have any infections, you don't even have visible rashes or sores to prove it."

Pedro finds your plead for forgiveness charming as you squeeze him tighter. He begins to release you until he hears the mutter of your "-that are visible."

"You couldn't hold it in for a few more seconds?!" he whined at how fast you went back to insulting him.

Sighing heavily, you slap a hand to your face. "It's hard!"

Suppressing a laugh, he unwrapped his arms around you and let you get back to the sidewalk. But once you were back on your feet, you looked down to find your body filled with random pieces of dirt, sticks, and grass. "Ew!"

"You're not sitting in my car," Pedro states, waving his head side to side to release some water from his ears.

"You're worse than me!"

"My car, my rules."

Frowning, you weren't sure if he was kidding or not. "Well, you almost committed first-degree-murder so if you don't want people to know you must be my personal servant."

His instant glare turned into confusion as he abruptly moved his attention back towards the pond. "Where did the duck go?"

Widening your eyes, you forgot that you had a helpless duck in your hands minutes ago before your splash attack with Pedro. Scanning your eyes from the sidewalks to the ramps to the pond, you noticed a duck floating nearby. "I think that's them."

Pointing at a duck with the closest familiar colors than the rest, you felt Pedro let out of sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I would have felt extremely guilty if she would have died."

"It could be a he," you snap back.

He was about to protest but honestly, you were done for the day. You just wanted to take a long and hot shower and knock back out. Not only that, but you ruined your cute running shoes you gifted yourself months ago for your work out journey.

You never really wore them, but it's the thought that counts.

"We can get breakfast another day," you plead to which he didn't argue over because he really wanted to remove the unknown substances off his body asap.

He wouldn't admit it, but he was genuinely scared he may have gotten duck chlamydia .

"Okay, but no sleeping in the car," Pedro states as you exhale loudly. All this and you still weren't allowed to doze off, how cruel is life at the moment.

Walking back to the car would've went down smoothly if the two of you weren't given disturbed looks from strangers and your clothes weren't clinging uncomfortably to your bodies, especially your shoes.

Luckily, Pedro had towels in his trunk and set them down on the seats. "God, I am definitely going to need a deep cleaning after this."

Slipping inside, your hands find the heater and turn it on full blast. Not only was it freezing outside, but your drenched state made you feel like an icicle.

Setting off back to the road, your mind begins to wander back to the question that has been flooding your mind lately. Craning you neck towards his presence, you make out his comfort state. Cool, he's calm.

Here goes nothing.

"So," you start, awkwardly playing with your hands as you try to make direct eye-contact with him as he turns his head to you. "Why did you visit the other morning?"

Lifting a brow, he pulls a face. "Other morning?"

Biting the inside of the cheek, you try to sound composed. "Yeah, remember? You dropped by around 6am-"

"-and you thought I was Lady Gaga, slammed the door on my face, and went back to bed?" he finished, grinning while finding your eyes again. "You mean that day?"

"Well if you knew what I was talking about why make me recall those mortifying details?" you grumble, leaning back against your seat. "And I thought you were a cat."

"I figured, I always questioned why Jules would ramble on about buying Lady Gaga a new electric litter box until I connected the dots," he confessed making you let out a small chuckle.

Yeah, you clearly remember how upset Jules became when Lady Gaga neglected the expensive box.

"But if you're curious, it wasn't because I wanted to go hiking," he smiled, referring to the current day.

"Then why?"

He paused for a minute, checking his mirrors before switching lanes. "I'm not really sure."

Tilting your head a bit, you express curiosity as you glance back. "I don't understand?"

Laughing lowly, he slightly shook his head. "I did wake up real fucking early that day," he started. "Maybe around 4am? Which sucked because I must've gotten like 3-4 hours of sleep."

"So you decided to wake me up so I could feel your pain?"

"No," he stifled another chuckle. "To plant trees."

Squinting your eyes, you become very confused. What is he talking about? He noticed your puzzlement immediately. "You know, go early in the morning to different areas in the city and help dig and replace old trees to plant new ones."

This whole time you were flipping out, wondering why he randomly came early in the morning just to find out it was because he's a nature boy who wants to help out the community?

It was very sweet of him to be as helpful as he was, but you were a little disappointment it wasn't something more.

"That's why?" you ask and he nods. "And why no warning?"

"Well, I was going to call but I figured all that studying you had done the evening before may have knocked you out early," he confessed.

Yet he still made you wake up early today knowing damn well you were exhausted last night. Strange.

"Why me?" you giggle. "I'm not your typical nature girl, Joon would've been perfect for the job."

Shrugging, he leaned his elbow on his middle console. "I thought about asking him, but to be honest I didn't want to pay for any damages he may have caused."

That was a very accurate insight of what Joon really was, clumsy. The amount of times he accidentally dropped his coffee cups, tripped over wires backstage, and face-planted against glass doors would be too much to count on both your palms.

You're surprised he hasn't broken his back again- but still glad he hasn't. That would really suck.

"But have you thought things over yet?" Pedro glanced your way before looking back forward. "About Canada?"

Stiffing up a bit, you move your eyes to the dashboard. You weren't dreading this conversation, but you didn't want to talk about it.

This was a situation where it was a win but also a loss.

Win as in gaining incredible experience, loss that your parent's wouldn't be pleased, it was in a different country, and you'd be missing out on your social life for almost a year.

"Not really," you admit and sense from the corner of your eyes his shoulders fall. "Still indecisive, as always," you try joking to lighten the mood.

Sending over a tiny grin, he mirrors your same expression, doubtful. His face turns concentrated again, leaning closer to you before he shuts down again, ultimately rejecting whatever idea he had going on.

The rest of the drive back to your place went by fast. The two of you made little talk about each other's life and how school was going for you, but he already knew so much already from past encounters.

Pulling up to the red curb you loathe, you crack a scowl as he only returns a smirk at his doing. "I will personally send my property manager to you so she can threaten you."

"I do love threats," he beamed, watching as you reach for the handle before stopping you by his voice. "-but I had fun this morning, despite our little uh...catastrophe," he chuckled, looking down at his clothes.

"I totally agree," you grin. "Dirt just looks so good on me."

He sniggers lightly before slightly sobering up. "But seriously, think about the offer," he begins, nipping at his lip a bit, not trying to put too much pressure on you. "It'll be good for you, you know- your future."

Sighing, you nod. You knew where he was coming from since he's been doing this for so long, but you were still young and had a lot on your mind.

"I'll think about it," you smile, reaching for the door handle and swiftly getting out, missing the way his smile slowly vanishes.

Taking your usual step back, you send him a farewell wave but he does his habitual goodbyes as he gets out of his car and grins to you. "See you around." Laughing, you walk inside the doors and make your way to the elevators, his followed soft "beautiful" being muffled by the traffic on the streets.

It seemed like both of you were screwed.

+

taglist: @thesapphirequeen @floralsightings @wrathofcats @avengersheart @fafik7  @chimchimjiminie16 @adriennemichelle98

[philtstone]

45, Sam Wilson

#45 -- shining like fireworks lol this is way longer than it was supposed to be and also was crafted around the #25 prompt, because I can't read. but I made it work. zainab i know youve already written something like this but i wanted to try my hand at it too! my homage to the epistolatory fic...

"You made me a scrapbook for my birthday?"

Okay.

Maybe he should rewind.

Sam won't lie and say it hasn't been a rough few months. So technically, the weight of the world doesn't need to be on his shoulders. He keeps thinking he oughta take a page out of that Spider-kid's book, and just be a friendly neighborhood Cap, or something. It's just between intercontinental warhead measuring competitions (something he can say around his nephews without Sarah raising both eyebrows), dickhead suits (come on, Sarah), flying green men, and regular old food shortages in his own damn home state ... well, it's hard not to feel it all, when you care.

He used to call Bucky and bitch about things, before. Or rather -- he'd call Bucky, and Bucky would start bitching about things, which gave Sam the opening to also start bitching about things. Funny how that worked out. But they weren't even living together then. They were miles apart! Since he and Bucky got that stupid bachelor pad apartment six months ago, they've barely spent more than three consecutive minutes in each others' presence. They've both been out of the apartment for such mutually overlapping long stretches of time that every time Sam checks the fridge, the brand new carton of milk he got on the last grocery run has gone lumpy. The worst of it is, he hasn't had any chance to talk to Bucky about it properly, and there's a weird, tireder-than-usual Sam part of his brain that worries maybe this isn't the best solution to Bucky's isolation issues. Wasn't that part of the reason they decided to move in together, anyway? A solution to loneliness? Humans weren't made to live all alone, grown assed men or not, Sam thinks.

All of this is making Sam in more of a bad mood than he needs to be, given that it's his birthday.

It is his fortieth birthday, so maybe that, too, is contributing.

By rights, he should be turning forty five. That part though, Sam refuses to think about at all.

"Yeah, yeah, complain about how old you are," Bucky says, leaned too far back in his own porch chair, long legs stretched all the way out against the rail, and nursing the twin of Sam's own cool beer. "Is it 'cause you need reading glasses now?"

"Bucky," Sam grits out, because he's not sure how to communicate, I am stupidly glad you, one of my dearest friends some-fucking-how, are here, I've missed you, I really didn't expect I would this much, but also I am five seconds away from drop kicking you into a small body of water, so help me God, in a non embarrassing, well-adjusted kinda way.

"Aw, it is," says the most annoying man alive, who at one hundred and seven has the general face and physique of a particularly genetically-blessed thirty-eight year old. The fact that technically, if you do the in-and-out-of-cryo math, Bucky clocks out at two years younger than Sam is possibly the single worst fact in the universe, right now.

"Both of you shut up and let Sam finish opening his presents," says a third voice, and Sam, miffed, turns to glare at his sister, while Bucky, the bastard, is grinning like a set of cheap fireworks.

Sarah had promised that they won't do nothing big til tomorrow, and that this afternoon was just for family. Sam should've expected that meant four neighbors and three of their childhood family friends and two cousins, also, but by four pm, most people have filed out and lunch is a demolished mess of scraped-clean plates and almost empty pots on the big fold out table on the backyard porch. He's already opened AJ and Cass's humble contribution: a baseball mitt, which Uncle Sam can use to teach them baseball, much to Bucky's endless amusement ("Didn't you say baseball was an old people sport? You played baseball in school, Samuel? When you were even younger?" Yeah, he's real close to Bucky-cide, today). He knows Sarah's got him an old record player of their dad's upstairs, which he'd been planning to get fixed up all those many years ago, before their lives were torn apart; the fact that it has survived, and they have survived, makes Sam feel a certain kind of way. What Sam wasn't expecting was the lumpy, large, rectangular package that emerges from under the porch table, wrapped in brown paper and presented to him by his nephews.

"And that one's from B," Sarah says. Sam's too busy staring at it incredulously to clock the amused twinkle in his sister's eye.

"You got me a birthday present? Forreal?" Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or be suspicious or tear up like an idiot. Jesus, it's not like he's Bucky, getting all misty at basic kind gestures. Bucky shrugs and takes a drag from his beer.

"What, you can get me stuff, but I'm banned?"

"You're not banned, oh my God. I'm just surprised."

"I get people presents!"

"I know you do!"

"So, it's your birthday, I got you a present."

"What is it?"

"Now he's making it weird!" Bucky says, helplessly, to Sarah. AJ and Cass have started giggling.

So Sam rips off the wrapping paper, muttering to himself.

Which brings him back to an immutable, inescapable fact.

Bucky Barnes made him a scrapbook for his birthday.

"It's not a scrapbook."

"It's literally a scrapbook. Holy shit, are those stickers from Joanne's?"

"Hobby Lobby," offers AJ solemnly.

"Look, okay, it was Sarah's idea! Just read the fuckin' -- I mean, uh --"

At this point, the boys' giggles are threatening to turn medical. Sarah mouths nope, all him, from behind Bucky's chair, while Sam gapes helplessly at the shockingly neat mess of .... post it notes?

No. No way.

"You put all the annoying sticky notes you left me about the fucking soured milk in a scrapbook?"

"Oh, guys, come on!" Sarah throws her hands up in the air. "That's two in half a minute! You want these boys to grow up cursin'?"

"Half of them are yours!" Bucky points. "Which, by the way, were also annoying!" He's not quite embarrassed, but there's an airy, funny kind of laugh bubbling up behind his words at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam's feeling it too. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his reading glasses.

Bucky cracks; he chokes on his laughter, stuffing it roughly behind one metal fist; AJ has plastered himself against Sam's side and Cass is literally slumped, hiccupping, on the floor. Even Sarah's having a hard time fighting it.

Primly, Sam begins reading at a random place in the middle of the book; the note is written on an overlarge, bright blue POST-IT.

SAM. WON'T BE BACK TIL THURSDAY. PICKED UP THAT WEIRD MILK YOU LIKE FOR YOU. -JBB

Bucky, just got in. Leaving again tomorrow 0600. Hope Ross isn't being too much of a pain in the ass. Lactose free milk is a sexy modern invention, NOT weird. Its kind of gone bad tho. Did you not drink any of it???

Also, u dont have to sign post its. - Sam

I WASNT GONNA DRINK YOUR MILK. ITS YOURS. THANKS FOR TAKING OUT THE LEFTOVER TRASH, HAD TO RUN. GOT YOU MORE MILK FOR WHEN YOU GET BACK. YOU WILL DO GREAT. RIP STR MALONE A NEW ONE - JBB

I know who you are! Milks bad again. Jesus, i need a vacation. I didn't rip any senators new ones

Wanted to, tho. You keep switching burner phones so i cant text you this shit

LEAVE NOTES. THEY STICK TO THE FRIDGE NICE - JBB

Oh my God, you did not get a cat while I was gone

SHE CAN LIVE IN MY ROOM. GOT YOU MORE MILK AS A BRIBE :-)

She tore up ALL THE CURTAINS. I LIKED THOSE CURTAINS. And do your own laundry instead of getting me milk!

I DO LAUNDRY! IVE DONE YOURS THREE TIMES IN A ROW.

FUCK. MILKS GONE BAD.

You tried to drink it? What happened to its Sams milk?

Your cat peed in my shoe by the way!

IT WAS GOING BAD!!!!! -JBB

It's always goin bad!! - STW

Hey B, heard about the op from Rhodey. Im in Delacroix tmrw, come down if you can. Take care of yourself, man.

At this point, Sam stops reading. That was a couple days ago. He looks up again, pulls his glasses off. As irritable as he was earlier, there is relief in seeing Bucky perfectly in-tact, effortlessly whole. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but Sam thinks that's maybe a detail about him that's never really gonna go away at this point. He'd been worried, yeah. Annoyed, that they hadn't talked properly before parting ways. Missing his friend and pissed off about the milk. What was the point of living with a person if you never fucking interacted, and then they got blown up?

"I can't believe you kept all of this shit," Sam manages.

Rubbing at one eye, Bucky shrugs, looks down, then up, like he's not actually embarrassed about it at all. He says, "I had to prove to my therapist I was living successfully with a roommate somehow."

Sam snorts. After a beat, Bucky adds, "Hadn't had a roommate in years. It would've been weird to throw them out."

Yeah, Sam thinks. Yeah.

"Hey, man," Sam says, while Sarah (still chuckling), begins cleaning up the plates on the table with Cass's help. "I missed you too." Bucky smiles -- "You better tell me where you found that mangy stray cat, though."

At which point Bucky's mouth drops open in what is apparently mortal offense, and the rest of Sam's birthday is spent arguing over viable pet names for the tiny white demon kitten from hell.

[desiredcrescent]

So ya like BG3 Characters?

I got encouragement from one (1) person and im ill with oc thoughts so here we go ✨ Maybe more characters to come but we're dealing bg3 here!

Always open to discuss characters with others, receive asks and the like! I just get very distracted so it might take me a few days to get to you 😅

have some memes before walls of text ✨

Farryn, Tiefling Wild Magic Sorcerer (25 years old)

If you think there's a favourite here on the blog ur right. this is my babyboy. He occupies my brain most of the time. First bg3 tav realness. (the art is by my lovely partner bwee)

- Romancing Astarion and Halsin

- Besties with Karlach

- Dancing around emotions with Wyll (The potential that larian purposefully stood in the way of actually makes me ill fr,,,, why did i not get the dance scene besties.... what did i do wrong...)

~~~

- Glass cannon who's willing to push himself to the limit (magical fatigue themes my beloved) to guarantee his survival. He IS reckless but he will make sure everyone gets out alive.

- He's a city boy stumbling around out here, Perishing at the rough and tumble camp life but he is also in awe of the natural world.

- He mostly acts with self preservation in mind, leading to him being largely non-combatitive whenever possible, or at worst making bold but necessary sacrifices for his and his companions' safety.

- Hates the idea of gods being these fonts of absolute rules and fate being prewritten. Hated everyone being on their god related bullshit.

- He will claim to be a hater!!! he is lying with his 20 CHA score!!! he is in fact a lover at his core. He has so much love for his companions and the world around him despite how it's treated him.

- he's kinda vain in that rich kid way, he has an appreciation for dance and fashion, definitely has standards when it comes to meals eaten too.

~~~

Farryn is the 3rd child to an influential Baldur's Gate family. He was raised in complete secrecy from the prying eyes of the Baldur's Gate elite due to him being born a tiefling. It'd simply ruin his family's image. His family were deeply devoted to the God of Fate, Savras, and in turn all were either skilled diviners, or various clerics in His service.

When he turned 11, he awoke to his magic in a display of chaos, and gifted the slight gift of being able to take control of the wheels of fate. His family then suddenly doted on him, believing him to be the potential chosen of Savras, and this being a blessing for new followers. Their dedication and warped ideas of Farryn lead them to trying to canonize him as some sort of figurehead on the day of his 14th Birthday. After the failure, they bide their time until Farryn's 21st, to try again. But this time he ran, and has been since trying to live in a world where he never truly existed.

~~~

Daeris Cylian, Half-Drow PalaBard, Oath of Vengeance/College of Swords (57~ Years old)

So he was conceptulised as: how fucked up would it be to play a dark urge paladin who fights so hard to keep his oath and yeah. answer is pretty fucked.

- Romancing: Undecided! the allure of Wyll romance is true,,,

- Besties with: Lae'zel, he likes her forwardness and devotion.

- He's not taken his bard levels yet but we're getting there guys. Fic incoming.

- Resisting the Urge (i might be splitting saves to have him break beneath the urge but shh not rn)

~~~

- Soft spoken and gentle mannered, until he's on the battlefield.

- Being a durge he's perhaps a bit too comfortable being covered in blood

- His two instincts being 'kill' and 'be killed for the cause' creates a guy fr.

- He'll never wield a shield, but he'll put himself on the front lines to take the hardest hits. He believes that if he gets hit, its one hit that hasn't landed on someone else.

- He tries to see the best in people, but the second they're responsible for another's suffering?? thin ice.

- Hot. He's hot.

- He plays the lute and violin but he doesn't know that. (calloused hands perhaps better suited to the delicate playing of an instrument, rather than the brutal grip of a heavy weapon)

- Martyr complex off the CHARTS. He will throw himself into every situation possible with little to no regard for his safety. He'll always take the opportunity to suffer in place of someone else.

- an "I'd die for you" kinda guy if that wasn't super clear.

~~~

Daeris awoke on the Nautiloid with the prayers of Ilmater rattling in his head before even his own name. He fought through the nautiloid, horrified at what was going on but unable to save anyone else or lessen the pains they were experiencing. As he awoke on the beach in the wreckage, he swore an oath of vengeance for those who perished on the nautiloid, to hunt down those responsible for... well everything.

Being quick to dedicate himself to Ilmater, he remembers pretty much the core beliefs, about shouldering the suffering of others and acting as selflessly as possible.

~~~

Cress, Tiefling Circle of Spores Druid/Gloomstalker Ranger (20 something, they never really kept track)

- Romancing: No one yet but they have eyes for Karlach

- Best friends with: Lae'zel and Wyll

- Not sure the split on Ranger/Druid levels just yet, I'm not a min-maxer with this stuff and its mostly based on vibes.

~~~

- Happy-go-lucky to a fault! They're so energetic and trusting but this comes with its issues.

- They're SUPER trusting of their 'guardian' and are grateful for some direction.

- Due to their mostly spore-based connections with the Myconids, Cress doesn't love talking. Their voice is often hoarse from disuse, and they definitely prefer any psychic or magical means of communication.

- They're in LOVE with the flora of the surface, they have no idea how to garden but they're so happy to learn.

- They're a psychical touch kinda person, purely because of the lack of it they had growing up.

- If we got one guy who hates gods (Farryn) and a guy who's whole thing is abt his relationship to a god (Daeris), Cress is the guy who simply is a bit clueless on the gods. They live under a rock in those terms. They've read books on some gods but that's probably as far as they've gotten.

- They literally want everyone to like them sooo much.

~~~

Cress is a tiefling who, after being abandoned by their parents at a young age, found themselves scared and alone in the Underdark.

They were just a child stumbling around, and happened upon the Myconid Colonies. Being a child who didn't particularly understand, they just saught shelter and community. And the Myconids offered them this, wearily at first, but as soon as it was clear this child wasn't really going to mean them harm, it was an easy enough transition. Being raised by Myconids was a strange one, perhaps distant in a way but Cress only yearned for acceptance, which they offered freely.

As they grew older, they conversed with outsiders and assisted adventurers and acted as the go to for vibe checking those who wished to temporarily stay in the Myconids' company. They also became an expert navigator for lost adventurers, only asking for seemingly meaningless trinkets from the surface. On one such trip up to the surface, they found themselves snatched up by a nautiloid, and the adventure begins from here.

~~~

Honourary mention to my bastard (affectionate) Serene- I'm just eepy otherwise I'd do a full breakdown.

He's a Knowledge domain cleric to Mystra because i want to menace Gale personally. He's in my co-op game with my lovely partner and between the two of us we've made our tavs the good ol Excited Labrador and Black Cat friendship. Serene is relatively fearless which doubles up as his greatest flaw. idiot for the sake of research and curiosity. the weird hateful yaoi they could have with gale is definitely compelling

~~~

[deathsmallcaps]

I just found out today that my great grandmother was 16 years younger than my great grandfather. 1895 vs 1909. He was on the run from the in-Italy Italian mafia, left a wife and family there, married in Canada and left a wife and family there, then came down to the USA and started my branch of the tree. He had an odd funeral.

I’m not sure when my Great Grandmother immigrated, but she would’ve been 20 when the Great Depression hit. And because it was post WWI Germany, she was probably not in a good place fiscally.

So Imagine.

You come to America, some year very close to the beginning of the Depression. Maybe to find a job, maybe to find a husband with citizenship* and you meet this nearly 40 year old man and marry him. And then he proceeds to forbid you from ever speaking German again. Any mention of your original culture gets punished. My family has no known German traditions**.

By 25 you have two daughters that your husband has terrorized so much that both rush into marriages rather than have to live by their father’s rules a second longer. The first marries relatively well, the second marries my grandfather.

Your husband dies at age 76, which isn’t bad for someone who was born in the 1800s. He has a joint headstone, one that will tie your bodies together until your bones rot and the stones erode. But you’re 60 and don’t live with either of your daughters. Maybe because those years of terror in your house. Maybe because of shame. I don’t know. But my grandmother converts to Catholicism because her religious upbringing “… felt so empty and she liked the ceremony inherent to that faith.” (-my mother). You don’t spend much time with your grandchildren.

Your second baby has several miscarriages, several successful pregnancies, and then a living grandchild dies in an accident. Did moving here really help your descendants? She adopts two children and gives birth to my mother within a few months of your grandson’s death, and a few years later, my aunt. They’re your only granddaughters. By all accounts, she is never the same again.

Then your first baby dies. She’s 46 and living in America and has everything you could have ever wanted for her. But she dies slowly and painfully from cancer. Were you around to comfort her and her two sons as she slipped away? You were certainly alive then, but I don’t know.

Your second baby loses her husband, my grandfather, a few years later, and her family struggles financially, hundreds of miles away. She marries again, and divorces the jerk quickly after. You’re 71, is there much you can do?

In the same year, your youngest grandchild is 12 and you become a great grandmother. Do you meet this child? She’s the daughter of one of the adopted sons, does this matter to you?

You die at 79, in 1988. Germany is still split from a war you never saw. You’ve spent more life in this strange land than you ever did there. People come to America more and more in planes, not boats. Your granddaughter tells her daughter that she went to your funeral but only ever spoke to you once or twice. There’s a picture of you standing on American docks for the first time but no one knows where it is. And you’re buried under an American spelling of your name, next to that old bastard that you married.

It’s 2003 and America is convinced it’s having the worst time ever. Your second daughter works herself to the bone and dies before age 70. She worked herself to the bone. Most of her grandchildren met her, but few have memories. She and I were apparently best friends, but seeing as I was 2, I don’t remember her now. Your eldest granddaughter, my mother, is going through a rough divorce to a man who immigrated to America by accident***. A very different immigrant story to yours. In that same year, your first great-grandchild has a son.

Three years later, she marries and has a son with a Black man. Your youngest great-grandchild. Your daughter would have loved him, and her husband would have not. Would you have cared? You left Germany right around when the Nazis came to power. Would he just be one more baby to love?

17 years later, it’s 2023, and your eldest granddaughter has a rough day, so she visits her mother’s grave. Both of your daughters are buried nearby, perhaps closer in death to you than in life. She finds your grave, and realizes the age difference between you and your husband for the first time. She shares this information with her daughter.

Me. And now I’m posting on the internet while I lay in bed, avoiding my studies. I wonder if you knew this, would you still make the same choices? Would you feel that it was worth it? Would my fate, so tangential to yours, be precious enough that you would feel compelled to do this all again?

*(I think my mom mentioned she married quickly once she arrived but I’m not sure. She might have been a mail-order bride)

**to be fair, he also really tried to acclimatize to American culture, and only allowed English to be spoken in his house, and raised his kids Protestant, but my family still makes Italian food occasionally, sooooo I doubt that rule was equally enforced.

***My English grandparents divorced and my grandfather eventually moved to America. My dad and, at the time, his only siblings, came over to visit because America was still considered to be pretty cool. He was 13. My Nanny wanted more alimony, so she tried to do a fake out and telegraphed my grandfather to ‘keep the kids’. My Grandad called her bluff and kept the kids.

My Dad was very lucky this worked out for him. He gets away with a lot of things because he’s English in the USA

[genderqueer-karma]

AHHHHHHH (putting this under a read more so you can just scroll. nothing personal i just know y’all don’t give a fuck ♡)

okay so if you’re not new here you know i have a personal beef with moi-même-moitié, the gothic lolita fashion brand started by the one and only mana様 back in ‘99.

why? if you’re also familiar with the brand you know that in recent years the quality has been unfortunately decreasing. dare i say severely. still not the worst, but yk.

moving on, however, there’s this new one-piece (dress), officially called the “sleeping garden” long one piece, that they’re releasing on this friday, 25 aug, that initially had people kinda peeved for a myriad of reasons; most notably the way its blue color way looked in conjunction with its pattern.

i won’t lie when i say that some of these comments made me laugh… i don’t remember who said it, but their comment was essentially “this dress looks like something that would be in a slideshow with alan walker music playing behind it”… maybe i giggled.

like always, in addition to this, people complained about the fact this dress was most likely 70-100% polyester (a very cheap, artificial fiber based on cotton) yet would no doubt cost upwards of 300 usd. (it doesn’t, afaik, but it gets very close. rough estimate says 40k jpy is somewhere in the range of 260 - 280 usd 💀)

the probability that m-m-m have seen these complaints is not low. in fact, people were quote-tweeting the announcement(s) with their negative/joking comments.

so what’s the deal w/ me rn?

they released a new image today. of mana himself wearing the sleeping garden one piece, but in its gray/black color way. and, to put it plainly:

he. looked. NICE. absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

i always think that about him, but i feel like the game was stepped up a bit. new, super long wig with a hime cut, glitter under the eyes… (cunty honestly.) they really want to sell this. maybe because this is a new item?

however, i’m still a bit peeved. moitié heard the complaints and did *nothing* (because why would they? a company will do what a company does best.)

they kinda waited* for people to move on and then dropped the photo, basically trying to say, “hey! look! see? mana様 likes this! you like him, don’t you? so why don’t you like this?” ‘this’ being a plastic dress that’s way too expensive for what it’s made of. and i think it’s a bit of a pattern they continue to fall into.

*(technically, they did continue to post about it, but nobody really noticed/cared. it wasn’t until they released this new image that people were like “yo! new mana image!!!” basically forgetting their complaints.)

they fail to address issues people have with them and then kinda just put it on mana to make them look better? it’s kinda gross and weird imo.

originally, this post was just gonna be me gushing about how beautiful/ethereal/etc mana looked in the new pictures but then i got to thinking again, which culminated in this.

also let me be 100% clear (if you made it here?): i am not dissing mana or the vision he had for moitié as a brand back in the 90s. however. even in all my love for him i understand intrinsically that moitié now is a company above all else. not a friend, not even mana, really. a company. and one that has kinda shot business practices as of late.

thank you for coming to my talk 🫡

[kosmic-songbird]

Trigger warning: suicide, night terrors, death, #bad brain

Been going through shit since the death of a family member and I'm trying to figure some stuff out about night terrors. I started having them at 14 and they got the worst at 17-20 years old. They went away for a few months and then came back but less frequent and violent. I moved at 23 (almost 24). Turning 25 this month and I had an unusually bad night terrors episode where I had three or four a night for several nights. I'm not out of that stage yet. And I'm so fuckin pissed cause all the night terrors research is on children, young children. And that's just a fuckin punch in the gut for 17 year old me that was suicidal out of fear of living with severe night terrors (several times a week if not nearly every night) for the rest of my life. And it's a slap in the face to nearly 25 year old me that has nothing to go on and blank stares from my doctor's when I bring it up. I'm tired. I thought I was over this. And maybe I am. Maybe I'm having an episode due to all of the medication and lifestyle changes im facing rn. (I am finally, finally, finally over Effexor withdrawals-when your doctor says it will last for a few days or a week know that they are wrong. For myself and many others it's 4-6 weeks if not longer even following a tapered withdrawal plan. It was a month-ish of pure torture for me. Imagine feeling faint and having your ears ringing and the ground swaying while they pick up your grandmother's casket? I was so angry that I had to feel I'll from withdrawals on top of grief. And now that I'm over the withdrawals I'm still dealing with grief and stress from financial matters. Idk. But if I look up why I get so paranoid I can't even close my eyes to sleep and get directed to another article for parents of 6 year olds I'm going to scream. I'm so sick and fuckin tired of no one helping me get over this shit and I'm so fuckin sorry for anyone out there in the same sorry state I'm in. Sorry for disappearing, leaving a rant, and then probably vanishing for at least another few days but I'm so fucked in the head rn I can't function. Starting to wonder if it's all natural or if there's a supernatural element too. (My parents' house is haunted and my night terrors immediately improved after moving. I've not had super serious problems with the terrors until this week. And I visited my family after my grandmother's death for a week. Maybe the bad entity back home hitched a ride or left a stain? Idk. But tomorrow I'm cleansing the whole fucking house, I'm gonna clean it, redecorate the alters (I had to take them down, just in case my Christian conservative family drove me home since they said they would even tho they ended up not doing it), I'm gonna make fresh offerings to my gods, spirits, and ancestors and ask for protection, and I'm going to invoke Medusa for protection something I've only dabbled with but found helpful (she's a cool entity to study and I have some upg about her associations with other Greek figures that I'm planning on creating a researched post about. I'm hoping to dive deep into those aspects of my polytheistic worship soon, but I have to feel stable first so sorry for the wait but it's necessary.)

Again, apologies for the hiatus but I'll be coming back stronger. I just need this rough patch to pass and, from experience, I know it will. Stay safe witches 💙

[vizthedatum]

Happy belated birthday to my one and only sibling.

He turned 25 yesterday, and when he woke up yesterday, I had a long chat with him when I was doing my inner rage makeup lol. He’s literally the love of my life. I love him so much.

I’ve learned some hard lessons while loving my brother.

We are eight years apart in age, and I was so excited to be his “Didi” (big sister in Bengali) when he was born (and now I have him call me his “Dada” (big brother - and while I’m not completely a man either, I love that I get to explore masculinity in this way with him) - he’s been so accepting of my gender journey).

But we had a really rough childhood.

For most of my life, I wanted to protect him. He COULD NOT go through what I did. I refused. I would rather beat him than my parents (and I did a couple times - it was misguided and encouraged. I was violent when I was a child in ways that were socially acceptable to our family at the time.). He had very little physical abuse from them. Unfortunately he had a lot of emotional abuse. Something that both of us were taught to just take and swallow as normal. I do not fucking care if it’s “culture” - it was abuse.He had a lot of high expectations put on him, but he had a lot of developmental trauma. My parents wanted things to be “normal” but he couldn’t behaviorally mask like I could. He barely could make friends or be social from a very young age. It was very hard for him to talk to people outside of me. He couldn’t speak his truth. It hurt to see him silenced by society… silenced by our family… and silenced by himself.

And when he was in middle school… that’s when he couldn’t suppress his tics, compulsions, obsessions, and severe depressive and delusional episodes.

It was horrible. I have lost count of the hospitalizations, the attempts, the phone calls (everyday) and visits pleading with him, the “fixing” that I did, the “he’s not doing his tics to annoy you” conversations with my father, the “stop telling him to get over it and be happy” conversations with my mother….

I wanted to keep him alive at any cost. And I did at great expense to my own health. We have since worked on our mutual codependence to save our relationship.

I honestly thought I’d lose him by now. I really did. You have no idea how deep and varied my grief in this life goes.

As he said in his birthday post, last year was the first year since 2012 that he has not had a psychiatric hospitalization. He is living independently now. He still has issues with our parents but family/love/trauma/this life… is very hard.

I am so hopeful and I am SO PROUD OF HIM.

I am proud of you even when you feel like you’re at your worst.

I love him. He’s a wonderful writer, he’s so nerdy about his fandoms, he loves his dog Candy, he’s incredibly creative, he’s got a great laugh, he’s curious about the world, he’s a good friend, he’s empathic (maybe too much) and caring… he’s my everything. We have had countless fights and so many reconciliations. And life is still tough.

I was honored to help you move out last Fall, despite what I was going through. I would do it again and again and again.

I love you. 💕

[benis-chillin]

Gaming Backlog 2023 lookback

2023 has ended, and 2024 is upon us.

And honestly? Fuck 2023. Garbage-ass year, and its shit stain is gonna remain on my life for at least a bit longer. I was already having a rough first part of the year, then two of my dogs died within a week of each other due to a bad batch of Purina, and while me and my mom are still not over it, we did have to introduce a new puppy into the house since the one remaining dog was getting really depressed, so that's been a handful. Everything else is too personal to get into, but I'll just say that I'm REALLY hoping my 26th year of life is at least MARGINALLY better than 25.

But I did set out a list of games for me to try and complete, and I got very little of them done. However, the list is only meant to be a loose guide on where to go next alongside anything new I may encounter, so it's okay if I need to reshuffle some things. Devil May Cry, Batman Arkham Asylum, and Resident Evil 2 I just didn't have time for, and I kinda fell out on Hollow Knight, so I'll have to try and restart that at some point.

But hey, talking about the games I DID play before listing the ones I PLAN to play means free content for the blog, so let's get into it.

Sonic 06-Silver's story and final story(PS3)

This one is the holdover from the year prior. My first playthrough of Sonic 06, as a whole, had some major rough patches, but I'd say I overall had fun with the game. If you're not a hardcore Sonic fan, though, just look up Windii's translation of the Japanese cutscenes.

5/10.

Metroid Prime(Gamecube)

A fairly solid entry into the Metroid franchise, but I have my quibbles with it. They have implied lore for the Chozo in this game, but all it really boils down to is, "Bad guys are bad, and the bad guy juice is driving us crazy. I sure hope our child implied to be Samus will stop it after we fucking die." And sure, that WORKS, but other games, Super Metroid in particular(since they religiously played that for this game, apparently), had a lot more meaning to their narratives, and to Samus' continued connection to her adopted people even long after they were all dead. The atmosphere for the environments is strong, but they need the narrative to elevate that atmosphere, and Prime just doesn't have it.

Gameplay is also mostly fine, but enemies can kinda become hit sponges at points, and the lock-on system only helps so much with that aspect. In addition, them respawning whenever you leave was a massive mistake, since it makes backtracking tedious and annoying.

And speaking of backtracking, this game has some of the worst backtracking I've seen outside of MAYBE Samus Returns? Though that at least has a teleportation system. I legit got blindsided by the Artifacts quest at the end, having only randomly encountered ONE beforehand, so I basically just had to do this massive quest through these areas I had already been in, bloating my 12 hour playthrough to 15, and REALLY exposing how confusing the map system in this game is.

All that just to access a final area that annoyed the shit out of me(FUCK FISSION METROIDS), and a final boss that was…Okay? I almost wished I'd put the game down right there. Would've had the same amount of narrative payoff.

So overall, while I can't say I DIDN'T have fun with the game, I do have my problems with Prime, and vastly prefer 2D Metroid. Maybe the sequels are better? Time will tell.

8/10

Spider-man(PS1)

A fairly short entry, beaten in under a week, but kinda what I needed after Metroid Prime took forever. Played it around the time that new Spider-man game came out, and man, what a contrast.

The biggest flaw with the game is how stiff some of the controls are, and Spider-man's absolutely ass running speed, but the game's simple charm and cartoony sense of humor kinda pulls it through to the end. Plus, fire webs are a thing.

Definitely gonna try for a What If mode playthrough at some point.

7/10

Non-list entries

Things I ended up playing this year that weren't on the list, but may have been new to me. You can't fully guide what you wanna play, it's just meant to focus it a bit, so here's the extras.

OctoDad: Dadliest Catch(PC)

Played this with 3 other friends back in January(though that feels like 3 years ago now, geez), and had a blast. Did it all in one session.

9/10

The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog(PC)

The surprise, free release of this on Steam made this a must-play for me on launch day, and after a 2-hour playthrough, I finished the game and loved it. I'm very happy to be living in the era where we all embracen Sonic's stupid friends with open arms, and the finale having actual emotional weight to it, unlike certain games in the 2010's, was SO satisfying. You can put Sonic and his friends into a more comedic situation without completely tearing out their personalities, and this game proves that beautifully. Only flaw is some very noticable grammatical errors in the dialogue, mainly in the late game. Been considering trying my hand at fixing that myself via a mod, but I don't have the time for that just yet.

Easy 9/10

The Batman(Jakks Pacific, Mame)

Mainly played this for a let's play that'll be coming to my YouTube channel soon, since it's actually a game I played back in the day before it, like many plug and plays back then, got busted, but this was my first time completing it for myself, so let's add it to the pile.

It's VERY simplistic, with missions either involving being a side-scrolling beat-em-up, running through buildings doing detective work, basic platforming, or messing with some type of vehicle. You do directly fight SOME of the villains, but that's kind of a rarity. The game isn't BAD, but its main appeal is in how relatively obscure it is. It emulates well in Mame if you know how to navigate it.

5/10

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild(Switch)

Nowhere near finished this one, and probably won't for a while. Mainly played it since my brother gave me his old Switch games when he learned I had one. I had a decent bit of fun with what I played, but the constant loss of weapons to enemies FAR more powerful than myself just burned me out on it.

6/10(so far)

The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past(Switch)

Played this while I was trying out Switch Online. Didn't manage to finish it before my brief subscription ran out, but I got fairly close to the end. My save file should be intact on my system, so I should be able to get back to it and finish it at some point. Only flaws were, "Old game is being old game."

7/10(so far)

Pokemon Sword(Switch)

Another one I have from my brother, and only occasionally play when the lines run long at my plasma donations. I know this is apparently one of the bad ones, but I'm having fun so far as a non-Pokemon fan. Don't know if I've played enough to give it a ranking, though.

Mega Man 1-3(Switch)

I'd view Mega Man 1 and 2 as perfectly solid games for their time, though I did accidentally play 2 on hard mode since that was the Japanese version. I have to use the rewind thanks to my weak-ass skills, but the platforming is very tight and snappy, to the point where I kinda wish the bosses weren't there to interupt that action. 3 was just a slog the whole way through, though, and 4 isn't looking much better.

7/10 on 1 and 2

5/10 on 3

Sonic Origins Plus(Switch)

I've technically played all of these games before, but these were mostly new versions, so eh, why not?

Sonic 1's remake was just as bad as I remembered. An almost input delay on the controls, more jank than even the original game, and the downright broken Springyard boss.

2/10

Sonic CD is about the same as always, you get what you put into it, which for me isn't much.

4/10

Sonic 2's remake, while not technically bad, still bothers me with the small differences that I notice more as someone who slays pussy at the regular game. However, I did find this version of the remake to be the most tolerable of the versions I've played.

5/10

Sonic 3&K was always somewhat uneven to me, but I gotta admit, the Origins port is the first one I technically beat legit. The biggest obstacle besides the horrible Lava Reef Act 2 boss was always Doomsday Zone, and its incredibly imprecise missiles, which seems to have been fixed for this version. I also hoarded coins to get the Chaos Emeralds in this game only, and it did gangbusters for me.

5/10

Sonic Frontiers: The Final Horizon(PC)

So my initial experience with Sonic Frontiers was pretty magical for me. A friend of mine bought it on Steam before launch, and let me play it through library share. And since it came out just two days before my birthday, that meant I could have a blast even despite some technical limitations that mods later helped mitigate. It was great to play this game that took a little bit of everything from across the franchise, and used all of it so meaningfully, both in gameplay, and story. Heck, I even liked Cyberspace as these quick, fun little challenges to beat purely through skill. The ending hit somewhat similarly to SA2's, having this somberness to it despite lacking much of the narrative complexity SA2 had. Sonic sacrificed himself for his friends, they sacrificed themselves for him, and Sage sacrificed herself to let such friendships continue, having realized the power they held. And sure, her being alive after the credits mitigated that impact, but the emotional stakes were there! And the updates just helped refine everything.

THEN UPDATE 3 CAME OUT, AND SHAT ON EVERYTHING.

First of all, I had to wait a week before I could even TOUCH the update, since Sega broke the game on computers with integrated graphics cards, making it unable to go full screen, and leaving the framerate in even the MENUS stuck at 1 FPS. And the only reason I played it within that week was because of a fan DLL that disabled the mod loader, so any and all optimizations came from sticking the files from the Switch conversion mod up the game's ass like an unruly lover.

So yeah, not a good first impression.

Gameplay wise, technical hiccups aside, it'a just okay. Knuckles outright sucks, even after the latest patch(how hard is it to just do SA2 Knuckles again!?), Amy is…Not much to write home about, and while I like how Tails' flight works, along with the ability to use the SA2 Cyclone, they only have fairly bare-bones platforming to do, unless you wanna challenge the enemies they are nowhere NEAR powerful enough to actually fight, and you're very likely to miss any other content that isn't REQUIRED to finish the campaign. I only ever encountered Sage once as Amy, and then never again with any of the new characters, so narrative cohesion is a lot lower than the base game. In addition, Cyberspace is ruined, given these unnecessarily difficult challenges with no checkpoints. I only did two of them before just giving up and getting all of the look-out Koco in the open zone(not hard to do, btw. I unlocked the first three towers, and most of the fourth before I even knew what they were for). And Sonic's trials were either way too easy, or way too difficult. I couldn't even do the penultimate one before that last patch, I had to do some save file fuckery for that, since the Titans, with their BIG wind-ups, weren't designed for the new parry. It felt like the creators were mad at someone in particular with some of these, even on easy mode. All that for a new final boss that is perfectly cool, but not worth what was sacrificed for us to get there.

Speaking of which, the story. Wow, this is bad.

It's not 2010's level of bad, since everyone is in-character, at the very least, but from a meta perspective.

1) Sonic's friends sacrificing themselves loses all meaning when they're back like, 5 seconds later.

2) Sonic's cyber corruption means nothing when it can just be gotten rid of in a few conversations.

3)Eggman and Sage's arcs are incomplete without her death, even if they did chicken out of it originally,

4)The new ending has zero weight to it.

They try to keep the tension going by giving Sonic's friends their own Cyber Ligma, but I'm sorry, this new ending stinks. The original ending was a bit rushed, sure, but the rest of the game was a really tough act to follow, and it still resonated emotionally with me. This one just takes away the good parts in an attempt to "fix" the ending, when I would've preferred it be sequel content. Let's pitch it, Sonic and friends get rumblings that the End is back, so they go back to Starfall, meet up with Eggman and Sage(they weren't surprised about her being back in Murder, despite Sonic naming Frontiers as his last adventure in that game, so it would work), and Sage offers the plan for everyone else to get the Chaos Emeralds while Sonic allows himself to be re-corrupted in order to gain the blue eyes and new parry. Simple, effective, leaves everything intact, and doesn't change much.

Most of this section was written before the patch, but I felt it important to leave it mostly intact as to properly explain the absolute middle finger this update was. The one I was anticipating the most might've ruined the game permanently on my current hardware.

Like, here's some examples of pre-Update 3 screenshots:

And this is how the best settings now look after the patch:

Yikes.

Basically, this update just kinda soured me towards Frontiers a bit, and I really hope Sega learns the right lessons from it.

3/10.

In conclusion, this year sucked, and my hobbies have only done so well because of that fact. Hopefully, 2024 will have me get more off of the list.

And now, my list.

Holdovers from last year:

Metroid Dread(Switch)

Devil May Cry 1-Switch if I can manage to buy it there, PC if not)

Resident Evil 2(Leon's story)-Gamecube

Batman Arkham Asylum(PC)

And the new entries are:

Sonic 4 Episodes 2 and Metal(PC)

Toy Story 3(PS2)

Spider-Man 2(2001, PS1)

Bionicle the Game(Gamecube)

Metroid Prime Hunters-DS

Halo: Combat Evolved(PC)

Fallout New Vegas(PC)

Lot of PC in there, I'll admit, but I have a few I need to get to on there.

Additionally, I have Sonic Superstars on my Switch, but I still need to finish Trip's story before I write about it. Expect it in next year's post.

Remember, I don't need to get to EVERY entry on here within the year, but my goal is at least half of them. Might also try for a TV shows watchlist goals, but that will be a separate thing.

Previous list

[mywifeleftme]

41: Ike & Tina Turner // Workin' Together

Workin' Together Ike & Tina Turner 1970, Liberty

“Kenneth Anger and Tina Turner died on the same day,” my friend Jay broke the news to me yesterday afternoon. “And people say God isn’t homophobic.” (A bit later he added, “Apparently Martin Amis also died. So maybe God is bi,” which would explain His persecution complex, anyway.) Turner had been mythologized, homogenized, and eulogized a thousand times over well before her actual death at 83, and while a skim of her Wikipedia page suggests she’d been up to plenty over the past ten years (a weird Christian music foundation; a Broadway musical using her songbook; a hit on the UK charts featuring something called a 'Kygo'), unless she publicly forgave Ike or became Q-pilled, nothing was likely to change her legacy much.

Beyond the ‘80s pop megahits, that legacy rests on a period of her career (the ‘60s and ‘70s) that’s not adequately attested to by her LPs. Although the Ike & Tina machine churned out plenty of spectacular singles and b-sides (“River Deep – Mountain High,” “The Hunter,” “Nutbush City Limits,” “Contact High” etc.), they never delivered a wall-to-wall classic album. Their true power was as by all accounts the world’s greatest live rhythm & blues revue, driven by Ike’s stern leadership and Tina’s bottomless reserves of energy and mostly bottomless dresses.

Workin’ Together is generally considered their best studio effort, and it’s clear the goal was to capture as much of that live energy as they could. Like most of their albums, it mixes contemporary rock covers (Beatles, CCR), some new Ike originals (like the title track), and rinsed and reused re-takes on their early singles (“The Way You Love Me”; “Goodbye, So Long”). On Side Two in particular they deploy a lot of the tricks they used on stage: after rasping and strutting through the minor classic “Funkier Than a Mosquita’s Tweeter,” they milk a dramatic piano solo into (of all things) R&B chestnut “Ooh Poo Pah Doo.” A spoken intro by Tina follows while Ike croons lightly in the background, promising a ‘nice and rough’ rip through “Proud Mary”—and this is precisely what we get, on the album’s clear standout (and biggest hit). After a breath we’re into Ike’s “Goodbye, So Long” (another dance number they’d been playing since the mid-‘60s), followed by a vampy take on “Let It Be” that I’d happily take over the original.

Workin’ Together highlights Ike’s best and worst (musical) qualities. He was one of the great bandleaders in all of music for over 25 years, and he helped create Tina’s iconic style. He also embraced Black music’s movement toward funkier styles, styles he’d played a role in inventing. But he was also aggravatingly conservative, and his domineering management of Tina prevented her from flourishing as a recording artist to the degree peers like Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, and Roberta Flack achieved. In another timeline, with the chance to work more closely with the great producers of the day, this might not be the best studio album she ever cut. But, despite plenty of great chart successes to come, she never bettered it.

41/365

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #25: Happy Birthday

Masterlist

content: vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, captivity

so understanding part 2 will be coming next, i realized this needed to be first bc the events will be referenced in the next part, lol. this is a bit of a short one, my shortest chapter yet i think. next one will be far longer.

takes place about half a year into jim’s captivity, a couple months after his first escape attempt.

-

Jim hated it here.

Kane had gotten much more violent since his doomed escape attempt. It seemed like the vampire was getting more and more frustrated with him, that every other word out of his mouth was wrong. Jim had always been told he had no brain-to-mouth filter, and now it was biting him in the ass.

He hadn’t so much as seen another person besides Kane in months, and it was starting to drive him mad. He just wanted someone to talk to, someone who didn’t hurt him, who he didn’t have to be afraid of. But here he was, all alone. He might be all alone for the rest of his life.

And his birthday was tomorrow.

Jim hadn’t really done much for his birthday in a good few years, to be honest. Ever since his parents died, money had been tight, and he’d rather spend anything extra on Liz than on a party for himself. She was just a kid, after all. But he’d usually go to the arcade with some friends and then have dinner with Liz, and it was nice. Just being with people he loved. Liz would make a terrible cake that he’d pretend to enjoy, and even though the cake was bad, his smile was genuine.

But not this year. This year he was going to have his neck bitten, his blood drained, and then spend the entire night with the vampire holding him captive, without so much as a “happy birthday”. No seeing his friends or family. Maybe he’d even get roughed up if he was unlucky enough.

Yeah, not worth a “happy birthday” anyway. He wasn’t happy very often these days.

“Stop fucking glaring at me, human. Know your place.” Kane snapped, looking up from his book with a scowl.

“Huh?” Jim had ostensibly been re-watching one of Kane’s VHS tapes, but had zoned out to wallow in his own misery. He’d been glaring at Kane from the other end of the couch without even realizing it.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been acting strange all day.” Kane continued.

Jim was lucky. Kane wasn’t in a bad mood today. Another day, he’d have been hit for sure. Jim had been in fights before, but vampires hit hard.

“If you’ve gotta know, it’s my birthday tomorrow.” Jim answered.

“Oh. March third.” Kane didn’t sound angry or condescending, for once. He sounded... sad. After a pause, he added, “How old are you turning?”

“Twenty.” He’d been looking forward to it, before. Finally out of his teens. Nothing much to celebrate now.

“What do humans do for birthdays?” Kane asked.

Jim shrugged. “Cake. Presents. Spend time with loved ones. You know, all the things I can’t do trapped in here.”

Ah. Spoke without thinking again. Here it comes. Jim tensed up in anticipation.

But Kane didn’t approach. “I get you presents all the time.” he argued. “All your things are from me.”

“That’s not presents.” Jim was feeling bold. Kane had been chill so far today. “That’s just, like, what I need to survive.”

Like taking care of a pet.

Jim quickly discarded the thought. No, he wasn’t going there. “And some other stuff I ask for. It’s not a present if I write it on a shopping list.”

“Most humans don’t get to make any requests, you know.” Kane retorted. “Not that they have the state of mind to do it in the first place.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Kane loved to bring up the fact that Jim was unhypnotized. The worst part was that most of the time, it didn’t even seem like Kane was doing it as a things-could-be-worse argument like he was now. Most of the time, Kane seemed to be talking to himself about it, like Jim wasn’t worth the consideration, jealousy seeping through his words. As if it wasn’t enough to take Jim’s entire life away, Kane wished to take his very mind from him.

“I get it. Forget I fucking said anything.” Jim grumbled, seething.

Kane stood up, lightning fast, hand clenched into a fist. Jim flinched.

“Go to your room. Now.” Kane commanded.

He obeyed, slinking off to relative safety.

-

Jim woke up depressed.

Happy birthday to me, he thought, laying in his bed.

Usually, he’d get up and make breakfast for himself. He always felt extra dizzy if Kane fed from him before he’d had a chance to eat and drink. But he just didn’t feel like it. He wished he could just have a lazy day in without worrying about the consequences of blood loss, especially on his birthday.

Kane unlocked the door after what Jim would estimate as a good half-hour. He pulled the covers over his head and groaned.

“Come on. Up.” Kane ordered.

Jim was thankful that he didn’t sound angry about it. That was two nights in a row, now. But he wished Kane didn’t say it like he was talking to a fucking dog.

“Fine.” He threw his blanket off and knelt, tilting his head just like he knew he was supposed to. At least Kane had finally been getting the hang of feeding. It still hurt terribly having the same wound re-opened night after night, the flesh around the area always angry and red and purple, but it was a lot better than how it’d been when Kane was still learning.

First neck bite of my twenties, Jim thought bitterly as Kane fed. He sucked in a sharp gasp as Kane pulled his fangs out. It was still hard to get used to the feeling of it, even after months here.

“I’m just gonna stay in here today.” Jim said after Kane licked the wound closed.

“Oh. Okay. Just come out for a minute, I have something for you.” Kane said, motioning for him to follow.

Jim followed, swaying a little on his feet, only to be stunned when he was greeted by an entire chocolate cake waiting on the table in the living room. It looked fancy, like the kind you would buy from a really nice bakery.

“That’s for me?” he asked.

Kane raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly not going to eat any of it.” Duh. “I got some new movies for you as well. They’re in the cabinet with the other VHS tapes.”

“HOLY SHIT, SERIOUSLY?” Jim exclaimed, forgetting entirely about the cake and rushing over to check out the new material. It was all stuff he’d never heard of. More vampire movies. He’d been re-watching the same few tapes Kane owned for months, and was ecstatic to get something new.

He grabbed one immediately. “Can we watch it now?”

“Sure.” Kane sat in his usual spot on the left end of the couch.

Jim quickly ran back to the human quarters to grab a plate, knife, and fork, his woes momentarily forgotten. After cutting himself a slice of cake, he popped the tape in and sat on the opposite end of the couch to munch away. His hands were shaking from the low blood sugar, so it was good that he was eating cake for breakfast, he figured.

“Happy birthday.” Kane said.

“...Thanks.” Jim didn’t want to thank him. He wouldn’t have been grateful for new VHS tapes at all if he wasn’t held captive in this stupid fancy house. But he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “When’s your birthday?” he asked, mildly curious.

Kane’s mood change was instant, his vaguely amicable demeanor turning icy. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk about my fucking birthday.” He had that sharp warning tone he always used before he’d get violent.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Jim conceded, tensing up. He didn’t even know what he’d said wrong.

“Whatever.” Kane mumbled.

Jim slowly relaxed as it became apparent Kane was over it. He wished he was home, spending his birthday with his friends and Liz.

But for the first time since Jim had been brought here, things were a little bit okay.

-

canon drabbles posted between #24 and #25:

Dog

Light & Laughter

Midday Snack

Greatest Wish (cw: death wish)

Five Minutes (cw: gore)

taglist:

@badluck990

@ceph-the-writing-spook

@cicatrix-energy

@crying-wings

@crystalquartzwhump

@cupcakes-and-pain

@cyberneticfire

@darlingwhump

@deluxewhump

@down-in-the-whumps

@elrysdoesstuff

@extemporary-whump

@extrabitterbrain

@harri-00

@inpainandsuffering

@interdimensional-chaos

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@lactose-intolerant-egg

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@littlespacecastle

@little-whumpee

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@myhusbandsasemni

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@neverthelass

@nicolepascaline

@nine-tailed-whump

@no-terms-and-conditions-apply

@octopus-reactivated

@oddsconvert

@onlybadendings

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@quietly-by-myself

@quirkykayleetam

@ramadiiiisme

@redwhump

@scp-1296

@secretwhumplair

@thecyrulik

@thegreatwhodini

@themarlo

@whump-cravings

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whump-me-all-night-long

@whumpthisway

@whumpilicious

@whumpshaped

@whumpwillow

@whumpworld

@whumpy-writings

@whumpyzombie

@wits-and-wrongs

@wolfeyedwitch

[avatarvyakara]

Tiles on the Roof

An Encanto Fanfic

Prompts 25-36

"Out of the Ordinary"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36486091/chapters/91164121

First | Previous | Next

25. Escapada

(nf) escape, breakout, flight, short excursion for pleasure

Part of the problem with controlling the weather? It is very, very hard to keep secrets from people under the same roof. Or in the same country, for that matter.

Pepa comes down to breakfast and brings with her an absolutely perfect day. Temperature balmy, humidity low, sunshine given an extra polish.

“We all have our plans for the day?” asks Mamá, and she almost certainly says something afterward but Pepa isn’t paying attention.

“Pepa?”

“Oh! Sorry, Mamá, I drifted off.”

“Ay, Pepa, focus,” chides her mother. “I know it’s been...a little rough for you, but you must stay in the here and now.”

Even at twenty-four years old Pepa is still easily confused sometimes.

“¿Qué?”

“I was just telling Mamá,” says Julieta, “about how you’ve been having night terrors.”

“Night terrors?”

“Yes, that’s right. All those horrible nightmares,” her bigger sister goes on. “Which is why you were thundering last night. And why you needed some company to get back to sleep.”

Pepa nearly chokes on her coffee.

Fortunately Mamá seems to think of this as mere surprise at sisterly betrayal rather than shock. “Julieta didn’t mean badly by telling me, Pepita. And I’m relieved that your brother and sister managed to get you to sleep properly in the end. It seems to have done you a lot of good,” she adds approvingly, looking around at the weather, which in tandem with the chill running down Pepa's back is just a teensy bit cooler. “But the next time, you come and talk to me, ¿claro? I won’t bite.”

“Todo claro, Mamá,” squeaks Pepa.

“Ay, Pepa, why are you snowing now?”

Breakfast finishes, and the Madrigal triplets head out to town.

“I might owe you two a life debt,” says Pepa at last.

“To be fair, Félix owes us one as well,” Bruno replies with a mischievous grin. “Well, us and Casita both. She helped him down.”

“So what was it like?” asks Julieta, surprisingly eagerly. “It was an intense storm last night.”

A very large part of Pepa just wants to crawl into a hole and live as a hermit for the rest of her life. The bit that doesn’t forces its way to the outermost layer and says, just a little nervously, “Sorry, hermana, a lady does not kiss and tell.”

“She does kiss and thunder, though,” Bruno remarks, and gets a shove.

26. Ininteligible

(adj) unintelligible

Antonio's only had his powers for about two days, if that. He's not used to the glow from the minds of his new friends, and yet it feels like it's been there all along.

So while it's less of a wrench than it is for the others to lose his Gift, it still hurts, just a little.

(What hurt the worst was Parce. The jaguar, thoughts so clean and simple and happy before, now seems to shrink back in on himself. Shies away. Snarls. Like…like an animal.)

There are months to go before the house is remade. And Antonio tries very hard not to feel alone.

Except—

"Wait. You can still understand them?" he asks Tío Bruno in amazement.

Tío Bruno shrugs. "Well, yeah. It was never my Gift, of course, but hey, they're not the worst company in the world." One of the rats looks up at him. "Best troupe of actors I've ever had the pleasure to work with?" The rat nods, and gets back to its (her) piece of arepa con queso. "So, yeah, I can understand them."

"But…how? We don't have any magic left?"

Tío Bruno smiles, just a little mysteriously. "There are more kinds of magic in the world than the ones we know about, conejito. When I was growing up, I had a lot of trouble with my visions, so Mamá—your Abuela—found me a teacher. He gave me a few lessons, and he also told me a thing or two about magic that we didn't have. Just to keep me humble, I guess. And part of that is, well, learning to Listen."

"¿Escuchar?"

"No, no escuchar, Escuchar. Ah, it's difficult to explain…"

Antonio looks around. Maybe he could—

But then how much would it hurt everyone else, like it hurt Mirabel, to see him get his Gift back when they couldn't have theirs?

He shakes his head.

"Maybe later," he says. "When we have our house back."

Tío Bruno gives him the softest smile.

"I understand," he says. And honestly? Antonio thinks he really does.

27. Extraño

(adj) strange, freaky, foreign

As it turns out, Isabela can create plants she’s only seen in books, like the one called La flora del España that Mirabel bought from a travelling bookseller for her birthday. It’s not as instinctive as it is with plants native to the encanto—it takes an effort. She takes it as a challenge.

As it also turns out—

“¡Aaaaaaa-CHÚ!”

—that not only does she have a sneeze that nearly knocks poor Dolores down from half a mile away, she’s also terribly allergic to birch pollen. Which is a brand new sensation that she really could have spent her entire life without discovering, thank you very much.

28. Resistencia

(nf) resistance, endurance, stamina (exercise), resilience (figuratively)

She doesn’t need to call for help anymore, she’s not a baby. She can do this.

“Luisa?”

“Luisa?”

It’s not that it’s light. It doesn’t feel light, she knows it’s not light. What it is, is whole. She holds it—says what it is, or what it should be, in her head—and it holds itself together so she can do the moving. And it’s not a strain, either—she feels unbreakable, just like what she’s carrying. Nearly. Strength helping strength.

Five-year-old Luisa looks at her mother and father in worry.

“I...just wondered if Papá could play the piano a little please?”

Mamá and Papá look astounded.

“Chaparrita, that was on the ground floor!”

“I-I’ll put it back, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, mi bebe, no necesitas disculparte,” soothes Mamá. “This is just a surprise, that’s all. But a nice surprise!”

“A very nice surprise!” agrees Papá, smiling.

Luisa beams. She Did Okay!

29. Asustar

(v) frighten, spook, startle, frighten; 1st singular negative preterite indicative reflexive no me asusté

It’s barely anything, just a sound. Strange, yes, but not scary per se. And yet Abuela reacts like she’s been burnt.

Camilo can’t help but feel like he’s intruding on something incredibly private. But...he’s also never seen his grandmother quite so shaken.

It feels so wrong somehow.

“Abuela?”

She looks at him with sheer panic in her eyes—when has Abuela ever panicked?—and then takes a deep breath.

“Es nada, Camilito,” she says. “Nothing at all. We are safe here. The magic is strong.”

She repeats it almost like a mantra. To the mind of twelve-year-old Camilo, it might as well be—that’s how it’s been said all his life. He nods.

She still looks tense.

“Abuela, I twisted my ankle,” he lies. “Can you help me get back to the house?” Do you need some help getting back?

“Ay, you have to be more careful, mi nieto,” she chides him lightly. Yes, please.

But Abuela doesn’t breathe easily until a few days later, when the strange horse and its rider leave the encanto and not even Dolores hears the whinnying.

30. Desprevenido

(adj) unsuspecting, oblivious, unprepared; masculine plural desprevenidos

When they’re about twenty-one or so, Agustín starts bringing a leather bag when he visits San Ambrosio in the summer.

“What’s in there?” asks Julieta.

“Absolutely everything I might need!” says her friend proudly. “Salves, bandages, emergency glasses, a hunting knife, a spare poncho, another spare poncho, a bottle of water and a net for filtration, a towel—”

“Tino, what’s all this for?”

He looks a bit embarrassed. “Um. See, it’s kind of not fair that whenever we meet I’m sick with something or hurt myself somehow or had another beehive fall on me. I just...well, I just wanted to be able to spend time with my best friend without taking advantage of her.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me,” Julieta insists, noting the strange sensation in her heart at “best friend” and ignoring it. “I make my food for everyone to take from if they need it. Us being friends doesn’t mean you’re using me. I’ve never thought that, Tino, I swear.”

“Well...”

They stand there, a little awkwardly, neither quite looking the other in the eye. Agustín fiddles with the straps on the bag. Julieta idly pats the pocket containing the buñuelos she made on the off chance that she might have reason to go outside on her own (with a bit of sea salt instead of mountain salt and not because Tino thought the recipe tasted better, thank you very much).

A thunderclap makes them both jump.

“...is that leather waterproofed?”

Agustín blinks. “I...am not sure?”

There’s a growing black cloud over the fields.

“I think we’re about to find out,” she says with a grin.

“Ay-yii, what’s Félix done this time?” groans Agustín as they start running towards the eye of the impending storm.

“It could be Bruno. Or one of the local boys.”

“Bruno’s saner than that by now, surely?”

Julieta laughs. “Remind me to tell you about that prank he pulled on Epiphany.”

“Oh, I remember! With the cord and the sieve, right?”

“He got about ten seconds of victory and then walked around afraid of his shadow for the rest of the month.”

And now Agustín laughs, fondly, as the rain starts to pour down. “Okay, so maybe he’s not saner than that. But this is definitely Félix. Bruno is an indoors kind of person.”

“Dios mío, when is my sister going to get it?” she complains halfheartedly.

“About the same time Félix realizes Pepa actually is in love with him. Umbrella?”

And he actually pulls one out of the bag.

Julieta laughs, and doesn’t stop when a gust of wind blows the umbrella right into the middle of the storm (with a muffled cry of “What is this supposed to be?” that sounds a lot like Pepa). She does hold Agustín’s hand, though, because who knows what would happen to her best friend if she didn’t.

31. Primario

(adj) first, primary, primordial

Félix was barely walking by the time the Miracle happened, certainly not old enough to have any real opinion on the matter. He remembers, very vaguely, Papá carrying him on his shoulders in the dark, his Mamá singing him little songs, his elder brother Eladio holding a lantern—and then, suddenly, an explosion of light.

His first real memory, the one where he felt he had conscious control of what he was doing, is of babbling jokes with Eladio and laughing, in a half-built house of brick in San Ambrosio.

His first memory of Pepa is as a six-year-old, seeing a tiny girl shrieking with laughter at  every clash of lightning in a thunderstorm.

His first memory of being Pepa’s friend comes from when he was nine and she was seven (her birthday being in just a few weeks’ time) and she invited him to play in Casita while his parents discussed business with her mamá. Not exactly an auspicious start? Then obviously you’ve never seen Pepa Madrigal try to practice making snow. Or experience shock at being lightly pelted with a snowball. Or realize just how fun it is to pelt people back.

His first memory of making Pepa laugh all by himself comes from when he was twelve and she eleven and she whispered in his ear that she missed being happy in the rain, and he made funny faces and told the most awful jokes he could think of until she starting crying out of sheer exhilaration and a rainstorm nearly washed them clean out of the valley. And it was so worth it.

His first memory of making Pepa cry all by himself was when, at the age of fourteen, he found himself dating Rosa Vargas and Pepa, who was twelve, wouldn’t speak to him for four months straight. (There were a lot of days with clear skies. He found himself feeling profoundly guilty about that somehow.)

His first memory of actually clashing with Pepa comes from when he was fifteen and she fourteen, and he kept talking over her without realizing it. He couldn’t understand how he’d hurt her; she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t understand; Bruno locked them in his room until they sorted it out. (He’d lost a coin toss with Julieta.) They sorted it out. And then had a snowball fight. (Bruno and Julieta lost.)

His first memory of being jealous of someone spending time with Pepa came when she was sixteen and he seventeen and she was seriously considering Diego Gonzales’ offer of courtship.

His first and only memory of breaking someone’s nose was when that nose belonged to a rather stupid Diego Gonzales, a few weeks later. (Bruno’s rat bit him. Julieta turned him away from her table for six months.)

His first memory of realizing he was in love with Pepa Madrigal came right in the middle of a dance with her in the village square when he was nineteen and she eighteen. When he realized that no, nobody else in his life could possibly be as bright as her, as true, there could nobody who felt as deeply and as sweetly. (And nobody else who could possibly strive for perfection as strongly in everything they planned for their loved ones, no matter what happened in their life.) And because he was Félix Castillo long before he was Félix Castillo de Madrigal, he brushed off the genuine surprise at this realization as not as important as having fun with his best friend.

His first memory of actually kissing Pepa Madrigal came in the middle of one hot summer when she was twenty-one and he twenty-two, in the middle of a storm caused by one of those stupid arguments you have in your early twenties, after being a bit of an idiot and trying to apologize and her confessing her love for him, and then him being just about to reciprocate before being mildly concussed by a flying umbrella, and it’s slightly blurry after that but he knows there was definitely a kiss. (And it was very definitely worth it.)

The first kiss they both remember in full detail came about half an hour later.

His first memory of...ahem. Well. It would be better if he didn’t confirm Abuela’s suspicions. (If it helps, he’d already decided, well before that point, that he couldn’t possibly imagine spending the rest of his life with literally anyone else.)

There are a lot of firsts with Pepa Madrigal. It’s not surprising. He may have come to this world before her, but in his world she comes first.

32. Cruce

(nm) crossroads, crossover (fiction)

The town of Macondo isn’t actually too far away from San Ambrosio, but most of the villagers haven’t really visited. Something holds them back, somehow.

No Madrigal has ever or will ever set foot in the place, not after Bruno, back in his early twenties, finally decided to take a look at the near future of the Other Town on a dare from a newly-coupled Pepa and Félix. And then locked himself in his room for three weeks.

When he finally came out, looking considerably older than when he went in, his first words were, “Well. You know what? No matter how bad it gets here, and I have no idea what that will be, there is no way whatsoever that it could ever get as bad as what's happening over there with the family Buendía. I know. I checked. Six times. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am off to avoid bananas for the rest of my life.”

33. Frangible

(adj) breakable

“I just don’t understand,” mutters a rather upset Julieta, more to herself than him. “Why doesn’t it work?”

Julieta’s powers work on just about everything, Agustín realizes. Small things like acne and cuts. Bigger things like tumours and stab wounds (yeah, that...wasn’t the nicest day all around). He’s seventeen now, and since he first came to and left San Ambrosio last summer he would swear a couple of people regrew limbs.

But he still wears glasses.

Perhaps he just seems a bit broken to her, all the time. And because she’s Julieta she won’t say that out loud—but she’ll think it, and blame herself for it.

Only—

He scoots a little closer to her on the low wall (far enough away that she won’t be heard, close enough that she won’t be missed).

“Hey, Juli? What if it’s not actually broken?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

Don’t stammer, don’t stammer...yeesh, you get tongue-tied around this girl so easily. Not at all like being back in the City. (Well, maybe that’s alright, eh?)

“It’s just—your food cures what people need fixing, right? Well...what about things that people don’t want fixing?”

She frowns, as if working through a complex puzzle.

“But...doesn’t it hurt?”

“What, this? Nah. It makes it a little harder to see in front of me, but that’s why I have glasses.”

“You have pieces of glass and metal in front of your eyes. You, Agustín. The only person I know who can start a forest fire with a kettle and a sack of wet flour by accident.”

“I’m really sorry about that—”

“It’s just...what if that’s just something I can’t fix?”

Which is likely about as close as Julieta Carmen Madrigal Sánchez has ever gotten to a full breakdown.

He smiles as reassuringly as he can, and makes sure he has her attention.

“Honestly, Juli? I think you could fix anything. But this isn’t something that needs to be fixed. Truly. It’s just...it’s like cats, right?”

“...cats?”

“Sí. They’re both near-sighted and far-sighted, right? But that’s how they’re born. They can’t do a lot of things, like, like, play the maracas or act as lookouts—” There we are, there’s a grin— “but they do pretty well for what they need to do, right? Same with me. Not the same with you, because your eyes are just right for what you need to do. Más no es una problema, Juli.”

“...so what you’re saying is that you’re actually half cat and that’s why my cooking has no effect on you,” she teases.

“...miau.”

The absolutely deadpan voice he puts on makes her burst out laughing. He counts that as a complete success.

34. Recuerdo

(nm) memory, souvenir, reminder

It's a quiet night in the rebuilt Casita, and Mirabel is sitting up with her grandmother and sewing.

It used to be something that kept them together, in the earliest days. Abuela was upset, just as she was upset, about not getting a Door—something they made certain to rectify in the new house. But she still taught her granddaughter a skill or two, and oddly enough what made them both separate from the others also acted as a bond. Before Abuela…almost gave up on her, in a way, had other things to take care of, assumed that Mirabel had managed to settle down into her "new position" as the Madrigal without a Gift to give.

And now it's a Gift of time that Mirabel can give, and get back in return.

"Abuela?" asks Mirabel.

"¿Sí, chiquita?" she responds, and…wow, it's been a while since her grandmother has called her that.

"Down by the river…that song. What was it?"

"Dos Oruguitas?"

Mirabel nods.

She's used to Abuela being so strong, so tough. And perhaps that's how she had to be, for all those years. But after…After, when she saw her grandmother collapse and helped her back to her feet, it feels almost as if the fire has left her grandmother. No, that's not fair. It's not fire anymore, not a burning ember. It's light. Sunset light.

There are tears in the old woman's eyes, but she's smiling.

"Your abuelo's family were musicians originally," she says. "Pedro never really wrote much, but…it was his song. His song for us, and our milagritos, our little miracles."

"…was that his voice?"

She nods, and stifles a sob. Mirabel doesn't move to hug her—her grandmother isn't very good at hugs most of the time—but she does squeeze her hand, and Abuela smiles.

There have been crazier things that have happened to Mirabel Madrigal than the voice of her grandfather singing out of the ether as they were surrounded by butterflies. Giving her his blessing.

But not many.

(What happened there?)

35. Casamentero

(nm) matchmaker

For a while now Tío Bruno has been cajoled by the young lovers—or, more frequently, the ardent admirers—of San Ambrosio to use his visions as a way of determining whether or not their suit is worth pursuing. Sometimes they don't like the answers they get. Sometimes, quite famously in the case of Leonel Vargas and Paquita Rojas, they very absolutely do. (That was a very strange weekend.)

It's actually this particular event that gets eleven-year-old Dolores (nearly twelve, thank you) a little excited. Because just recently her friend Mariano has been seeming just a little more attractive than usual—not that he wasn't before, but, you know, at thirteen he's actually coming into a growth spurt and that stirs up a couple of strange feelings—and hey, with her uncle's track record it wouldn't be unreasonable just to get a glimpse of whether or not it's worth looking into.

"Okay. Just to be clear. I can't say whether or not this vision will happen in the order we see. I also don't know how effective it will be. For all we know we might get, I don't know, a vision of an army of undead goldfish." Her uncle slumps. "Or, you know, just the ones I supposedly killed."

"…you know Rosenda tends to exaggerate a lot, right?" she tells him. "I mean, the last fish she had, she blamed its death on an evil chicken petrifying it in the night."

Her uncle chuckles, then tosses salt over his shoulder, just in case. "Oh, I know all too well about evil chickens." Then he sighs. "Alright. Just sit tight."

The sand swirls—

And there's Mariano! But he's huge, all grown up, an actual moustache on his face, but still the same eyes—

He's with her, it’s a taller figure but she'd recognize her hair anywhere, they're walking arm in arm, she can't hear (she can't hear) but she thinks they're laughing—

(That is her, right? I mean, the hair's probably the same, but it's difficult to tell in all this sand—)

And now he's kneeling—

In front of another figure! A woman!

Wait, wait, that's Abuela behind them! And Señora Gúzman! It's a proper courtship!

She squeals.

"Tío Bruno, this is amazing! It's actually going to happen! It's—"

He grins, looking just as happy as her (and a little relieved). "Just hold on, Dolores, we're not done yet! Just let it settle, the vision isn't complete until the sand settles!"

The figure Mariano is proposing to takes shape—

And Dolores' heart shatters all in one go.

"Isabela?"

After the varying reactions of heartbreak from Dolores, pleasant surprise from Mamá, thunderous rage from Pepa ("You call up a future for your niece and then you twist it like that? What kind of a joke are you playing?"), and what can only be described as well-concealed resignation from Isabela, Bruno swears off visions completely for a while.

36. Maravillosa

(adj) wonderful, marvellous

She's been tired a lot. Circumstances are such that she decides to visit the doctor, who confirms her suspicions at the bare minimum. Still, it’s worth calling in for an expert opinion. The village of San Cristóbal doesn't have much in the way of magic, not really, but there are always…people who know things. Things like secret names, and how to avoid monsters in the jungle. And also—

That afternoon, she shows Pedro the cutout. And then expands it.

Her husband makes a show of nearly fainting from shock, and they collapse on the bed and laugh together from the sheer joy of it all.

Something new. Something of both of them. Three somethings.

"She felt them? Truly?"

Alma laughs. "She didn't need to feel them, mi media naranja. Some people just…know things. It's a gift."

Pedro rolls his eyes fondly. "Ah, you and your gifts, mi alma. It is a miracle. Our miracle."

"Miracle, gift, what's the difference?" She kisses his cheek playfully. She's teasing now. Her…side of the family, so to speak, was not exactly un-Christian, but they did put a lot more faith in the land than in the words of the priests. Pedro's ancestors, almost straight from the foothills of Granada, travelled to a new world to find a fortune and founded a family instead, but never quite stopped following the book they brought with them. So of course the little family is going to have different views on how the universe works, but hey, that doesn’t mean either side is wrong—

A family. They're already a family, but they're going to be a family.

"Well," says Pedro, kissing between her eyes with a huge smile stretching from ear to ear, "I would say that gifts are something you have, but a miracle is something that happens to you. You can do things with a gift—" he kisses her nose, and she giggles— "but you marvel at a miracle." He kisses her mouth, smile pressed against smile, and gently puts a hand against her stomach as her hand holds his face. "And some things are worth simply marvelling at."

[sanjisock]

more than words

50 words; 50 sentences

ao3

#01 - Motion

A spinning kick, a swing of blade — the two meet and hit but don’t hurt, and Nami sighs exasperatedly at such a pathetic display of a mating dance.

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

This isn’t faith; this is the truth, Zoro’s truth, the same way he knows he will become the Greatest — Sanji will find that elusive sea of his, and Zoro will stay with him until it is the last thing he can do.

[agirlunderarock]

Febuwhump Prompts 2022

For someone’s convenience, I don’t know if its mine or yours, I’m compiling a list of all the prompts I did for this year in one easy place. Hopefully I get to them all. We’ll see what happens. Almost all of these are going to end up being Obi-WanXOC or OCXClone OC or general. I’ll try to keep this updated as the month goes on.

Also a note on these, there are a lot things in these short writings that I absolutely would like to explore more of- I just didn’t have time to get to in these fics. LIterally these were pumped out in two three days at most with very little editing at times and it shows. Regardless of that though maybe you’ll enjoy them maybe you won’t either way they’re here.

Some of these are subject to change as I write, but I'm doing my best to keep it updated

1. Head wound: Obi-Wan is injured during the battle of Umbara

2. Failed Rescue attempt & Day 3 Blood loss: Sas tries to help her friend Pyrrha find her brother when things take a turn for the worst

4. Nightmare: Sas has the worst nightmare, Obi-Wan does his best to comfort her

5. "Let me see": Obi-Wan burned in his fight with Dooku during Geonosis I  Sas has just the thing to take care of it

6 &10 Hypothermia "I dreamt you were alive" & "How long has it been":  Hera has a dream about what could have been. An old friend does her best to help Hera work through some things

7, 17 & 20. Used as an experiement "I'll never forgive you," Left Behind & Caged: Bo-Katan reflects on her past while attempting to free Mandalore from Maul

8. No Anesthesia: Sas going into labor on tatooine

9. Kiddnapped: Crix being taken by Ventress on Christophsis

10. "How long has it been?": See 6

11. and 16. Chronic Pain and Hidden Scars: Sas' back pain. She only just realizes how much of an issue it is, but Obi-Wan takes care of her

12. Spiked Drink: Sas volunteers to shift into Padmé the first time the council wants her to spy on Rush Clovis

13. Won't Regain consciousness Friendly Fire: Chip's POV of 66 and watching Cody give the order to shoot down Obi-Wan

14.  Can't go home: ROTS Sas and Obi-Wan dealing with the aftermath of 66. Sas finding out she can't go back to Zolan, the conversations leading up to them going to Tatooine

15. Hidden Scars: Crix and Balls- she finally sees the scar from where his chip was taken out and he tells her what happened during 66, how he never got to apologize or tell Obi-Wan that his brothers didn't choose to do it

16. Does that hurt?: Sometime after Kavados? Sas helping Obi-Wan clean some wounds so Chip can tend to Pyrrha

17. Self-inflicted wound Left Behind: see 7

18. Forced to watch: Kenobi to Mandalore AU: Sas captured by Maul. Obi-Wan made to watch her die/bargain for her life

19. Delirium: The first few weeks on Tatooine are rough for Obi-Wan, Sas does her best to help him

20. Caged: See 7

21. "Help them": Sas at the temple during 66 a dying creche master asks her for help to get the younglings out, could actually be combined with failed rescue attempt

22. Restrained: Getting caught during Geonosis I and being chained up

23. Don't Leave!: Sas going to help the 501st on Umbara

24. Too weak to move: Sas brings Padme onto the ship on Mustafar

25. Muffled screams: Crix and Balls-He's captured and being interrogated about rebels

26. Please don't do this: Sas begging Obi-Wan not to confront Vader on the death star

27. Shower Breakdown: Sas tries to clean the dirt and blood from Obi-Wan's face after his fight with Maul and Savage eventually suggesting he take a hot shower to try to relax

28. Presumed Dead: Sas has her own way of grieving

[actualaster]

Yo so I'm currently at... Around 8.5‐9 hours after getting the J&J vaccine.

I'm have several chronic health issues so my rating of discomfort from symptoms might be skewed (I'm regularly freezing and get muscle/joint aches for example) but I figured I might as well mention my reactions, if I remember--both my parents had pretty notable brain fog.

Please do not decide to avoid a vaccination just based on side effects unless you're genuinely advised to do so by a trained medical professional. This is strictly meant as a "this is my personal experience" and quite frankly there is a HUGE variation in how people react including "not at all". Like my family personally has a variable set of reactions among those of us who've been vaccinated.

At time of injection: Most painful injection ive had, BUT if we're talking objectively I'd say 25-50% again as painful as a flu shot, lasted about a half hour or so.

After that it didn't really hurt much.

Took a few hours, arm is pretty sore when moved but feels about the same as a flu vaccine.

Side effect onset somewhere between 5-8 hours. I admit I don't know for sure because muscle pain and being chilled are pretty normal for me.

Around 8.5 hours out I am 100% beyond my normal and absolutely experiencing notable muscle pain (for me in the lower back, neck, and shoulders but those are also areas I have a lot of recurring muscle pain)

Also EXTREMELY chilled. I moved away from the space heater and instantly I'm shivering hard enough that autocorrect is my saving grace.

Some joint pain in the jaw but I have TMJ issues, and my knee is in rough shape but it's also my bad knee I injured a few years ago and have had recurring discomfort in since so.

As of right now, pretty much all pain is localized to areas where I have chronic pain either due to illness or injury.

My guess is if you have muscles or joints that are already inflamed or prone to inflammation those will be the first places you start to feel discomfort based on my experience. I can't back that up with science but anecdotally that's what I'm experiencing.

On a scale of 1-10 with one being "mild cold" and 10 being "literal influenza that knocked me on my ass for like a week-week and a half"...

I rate it so far a 3, maybe a 4 tops.

Definitely far from the worst and not really terrible, all things considered.