#just like damn. do other people not walk about Feeling Shitty every hour of every day?

[hyperspacial]

Shame is like a sister to me. She's a backpack that I carry everywhere. She's the white rice that comes with every takeout order. She's the hinge on my bathroom mirror that never fully closes.

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 8 - Catharsis

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Word count: 4,900

Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of death, heavy drinking, use of alcohol and sexual behavior as coping mechanisms. you know it's what you can expect from a blitzo-centered chapter. this happens right after the ozzie's chapter.

Blitzø is going to die alone. 

He’s going to die alone and no one will attend his funeral or even visit his grave other than to spit on it and his gravestone will read ‘Here Lies Blitzo Buckzo’ and nothing more because no one will be there to tell them to cross out the O and he most certainly won’t be a beloved anything. He'll just stay Blitzo Buckzo, forever.

And Blitzo Buckzo fucking sucks. 

Sometimes he wishes he was able to think before he spoke. He never does much of that and he’s aware he’d probably have refrained from hurting half the people he’s hurt if he could just keep his damn mouth shut. He didn’t think about this all that much… except for when he did. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Her voice rings in his head non-stop, like one of those annoying fucking church bells he’d come across once in the living world that ring every single hour, making it unable for its existence to be forgotten.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

It rings over and over again, stubborn, and it just won’t fucking go away.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Blitzø drives home on his own, but not in silence. He turns the radio on and the volume up until he figures it must be loud enough that he’ll have trouble hearing his own thoughts. It doesn’t work. The shit thing about thoughts is that they’re not something you can just turn off when you get sick of them. They follow you everywhere, all the time, inconvenient and impossible to get rid of. He proceeds to ignore the songs that come on in favor of mumbling incoherent things under his breath in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he’s not bothered by everything that just happened.  Things like I can think about people’s fuckin’ feelings and think you’re so much better than me, well fuck you and rich fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s hot shit and probably suckin’ face right now. 

You know, things that prove he doesn’t care one bit. 

Whatever.

He parks the van without a care, still too busy mumbling to himself, leaving it askew, taking up almost half of the parking spot next to his own. The old lady from 22 is gonna be pissed at the inconvenience. Well fuck her too. He doesn’t spare another thought on that. 

He dreads the walk up the stairs to the apartment, wishing he lived somewhere with an elevator, or in a house, or in a super sick fancy mansion where he used money as toilet paper when he took a shit because he was just that rich. Actually, scratch that, that sounds uncomfortable. At least his shitty apartment with limited hot water and four flights of stairs before it had real toilet paper, and it was the nice kind even, he always made sure of it even if it was a little more expensive. 

His little luxuries start to sound stupid when he’s been spending so much time around Stolas and all his fancy stuff.

When he opens the door and enters the apartment, his first immediate thought is to knock on Loona’s door. He groans once as he walks towards it and then once again when he spots the note she left taped to it. ‘Tex invited me to a party. Don’t wait up.’ Yeah of course he fucking did.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Does he? 

He does. He thinks he does, at least. Maybe not all the time, but why else would he have said those things to her other than to protect her feelings? It’s not his fault if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. She needed to kill those feelings and if she wouldn’t then he would, fuck being the bad guy. In fact, fuck her too! He could so think about other people’s feelings.

He groans a third time at the thought of spending the night all alone, because he already knows what being alone makes out of him, and he doesn't like it one bit. If he could, he’d never be alone, not even for a single second, ever. Maybe that way he wouldn’t be so pathetic and so sad, because that’s what being alone made of him: pathetic and sad. 

It’s why Blitzø used to hate weekends. 

Satan, he fucking hated them. Why couldn’t every day be a work day? Why would they need a break? If it were up to him, there would be no such thing as a weekend. Because on weekends he had nothing to distract him from the ever-growing nothing in the pit of his chest and that wasn’t much fun at all.

Until Y/N accepted the job at I.M.P.

Before that, they used to speak almost exclusively through text, extremely inconsistently. He’s never really been the greatest at texting, but he could spam her with stupid memes and pictures of him doing random things throughout his day and horse doodles that she didn’t seem mad about receiving. They spent a whole year like that, only meeting in person a few times here and there.

When he offered her the job he promised himself not to have any expectations because, well shit, why would she trade in an obviously well-paying job, with her best friend as her boss, where she’d been working for years on end without having to hurt or kill anybody, for whatever it was he was asking her to do? 

But then she said yes.

It wasn’t long until he figured out they weren’t all that different from each other. Apparently, as much as she liked to complain about needing a break, just to annoy him, she dreaded weekends too. Not that she’d just admit that point-blank, but they did go out on on a Friday night after work and she did drink one too many and she sighed and complained about having to go home and it was all so much like him. ‘I don’t wanna be alone, Blitz,’ she’d told him. 

He didn't wanna be alone either.

And so he took her back home and he slept on her couch and he stayed there the next day, keeping her company and, honestly, enjoying hers. 

That’s how their tradition started. Almost every single weekend, the two will find themselves in either of their apartments, in the ugliest clothes they own, to cook or order something extremely greasy and unhealthy and marathon a shit-ton of movies, staying in on Saturday after going out somewhere on Friday. Loona would routinely call it ‘patheticville’ and ‘loser day’ and things like that. 

He doesn't hate weekends anymore. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

And now he’d fucking gone and done this. 

He still wanted to fight, then. To argue, to scream, to yell. He wanted them to do it too. To get down and dirty and scream back at him. He wanted a reason to react.

Blitzø has always been very good at reacting. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than you own?

But how was he supposed to react to that? The thought of grabbing his phone and texting her something along the lines of ‘fuck you and your pet bird too’ crosses his mind for a moment and, shit, maybe he is a prick, and he was gonna die alone wasn’t he? He was sure to if he kept doing this kind of thing. 

And maybe he fucking deserves it. 

Sometimes he wonders just how he’s going to die. Will it be peaceful? He hopes not. He sure as shit does not deserve peaceful. Maybe it could at least be cool. Maybe he could go down in a super badass shootout in the human world or a cool-as-fuck sword fight or something. Or maybe he’ll die in some dumbass way like tripping on the sidewalk and cracking his head open on the pavement. Maybe it’ll be in one of those days when he’ll be climbing up Stolas’ balcony and then he’ll slip and fall and break all his bones only to be found dead on the grass surrounded by ball gags and anal plugs. A stupid send-off for a stupid motherfucker. 

He throws himself on the couch instead and curls up into a ball, wishing he had a big royal-size bed with soft sheets and like three or four fluffy pillows, or even a simple twin-sized one, or at least that the couch was a pull-out. 

He grabs his phone and inevitably goes where he always goes when he feels like this- his ‘people I care about’ folder. He swipes through the various pictures. The ones of himself with I.M.P. in the living world, the one he made Moxxie pose with him for with them pointing their guns at each other, the one with Millie when she still had her long hair. The one from the day of Loona’s adoption, the one he took of Stolas sleeping next to him. The selfie with Verosika, the one he secretly took of Y/N watching the screen when he first showed ‘Spirit’ to her. 

And then he lands on the one. The one with Barbie and his mom. 

Blitzø is a 35 years old single father who kills people for a living. He’s been handling his own shit for almost two decades now. But in this moment… he just wants his mama.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

What would she have thought of that?

Yeah, he should have known it would be a ‘cry himself to sleep’ kind of night.

Blitzø doesn’t know for how long he’s been passed out when he wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and that probably explains why his body ached so much with how uncomfortable the position he’d slept in was. He wakes up with the barking sounds of Loona’s special ringtone and scrambles to pick it up. 

“Loonie baby? You alright? Did something happen to you, are you hurt?”

“No, Blitz. I just- can you just come pick me up?” She sounds like she’s been crying. Fuck, no, his baby needs him. No time to be sad.

He’s up in a second. “On my way. Send me the address.” He hangs up, searching for his car keys (which he found between the couch seats) and running down the stairs.

Loona went two rings down to Gluttony for this party. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s more of a Lust Ring party kind of guy himself, but he’s heard Gluttony parties got crazy. He accelerates as fast as the shitty van will let him and gets there pretty quickly, only to find her outside, still crying.

He rolls down the window before he even stops the car completely. “Hey, Loonie. How ya doin’, you alright?”

She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and enters the car with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine! I just wanna go.” She sounds anything but fine.

He’s about to ask her what happened when some fuckface he definitely doesn’t remember calls him by name. The wrong one. “Hey! That sounds like Blitzo!”

“The ‘O’ is silent, asshole!”

“Hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?”

“No, I’m just here picking up my daughter.”

The guy walks up to Loona’s window, and she hides her face from him with her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, shit, you have a daughter now?”

“Adopted!” She yells out, and it stings a bit, regardless of being objectively true. 

“Oh, man, you’re already leaving? Things just got started! Come in and show us all up again.”

Blitzø groans, annoyed by the insistence. “No, no, thank you, but I think Loonie wants to head back now.” 

Some other weirdo approaches the van, leaning on the passenger’s window. “Huh, the hottie wants to leave?” Come on, right in front of him? 

He instinctively starts to growl. “Watch it.”

“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” Loona tells him.

He sighs. He’s not normally one to turn down a party, especially one with free booze, but he feels that’s probably what he should do.. “I think we need to go, ‘kay? I think it’s been a long night.”

“Well, these people seem to know you. Come on! I think I wanna give this another try. Pleeeeaaase?” She gives him the goddamn puppy dog eyes and she knows he can already hardly resist fulfilling her requests.

Well, if she insists. He could definitely use a drink…

“Okay, fine. Maybe one drink.”

… Or a good old night of drinking to forget.

Blitzø downs two tequila shots before he’s even made it into the house. He downs four beers at rapid speed as soon as he does manage to get inside, crushing the cans and cheering loudly when he was done, and then suddenly he finds himself saying yes to a keg stand. It’s so easy he can do it in his sleep. Fuck being too old for this, he’d never be too old to have fun. And he can handle so much more than a keg stand. “Ha-ha! That was nothing, bitch! Give me a real challenge!”

Beelzebub herself appears in front of him, seemingly materializing out of nowhere (or maybe he’s just drunk), all cheers and neon colors and psychedelic paraphernalia floating around her, and she does challenge him. “Oh yeah? Wanna fucks with the big bitch, imp boy? I got a challenge for ya.” 

Someone somewhere murmurs “He’s gonna die.”

Now that sounds like a challenge he can get behind.

Vortex walks up to them, carrying two huge gallons of something and placing them on the floor between him and the Sin. “Aaaaight, let’s do this! From Bee’s personal supply, the hardest shit there is.” He crouches down to Blitzø’s height. “You ready, my man?” 

Fuck, this better fucking kill him alright. “Bring it, barky! I will drink you under this fucking table, you have no idea what kind of night I’ve had.” He struggles trying to pry the gallon open, and Bee uses her magic or whatever to make them levitate, extending a straw from it. Of course she’d flaunt her magical powers and her easy fucking life to him.

“Alright, shit-talker, but there hasn’t been a soul yet who can beat me at my own game, so you better bring the fire, baby!.” 

“Ohh, is Queen Bee too scawed to lose to a widdle imp like me?” He bets she is. And he bets she’ll be embarrassed when she loses to him (because she is going to lose). Fucking big names like her always are. 

“Oh, okay. Let’s get it on, you little bastard!”

Vortex signs for them to begin and it takes about two seconds for Blitzø to have downed about a fourth of it already, but why stop there? He pulls the straw out and pours the drink straight into his mouth, downing the entirety of it at light speed. He’s so quick Beelzebub even stops chugging her own, amused… Concerned? Noo, no way. Amused. 

He climbs on top of the huge gallon to be at face level with her and properly rub it on her face, high on the adrenaline of it all (and perhaps a little bit on the buzz from the extremely strong drink too). “Yeah, who’s the queen now?”

Loona cheers for him loudly, and it fills him with joy when she proudly yells out “yeah! That’s my dad!” Yeah. That’s damn right. 

Bee lets her own unfinished gallon fall down to the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, definitely impressed. “Well, fuck me. That’s a first. I haven’t had a first in a while. That was magical, seriously. Impressive. I tip my crown to you, imp boy. Respect.” Fuck her still calling him imp boy, but she’s actually admitting his victory and shes bowing to him, as she fucking should. 

She howls, every hellhound around following suit, and Blitzø feels on top of the world. 

Why does the world start spinning when you get yourself on top of it? 

He almost falls to the ground, but then he’s getting held up by a bunch of strangers like a cool-as-fuck goddamn rockstar and, shit, why had he stopped getting wasted and doing this kind of thing every night again?

He doesn’t exactly remember when people started doing body shots off of him but he does remember getting freaky with a few of them, which did very little to make him feel good and honestly felt a little gross with the amounts of drinks getting spilled all over and making things rather… sticky, but it was doing wonders to his thought problem. 

Who would have known having four strangers’ tongues inside of you at once could be a great way to muffle the unsolicited thoughts in his head?

The second those people fuck off somewhere else the thoughts come in again, though. Stolas hiding his face in shame behind the menu. Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? Y/n unable to look him in the eye. Are you worried someday I may have enough of it as well? Fizz is gonna hate him forever. You’re not my real dad! Verosika will always regret him. We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle? Y/n’s crying face, Stolas’ disappointed one. Oh, they both had such fuckable faces didn’t they? Which reminded him: he really wanted to fuck someone.

He’s making out with a guy whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he doesn’t even remember when Loona pulls him off of him. “Oh, piss on a dick! What the fuck are you doing, Blitz?”

“This guy,” he grins, pointing to the unnamed man, who now stands still behind him. Wasn’t it obvious?

“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy. Stop!” Oh shit. Loona saw all that? An orgy does sound like some real fucking fun right now. Wait, focus, Loona. Fuck.

“Look, I didn’t expect you to come here and see any of this, Loonie, I’m so sorry, but it’s a party! I’m just having fun with uh… uh…” he turns back around to the man Loona pulled him off of. “The fuck is your name again?”

“Dennis.”

Ew. “Christ on a stick, you would be a Dennis. Get the fuck away from me! I’m not fucking a Dennis tonight. I need a Monica or an Alejandro here, stat.” He’s genuinely surprised that works when some hunky dude pulls him into his huuuge chest. Fuck yeah. “Better.”

Loona punches his Alejandro in the face, and he sincerely doesn’t give a fuck about it, because the world is spinning again, which is weird because this time he does not feel like he’s on top of it at all. In fact, it feels like the world is the meanest dom top ever and he’s a whiny, whiny bottom just sore all over from getting spanked ‘till his ass hurt. Not in a good way.

He falls back on Loona, and she catches him. “You don’t need anyone else sucking your face, freaky weirdo.” She throws him over her shoulder. “You need to drink something other than beelzejuice.”

She pulls him into the van, and she doesn’t rush to get home, because, according to her, she can see he’s already about to throw up. No he’s not, no sir! Ma’am. Loonie. 

Whatever. 

His mind clears a little as they make their way back home, and he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Thankfully it’s still there.

“The fuck are you doing, dumbass? That’s gonna make you dizzy.”

“Gotta… gotta draw a thing.”

“You gotta draw a thing?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, as if that was enough information for everything to be self-explanatory, even nodding his head yes for emphasis. He surprisingly manages to take his time and put real effort into doodling it, showing it to Loona before sending it.

“Does it look like I did it drunk?” He slurs, letting out an unintentional burp.

“It actually looks pretty good, Blitz.”

“Okay.” 

“So. Who’d you call stupid?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me dad again?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

He presses send and clicks on Stolas’ contact next, only to see there’s an unread message in their chat.

Stols:  I’m sorry if anything I said or did offended you tonight. 

Ha. Bet you really fucking are. 

Still, he’s not Stolas’ fucking boyfriend. What was there to expect from him? Why would he expect anything? 

Blitzy: ITZ WUTEVS

To Blitzø’s surprise, Stolas begins typing immediately, as if he’d been waiting obsessively for his reply.

Stols: Next time you come over, maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s?

Talk about it? What was there to talk about? Blitzø wanted nothing more than to bury the memories of tonight the deepest under the ground he possibly could. But of course Stolas would want to talk about it.

He always wants to fucking talk about shit.

Blitzy: Y?

Stolas types for what feels like forever, and it must have been, seen that they’re now only one street from the apartment complex, before he sends in a huge-ass paragraph. 

Stols: I’m sorry! Nevermind, it’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. I’m sure things will be fine with Y/N, she likes you very much, I can see it. Maybe I read too much into everything, though. Not everything is about me, haha. I’m  glad that’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obviously you can handle a stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humor, and Y/N says she’ll talk to him about it, but I thought it was funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest. Maybe you can say mean things to me too next time you come over. 

Now that is too much to fucking deal with right now. Which means he won’t. 

Blitzy: SHUR.

He clicks out of Stolas’ chat, taking one last glance at Y/N’s before turning his phone off. She hasn’t seen what he sent yet, and that’s actually okay. 

Loona parks the van messily, doing the same thing he’d done earlier and letting the car occupy some space from the neighbour’s spot. He doesn’t even think before asking her to fix it.  “Sweetie, could you just park it a little more to the right?”

“Why?”

Yeah, Blitzø, why do you even care? “Well I don’t want that freaky cat lady to be up my ass about it tomorrow.” Yeah, that. Sure.

She doesn’t seem to find it in her to argue or even as much as groan, simply readjusting the car. She has to carry him over her shoulder again and all he wishes on the way up this time around is that he were a little more sober. She plops him down on the couch and he curls into himself once again while she grabs him a glass of water. 

Nothing to distract him from his thoughts now. 

“I had a really shitty day,” he tells her.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you drank like five gallons of who-knows-what?”

“I don’t want her to hate me.”

“The person you called stupid?” 

He nods, hiding his face from her when the tears start coming in. “Fuck, Fizz was right. I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered waste. Will you be there, Loonie?” Blitzø feels whatever consciousness he’d gained back slipping away again by the second, this time from the need to sleep rather than the alcohol. At what point did he get so tired?

“Be where?” Loona asks, and he’s too out of it to respond properly, only mumbling half-coherent things like lonely and die alone over and over. “I’ll be there, dad," she tells him anyway, and covers him with a blanket, the softest one they own. “Now go the fuck to sleep,” she orders, and he does hear it, he just doesn’t have the strength to say anything in response as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, his last thoughts being that at least he can’t think about anything while asleep and that… 

He vomits all over the living room floor. 

“Oh, fuck, I did need to throw up.”

[. . .]

You feel stupid when it’s Fizzarolli who finds you crying in Ozzie’s waiting area. He skips his way to the room, humming along to some song you can’t quite make out, and he almost doesn’t see you on his way into the office. He hears you sniffling, though, and turns to face you. It takes him a couple seconds to process that it’s you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Um. You okay there?”

You look up at him, but it doesn’t feel like you can say anything yet. 

“I-” He motions behind him with his thumb. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ozzie. Stay here, yeah?”

You don’t even know why exactly you’d asked Stolas to send you here when you were still mad at Ozzie. Or maybe not mad. Just… sad about everything that spiraled out of what he did. 

Then again, did you even have anywhere else to go? You could absolutely not make the night worse for Millie and Moxxie by showing up at their place, thinking of Blitzø made you sad and Stolas was not an option. You had Ozzie, though. And you know you always will, despite whatever stupid shit one of you might do. 

And it honestly beats going home to a big pile of nothing. 

Ozzie appears shortly, Fizz having done as promised and fetched him. Fizz doesn’t come back, though, letting you and Ozzie have a moment to talk on your own, which is nice of him.  

“Hey, pretty babe. Fizz said you were here.” He looks you up and down, worried. “Are you crying?”

“Why did you do that?” 

“What?”

“Why did you fucking sing about all that, why did you- it was so humiliating, Oz, fuck!”

“Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It got out of control. I didn’t even know you would be here tonight. You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t know I was coming either.”

“You wanna tell me what that means?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Alright. That’s okay. I am sorry, though. We took the joke too far and I realized too late that it wasn’t funny.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t. So please don’t fucking do that again. It’s humiliating enough to… fuck... and everybody saw it, and- I…” You groan in frustration, struggling to get your words out. 

“No more about Stolas or any of you. Okay? Promise.” He sits down next to you on the fancy couch and he lets you lean on him. “Did something happen between you?”

You hesitate before speaking. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I am stupid. Of course he’s ashamed to be seen with us.”

“Stolas?”

You nod. 

“Did he… tell you that?”

“Well he didn’t deny it.”

“Okay." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of how to handle the situation. "You’ll have time to think about all of this. Alright? Now you’re coming with me, you’re taking a bath and you’re sleeping over, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow. There’s no need to hurt yourself more thinking about it right now.”

He stands up and turns to leave the room, but looks back when he doesn’t hear you do the same. You’re still sat sit still on the couch.

You look up at him. “Oz?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You repeat yourself.

“What- of course not. Did somebody say that to you?”

You don’t reply. 

He purses his lips together, thinking. “Are they worth feeling stupid for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone through this before.”

“It’s different, you know that.”

“Yeah, it’s worse. They’re not hurting you back this time around, they’re just hurting you.”

You decide he was right. You don't want to talk about this right now. “Can we please not talk about it?”

He hesitates before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. ‘Course, babe.” He grabs your hands and pulls you up. “Come on.”

All the crying makes you so tired you’re almost passed out the second you lie down on the soft, silky bedsheets of Ozzie's guest room bed. Taking a look through your texts before you let yourself fall asleep, you click on Stolas’ contact once you see a notification for an unread text. 

Stolas: I am truly sorry if I did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable with me tonight. It’s not your obligation to talk Asmodeus  out of doing anything and I did not feel embarrassed because of you or Blitz. If you need space from me I will understand, but I want you to know that is not how I feel. And, for the record, I don’t care what that Verosika person said about you. I hope you’re alright. 

It is way too late and you are way too tired to process or deal with all of that, and honestly? You still do feel stupid, and don’t want to further that feeling by replying to him immediately. That feels too pathetic- it feels like proving Blitzø right.

You’ll reply tomorrow.

You click on Blitzø’s contact next, which also had a notification signaling an unseen message, and you brace yourself for a 'fuck you’ text or something of the sorts. 

You can't keep yourself from smiling when you open the text, turning the phone off and just waiting for sleep come to you, and things feel a lot less shitty than just a second before.

Having friends is pretty fucking okay.

A/N: everybody say thank you @sweetadonisbutbetter and also wish them a happy birthday!! the adorable little doodle blitzo drew is theirs and they did it especially so i could put it in this chapter which is so nice of them and so fucking cool!!

[graciegoeskrazy]

If you’re living and you’re 17

Pairings: Matty Healy x Teen!Daughter!reader, George Daniel x Teen!Niece!reader

Warnings, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND SELF HARM, lots of cursing lmao, yelling, so much fucking angst, mentions of losing friends, shitty fathers for a second, lil cliffhanger (?),

A/N: Requested by a super sweet anon! I ended up adding to the original idea so sorry if it’s not how u invisioned it but the creative juices kept flowing and my fingers just kept on typing. Seeing the 1975 in ONE WEEK! Thx for all the love!

You walked inside the tour bus and was greeted with an overwhelming fume of drugs and laughter. Adam was the first to acknowledge you. “Y/n, you want some food? I’m ordering Chinese.”

“No, Thank you. I’m good.” You said, on your way to your bunk.

“What’s up with y/n? She seems off.” Adam said.

“I don’t know. Teenage hormones I guess.” You heard your father say, laughing.

Just then, Ross came bursting through the doors with a huge grin on his face. “It’s official mates! A 3rd leg is completely booked. 40 cites, almost every continent, and we’re ending it in Madison Square Garden!” Everyone cheered and smiled. All except you.

“God!? For how long?” You asked. A look of panic on your face.

“About a year?” Your mouth dropped in shock. You just turned to your dad and whispered a simple, yet strong, “Fuck you.”

You stormed off into to bunk room. Your dad rolled his eyes and said, “I hate teenagers.” causing the others to laugh. He followed you into the other room.

“Hey! What is going on with you lately?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry I said anything. I’m happy for you.”

“Really? Because that didn’t look like fucking happiness over there!” He was fuming. “Stop fucking lying to me, ok? Now, tell me what the fuck has gotten into you.”

You dropped everything and put your hands over your eyes. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Your father's anger continued. “What? Doing what?”

You suddenly stood up facing your father and letting it all go. “THIS! This! Living this crazy life with you and putting on a smile like everything is fucking fine, but nothing feels fucking fine! However many times I try to talk to you, Tell you how I’m feeling, tell you that I’m having thoughts of ending my life every single God damn day, tell you how much I hate my life with you, it never works because you never listen!”

Matty’s face contorted into confusion, his anger mostly dropping. “What do you mean?”

“God, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall all the time. Are you even listening? Have you ever thought about listening to what I have to say? Or how I’m feeling? No. Because you never care for anything other than yourself.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“I’m tired, Dad. I’m tired of spending every waking hour of my life in a tour bus, or hotel room, a plane, or any bed that isn’t my own. I’m tired of your bullshit and you getting drunk every night partying with 40,000 people. I’m tired of getting blamed for the stupid shit that you say or do. I used to think that this whole tour thing would be fine. I would enjoy online school and maintain my relationships - and I did. Until you came along and did something that scared them away! Now all my friends are weird 30-year-olds and I’m failing in every class I take but I don’t even get the chance to tell you that I’m struggling! I’m tired of seeing you all over social media skipping from woman to woman who eventually gets tired of your bull shit or then find out you have a daughter and run scared. I wish I could be like them and run from Matty Healy the first chance I get, but I can’t because I’m stuck here. In this fucking smelly tour bus, letting you live your dream while I watch my entire life fade away.”

To say the least, Matty felt awful. How could he have been this blind? Had he really not noticed at all how much his own daughter was suffering? He was at a loss for words, and yet still tried to find the right ones. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“Thanks, Dad.” You said, Walking away and into the main space.

Everybody that was in there before had left except for Jamie, Ross, and George. When you walked in you immediately went up to George.

“Can I spend the night at your place?”

He gave you a weak smile and put his hand on your shoulder. “Yeah, of course.” He said.

_ _ _

Nearing showtime, you avoided your dad. Instead of hanging is his dressing room or the green room, watching him do his prep or play music together like you used to, you were in George’s. You told him that you would be fine if he went into the green room to hang out, but he wanted to leave you alone for as little as possible. You were thankful for George and all he did throughout your life. Sure, he was technically your official unofficial godfather, (official because your father deemed him that the day you were born and unofficial because your father also doesn’t believe in God so you never went through with the baptism) but ever since you were young he has always been a second parent to you.

After the show, George drove you back to his hotel room as promised and told you to get ready for bed. At one point he heard a loud thump of some sort come from the bathroom. You knocked over the soap dispenser on accident and picked it up with no problem. When George came around to check in on you and see what had happened, he noticed your arm.

Red and littered with marks all over.

His first reaction was to run to you, grab you, tell you to never do that again, slightly scream at you, and then make sure you were okay, but he knew this needed to be handled differently. He went back to the bed and waited.

You came back just a few minutes later and to no surprise, your sweatshirt was back on. “Ready for bed?” He asked. You nodded in response. He pulled back the covers to let you get in and stood up. He planted a kiss on your forehead before continuing. “I’ll be back, I gotta make a call.”

“Uhhhh, You’re not gonna tuck me in?”

“I just did!”

“That was a bad tuck. Plus you're not gonna stay with me?”

“It’s a work call. It’ll be fast.”

“Dude, it’s midnight,. Nobody you talk to at work is gonna answer. Especially my dad if you’re trying to call him. He’s probably black out drunk already.”

He let out a slight laugh. “Okay fine.” He agreed.

He got in on the other side and pulled you close - your head leaning on his chest. After a few minutes of going back and forth, he finally gave in and played the movie you wanted to play instead of what he wanted. It backfired on you though because within 20 minutes, you passed out. He chuckled at your quite, delicate snores and pulled out his phone, dialing your dad.

He answered right away. “How is she?”

“Well, given the circumstances i’d say she’s good. Calmed down a lot. She sound asleep right next to me.”

“Ok. Ok, that’s good.”

After a brief pause, George continued. “Listen, Matty, I gotta tell you something…about y/n.”

“OK?”

He cleared his throat before speaking. “She was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and stuff and I came in to check on her.”

“OK?”

“She had her sweatshirt off. She was in a tanktop, and there were red marks all up and down her arms.”

Matty couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Do you mean that she-”

“She selfharmed, mate.”

Matty wanted to burst into instant tears. “Jesus Christ.” He said.

“I didn't bring it up. She didn't even notice I was standing there. I just figured that even though you shouldn’t be having that conversation alone with her, it wasn’t right for just her and I to have it.”

“Yeah. You’re right. What happened after?”

“Nothing, She came out with the sweatshirt back on, I tucked her into bed, sat next to her and she fell asleep watching a movie.”

“Ok,” he said hesitantly.

“Listen, I’ll keep my eye on her tomorrow before the flight we’ve got to have a conversation with her.

“Alright.” Your father said.

All the while, you were fast asleep.

PART 2

[factorydefaultlu]

Slipping Through My Fingers

Wincest, weecest, >1k, not explicit.

Also posted on my AO3

School bag in hand, he leaves home in the early morning, waving goodbye with an absent minded smile.

The door to the impala creaked as Sam popped open the door, ready to head into school. Dean watched as his brother ducked under the doorframe, he'd gotten so tall already. Sammy gave a half hearted wave and a “See you later, Dean.” before letting the door swing shut.

A breeze blew back into the car as the door clicked. The early autumn air chilled Dean to the bone despite the layers he was wearing. A knot in his stomach formed as he watched Sam disappear into the crowd of the other highschoolers.

Dean was happy to no longer have to attend school, he found it pedantic and useless. Sam seemed to like it though, and his grades certainly reflect that. The only thing that Dean didn't like about graduating was that he no longer had an eye on Sammy at all hours of the day.

Call it obsessive, or possessive, Dean would agree. He doesn't find shame in the fact that he wants to protect Sam. That's his baby brother, and Dean won't let a damn thing happen to him.

I watch him go, with a surge of that well known sadness, and I have to sit down for a while.

Dean finally looked down at the steering wheel once Sam was nowhere to be seen. A deep breath escaped his lips, a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. The knot in Dean's stomach grew tighter, and he needed to get out there.

Once he was finally on the road, Dean fished out the pack of cigarettes from the glove box. Sammy hated when he smoked, but right now he needs it. The smell should clear by the time Dean picks him up anyway.

Guilt still ate at him. For what? He didn't know. Dean would like to believe it was because he's smoking against Sammy's wishes, but he knew deeper down that it was much more than that.

The smoke burned his mouth and lit a fire in his chest. The tightness dissipated and by the time Dean made it back to the shitty motel, the cherry of the cigarette was burning the filter.

Dean stops himself from putting it out on the skin of his wrist.

The feeling that I'm losing him forever, while never really entering his world. I'm glad whenever I can share his laughter.

That sunny little boy.

The closer Sammy gets to 18, the more nervous Dean becomes. He knows that once Sam is a full fledged adult, that he'll pack and leave. Hell, he'd talked about it for years. Ever since he had that major growth spurt during the summer they spent at Bobby's. Sam was different. Sam was becoming a man.

Dean knows that Sam loves him. He knows that they're very different people and he knows that it's not personal. Yet he still feels guilty, like he'd run Sam off; made him mad in some way.

He was always mad nowadays. Dean remembered a time when he was his brother's whole world. That summer is burned into his soul, no creature on earth or in heaven nor hell could make him forget.

They'd spent half the summer in the watering hole just half a mile from Bobby's. The two would pack a cooler and walk down there early in the morning and just spend the day being kids. Acting how they were supposed to.

Little Sammy would insist they bring sunscreen and rattled off some sciencey blabber he'd read about in school. Something about UV rays and skin cancer.

A smile spread over Dean's lips as he remembered.

If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the sun warming his skin, smell the creek water and honeysuckle. Along with the sunscreen he so lovingly rubbed into Sam's skin.

Dean used to love helping Sammy apply sunscreen and aloe, his hands would linger on his brother's shoulders and the small of his back.

Now he wished he hadn't stuffed the cigarette into the ashtray. Dean deserved the burn for where his thoughts were heading.

Slipping through my fingers all the time. I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it.

Do I really know what's in his mind? Each time I think I'm close to knowing, he keeps on growing.

Memories are a funny thing. Tricky, and not always accurate to what really happened. Dean knows. He still likes his interpretation of that hot, humid summer night.

Sammy had turned 13 just a month prior and was already experiencing a massive growth spurt. He was still shorter than Dean, but his limbs were long. Awkward; It reminded Dean of a newborn fawn.

They'd forgotten sunscreen that day. Sammy got burned up something awful. He was being tough about it, but the way he flinched when putting his shirt back on made Dean's heart rabbit up.

He felt bad for enjoying how Sammy had to rely on him for a few days. How he had to have Dean help take his shirts on and off. Had to have him rub aloe on his scorched skin.

Sammy slept on his stomach for a week and Dean enjoyed laying next to him, ever so gently running his fingers along Sam's blisters. ‘My poor baby’ Dean had thought at the time.

He still thinks that way in all honesty.

[butterbabyflapjack]

GIF by daniel-bruehl

Brat chapter.3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

sexual content, sexual tension, dominant ghost, power dynamics, messy feelings, voice kink, mask kink, glove kink, dom/sub, indirect daddy kink, biting, rough sex, begging, brat breaking, voyeurism, just a dash of possessive choking, forced eye contact, oral fixation, tactical gear kink

Taglist: @ahoycaptainautumn @your-highnessmarvel @wolfgalsniper @confuseddipshit @prettynalilgay @merzkihstuff @alfie2401 @emberwolfgames @willowbrookesblog @meujias @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @magicgal @verios @flrwpwr @jewelsisurmom @imjusthereforghostsmutt @circuskatt

Chapterlist: chapter.1 - chapter.2 - chapter.3 - chapter.4

You’ve been acting like a brat, and Ghost has had enough of it.

“You can consider this punishment. Can consider it me spoiling your bratty behavior. But you wanted my attention, and you’ve gotten it. So tell me now if you don’t want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until it breaks, otherwise I’m taking what I want from you, and you’ll accept everything I give like the greedy fucking whore you’re pretending so hard not to be.” He pauses, as if for your reply, though your tongue won’t move, your heart won’t beat; all of you tangled and drunken and warm; your stomach clenching almost painfully tight as you hear his hoarsened hum. “I need an answer, love.” “I…” you swallow, hard. Unable to deny that your panties are steadily soaking through for him, though still you somehow manage to stammer, “I’m not a whore you asshole…!” You hear the smirk behind his mask. “You will be for me.”

Chapter 3

Authors Note: This is NOT the angsty-possibly-(probably)-smutty follow up chapter to what happened last time with Ghost, not yet. I just couldn't resist showing the gangs reaction to you being exorcized by Ghost in the next room first :p Also… things aren’t messy enough. Not yet. So let’s make them messier 😏

This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I’m having fun with it so you’re getting your very own codename <3 You’re henceforth known as Hush ~

(also I’m making up a few teammates for you because I want to embarrass you in front of as many people as possible <3)

Mortified is an interesting term. 

Though it doesn’t quite cover the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel when walking into the kitchen later that night. Later, after the whole, uhm…

Well.

We won’t get into that.

Your heart squeezes into a fist just thinking about what Ghost did to you on his desk.

Anyway–

You don’t want to brave the kitchen right now – not that you’re terrified of pots and pans or anything, but with how tiny this safehouse is, and with how its tiny living room is attached to its miniscule kitchen, by heading in there you’ll also be confronting anyone residing in said spaces. And you’re pretty sure everyone on this temporary little task force of yours is in there, seeing as how there’s nowhere else to go, not with how you’re all locked up in here, and not with how that old tv in the living room is the only real source of entertainment in passing these days that never seem to end. 

You’re really not sure you’re ready for this. Facing everyone. But here you are tentatively sleuthing your way down the hallway toward the kitchen, anyway – which you’re only doing because you’ve been holed up in your room all damn day and your stomach’s about to collapse in on itself like a dying star if you don't eat something in the next five minutes. 

In the end, you’re left with few options. Try to sneak into the kitchen like a ravenous forest creature, or die of starvation in a shitty Amsterdam apartment. And though, given just how loudly you might have been screaming Ghost’s name just hours ago, the later choice is tempting… you eventually opted for the former. Straying from the safety of your room, which is separate from the only other room in this place that all the rest of the guys are crammed into. Praying to every god you’ve ever heard of that there’s a possibility your teammates suffered temporary deafness earlier, or that maybe they never had fully functioning ears with the ability to hear things to begin with. Things, like…

Well.

We won’t get into that.

Preferably, we’ll never get into that. Because you hardly even know what that even is, beyond something undoubtedly messy.

As you sneak your way toward the hallway’s bend, tendrils of Soap’s deep, sonorous voice reach out to greet you, echoing lightly off the walls as he seems to be bragging about something, while Gaz’s voice chimes in to call him a ‘cocksure idiot’; the whole array spotlit by a few laughs from whoever else is in there watching the Soap-and-Gaz show. And the second their voices reach you, suddenly your feet feel leaden, dragging you to an abrupt halt just outside the kitchen. 

Shit. They’re all in there, it sounds like. 

Maybe even Ghost.

The thought of facing him again, of feeling those dark eyes sear into you from the skull-like sockets of his mask, has you reeling, and you nearly turn heel and bolt back to your room again. In fact, it takes a whole lot of mental pep-talk, not to mention your stomach reminding you that it will try to kill you if you don’t give it what it wants, before you’re finally able to take a breath deep enough to force yourself forward again.

You’ve never wanted a flash grenade more in your life – you could just blind all these idiots, grab some canned spaghetti or whatever prepackaged filth they’ve scrounged from the cupboards to cook up, and get the hell out. But maybe it’s better you don’t approach social gatherings like potential warzones.

Gods, how is this more nerve wracking than a warzone…?

You grit your teeth, fighting to keep your expression neutral. Calm. Unaffected.

Just… ignore them, if they say anything. Ignore everyone. This is a mission inside a mission. Get food, get out.

It’s a decent enough plan, given the circumstances. 

Too bad it slips your mind entirely the very second you slip out of the hall and inside that kitchen. Because the very moment you wander into view, the stagelight that previously shone down on the Gaz-and-Soap show is unequivocally, violently shifted to you.

You.

Standing there.

Forgetting how to walk. How to breathe.

The proverbial deer in headlights.

Them. 

Gaz. Soap. Fuze. Blight. Ash.

Everyone but Ghost, which even through your petrification you feel a flashwave of relief upon noticing, and you would notice him if he were there, he stands head and shoulders above everyone else for christ’s sake. He’s like a militarized watchtower become man, and if you have to face everyone else right now, at least you won’t also have to also face him.

Still, even without his intimidating presence, it’s not like this is some comfortable cozy arrangement you’ve just stumbled upon.

Time stands still. The air shifting. And you could hear a pin drop with how suddenly quiet the room becomes, all conversation dropping.

Soap and Gaz are standing in the middle of the tiny kitchen. Soap, slowly turning to face you fully; thumbs loosely hooked near his collarbones within the straps of his beige tactical vest. Gaz, leaning casually back along the counter with arms folded, though his posture perks up a bit at sighting you standing there. And the three other guys – Fuze, Blight, Ash – they’re all sitting on barstools behind the counter beside them. All their eyes undoubtedly focused in on you.

Soap is the first to really react. A subtle curl slowly tugging at one corner of his lips.

“So…” he muses; accent dragging the syllable long. “You’re alive.”

Some part of you’s relieved he hasn’t said anything else – anything more, well… taunting, maybe. Accusatory, even. Or at the very least teasing. But relief is short-lived when that sharpened glimmer in his eyes promises many things.

Regaining the ability to function somewhat like an actual human being and not a petrified doe, you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, not wanting to look away first from whatever this is – this, with him staring at you like that, squaring you up head to toe, his measured expression never changing.

“Yeah…” you say, sounding more casual than you feel, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Soap is quick to return, with far too clever a husky lilt. “You’ve been holed up in that room of yours for quite a while now…” 

He nods to the guys sitting behind the counter to his left, though his seawater eyes remain fixed on you. 

“Fuze thought you might be dead,” he says.

“I didn’t think shit,” Fuze argues bluntly, “not about that, anyway,” to which Soap steels himself in eyeing you.

“Fine,” he amends, “I thought you might be dead.”

He seems… weirdly tense. Which is strange, given that it’s Soap, and given that he’s maybe been presented a silver-fucking-platter of ammo to tease you until the end of time with.

Since when does Soap not playfully prod you in the ribs first change he gets?

“Well… here I am,” you murmur around the knot in your throat, forcing yourself to walk toward him and further into the room even as you lose your staring contest with him, glancing away from his iron-blue intensity, “very much alive, and very much hungry for whatever delicious shlock Ash’s cooked up for us this evening – so if you’ll excuse me–”

You make to slip past him toward the stove and whatever leftovers remain atop it, but the kitchen’s already small, made especially smaller with two guys like Soap and Gaz filling it, and instead of sliding from your path Soap doubles down, folds his brawny arms across his chest, digs in. Blocking your path so that you’re forced into something of a standstill with him; blinking up at him as he stares down at you like he’s about to interrogate the enemy.

…Fuck.

“Move,” you say, but he doesn’t. So you roll your eyes and treat him like a military machine instead of a man, “Codeword: move the fuck out of my way, Soap.”

“What were you and L.T. up to in his office?” he asks you, point blank, and you feel a specter of panic slip across your features, your eyes widening at his brashness, heat hinting up your cheeks as you hear someone chuckle

You hear Gaz from somewhere beside you mutter, “Woah there, down boy,” though he’s apparently still intrigued enough to keep on watching.

Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip before you manage to mutter up at him, “That’s none of your business.”

“Debatable,” he returns, eyes passing over yours, “seeing as how you put on a very public show for us.”

Irritation ticks along your nape. “What, are you pissed you didn’t get an invite?”

Something almost imperceivable cracks along the edges of his composure, though beyond the way his broad jaw tenses, it’s impossible to notice. 

“C’mon, man,” Gaz says, though neither you nor Soap look over at him. “You know damn well what they were up to.”

“I wanna hear her say it,” Soap says. That flicker of amusement in him gone. The intensity in his gaze enough for you to finally unhinge your stiffened jaw enough to force a scoff.

“None of you know what you’re talking about,” you mutter – which is definitely a lie but you’re not about to explain yourself to them, and especially not to Soap even if you normally might’ve confided in him, but you definitely won’t now, not with him grilling you like this.

Jesus, what the fuck’s come over him?

“I mean…” you hear Fuze mutter from the sidelines with bearish mirth, “We’re not deaf, sweetheart. These walls are made of paper, and you put on quite a show.” 

When you toss a glower at where he’s sitting, the broad man offers a simple shrug. 

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one fucking our lieutenant in front of an avid fuckin’ audience.”

The amount of heat that creeps up your face could likely start the damn place on fire.

“I… I didn’t fuck anyone–!”

“I suppose you were just spooked by an actual ghost, then,” Soap returns smoothly, his usual brand of amusement creeping back in. The sinews of his forearms flexing against how he’s folded them across his muscled chest. “‘Cause you were definitely screaming for one.”

Your hands curls into unsteady fists, though you refuse to look away from how he’s watching you, how he’s assessing you. Like he’s looking for something possibly hidden there. Trying to get a reaction, to read you.

You’ve seen him like this before, when he’s questioning people, usually captives or enemies. Have seen it enough times throughout your years of knowing him to know when he’s fishing for information, for something left unsaid. And though you really don’t like that he’s using that technique on you, you’re so flustered you can’t really think straight, can’t formulate some kind of gameplan against his efforts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talki–!”

“Oh, Ghost,” he mimics over you in an obscene, high-pitched moan – and it’s actually kinda mortifying how closely it resembles you even with how fucking deep his voice is. “Ghost! Ghost! Oh, fuck – Ghost!”

The other guys all snigger, even Gaz, while you feel your blood boil so hot steam must be fizzing off your ears as you glare at him. Resisting the extreme temptation to either punch him square in the face, or fold in on yourself and disappear from center-stage entirely.

“Fine, I fucked a ghost,” you eventually huff at him. “I fucked Casper, and he has a bigger dick than any of you. Happy? We done with the twenty questions?”

Soap eyes you a moment longer, mirth upon his lips. 

“I guess,” he relents, at length. Seeming content about something. That playful glint in his eyes lowering into deep, blue embers of heat. “But you know…”

For once in the entirety of this far-too-public inquisition, he deems it necessary to make things more private. To bow down to your level. To murmur softly against your ear.

“In all seriousness,” he breathes, “m’not sure I’ve ever heard you so desperate before, Hush. You really put your codename to shame, moaning and mewling like that…” 

His amusement warms your skin, and though you should likely stop resisting the temptation to punch him, your arms won't cooperate. 

“And with Ghost, no less…” he says smoothly. “Gotta hand it to’im… The man clearly knows what he’s doing, playing you like that…”

You hear his smirk; his words so quiet only you can hear them, though you feel the way everyone’s ears seem to crane in without anyone actually moving.

“Did he take the mask off?” he asks, and you snort. Not seeing the point in playing dumb to just him, seeing as he clearly already knows what you and Ghost were up to.

“You know he didn’t,” you mutter, and hear his spreading grin.

“Ah,” he breathes. “So he really is ugly, then.”

He laughs a bit as you tense in protest, though you don’t actually spare him a response, seeing as how you’re not even entirely sure why you’d protest in the first place. It’s not like you’ve ever seen Ghost before, not like he’d ever let you. You don’t even know his real name. And a man like him is far from needing anyone’s protection.

“Shame, really – that mask hindering things. As a friend, I feel I oughta tell you there’s a helluva lot more a man can do with his mouth to make a lass scream,” he rumbles, and you don’t bother to fill him in that you’re very much acquainted with your lieutenant’s tongue, if that’s what he’s getting at. Maybe not in the ways he might be thinking about right now, and maybe not in those sticky little ways currently tangling your thoughts until you can barely think – but still.

“Well… if you see any men fitting that description around here, do let me know,” you say back at him, fighting to maintain your composure, and hear his lowered chuff. “Seems I’m surrounded by a bunch of schoolboy idiots.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ash pipes up from the sidelines. “Speak the fuck up, yeah? This is the second most interesting thing to happen all day.”

Soap ignores him, though you hear him expel a short, amused breath; maybe at the thought of whatever must have been the day’s first most interesting occurrence, which your gut says is whatever Ghost let them hear of you breaking for him and is absolutely what has an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck.

“All I’m saying, lass,” Soap murmurs, “is that if you were looking to be fucked senseless, you could’ve come to me. If a brute like L.T. can make you sing like that, I can only imagine how sweetly you’d sing for me…”

When all you manage is to blink, that one motion drags like an eternity.

…What…?

Why is…

…Is Soap actually coming on to you…? 

Like… not in a joking, ‘we’ve been friends forever’ way… not in a silly-fun ‘I’m just fucking with you’ way… but like actually coming on to you…? In front of everyone…?

Even as bewildered as you are, his voice, his words, their suggestion – they all sink tendrils of heat curling down your spine, spreading out into the very tips of your fingers and toes.

No… No, he’s kidding.

He has to be.

He shifts back just enough to look at you, to read your expression as his gaze hangs unwaveringly above your own. And it takes exceptionally longer than it ought to to remember you aren’t the only two people in the room. That an ‘avid fuckin’ audience’, as Fuze so lovingly put it, is very much watching you and Soap’s every move, trying to figure out why you’re worrying your lower lip like you want to bite it right off, why Soap’s studying you like some elusive creature he’s only now come close to catching.

This is… this is too much. You can’t handle this right now, or maybe ever. You can barely even wrap your head around finally giving into what may be your feelings for Ghost, and you’re not about to let Soap keep stringing you through the mud for his and everyone else's amusement right now.

You came here for some goddamn spaghetti and you’re going to get it.

“Hold that thought,” you tell him, as offhandedly as you can. Ignoring that steady heartbeat in your stomach, like your ribs spilled open. Forcibly pushing your way past him, to which he grins the second your hands are on him, even if it’s just to shove the stubborn brawn of him aside in forging your way toward the stove behind him. 

Just as you suspected – there’s a scuffed little pan of what used to be warm spaghetti sitting on the stovetop, a serving spoon buried in the mush, its handle jutting to one side. And you grab it without really thinking, scooping up a large spoonful of that room-temp slop as wetness shlocks around your utensil. 

You’re fast, because you have to be. You know Soap’s reaction time is uncanny – he’s on 141 for a reason, same as you. And the very second he’s turned around enough for his gaze to follow you – you’ve already lobbed that oily wad of spaghetti at him.

You really are a better marksman than Price. And the second you hit your mark, spaghetti splattering Soaps face right below one angled cheekbone, a satisfying chorus of ooo’s and impish cackles accentuates the room. Pasta painting his scruffy, chiseled jaw a lovely tomato red, something resembling a meatball sticking to his skin a moment before dripping off onto his chest, staining his form-fitting tee, as gradually, what was once his boyish smirk becomes his tight-lipped scowl.

You’d actually been aiming for right between those scowling seawater eyes of his, but pasta’s a tricky ammunition, and I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.

“Shit, mate,” Gaz leers at him. “You hungry?”

Everyone’s giggling, and oh, it’s lovely, seeing Soap like that. Those heavy brows of his furrowed, pretty eyes narrowing. You’ve never seen something so beautiful in your entire life.

“Red’s definitely your color,” you lark at him, unable not to grin.

He bluntly wipes the spaghetti off his cheek, ignoring everyone but you. Watching you close as you stick your spoon back in the pan again before taking the whole thing with you, attempting to slide past him in making your escape, now that justice has been served. And even though this sludge looks disgusting, you’re more or less content to wolf it down straight from the pan in the safety of your room.

Maybe you were an idiot for thinking Soap’d let this all slide that easy.

The second you’re narrowly slipping past how his body fills the tiny room, he catches your waist in one hand, redirecting your escape attempt in bumping straight into him; his other hand smearing the greasy pasta sauce that’d one graced his statuesque jawline across your flabbergasted cheek, instead.

His hands are so warm. It’s the first thing you notice, when you should likely be a little more preoccupied by the fact he’s fingerpainting you with goddamn pasta sauce. And when you gasp aloud, jolting in his grip as if stricken, your widened gaze whips up to find him already grinning.

“Aye,” he muses. Eyes dancing across your own, across your lips, across the mess he’s made of you. “It definitely suits you, too.”

Something like a knot twists in your stomach as he watches you. As you feel his dense fingers coil around your waist just enough to lightly indent your curves, just enough to tug you a fraction closer. Watching you like he’s hungry. Like he’s resisting the urge to lick that sauce right off your skin.

And, fuck – the fantasy is in your head before you can stop it: Soap burying one hand in your hair, fingers knotting, tilting your head back just a bit, just enough so he can lean down close, can run the flat of his tongue up your cheek. Thrumming, savoring like a dog. Slow, wet heat along that red-painted corner of your lips. 

You’re left imagining what his tongue might feel like; your pulse sent unevenly, inexplicably racing. 

And it gets worse. 

Much, much worse. 

Because in the span of a single second, your lust-distorted mind also has you picturing how you might return the favor, so to speak. How you might just as equally fluster him, because he definitely deserves it. How you might take his calloused hand, raise it to your lips. How you might slide his fingers into your mouth, one by one, sucking each offending finger clean, working your tongue around them while his blue eyes smolder as he watches.

Oh, god, what the fuck, what the fuck – !

What the fuck is happening!

You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen. 

Gods, why is he looking at you like that…?!

You need to get out of this goddamn kitchen now!

You need to lock yourself back up in your room before any more horrible ideas can sneak their way inside your head.

“Are you guys having a food fight?” Gaz asks, “or is this some weird-ass kinky spaghetti shit I’d rather not be subjected to?” 

He lifts a brow at the two of you. At how you’ve both been staring at one another as if the entire world around you no longer exists – though you’re definitely sent on a crash-course back to reality at his saying so, with you blinking so rapidly your head spins.

It takes a few hazy seconds for you to tear your eyes from Soap’s; gliding them to whatever safety the floor might give you.

“‘Scuse me,” you mumble thickly, brushing past Soap, who surprisingly – at least with how this evening’s been going – steps aside to let you.

A dark, barren hallway has never looked so inviting, and you scuttle through it whilst clutching that pan of spaghetti to your chest.

Voices from the kitchen echo on the walls, trailing after you.

“What the fuck was that?” you hear Gaz ask – and though you’re pretty hellbent on fleeing, your pace still stumbles a step, ears craning back to listen.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, mate,” Soap says. 

You hear some soft, sucking sounds, like he’s licking his fingers clean, and you nearly trip and fall face-first over your own feet.

“Just teasing the lass.”

“Eye-fucking her, more like.”

“Nah, mate. Just wanted to see where her head’s at.”

“Okay… and where’s that?”

“Not in a relationship.”

A pause follows, in which you forget to keep walking; all your senses honed in on even the smallest of sounds.

“Ghost might say otherwise.” 

“Well, Ghost’s not here, is he?”

“I wouldn’t fuck with his girl, mate; that’s all I’m saying.”

For whatever reason, it twists your heart into a painful knot when Soap says, “Seems to me she and L.T. don’t share much of anything worth labeling.”

Author Note:

Messy feelings and messy food. Yum~

😘~💕 thanks for reading

[hollowtones]

What does the perfect sandwich mean to you

I think for a lot of people (& I might be wrong, & that's okay) the "perfect sandwich" is a very specific, defined thing, presumably with their favourite ingredients made the same way every time. It's concrete. It's an object. It's a solidified idea. And that's fine. This isn't me going "well I'M different and BETTER", it's just different.

I think my idea of a "perfect sandwich" doesn't have any specific categorization and isn't some set recipe. This is vague, but a perfect sandwich is... exactly what I need, exactly when I needed it. That can be a lot of things! That's the point.

Back when I was in college there were some really good sandwich shops nearby, where I could get a banh mi or a submarine & have something filling and relatively cheap that I could carry around with me in between classes, or something quick I could get in the evening if I was working late or getting home late. (There was another sandwich place that was a bit of a walk away that did killer roasted veggie sandwiches, with eggplants and peppers and stuff. I think that was my favourite sandwich, which is different from the perfect sandwich. Also they closed down & got replaced by a shitty bakery at some point. It's probably a fine bakery, I'm just bitter.)

Now imagine it's the middle of summer and it's really damn hot and humid and I'm at home and I'm exhausted. Fully turned into a ghoul from the weather. I don't want to go to the nearby bakeries, let alone take an hour-and-some-change commute to the city, because it's fuckin hot!!!!! You know what else we got in these months, though? Tomatoes, usually!! Good tomatoes. It takes no effort to put tomato on bread or toast with a bit of salt and pepper, maybe a bit of mayo or balsamic, maybe a bit of a hard cheese. I can do that basically asleep. It tastes really fucking good, too.

When I was visiting my partner recently, she made us these little sandwiches for a picnic lunch, on a day we visited some gardens. She baked the buns herself, and they had some mixed greens and deli mustard and some cheese in them. This sounds kind of unassuming when I put it like that. Maybe I'd think that too if it was something I just put together for myself any other day (tho a bit of good cheese and mustard IS really tasty, don't get me wrong). The combination of "my WIFE made this for us" and "it's a beautiful day outside with my partner and I'm very hungry" made it feel very special. I've literally been thinking about these sandwiches months later. I make it for myself sometimes and it's just not the same, haha.

A very short example: Sometimes a grilled cheese hits the spot, & sometimes the exact same grilled cheese feels too rich, too heavy.

I spent 3 hours thinking about this. Sorry if this isn't a terribly conclusive answer. Was very fun to think about, though.

[hobisstar]

What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader IV

This will be short! But chapter V will be worth it I promise!

Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.

Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN.

Taglist: vante 🫶🏾

A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol. This one will be simple as for the last part of the series will be more … horror ish?

Ever since the window incident, Jungkook has been feeling shitty to say the least.

He’s not enough for her and he knows that.

He hates to say it but he thinks it’s time to officially let her leave.

She was willing to brutally hurt herself to get away from him. She would rather die than love him.

Of course he’s doing this for her sake. He loves her too much to see her die or something worst than death.

While Yn was in the bathroom showering, Jungkook was packing her things. He already bought her a brand new apartment, which wasn’t too far from Jin. He knows Jin was going to keep her in safe hands and cause he’s the only person he trusted to ever be around yn.

She got out the bathroom fully clothed and froze when she saw plenty of bags and boxes packed nicely. Some empty some ready to be taped. Were they moving? She questioned.

Jungkook as if a psychic, he looked at her and smiled tiredly.

He hasn’t slept in a few days just up and thinking. “ No, we aren’t moving but you are.” He tried not to tear up he truly did but damn why did she have to taunt him with her life.

“I can’t have you…” he mumbled feeling the tears drop from his eyes. “ so… I have to let you go. I’ll feel better knowing that you aren’t with me.”

Yn was shocked yes but boy she really didn’t expect him to actually let her go.

It’s not that she wanted to stay, but she knew there had to be a catch to it. Why was he giving in so easily?

“ Jin will be coming to get you in a few hours once he gets off work…” he whipped his tears and turned to continue packing her things.

“ I’ll feel better if your with him to keep you safe.”

Yes, He wasn’t lying. He is going to let her go. But not just that easily.

He knows that If she’s alone she’ll be so lonely she would crawl back to him. She will want him back forgetting about all the things he did to those people who dared be in her presence.

“Thank you.” She blurted out which caused him to nod.

“I’m in over my head” is what Jungkook kept saying to himself while him and Jin loaded his truck with her things.

yn sat in the front seat shaking from excitement but also fear. Something just wasn’t right.

She could practically smell that something about this whole thing was just… fishy.

While in her thought process, The guys loaded the last thing up closing the trunk. Jungkook walked over to her side of the car looking at her eagerly.

yn was so deep in her on thoughts she didn’t see Jungkook standing in front of her. Didn’t even feel the vehicle start up and back out the parking lot driving away.

“She’s gone…” Jungkook said standing there lost. “ and she didn’t even say goodbye…”

He walked back into the apartment building going to the elevator and then getting off onto his floor then into his now empty apartment.

It wasn’t really empty but it felt empty. The one who kept it so warm was gone. Now it was cold.

Him and bam both looked sad honestly. Well, Bam looked like Bam. But Jungkook? Something twisted and turned in him.

Something pure demented. Evil.

He thought over and over again. He’d stop hurting others but without his reasoning to staying so clean, he had every reason to go torture someone…

“ I wonder what her sister is up to…” he mumbled staring off into space imagining how nice it would be to just hurt yns sweet but dumb sister.

He never liked her sister or any of her family. Hell her contact has the name ‘ No One’. He never cared for her.

He always imagined killing her then blaming it on that wack ass boyfriend of hers.

He smiled. The smile that he hasn’t seem to do since before he met yn.

Whatever he was about to do… it was good. 

[razorsadness]

So you wanna be a punk? Read a zine. Drive around in your car with the windows rolled down, smoking cigarettes and screaming along with Clash songs. Or quit smoking, and get rid of your car, because those things are bad for you and the environment and they support evil corporations. Ride your bike everywhere, with Mischief Brew blaring through your headphones. Walk everywhere, listening to Against Me!, because walking is still honest. Shoplift from stores like Walmart and Barnes and Noble, then spend the little money you have supporting independent artists and small businesses. Sell your zines at a benefit party, give all the proceeds to Food Not Bombs or Planned Parenthood, even though you’re broke and can’t really afford to be giving zines away. Fuck it, scam copies from Office Max so you can keep giving copies away. Give one to the cute person with the mint-green mohawk you always see hangin’ downtown. Sew patches crookedly onto your hoodie, with dental floss, natch. Spend hours putting studs on your black denim jacket, even though half of them will wind up having the prongs bent to the point of being unusable and it feels like an exercise in futility. Wheat-paste posters or put up stickers or tag with Sharpie everywhere you go—political messages, song lyrics, surreal images, it doesn’t matter. Leave your mark. Go to a show and lose yourself in the music and the pit. Or stay out of the pit, ‘cause you’re just not into it; stand in the back clutching your beer and nodding your head and feeling like an asshole. Start a band, write some songs, never play any shows; figure out that no one in the band is as serious about it as you are and quit. Record a solo home demo of your songs, spend months getting it to sound just right—or at least as right as it can sound without a full band—and never let anyone hear it. Constantly say you’re dropping out of the punk scene, but never quite manage to do it. Tell people you’re so punk you hate punk. Say you’re gonna be a rude boy, like your dad. Watch punk films and read punk books and have them remind you of so much of your own life that you almost can’t breathe. Think about your life and your old friends, the ones who are dead, the ones you never talk to anymore, and the few that you’re still close to. Start to cry. Feel emo. Make a t-shirt that says: “Don’t call me emo. It makes me cry.” Call your friends, the ones who’ve stuck around. Go to the grocery store late at night. Make fun of articles in women’s magazines, because even though some of you are part of the right age group and gender to be their target demographic, their articles are so far outside of the realities of your lives that it’s hilarious. Write your own zine, about the reality of your life. Call your friends, the ones who’ve stuck around, get together at someone’s apartment. Make veggie nachos. Eat til you’re so full you can’t move. Talk about what you’re doing with your lives and feel like losers ‘cause none of you thought you’d still be so broke and pissed off when you reached this point. Feel shitty ‘cause being angry, old, and poor isn’t as cute as being angry, young, and poor. Be glad, despite it all, that you’re still alive, still hearing new music, still hanging out with friends. Flip off cops who are harassing teenagers for skateboarding or some other minor infraction. Realize that flipping off a cop won’t bring the system down, but doing it still feels pretty damn good. Throw an MDC record on your turntable when you get home; blast that shit. Go to a show, a party, a zine fest, a coffeeshop, see another punk. Go up and talk to them. They’ll turn out to be cool and you’ll have a new friend, or they’ll turn out to be assholes but hey, most punks are assholes. Still get crushes on every punk you see, despite that. Give no fucks about anything, except the things you really care about, like music and books and art and your friends and family and the state of the world and… Tattoo and pierce yourself and dye your hair and wear mismatched, dirty clothes because that’s how you feel comfortable, not because anyone else is telling you to. Try sometimes to look normal, in situations that call for it, and feel like a complete fraud the entire time, like everyone can tell you’re only pretending. Call other people posers, but don’t really mean it. Call yourself a poser, and claim the word with pride. Spend a night alone, tipsy from booze or jacked-up on caffeine—pick your poison—singing along to all the old songs and realizing that most of them still mean as much to you as they did half your life ago. Refuse to grow up. Realize that you’ve grown up despite your best efforts not to, and you have a job and bills and a family and/or other responsibilities, but that you’ve still got that spark, that match-struck, steel-toed, silver-studded, loud as fuck spark hanging out in your heart. Sometimes, that’s good enough.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from “What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk” (c. 2012-2015)

[wearethekingdom]

Tell me about your trip bro >:3 seems like you got some really cool stuff!!

RAHHHH GNAWING. AT THE BARS IF MY ENCLOSURE RIGHT NOW!!!1!!!! i was hoping someone was actually interested in what i was saying cuz sometimes posting on here feels like talking to the wall. this is gonna be like really long sorry, you dont have to read it

ANYWAYS YES. So me and a couple other people went up to the north of ireland for a few days which was so so awesome sauce because i love drives. see i never say long drives because once someone got needlessly mad at me for calling it a long drive and started indirect posting about me but 4 hours is like the longest you could drive from one place to another here. so. its long for me kind of (ignoring my copious weeks-long US roadtrips)

we got to the place where we were staying at, the beds were so uncomfy think i wouldve slept better on the floor tbh BUT it's fine. we went to the shop because everything is like cheaper there and i got this blanket with ghost dogs on it for my dog cuz he likes covering himself in a blanket when he sleeps, its really cute so i had to get him a new blanket. then we tried to go out for dinner but told us we werent allowed in to the place we booked the day before because no minors were allowed in at that time like lad put that on your damn website then 🙏🙏 so we ate the random snacks we had bought earlier in our room, which was kind of way too delicious

DAY 2?!?!

We went to the Titanic museum cuz i like history and raujerng um it was fucking awesome, some of the workers there spoke irish which was so cool, i took some photos of stuff and i learnt so much about the titanic that i didnt know about. I also cried in the middle of one of the exhibits because i realised just the sheer amount of people who died and. yeah. but nah it was a great experience

then we went to some shitty science museum cuz it looked cool on their website but we were the oldest people there everyone was like FIVE. so we left quickly.

Then we went on a walk and it was super duper pretty, we also went swimming there, sea swimming my favourite thing EVER!! did some diving off the rocks, realy enjoyed that

For dinner we went to this like dinerish thing, it was really cool and the food was so tasty, we didnt get kicked out of this place (fuck yeah) I tried dumplings for the first time and they were actually really good like i didnt think i would enjoy them but yeah! i also got strawberry lemonade which i thought i didnt like for whatever reason but now ive tried it again i do!

DAY 3?!?!?

last day cuz i have school soon. SO we woke up super late and totaly overstayed but like womp womp owners didnt give a single shit. We went to the 2nd hand book shop where i got The Great Gatsby, Batman The Dark Knight, Lost in Translation, and even more than i showed so i also got Will Grayson Will Grayson, Catching Teller Crow, The Honest Truth and Wayward. They were all like 2 pounds which is so good cuz every book is atleast 11 euro back home cuz idk they dont like doing 2nd hand bookshops down there for some reason. Then we went to the vintage store where i got my postcards cuz i loveeee collecting old postcards with messages on them, the 1958 one is now the oldest postcard i own and its SO COOL LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, im actually so happy i found it. Also got those 2 ceramic guys, the hippo and the bunny, if you got a name suggestion JJ let me know cuz i havent named them yet. Then we got on the road back home where we listened to shitty drill rappers and irish rebel songs all the way back

it was such a good trip and i am yet again sorry this is so long

[were-my-demons-hide]

I'm giving the may prompt list by @creativepromptsforwriting a try! :) tysm I'm in love with these cute prompt ideas!

My setting for all of these will be The Walking Dead cause I'm an obsessed wreck :D Pairing: Magna x Yumiko :)

Feel free to let me know what you think about these two beans! Also I'm german and my writing might be slightly off sometimes. I just started exploring writing english prompts and I definitely do feel insecure about it. Please be kind <3

1. Strawberries

“Are you serious?!” Magna said and eyed Yumiko down. She shook her head, uncomprehendingly. “You can't be serious, Miko.”

“It's not my fault, Magna.”

Magna's eyes were flickering between the woman and the strawberries on the table. The anger did not only show in her tone but also the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. One hand kept drumming onto her own upper arm.

It was impossible to miss how annoyed Magna was. And she had all right to be.

Yumiko didn't want to argue. Not during the short amount of time they had. It was only a handful of days a month that Magna visited her in her apartment.

Mostly because they had this weird thing going on.

The shower arrangement.

Because Yumiko could not stand the fact that Magna had to shower with ice-cold water at the workers' settlements on most days.

They had spoken briefly after the ball. Just a little small talk to catch up. They hadn’t had the chance to see each other before and Yumiko still cared so much about Magna.

Well, if Yumiko was being honest with herself, there would have been chances.

Definitely.

But she never overcame her fear and anger, though.

Until suddenly Magna had served her that fancy wine. Yumiko had found her incredibly stunning. After that, both had been enormously tipsy around each other.

Nevertheless, arguments weren’t rare occasions when they met. They still hadn’t had the time to figure things out.

Yumiko just wanted to be with Magna and feel her with every fiber of her body again.

Magna slipped away though.

“But you do know that Daryl and all the other parents, caregivers, whatever you want to call them… they need to wait at least an hour in the food line to get their kids some kind of shitty mashed potatoes and beans. And they are giving you damn strawberries?! Not fair.”

“I know you are upset. I know you don't like this way of life. And neither do I.”

“Yeah, sure.” Magna scuffed impatiently.

Yumiko went on and ignored Magna's snappy comment.

“I didn't ask for this. It just happened to me. I’m in love with the fact that we are safe from the sickos here. But I hate you guys being treated badly. I am trying to make things better, trust me.”

Yumiko dared to take a step toward Magna. And the other woman froze.

“In fact, you love how things are done here. I mean… the CommonWealth got you your old life back. You do love that, Miko.” Magna made eye contact. An intense sting hit Yumiko right in the guts. She couldn’t disagree. Because it was the achy truth.

“And that's kind of the whole damn point.” Magna continued with a sigh. ”People being at the top also means people being at the bottom. And they suffer. Daily, Miko.”

“I know how this works. And I am hating it.” Miko pleaded again.

She couldn’t stand how Magna somehow thought she liked what Pamela did to the lower class. Yumiko swallowed the paragraph forming in her head, all about how she studied society models and how she went on anti-capitalist student protests. She couldn’t deny the thoughts of defense but wanted to calm the waves.

“Look. I didn't touch the strawberries. I saved them for you.” Yumiko told her in honesty, cracking a weak smile.

Something in Magna’s eyes twitched.

“Who says I would want you to?” Magna pointed a nasty look toward the berry bowl.

“Back then in prison? I visited you on this very hot summer day. And you told me you loved berries. And that there never were berries in prison. I want to make things easier for you, Magna. I can't get myself into the lower class. Not as Milton’s lawyer. I can't switch. But I can fight from my point of being. I can still fight for you.”

Big brown eyes seemed to absorb Yumiko while talking.

Finally, Magna lowered her arms. Her gaze softened.

“You’d still do that?” Magna asked quietly. The question sounded insanely vulnerable.

“Ride or die, remember?” Yumiko reassured. She tilted her head a little. Arms down by her sides, trying to convey openness and support. And love, of course. Always love.

Because Yumiko loved Magna.

“Ride or die.” Magna nodded and all at once her walls broke down. She wrapped her arms around Yumiko’s waist and pulled her in. The gesture was so close and sudden that Yumiko forgot to breathe for a moment. Then she inhaled Magna slowly squeezing her even tighter to feel more of her.

Yumiko felt a trace of fingertips on her back making its way up between her shoulder blades. Magna nestled her face into Miko’s neck and pressed a kiss onto the soft skin.

“I missed you.” Yumiko whispered into her ear.

“Me too.”

Yumiko was gently loosening her grip on Magna’s body only to take a strawberry and hold it in front of Magna’s mouth.

“Do you even remember how these taste?” Yumiko asked with a grin. Magna’s eyebrows rose. “I could never forget that.” They shared a sheepish look before Magna took a bite of the strawberry.

“Holy shit!” Her eyes grew wide. “Just taste it already!”

Yumiko took her advice into action immediately. Holding Magna close as she put the berry in her own mouth now. It tasted amazing.

“I get why you are in love with berries.” Miko agreed. Both of them chuckled lightly.

“What do you think about me sharing with you then?” Magna bit her bottom lip staring right into Miko’s eyes.

“I’d like that.”

[constantvariations]

V9C4

Finally here after several hours of a dnd session zero, so this whiplash is going to be interesting

Post Ep: not as infuriating as the last episode but still missteps at pretty much every turn. At the very least we can say there’s been character “progression”

God Ruby’s voice is so damn bad I thought it was a literal child calling for a cat. Why does she sound more mature at 15 than 17?

Did we really need a close up of the cat piecing itself back together? We already know it can do wacky things with its ugly gradient body, so why the emphasis here? I doubt it’s foreshadowing for a permanent bisection

“Nothing we’ve tried has gotten us any further.” Ruby. Darling. Babe. You’ve tried walking to the tree. Nothing else. It’s not the cat’s fault you can’t think of something else besides Scooby Doo hijinks with the looping sections

What the hell is Yang now? She hasn’t been fun or quippy since Beacon but now (and that one spot in V8) she’s suddenly Joss Whedon with a dash of Hulk rage? And I can’t recall Weiss ever having these kinds of facial expressions. Judgmental commentary, sure, but this feels like she’s 3 seconds away from saying something into the camera like this is the Office

“Just because [the cat] doesn’t want to go back to the tree doesn’t mean we can’t lure them there.” That’s... a curious choice of words. Why “lure?” You lure someone into a trap or an ambush, not ask someone to be a guide. Why wouldn’t Blake use the obvious direction of “we can make a deal with the cat because they’re curious and want information we have.” You can’t really call someone a hero when their instinct is deception of a potential ally who’s already saved their asses for no real reason

Are they going to be losing the cat the whole damn episode? Is that going to be the running gag? I fucking hope not. Ruby’s voice is absolutely obnoxious this episode

She’s talking to the cat like he’s a literal toddler. And it’s acting like a toddler with an ipad. Someone put me down like Old Yeller please

Which of these idiots thought lampshading was a good idea? Like, congrats! You recognize the flaws in the story you wrote! How are you going to fix them 10 years too late? You can’t wink, wink, nudge your way out of shitty writing that you so desperately defended and clung to despite all the people giving actual constructive criticism

Why are all of them so tired of the questions? Surely, each of them have something they’d be ecstatic to talk about at length? Ruby with the progression of weapon development, Weiss with her plans to improve the SDC, Blake with other stories she’s read or how the White Fang came and fell, Yang with stories about Ruby when she was younger. There’s so many possibilities when you have a genuinely curious audience, yet they went the lazy route of “har, har, no one cares about anything” again

Was that bridge made of legos?

Okay, this is the second time the roles of acres have been mentioned. Exactly what does that mean? Do these roles serve a central purpose? The tree seems to be at the center of Wonderland, so are the acres serving the tree in some way? Is harmony throughout the different factions pivotal in keeping Wonderland in wonder instead of despair? What could this possibly mean for any themes or character arcs? It doesn’t seem like the areas thus far have resonated with any of the team, and they left behind Penny’s halo sword, the only thing that’s been even somewhat emotionally compelling, so I’m struggling to understand why Wonderland is set up like this

Love how literally nobody asks the obvious question of “are you okay?” All we get is Yang’s “Rubes?” (has she ever called Ruby that before? I can’t recall) and Blake’s logical deflection and Weiss whining yet again. You’d think for a season that cut away from the bloated cast to focus on the main characters they would, I don’t know, focus on the main character

This is the least Little has talked the entire season. Please keep the cat around more so this shithead will shut the fuck up. Also, Little deadass pointed to where the cat went and y’all don’t immediately follow? Are you trying to get lost?

Okay. Not gonna lie. The caterpillar’s design is dope as shit. The triple eyes in that gorgeous green. The pointy mouth that moves like a skeleton’s jaw. The two-toned wings. The antennae and little spikes. The collar and vest. That ~voice~ Fucking A+ The only thing I’m side-eyeing is the accessories. Hopefully I’m wrong - I’ll be the first to admit I’m not well versed in Indigenous cultures - but the coloring is very reminiscent of turquoise which was an incredibly significant mineral to Southwestern Native American tribes, most commonly associated with Navajo, and Caterpillar’s jewelry designs reflect this as well. My quick google search for this specific design mostly ends up being “hippie aesthetic” which does take inspiration from Indigenous aesthetics, so I can’t really say for certain which one crwby looked at for the design. Given the Medicine Man trope and the herbal smoking in the OP, I’m not holding out much hope

“Growgurt” sounds so damn gross please never say it again

They are really hammering this “who/what are you” thing directly into your eardrums aint they? I’m not entirely sure how this answer affects a recipe, but go off I guess Also, note how Caterpillar gets just the bit exasperated and Yang’s immediately in a fighting stance. The others are afraid, for some cocksmith of a reason - all homeboy did was grumble, what y’all scared of? Did y’all suddenly develop RSD? - but this bitch at half a foot is ready to throw down

Caterpillar is speaking philosophy 101 and these idiots are acting like he’s speaking ancient greek. I hope he poisons the lot of them

“This is how a king winds up a prince.” Does that imply that the prince was genuinely the king that played Alyx but he’s somehow reverted back to a toddler? That raises way too many questions I have no care to even ponder

This far in and we have no idea who or what Caterpillar was to Alyx. Not even a whispered expo-dump, which would be stupid easy given that most of them are tiny. Yet Blake, upon seeing the smoking, is like “we gotta dip” which so par for the course in every episode thus far. This better not be crwby’s attempt at an anti-drug message or I swear I’m gonna toss a fridge into space

Oh christ on toast the Beacon outfits don’t deserve this slander

“You could just be human or just a cat.” Once again, weird phrasing. Like, yeah, it’s clarified that it’s about trying to bring peace between humans and faunus, but why wouldn’t you phrase it in a way that sticks closer to that sentiment rather than acting like she has the Yamato and can carve out what she doesn’t like? What would it even mean to Blake to “just be a cat?” Would that mean living in Menagerie forever with no worries about humans? Would she turn into an actual cat? She just has fucking cat ears man, this is so overblown

Wow, these “I know who I am” speeches suck ass. They’re so vague and InSpIrAtIoNaL I’m wondering if this is supposed to be a mature cartoon or a reading of those posters they put up in school halls of cats in trees with the quote “hang in there!”

“I’m the granddaughter of a hero” bitch who? Who is this mysterious hero? If someone doesn’t know or watch the Remnant expo-dump series, they don’t know who you’re talking about Weiss! You can’t bring up something in the main story if the context is shoved in a spinoff! Also, “daughter of a villain.” Babe, your father was a clown at best and a business major at worst. Villain is not a title he deserves “I will not be defined by my name because I will be the one to define it.” Uhhhhh exactly where in this redefinition is compensation for the lives stolen by your family company? Have you thought of that, Miss Heiress? When your name has that big of an impact, I don’t think you get to be the sole decider. Also, you have siblings who might want a say in it too

Still pissed that the whole “Missing Summer” arc was shoved onto Ruby, who was what? 2? 3 years old when she left? Ruby talks to her gravestone, sure, but as for memories or stories, she hasn’t had a single one. This entire thing falls flat because there was 0 buildup

“You’re supposed to be helping others find their way, but you’ve lost your own.” WHAT WHAT WHAT THE FUCK. Jesus on a toaster strudel can you not villainize every single person who slightly questions uwu precious Ruby? He literally helped the other 3 cement themselves, why doesn’t that count? Sure, it was against their will and all, but these girls clearly need some goddamn help if they can’t answer a basic question like “what is a huntress?”

There are so many questions about those last 20 seconds that I don’t even know what to do with them. Let’s just sum it up with “what the fuck”

[livingasaghost]

september was not great folks, but we're trying <3

in the saddest realization of the season i discovered that my favorite part of the day is my 40m drive to work because it's chilly and i can see a lot of trees and the morning light and i also am in the perfect headspace to listen to Good Music and it's like when i used to make my morning playlists for opening the coffeeshop except soooo much more enjoyable

been listening to lots of holly humberstone and NF's new album and justin vernon stuff (bon iver, BRM, etc) and unfortunately gracie abrams - there's just something about all these artists being like "I AM THE PROBLEM ITS ME IM SORRY" that just speaks to me! that's not concerning at all!

laura and i talked for like two hours last night and it was like old times and god i really do miss when we'd just ride the same bus home and i could walk to her house ):

i've been trying to make taylor's chai cookies for like a week and i realized i absolutely have time to make them today so i'm trying to buck up the energy to do that in the next two hours before i have to be a person and go to a photoshoot

"good day" by olivia barton

i'm trying to get back into crying in h mart because mom finished reading it and we're supposedly buddy reading it so we can discuss it but i haven't felt like reading all month because i've been depressed...but like damn cancer sucks guys

in other news, i think because i've had such a shitty brain month this september i've almost pushed myself so far that halloween season sounds really fun!!! i'm trying to work through my halloween hate bc i think it's kind of silly and all my friends love halloween so i should love it too! and like i wanna watch spooky movies and be chilly and have FUN! god!

i kinda forgot a vital piece of jennalore which is that when i was a kid my mom's college roommate used to send us frosted sugar cookies shaped like bats every halloween and it was actually kinda the best thing ever? so i'm trying to channel that energy this season

work is batshit insane and i'm so exhausted by it i literally slept for 11hrs on like wednesday night bc i was so tired but also......when we're busy i always feel like i'm actually Doing Something and my bosses are so happy with the work i do so like.....it's good even though it's bad!

therapy has actually been really really good? like it Sucks bc it's therapy and i hate talking about my feelings but my therapist is the sweetest NB person ever and they're always just like "uhhh that's emotional abuse my dude!" and i'm so fucking excited bc at the end of october they're gonna have saturday openings which means i can finally go talk to them in person and not on my lunch break in our tiny break room!!!! at this point i have to pretend like my coworker can't hear everything i say during therapy otherwise i'd go insane so i always leave my sessions being like ......did max hear that i'm aroace and i have depression and i might be neurodivergent??? idk!!!

which speaking of, even though max and i definitely aren't like friends by any sense of the word....we are also just like having a time together! it's wild i see him most out of all the people i know but i think we're both going a little insane from the workload and being Depressed so we just spend all day being kinda wacky and for whatever reason i've reached a point where i stopped having a filter with him so i just start talking about the most random shit and he's cool with it lol

i think i might maybe be a little lonely! idk! i've been struggling to figure out what i need or who to talk to and i generally just want to talk to like two or three of my friends or my gc and everyone's just busy ): but then when i have the chance to talk to anyone and i Sit Down to try to interact bc i know some people are probably around i just get a little overwhelmed idk make it make sense!!!

and i realized i don't have a lot of IRL friends anymore bc a lot of the ones i had from the coffeeshop are Not My Friend and the ones i met on instagram are also Not My Friend and the ones i used to live with are Not My Friend and so my list of people to hang with is teeny tiny and idek what i need or want anymore so it's just my brain screaming .

the most frustrating thing rn is that i know i'm in a bad mental place however i cannot distinguish what i need! but when someone asks me what i need i get this intense panic/dread and i spiral real bad and if anyone tries to be kind to me it makes me feel worse and so it's like....i'm stuck in this stand still where i can't get what i need but i don't know what i need so i just eat cereal, listen to music, and go to bed early!!!

i don't wanna watch anything, i still haven't finished this season of only murders, i need a DVD player bc i want to watch the director's commentary of hill house, there's a bunch of shows and movies coming out soon that i feel overwhelmed by at the moment and it's just like !!! this is all so unfair

and i need to make all these appointments like getting my oil changed and going to the doctor for my annual but i cannot bring myself to do those things but also like should i ask my doctor about medication for depression??? surely it isn't that serious but like maybe it is idk!!!!

the depression isn't as bad as it's been in the past (i think?) like i felt a lot more hopeless in 2017 and i think a lot of that is because i do have a support system and a therapist and a good paying job and things to look forward to but like i'm very aware that many days i do just feel that feeling of "everything is meaningless and nothing will bring me joy ever again" so it's like !!! idk!!!! maybe i'm gaslighting myself into thinking i'm not that bad when in actuality i am!!!

i've just been stuck in that space of middle limbo with all my "diagnoses" that i cannot rationally understand if i'm allowing myself to see myself the way i am? like i always felt like i wasn't depressed enough to be Depressed bc i'm not suicidal but like ??? that's silly !!! maybe i am Depressed!!!!! but i don't even know how to go about getting meds and what they would do and it's almost more overwhelming to think about that than to just be depressed ): bc i still am convinced a lot of it comes down to the heat and the lingering effects of summer

but now i'm thinking about 2021 when it was the bad times and i stopped working on creative stuff or literally any year from 2017-2020 when i just spent the early fall Not Creating and having a crisis that i'd never create again and it's like.............is that bc i'm always depressed around this time? it's comforting bc i know life is seasons and i will come back around to making things and doing my silly projects but it's just sort of making me wonder how it would be different if i tried to find a way to get meds ....like would that Fix Me....would that Solve the Problem....what if it doesn't! what if i'm not depressed enough for that!

(this is all just thoughts, i'm fine, etc, just haven't let myself fully think about the depression this month bc i don't think there's a solution rn i'm just trying to get through it)

anyway, "good day" by olivia barton

[traitorousfruit]

(it's like 3am but I'mma just dump all my thoughts for my Self insert here, fuck grammar and all that other stuff-)

((update: it's almost 6am but I got some shit done!!))

Sage Larkspur, also known as "Queen of Baked goods" is a young woman trying to make a living with her older Brother, Maximilian Larkspur, by opening their own little Café right in Big Jack's territory.

They would've opened one somewhere else if rent wasn't so expensive, and the place comes with an apartment right over it!

They get by pretty well, their pastries, cakes and pies and etc. sell well and they're happy, people start talking and more customers start coming. Everyone is happy!

Well, not *everyone*. Jack catches word of this café and pretty much is just like "da fuq kinda creatures can serve better pies than me!?".

He sends out a few of his men or some fuckn spies to check the place out, just to see if he *really* has to worry about it, after all, it's just a small Café, right?

It's true, It's usually pretty quiet but on the day he sent out his spies it was absolutely *packed*. They had a bit of trouble with just getting inside the place.

Once they were in and able to get their hands on some of the treats, they were blown away! Like damn, that's a mean fuckn pie for such a small (and kinda shitty) place.

The customer service is also great! No insults, no degrading comments or threaths, hell, NO ONE FUCKN DIES, and an overall pleasent atmosphere.

Sage and Max have a lot of work, being the only people that work there, but they sure do a good job! If a customer has an extra wish or something, they'll happily fulfill it.

Max is full of Energy and Joy, doing his best to make even the most sad customer whose having a horrible day smile! (And giving them an extra treat on the house) and he sure as hell ain't letting them leave if he doesn't see a toothy grin!

Sage on the other is more calmer, but still just as kind, calling customers by let names, for example:"Mornin Sugar" "hey there, lil sunshine" "how's it going sweet pea?" "Anything else, honey?" And so on, she does her best to make every customer feel like a part of the family (sometimes you just need to be treated like family by strangers, admit it, it's nice)

(only time when the get pissy is if a customer starts some shit or is hurting someone and other bad stuff. Better be nice, otherwise a big knife is flying right past your head. You go there to get a little bit of peace in your day and just enjoy your time there, NOT start useless fight!)

Anyway, once Jack's henchman return (right after getting rid of all their treats, yum!) They inform him that this little business is going well, *too well* for his tatse.

He sends em back and tells them to wreck the place once night comes around, how dare another baking business be better than HIS?!

They feel a teensy tiny bit bad about doing so, but they'd rather lose some baked treats than their life's.

So yeah, they go to wreck the place, but whatever they do, nothing happens to the place, throwing rocks at the windows? they bounce right back. trying to kick the door down? The door hits em right back. Trying to light the place aflame? Fire immediately gets extinguished. Yeah, whatever they try to do, it backfires.

They go back to Jack to tell him what's going on, he's beyond pissed and sends em away (after like an hour long degrading talk about how incompetent they are to wreck *one* tiny Café)

He takes matters into his own hands and visits the place himself a few days later, he's a little shocked when he See's just how many people go there. He sticks around the area because he wants to talk to the Owners. *Alone.*

Evening rolls around, the last few customers leave and the siblings are about to close up, until Jack enters. Max is the first to notice him, but when he See's *who* just walked his smile immediately drops, he stammers out a "W-we're sorry sir, but we're a-already closed ffor the d-day..." Jack gives him a look down and chuckles to himself, ("damn, this bitch be scared as hell")

Sage soon walks in and stops, stares at Jack then at Max, back to Jack and one last time to Max, nodding at him with a smile.

S: "Well hello there Mr.Horner, it's an honor to have you, but we're sorry, we're closing right now, you can come back tomorrow. When you do that, I'll be sure to prioritize you over the other customers!"

Jack of course doesn't take that shit and tells em to pack up or he'll do it for them, Max tells Sage that they maybe should do just that, but she ain't budging.

S: "Why should we? we're just doing our job. Knowing you, you wouldn't do this unless we might be an actual threat to you and your busin-- wwwaaaait. Is Lil Jack Horner scared of a little competition?? My, oh my, this day just keeps gettin better and better!"

Jack's probably fuming at this point, but before he can say anything, Sage gently pushes him outside.

S: "Listen, sweetheart. We don't want any trouble, we're just trying to make a living here. So do me a favour, and just leave us be. And please don't send your goons to destroy this place again, it ain't gonna work."

With that she smiles at him one last time and locks the door behind him, closing the curtains and leaving Jack absolutely bamboozled outside the door.

((I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I'll work it out somehow, btw. This is gonna be like an enemy to business partners to friends and eventually to lovers kinda thing. For anyone who read this horrid mess of thought: THANK YOU!! It really means a lot to me that anyone would have this much patience with my messy ass! I might post a drawing/picrew of her and her brother later in the day)

[younganonymus]

29,30,31,32

3, 5, 6, 7, 11, 12, 25, 29, 30, 31, 32, 46, 72, 78, 90, 91?

3, One activity I hate: being around my father, "talking" with him.

5, Disgusting meal: everything with spinach or cooked vegetables in general. I prefer fruits and vegetables raw much more.

6, idols of mine: Jackie Chan, Vin Diesel as real life people

7, person I really hate: my father, one ex-girlfriend

11: Afraid of might not be the correct word for it, but I do not like ants. They are chill as long as they stay away from me. 0,0

12, people I hate: stubborn, narcotic, self-loving or overly self-esteemed people. Like no matter how much you scientifically know and proof them wrong, they do not care about you or your opinion. You may have spent your whole life doing nothing but this one thing and they still tell you you have no idea.

25, dances I know or want to know: by far I am not an expert, but I enjoy Tango, Salsa, line dance and classic (like Waltzer for example). And of course would love to have real lessons in it!!! (Hopefully not alone though…)

29, good childhood memory: camping iutside, getting awake by the warmth of sunlight on your face, staying up late near a camp fire, … I would love to have more of these…

30, happy with my life: HAHAHAHAHA, ABSOLUTELY not!!!!! I literally tried to end it last weekend and still somehow made it through the night, not walking straight or even in a line for two days.

31, something I regret/wish I had done different: Punching that knife through my throat/Shutting of my phone on new year’s eve from 2017 tp 2018. Literally ten seconds would have made a BIG difference, but nope, here I still am… -_-

32, seven years ago did I picture my life being like this: i did not really thought it would be that bad, but I am also not surprised. So yes, I knew my life would be shitty, but damn was I a fool…

33, from now in seven years: HOPEFULLY, hopefully dead long ago, or but more unrealistic, finally settled in life. (solid work, good/enough income, happy wife, happy kids, …)

34, yes, I am thankful for pretty every experience I made. Of course some painful less would not be bad but after all those are the moments that form us the most. How could we be thankful for food on our plate if not knowing what hunger feels like?

35, any ability to gain and one to tribute: reading minds would help a LOT but simultaneously would be manipulative, so I would love to be able to fly and give up the ability to speak, if that’s what it takes. (Just imagine the wonderful sceneries you can gasp on above or amongst the clouds, how many wonderful sunrises you could see above water, how beautiful the night sky is in different countries, …)

36, bad habit of mine: never shutting up. Too many times I have unwillingly told sad stories of mine just to avoid that awkward silence…

40, The movie “The haunted mansion” with Eddie Murphy left quite a mark on me, even though it is a good movie.

41, movie scenes with reflections in a dark setting, like in “The haunted mansion”, where a character looks up in a mirror and sees himself as a bloody, dead self or some other evil creatures.

42, childish behaviour of mine: the urge to try out playgrounds when passing by or balancing on small edges whenever possible.

46, I am ABSOLUTELY an animal person!!! I do not care what you think of me (as long as I don’t know you) as long as I can play with that big doggo or play around with that kitty or watch those bunnies hop around and around.

54, at school I was the one being joked about and untaken from primary school to the finals. (Although the last two years were much less bullying and outcasting.)

55, I do NOT like my hometown at all! Sure, it’s good living here and you get everywhere easily, but I prefer rural areas much more than metropolitan.

61, stand-alone movies or rows: I rarily watch movies but if, then most of times a whole collection in a row. Like Pirates of the Caribean or Lord of the rings, Star Wars, Hunger games, Rush Hour, … I may not watch one after another instantly, but still try to finish the series in a short time.

62, something afraid of telling a new girlfriend: my weird quirks/faults (which she would find out sooner or later anyway) and my weird kinks. (Nothing harmful but still weird.)

72, am I attractive in some way: Well, to be honest, many people (women and men) told me I have quite a sexy or athletic body, but that’s it I guess. I may be a lot funny, but stupid, open hearted yet mentally broken, caring but ugly, soooo… Maybe I am attractive for just the first glimpse???

78, when is a relationship official: As soon as you kiss one another frequently/regularly. Doesn’t even need to be the mouth, but Gentleman-like on the woman’s hand as a greeting and goodbye is pretty much solid proof one is interested and the other not neglecting.

79, I am absolutely and always honest, so do not mind asking me anything.

80, I HATE the way I look!!! I could be stronger, could be taller, skinnier/thinner, better face, better hair, …

81, three wishes: to finally be dead, (secret) and/or live the dream of my life (happy family of my own, own yard and house, few animals of our oen, …)

82, I ALWAYS wanted to have younger siblings to take care of, which lateron turned into having my own kids, yes.

90, IF that person has time and I KNOW it, I call them most-probably on my way there. But since apparently no one on this planet (amongst my generation and younger) seems to accept calls or even visits, I text people.

91, In my opinion you do not need a certain date or anniversary to celebrate your relationship. If you feel like going on a date together, ligthing the room with candles, prepare a lovely bathroom for her, sending her flowers, then do so! I hate it when people only focus on certain dates! Like why only call me on my birthday if you know I want to see you more often? Why acting like we love our family if we talk bad about each other through the whole year???

[daughter-of-fire-and-dreams]

Sigurista - 1

Bright, blindingly and annoyingly bright. 

That’s the usual. A bright shitty sky that doesn’t let a single star be seen. They’re there, but invisible. 

Just like the ghosts that follow everyone who has managed to live through this era after the Flood. 

Not that it bothers Rhua too much, this is just the same old story, same day of an abnormal everyday. Get up. Wash face and anything in need of basic hygiene. Eat what’s left of the previous night’s dinner. Suit up. Leave apartment…. Realize keys were left inside apartment for the tenth time in a row. Who cares though?

Routine, routine, routine. It goes on and on. Round and around, just like these damn steps that lead outside of her quarters. Rhua knows her sense of direction in itself already took an unrepairable damage from the circles and circles she has to walk through to get done with every self imposed task to do around town. She yawns when she finally reaches the first floor. 

Someday, her back won’t be able to handle sleeping facedown on a worktable anymore. And Rhua isn’t doing herself any favors by continuing this despite being aware of it. Her eyes are already fucked up enough thanks to working in complete darkness in a damn world that only knows light. That was probably her most amusing self destructive achievement. 

But it was back to routine. A left turn. More spiral steps to take a right and then a left again. There’s a switch to press to turn on the generators that are tasked to take over for the morning ones. Scheduling to avoid overclocking, a few stops forward and then back on the hangar sides of the city, showing a great view of the aetheryte and an absolutely empty Musica Universalis. 

Nothing really catches Rhua’s eye. It’s an empty place at this time. And the sight doesn’t prompt her to measure exactly *what* time of the day it is. It doesn’t matter. 

There’s a quick stop by the Amaro pens. It’s not a constant one, but today Rhua feels the need to. It’s not to ruffle the feathers of their city’s best four winged flyers though, but to check in on the pen beside it. Rhua’s usually quick, but she’s not a child anymore. With a few groggy greetings towards the keeper for that time, she eventually makes her way back to her work station with a handful of chicken eggs in tow. Better to prepare a decent meal for today, or at least, a half decent one. 

She’s never been one to be picky about food, but today is a special day. 

Or… At least she figures some eggs were better than bland rations as a tentative last meal. 

It’s an unspoken tension that’s shared among most of the crew involved. Which in total weren’t exactly a lot. The Crystalline Means could move on missing only a handful of people. There’s several hours before the operation begins too. But the worry and high expectations are soaring sky high. Today, or rather tomorrow they’ll be the first team that assembles alongside other forces from the Crystarium to try and take down a Lightwarden. 

Yes, yes. It’s a myth that you can kill those things. But doing something is far better than just sitting still, twiddling your thumbs, waiting to either get killed or die out of old age without ever stepping outside of a city. 

Not all the citizens know of the Exarch’s plan too. It isn’t something public that will get their hopes up. Or crush them depending on the amount of information shared. There’s at least ten years left before he makes a move, and those living in this present can’t afford to wait. They need to fight. 

They have to fight. 

It’s what Rhua believes. She’s not a flame that’s at the front, ready to kill sin eaters. She’s just an engineer taking 15 tasks at the same time. But she knows the risks of the move they’re about to do. And… Is eerily the most calm out of her team to go out there. 

Her arrival at the Crystalline Means only gets a shocked reaction from the few that are still mingling around. Did… did she look that bad? It was barely nigh-

“Rhua it’s 3am, what are you doing here?!” one of her fellow frazzled engineers yelled as he promptly dropped his mug of coffee. 

Ah. 

That explains the distant sound of owls… 

Had she really been working that long that it was the morning of the next day?...

It was always hard to tell. Not that it really mattered. There was work to do, and her being around earlier than necessary meant better check ups. Today was the day they’d kill a Lightwarden, for good or bad. 

Or was it tomorrow?...

[stalkedbytrains]

You've checked every hospital.

Every. Hospital.

The above board ones, the secret back alley ones, the ones owned by the mob, the exclusive ones that only cater to masks.

You've checked every single one of them.

They weren't there. At any of them.

You've seen blows like that cripple people, some don't even live through that kind of fight.

Before you even got to the hospitals, you checked all the back alleys and even crawled through the sewers near the attack site. You didn't find your vigilante anywhere.

Unfortunately, crime doesn't stop, in fact it feels worse without your vigilante there to help you out. You've spent all your waking hours while not at working looking for them, and even a few while on the job looking around.

But it has been a month. It may be time to admit that they're either dead or don't want to be found.

No. You've never been one to just give up like that. Especially not for someone.... maybe it's better if you don't finish that particular thought.

You do have one more card to play, one that you vowed only ever to play in an absolute emergency. This is an emergency, right? This isn't just you spiraling and letting unfinished thoughts take over the decision making vehicle that is your brain. Right?

You stand outside a frankly shitty apartment building and you can't help but categorize the problems that would likely get this building condemned. Your vigilante has a name, has a life outside of the mask and the work they do with you. They think they are so smart and clever and have a very secret identity. But you're a good detective, and they are smart but not as smart as they think they are.

Welfare check. You can do that, and it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Then a call came in over the radio. You're technically on your lunch. You can ignore it.

No you can't.

You've never been able to ignore it. Even if there were closer officers.

Armed robbery.

"Damn it," you swear to yourself, looking at the top floor window on the east side, wondering if your vigilante is there, hurt, recovering, maybe dead. "Sit tight."

By the time you get to the incident, it's already over. The robbers have been stopped by...

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" you scream as you get out of your car to find your vigilante standing over the six defeated gunmen.

"Whoa Detective nice to see you too," they say.

You desperately look for something to throw at them and settle for whipping your notebook.

They let the book hit them in the chest with a disappointing thump.

"I thought you were dead! You know I walked through about four miles of sewers afterwards thinking that you were bleeding out somewhere?" you yell.

A couple of the other police officers turn away from the drama, but you know they're still listening.

"I'm sorry Y-"

You can feel them about to say your first name and hooo boy not today.

"It's DETECTIVE TO YOU!"

One of the beat cops lets out an "oooh they're in trouble". And yes. Yes they are.

"Detective, I didn't know you cared so much," they say with a shrug and a tone of voice trying to make light of situation.

You don't let them off that easy.

"You should have broken your spine! You should have so many broken bones! I checked every hospital in the city! Every single one! And you weren't in any of them."

"Wait... every one? Even-"

"Yes. I know about Evelyn in Brighton. I know about them all. I went to. Them. All."

Even though they're wearing a full face covering mask you can tell the color just drained from their face.

"You... I was in medical school for a bit. I know how to treat these things."

You can feel your eyes narrow and the scowl get worse without really meaning to glare even harder.

You glare because you know that they didn't go to medical school.

You hear one of the cops whisper to the other. He wasn't as quiet as he thinks he is.

"Maybe the detective should take them home and kiss the boo-boos."

The other cop stifles a laugh.

"JEFFERSON I WILL BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH A TACT HAMMER," you scream.

"Maybe I should go," your vigilante says.

"CALL NEXT TIME SO I KNOW YOU'RE NOT DEAD ASSHOLE," you yell at the retreating figure.

You can't not notice that they leave with a lot less vigor and the same speed as they usually did. They're still hurt.

"You dumb asshole," you mutter. "JEFFERSON! You're in charge of doing all this paperwork, and if it's not done perfectly and on my desk in two hours I'm putting all of Cliff's toenails in your coffee."

"Yes detective," Jefferson mutters, humbled and scared of the repercussions of crossing you and Cliff's toenails that he clips at his desk.

You turn around and head back the way you came.

You know you should knock, it's the polite thing to do. But fuck that.

You kick open the door and the shitty lock.

"Ah!" yelps the half dressed vigilante.

They're covered in bruises and clearly broken bones hastily wrapped in bandage.

"Sit down and let me help you, you goddamn idiot."

"Detective! How... did... you... this isn't what it looks like?"

"You still have your mask on asshole. And I'm fifteen years older than you, I started as a detective before you even entered high school. We've been doing this for a decade. I've always known who you are."

"Always?" they ask with a high pitch that is clear that their brain is fried from this sudden revelation.

"Yes. Now, sit down. Let me look. Unlike you, I have at least had some department mandated field medic training."

"I'm fine, really."

"I don't give a shit. I'm here to fucking help you. Now shut up and take it."

You can see a blush rising all over their bruised and broken chest.

"Yes. Detective."

Oh damn it, the thoughts are back.

After almost being killed, a vigilante drops off the grid for a month to recuperate. When they get back in the game, expecting no-one to have missed them, their police "handler" nearly bursts into tears.