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harleykeeners · 1 day ago

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caught red handed

Oceans 9-1-1 Rewrite. In which Buck and Eddie have been secretly together for months, and are found out in the worst way possible.

Eddie knew his week would be screwed the second the cops stormed into the station and pulled the duffle bags filled with money out of the truck. The way Bobby froze in place and Chim’s jaw fell on the floor told Eddie that they were in big trouble. Immediately, the air tensed and he canceled every plan for the week. Everyone began asking questions no one knew the answers to and they were all frustrated. Bobby called the shift early and sent them all home.

More under cut

With the stress of the day and the call itself, Eddie swings his arm over Buck’s shoulder, their quiet signal that Eddie is taking him home. Buck relaxes under his touch and lets his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder. With a holler and a wave, they pile into Eddie’s pick-up. “That did not just happen,” Buck mutters as he drops his head on the dashboard and groans. “How the hell did it even end up there?” Eddie doesn’t answer as he shifts the gear to reverse and begins backing out from the driveway.

The drive is quiet, Buck staring out the window as Eddie places a comforting hand on Buck’s thigh. In moments like this, after a stressful call, they always go home with each other. It takes more willpower than they have to not rush into each other's arms after a frightening save. So, they go home and spend time together in the privacy of their own homes. Right now, Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching Buck. The heat of his presence is enough to ground him in this situation. With a squeeze of his thigh, Buck moves Eddie’s hand to hold his own, squeezing back letting him know he’s right here.

Silence is often just what they need after a call, and right now they couldn’t be more grateful Chris was at a sleepover. Immediately, Buck chases after Eddie’s touch, tender and searching. Eddie reciprocates, reminding himself that whatever happened today was a mistake, that there is no way any of them are capable of such a plot. Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s hair and he relaxes at the feeling of the blonde locks. “Wanna head to bed?” Eddie whispers. Sometimes, they get lost in each other to escape whatever terror awaits them outside. Right now, that monster is the LAPD and a whole lot of paperwork. “Yeah,” Bucks answers, “I could use some time with you in bed after today.” It isn’t meant to sound crass and Eddie chuckles. With a kiss pressed against his temple, Eddie goes to run a shower while Bucks gets a snack from the kitchen.

In the boiling water, Eddie allows his body to decompress. His anxiety washes away with the shampoo running down his face and he takes a deep breath. He scrubs away the day and allows his mind to wander. All he knows is that his coworkers made it out of the bank safe and that Buck is safe. Which is all he is currently concerned with.

Stepping out of the shower he doesn’t bother getting dressed past his boxers. After the day he’s had, he can’t find the energy. He finds Buck at the counter eating some dry cereal and holds his waist as he rests his head on the crook of his shoulder. “What’s going through your mind?” Eddie waits as the crease in Buck’s brow deepens. “There’s no way it could have been one of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Hen was unconscious the entire time in the vault, Chim can attest as he was watching the cam. We were with the drills, and so was Bobby. Everyone working is our alibi, so how did it end up in the truck?” Buck rants as Eddie massages his hips. He knows Buck tends to overthink, so with a kiss to the nape of his neck, Eddie says, “You think too much. We were set up, and that's for the cops to solve, not us. Let's go to bed.”

Buck lets out a soft laugh, “You��re evil…” Eddie plays innocent, knowing full well that the hands on his hips get Buck feeling a certain way. “No, maybe I’m just trying to get you to go to bed with me.” He doesn’t need to clarify and Buck happily smiles and turns to face him. Sometimes Eddie forgets he can do this, he can have Buck. That within these four walls, they don’t have to put on an act. Eddie doesn’t have to be conscious of his every move, notice where his hands are, or even worry about the pet names that slip from his mouth. At home, he can love Buck freely. No wondering eyes or HR rules are stopping him from consuming the man he’s been infatuated with for years. Maybe they’re more eager since years of yearning finally climaxed a few months ago and now Eddie has the privilege to call Buck his.

Seeing Buck in his bed under his crappy bedroom lighting has soon become Eddie’s favorite sight. So when Buck pulls away from his lips and flashes that smile at him, batting his eyes and pulling his shirt off, Eddie forgets about the call. Instead, he focuses on the man underneath him and chooses to lose himself.

As the door gets slammed, the seconds of silence as Detective Wash and Mercer impatiently await an answer seem to stretch till eternity. They had just returned from Athena’s residency, and while she had been expecting them, she assured them that the others wouldn’t. Currently, they are at the home of Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz. Wash and Mercer had just sent two teams to the Han and Buckley residence, hoping to get to the bottom of this heist quickly.

In a panicked movement, the door opens, and Edmundo awkwardly sticks his head out the door. Wash notices that he looks disheveled and that’s fair, it is 1 A.M., and they probably woke him up. Before he can even open his mouth, Mercer presents the search warrant and the team pushes past him and enters the home. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” Eddie shouts as Wash turns the lights on and directs officers into various rooms. Mercer barks orders, speaking over and ignoring Eddie’s complaint.

“You can’t seriously have enough plausible clause for a warrant?” he shouts. Wash shrugs, “Believe it or not, the court granted it. We’re going to need you to turn in all electronic devices on the premises Mr. Diaz.” It’s the first time Wash truly looks at Eddie and realizes he’s clinging onto a blanket around his torso with his chest bare. Well, it is the middle of the night, he’s caught people in worse situations.

The orders were to be as thorough and quick as possible, regardless of the mess left behind. Wash barks orders to flip every surface and take any electronics they see. Cabinets are pulled open and the clink of plates and cups are heard ringing through the house.

Just as he sees a team go into a hallway, he hears a scream. Ears perk up as every officer drops what they're doing. Wash notices, and he and Mercer dash to the scream, following the noise to a bedroom. Officers follow behind Wash and they enter the open room where other officers are and what they see leaves them surprised. In the bedroom, three officers surround the bed as a man is frantically screaming. “Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Wesh immediately recognizes the man as another one of their suspects: Evan Buckley. He makes a mental note to check on the officers at the Buckley home since they probably got no answer. Once again, the firefighter is frantically covering himself with the bed sheets, and Wesh isn’t dense. The flashlights pointed at Buckley illuminate the red on his neck.

“They have a warrant,” is all Eddie says as he picks up some sweats and a hoodie the officers have thrown on the floor. He can’t be bothered to care about decency and gets dressed in the room. “They’re going to flip the place inside out, and they’re taking our phones,” Eddie angrily says. Buck is left with a shocked and angry face, but before he can speak Eddie throws him some clothes off the floor. “Get dressed, before they take all our clothes.” Buck laughs, “They wouldn’t.” He’s met with a stone glare as he looks at Mercer and Wesh. They signal to the officers to keep moving. “You can’t be serious,” he huffs as he frantically puts on a shirt and gets out of bed.

“Detective, this can’t be real. You don’t think anyone in our department did this,” Buck says as he rapidly puts on a shirt and some pants and battles the sheets he’s tangled in. “Your team was the one on the call, with the money in the truck, in the safe the diamonds went missing in. Doesn’t seem like an unlikely conclusion does it, Buckley?” Wesh says as he watches the officers pull books off the shelves and flip cushions off the sofa. Cabinets are swung open and Tupperware is thrown all over the floors. Eddie and Buck get the feeling they were told to be as messy as possible. Typical red vs blue behavior.

“You two are coming down to the station with me. We have some questions for you,” Mercer says as she rudely leads the men out of the house and into the squad car. Buck sends a desperate look at Eddie, and he can’t fight the instinct to pull him in his arms. So he doesn’t, and he holds Buck close in the backseat of the squad car, whispering comforting nothing into his ears. He feels Buck’s head fall onto his shoulder. He looks over to see the blonde blinking slowly, the sirens illuminating his face in a soft haze. Buck looks stressed, and knowing him, he’s probably thinking about the others, not even worried about himself. Eddie runs a hand in his hair and presses a soft kiss to his temple with a whisper, “It’ll be okay.”

The station is cold and the lighting is sterile. They are rudely seated and Mercer and Wesh stand menacingly in front of them. Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck, holding him as close as possible to his heart. “Mr. Diaz, I’ll start with you,” Wesh says as she begins to lead him to an interrogation room. Eddie kisses Buck quickly before following Wesh and sees Mercer take Buck to another room. As he sits at the table, he realizes he should have picked better clothes, the station is freezing.

“Mr. Diaz, where were you at the time of the heist?” Mercer asks. She wastes no time and Eddie gets the feeling it will be a long night. “What have you deemed the time of the heist?” he asks. Eddie isn’t willing to give any confusion that could be used against him.

“We’ve deemed the diamonds were stolen at around 22:30 P.M. The money, however, could have been at any time.” Eddie sighs, knowing they have no idea what they are talking about. “At 10, you would have found me giving medical attention to the victims inside the vault.”

“And you sure you weren’t using that time to steal the diamonds?” “Yes, you can ask Hen, she can tell you I was taking her vitals alongside Chimmeny.”

“And who’s to say they wouldn't lie?” Eddie laughs, “The 118 aren’t liars.”

And the air tensed, and Eddie saw a smirk cross her face. “So you and Mr.Buckley over there aren’t lying to them? I mean if you’re willing to lie about a relationship to people you’ve, on the record, called your family, who's to say the rest of them aren't capable of lying.”

“My relationship doesn’t concern this,” he seethes. What he and Buck have is between the two, alone. No one bears the right to know of the secret smiles and glances Eddie steals from Buck and cherishes. No one bears the right to know how Buck lights up when Eddie whispers “Evan” under his breath as he holds him close. No one bears the right to know the special moments Eddie cherishes.

“Oh, but it does Mr. Diaz. When you’re willing to lie to your coworkers about something as trivial as a relationship, who's to say you aren’t willing to lie to law enforcement?”

As Bucks sits at the table, Wesh sizes him up. Buck feels small and is quietly counting down the seconds till this is over. “So, would you like to explain why we found you in Mr. Diaz’s residence?” The question catches Buck off guard, “He’s my friend, after last night I didn’t want to be alone.”

Wesh sighs and looks hard at Buck, “Mr. Buckley, it’s best you not lie to me.” Buck tenses up, “I’m not lying, sir.” With a grunt, Merce asks, “So who gave you those marks on your neck?” Buck brings his hand up to cover the marks, and Wesh realizes he got him.

“You two are more than friends and are already lying for each other. How do I know you two didn’t plot this whole thing together and lie to your team? Clearly, you both already have experience conspiring together and lying to them. This shouldn't have been too hard for you two.”

Maybe it's a choice of word that enrages Buck that he says, “What Eddie and I are doing isn’t conspiring. Our relationship is between us.”

“So you admit you two are in a relationship?” Wesh asks.

“Yeah, so what?” Buck doesn’t see the point of this. He’s tired, he’s angry, and he misses Eddie.

“So you’re both just lying to your coworkers and your departments as you know that not notifying them is a violation of contract.”

Buck freezes, and realizes he messed up. “What does who I’m dating have to do with the diamonds?”

“Shows your character. You’re willing to lie to your coworkers, whom you’ve called family, and your department for something as trivial as a relationship. So lying to law enforcement about stealing $6 million in diamonds with your boyfriend shouldn’t be out of the question.”

Rages flashes before Buck’s eyes and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. “First of all, what we have isn’t trivial. And second of all, we do plan to tell them, we’re just getting our footing first. Technically, we only need to notify our departments if it gets serious. Which, hopefully, it will but not now. That doesn’t prove that we’d be willing to pull something off like this. Keeping a relationship quiet is much different than stealing millions in diamonds.”

“No, but it shows you two are more than capable. Why wouldn’t you want to steal the diamonds? I know a wedding can be expensive, much more if you two plan to buy a home together in L.A. Some diamonds could really help.” Buck flushes at the implication he and Eddie will get married, while also processing how insulting that statement truly is.

Just like Wesh, Mercer is drilling into Eddie. “You have a son, right?” She asks as Eddie clutches his fists. He’s tired, he’s cold, and he wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response but just nods. “I know how expensive they can be. Especially with chronic illness. Being a parent isn’t cheap, much less in L.A. Diamonds wouldn’t hurt.”

Eddie is offended she would even insinuate something like that. “Listen, I get by. My retirement from the military helps with my bills and my job gives pretty good benefits. I work full-time and make do.”

“And I’d assume having a partner also helps,” she says as if it’s something Eddie should be ashamed of. “Yes, it does. He helps when I need it and we’re lucky to never be short. We don’t need the diamonds,” Eddie angrily says. He doesn’t understand why he’s still sitting here. “We’re both veterans so our benefits still roll in and the department takes care of its employees.”

“You say you were both on the drills, opening the vault. Did you know that your Captain left to make a phone call? So, who’s to say you two didn’t take advantage of your moment alone to sneak the diamonds?”

Eddie laughs, “I’m flattered you think Buck and I would take advantage of a moment like that. In reality, we didn’t notice and were still working. Had we noticed, then-“

“You two you would have stolen the diamonds,” Mercer rudely cuts him off. “No, we probably would have made out. You see, while I’m flattered, Buck and I aren’t sophisticated enough to pull off something like this.”

“Are you calling your partner stupid?”

“If that proves his innocence then, yes. Yes, Evan Buckley is too stupid for this.”

Buck is so tired he’s struggling to keep his head afloat. “Says here you were in the SEALs.” There’s no question, just a statement. Buck looks wearily at Wesh, a sense of nausea coming up his stomach. Buck only nods.

“So you and your boyfriend are both in the military?”

“Were. We’re retired. Different branches.” Buck already knows what’s coming up. “So two veterans don’t know how to pull off a heist? A SEAL no less?”

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Sorry, but larceny wasn’t exactly what they taught us at basic. Maybe in the Air Force, they’re the intelligent ones. But not in the Army or Navy. For us, it was more like folding your bed a certain way and shooting to kill. Sorry to disappoint,” Buck says and by that question, he’s done.

“Look, if you have nothing of value to ask me, I’d like to go. It’s late, and I wish to be with my partner and sleep this horrible night off. Check the cameras again on the side of the bank, you’ll notice Eddie and I never left our post at the drill. Once it was open, I reloaded the drill and Eddie was providing medical care. Ask anyone who was there, and look at the cameras, they are our alibi. So if you’re just going to keep and ask me pointless questions while making insulting assumptions about my life, then I’d like to go,” Buck takes a deep breath as he gets up.

“You’ve already insulted my relationship, my career, and my character. I don’t know what more you have left,” Buck says as he looks Wesh in the eye, and silently tells the man he is leaving. No debate about it.

As he opens the door in the interrogation room, he can’t help the snarky remark that comes from his throat, “And you’re welcome for all my service.”

The hallway is cold and busy. Several detectives moved bags of evidence that Buck recognizes as Bobby’s phone and Maddie’s laptop. He’s irritated and frankly, the level of insult he’s feeling would be dangerous to vocalize. However, it slightly simmers when he finally sees Eddie walk out.

He sprints to him and wraps his arms around him. For the sake of holding him close and feeling his body heat, Evan melts into Edmundo. They don’t say anything, throats dry from the hour-long interrogations. Instead, Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes and the anger fades away, replaced by a longing. A longing to be safe, to be held, to be home. With a soft kiss to his temple, a phone light illuminates Buck’s face as Eddie dials to call an Uber.

“Do you think they went to your sister’s house?” Buck says as they sit outside the station, watching the few cars drive by. “I hope not,” Eddie answers, grasping at Buck’s hand as they hold each other present. “No reason to go after anyone outside of the department,” Buck mumbles as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You think they already brought the others in?” Eddie whispers.

The sound of a car wakes Buck from his nap. As they pile into the Uber, Buck snuggles into Eddie’s side, wanting to hide away from the world. The drive is quiet, it’s nearing 3 A.M. The cops have finally left their house, leaving the street empty and blissful.

Opening the door greets them to the disaster left behind, however the two men are too tired to even care. Awkwardly clearing a path over the books and papers thrown across the floor, they make their way to the bedroom.

Bucks the first to hit the bed as he collapses at the mere sight of it. With a quiet beg and a gesture, Eddie follows suit. Cuddling into his warmth, Buck mumbles, “Do you think any of us really did do it?”

Eddie looks at him, pretends to think for a moment, then says, “No. I don’t think so. But, the cops were right,” This catches Buck’s attention. “For you, I’d lie to the cops if it meant keeping you safe.”

#buddie #911 fox #911 abc #911 show #episode rewrite #mlm #fanfic #gay #evan buckley #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #sorry im weak for them

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greenerteacups · 2 years ago

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most of my AO3 comments are really amazing but every now and then i'll get one that is just wildly entitled

like someone just wrote a comment on ch38 that's like "please have them get together soon i don't want to wait. also [x] needs more character development." ??? bitch i'm not a menu why are you out here trying to order

#i wrote like 3 different replies and then deleted them all bc i realized theres no point #like if they dont reply then what's the point and if they DO reply then it's not like they'll spontaneously change their ways #it's best to just let them be mad #like if they end up liking what happens then it solves itself and if they don't then that's karma #but it's like. unless otherwise stated. writers are not DJs and we don't take requests #i've gotten a few of those — kind of weird entitled asks that are like “could you write [this specific premise]?” and it's like #uhhh #that's not... really... a service that i offer...#i don't... remember... offering to do that....#my tinfoil hat theory is these people come from the Reader X fanfic communities where you just ask writers to do something #and they'll do a little ficlet for you #and they don't realize that most traditional fic spaces are not tailored in that way #for their personal enjoyment #like sometimes someone will ask me “would you want to write X?” and that's totally fine!! and flattering and fun!#but that's a very different question from “please do this enormously labor intensive activity for my personal enjoyment thank you.”#oh and that one AO3 comment? TEN CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE END OF THE FIC #HADN'T EVEN FINISHED IT and was already tryna stick their finger in the pot. lmao. bruh.#fandom takes all kinds for real.

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annabelle--cane · 1 year ago

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"the magnus protocol had a whole ARG beforehand? what?"

yes! it did!

"oh so I need to have participated in this whole big thing to actually understand the podcast?"

not at all! from the official post-mortem put out by RQ, "while the ARG was not something that was necessary to participate in to understand the magnus protocol, it was designed to contain a wealth of background story and context that would enrich any player's listening experience."

"a wealth of background context that would enrich my listening experience 👀👀👀 how can I learn about this?"

SO glad you asked. sadly, many of the materials made for the arg have been taken down since the game ended 😔 (ex., the official OIAR, magnus institute, and bonzoland websites. (edit ii: I found partial wayback machine captures! see below) though @strangehauntsuk is still up!), so we're a bit low on primary sources, but in terms of learning about what happened:

for a starting point, I would really recommend this video by @pinkelotjeart

youtube

it's super accessible, it was made in real time as the game progressed and follows the solving and revelation of clues as they happened, it hits all the major points of the mystery and moments of community insanity while eliding some of the nitty gritty puzzle grinding, 10/10 would recommend.

here's the official summary put out by RQ, and I'd recommend reading through this once you've already gotten a basic handle on the flow of the story and the basic connections between major clues and events. it's got some fun behind-the-scenes info and lays out the thought process behind the puzzles in simple terms

here's the full masterdoc of all puzzles and resolutions put together in the statement remains discord server. masterdoc my absolute BELOVED, masterdoc my bethrothed, masterdoc my soul mate. I'd recommend this as a second port of call after the above video as it either contains all details about the puzzles or links to other expanded docs that do.

here's the narrative summary doc that lays out all the plot and lore discovered in three pages of plain prose. if you just want to get to the good bits as fast as you can and get blasted directly in the face by contextless lore bombs, this is the doc for you. if you don't want to start with the video, I'd say this is another good entry point.

once you've got the lay of the land, some of the game materials that I found particularly interesting include:

the in-universe east germany expat usenet forum, with all content translated into english. most of it is irrelevant space filler with occasional extremely sus lore, but I still found it fun to read through. love to soak in some fictional forum drama.

chdb.xlsx, the spreadsheet of the names of all the children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was studying/experimenting on. EDIT: here is a version of the sheet without any annotations and with all of the names in their original order, kudos to @theboombutton for catching that the commonly shared copy had the order swapped around.

klaus.xls, a (very corrupted) spreadsheet with what looks like the classifications of a bunch of old OIAR cases.

EDIT: have a few more saved materials from the game that I forgot to include.

an in-universe audio ad to apply to the OIAR that ran before archives episodes and kicked off the whole game.

an in-universe video ad to apply to the OIAR, this one is an official upload that's still up from the game itself. you can subscribe to the OIAR's official youtube channel today, if you so chose.

the robo-voicemail greeting from the OIAR's phone line.

EDIT II:

here is a wayback machine capture of the OIAR's official website.

here is a wayback machine capture of the bonzoland website.

(pretty sure both of the above captures just archived the home pages, though I haven't tried clicking all of the links. I'd say they're still worth looking at, the home pages give a good window into the vibes.)

once you start poking around in these documents, you'll find a bunch of links to others with further information, the materials I've included here just contain what I feel to be the most relevant details to getting a broad feel for the whole game. once again, huge shout out to the statement remains server, I was barely in there as the ARG was in progress and only ducked my head in every so often to find links like these. true mvps of the fandom.

#gonna pin this for a bit because every day I get 2-5 asks saying 'there was an arg? how do I learn about it?'#tmagp #video #marina marvels at life

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agallonofmilky · 1 day ago

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i once somehow had a scammer pay my phone bill(thats supposed to be only acessible via the app and by me)(they say they did it accidentally so that you send them the amount they paid and then they refund their payment)

and i contacted the customer support of my provider. chatbot opens the call. tells me my options, none of them are what i need. i ask to speak to customer support. it takes me to a second list of options that sounds like it has what i need, but no it doesnt(ill get to that) ,im taken to a THIRD LIST but it says "if you tell me what you need, i will bring it up to the customer support before connecting". this is false. if i tell it what i need, it tries to help me itself and fails. so i ask for customer support for the THIRD TIME. AND I FINALLY CONNECT.

If at any point in this ordeal i say anything to the chatbot that isnt the words "customer support", it simply does not help me in a meaningful way. If i click the key it wants me to for scams, it takes me to another fucking list of specifics, and i dont remember how but it ends in it telling me how much my bill was last month. it drove me crazy experiencing this looney tunesian bullshit for an hour, and you wanna know what happened when i finally reached a real fucking person? it took less than a minute of talking to them to solve my issue.

these websites and other services think that they can use ai chatbots or other wonky kooky processes to replace human labor, so they dont lose money on paying wages. However they will lose a customer instead. i dont have the energy to go through your wild goose chase, just connect me to a person and let them explain what theyre trained to explain.

if you force me to go through your ai chatbot with the same question 2 times before letting me file an email support ticket rather than just letting me do that straight away you're going to hell

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

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litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #chemist!reader

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dear-ao3 · 21 days ago

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by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

#not a tag #from saph #emails might be scary but they are necessary

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pawberri · 3 months ago

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My most hated counterargument to the idea that therapy is useful is:

"Therapy is totally individualistic. If you say that you're scared of climate change or racism they'll tell you to stop being scared and solve it internally."

Because you know... while this CAN and DOES happen... it doesn't encompass all of therapy. You know what my therapist tells me to do if I talk about oppression or systemic issues? Volunteer! Get involved in my community! Actively push back on the isolation and hopelessness I'm feeling by Doing Something About It. Plus, even if I tell my therapist "I'm freaking out about climate change" and she says "take a deep breath and remember that the world is not literally ending at this minute", that isn't more selfish or individualistic than posting on tumblr about how you shouldn't get treatment ever because suffering is inevitable. Especially in times like these, getting the help you need to be able to take action and be a part of your community is not shameful. Severe mental health issues that completely derail your life are also not the only or inevitable reaction to these things happening.

I think it annoys me so much because it assumes there are no leftist therapists, no leftist therapists of color, no leftist therapists of color who experience poverty, etc etc. It assumes that the whole scientific field is disinterested in itself and making itself better. I promise you that whatever question first pops into your head has been presented and debated and expanded upon by people whose entire life revolves around it. I read studies all the time that show how forming community around an oppressed identity and participating in activism helps mental health and hopelessness. Yes, the world is full of systemic suffering, but NO, the only solution is NOT to give up and give in. Therapy can genuinely be what you need to survive and get out there and make change, and it's as valid as any other form of medical care. Don't listen to any stupid disengaged therapist who tells you just not to care and disconnect from the world completely but also don't listen to anyone who discourages you from getting help on that basis. That is not the only kind of therapist that exists.

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occamstfs · 30 days ago

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Talismen V: World Peace

And so the world ends with a wish unless Alex and Nicky are able to abate men changing in every corner of the world. CEO's get their hands dirty, academics find their wild side, journalists go local, pianists get angry. And you, well who can say what happens to you.

Happy new year! Hope you enjoy the grand finale of my little 2.5k special :) As ever, Yours! -Occam

The air around the trio is almost vibrating from the energy emanating off Nicky’s Talisman. Simon’s eyes flicker around the cafe as reality almost begins to fracture. Some intern’s tray of drinks becomes a fifty pound free weight as his arms grow with grotesque haste to keep it balanced in the air, sleeves tattering before dissolving into the static mists. In the corner a struggling sci-fi author’s hands become inseparable from his keyboard and green binary scrolls across his pupils, skin shifting sicky metallic up his arms. Behind the bar a barista twitches as his face grows furry, sharper nails quickly tear through a cheap apron.

Still struggling to reconcile the transformation witnessed at the gym, Simon shakes off his curiosity and turns his attention back to his love just as Alex reaches out a hand to steady his friend who is struggling to breathe under the weight of reality. Alex, more with it than either man and far more aware of what may, will, and cannot happen puts a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and tries to help the magus understand. Reassured by the simple human act. With the helping hand Nicky finds himself to see the metaphysical tendrils stretching from the Talisman on his neck.

Pulsing, stretching, growing. Alex and Nicky both watch as, bereft of any input from the man wearing the necklace, the power within is simply shooting indiscriminately to every mind and body it can reach. At once, both men realize that regardless of how little they know about the malevolent charm around his neck, Nicky needs to direct its power somewhere or it will work of its own volition.

Realizing its bearer is about to issue ground orders, shockingly, all the disparate ribbons and strands of energy return at once. The cyborg gasps for breath with new half synthetic lungs, two men who had never met awkwardly stammer as they find themselves half-nude making out over their americanos, the barista apologizes for getting his hair(fur?) in a drink.

None of the named characters get half a chance to notice the halted changes as Nicky is suddenly being suffocating outright, filled with power returned. Like a constrictor he is choked by the sheer presence of this energy flying back into the amulet, every vein is visible and pumping brighter with each passing moment, his skin feels tight and he almost seems about to burst with the eldritch potential within him. Tendrils squeeze his mind like a vice, eager to run with any haphazard half-baked wish that makes itself known.

Alex sees fear behind his friend’s eyes of red as Nicky chokes out, “I- I don’t know what t- to say” He turns to see his boyfriend, and reality fractures just a tad. Nicky sees him as the powerful man he is and always has been, but behind that there’s a wry bookish nerd who never hit the gym. He remembers a conversation long ago with this different, can’t be past, version of Simon. He’s clearly annoyed, they’ve been debating this for a while, “you can’t- you can’t just wish for anything, a genie’s whole thing is twisting your wish babe. Be-” In the memory Nicky interrupts, “I know. I know. It’s just- in my mind I can’t justify not trying. It- Three wishes, one of them has to be like, world peace. Or uh, solving hunger or something?”

And just like that, just as soon as it began, the vision fades, edges tinge red as the meek other Simon rolls his eyes before returning to the man Nicky knows him to be. The man with the world on his shoulders chokes out a sigh. The wish does need to be grand enough to dissipate all this energy after all. Scarlet tears thicker than blood drip down his face, maybe it’ll all be okay, “I wish, grgh- W- World Peace.” Time and reality stutter as the amulet processes the command input, red energy shoots from the Talisman like solar flares, venturing far enough to scrape patrons in the cafe, molding outfits sculpting new muscle before returning back to the now vibrating amulet.

Nicky grasps it and closes his eyes. From the central gem of the Talisman red shoots like a beam, straight through Alex. The deliverer’s face is grim as it hits him, demanding he return to the harbinging work he finished moments ago. Steeling himself for the part he is to play he notices a glimmer behind the matte red eyes of his friend and an idea strikes both at once, perhaps there remains hope yet. Looking at his new callused hands he is potently aware that there is impossible power within this artefact, but can it truly affect the whole world? Alex grits his teeth and plans to embody the wish Nicky bestowed, distilled into him, Haste.

Alex feels himself being carried away by the beam, nodding at Simon and Nicky he shoots off, turning to try and race ahead of the storm of will as it tears through city blocks, and countryside, through cabins and campus libraries, morphing men into their wildest dreams and steamiest nightmares. No time for Alex to watch every one despite an itch at the back of his mind to do just that. He needs to get ahead of this, he needs to accelerate, he needs to overload it. Unstuck from time or space he finds himself in a New York City penthouse, standing beside some grimacing man looking out over the city. He did it, he beat it here, now he’s setting the pace.

Fractals of the beam reflect in the polished windows of the skyscraper, surely shooting off to grace the lives of those sitting in suites across the city. But as it nears the top, as it nears Alex, it almost seems to slow. Giving him time to take in this office, and observe what is to become of the smug man, Mr. McCarthy, scowling as he looks out over the city, looking down both figuratively and literally upon the population he sees as beneath him. Clad in a pristine, tailored suit he almost laughs as he imagines the lives led by the pour sods he grinds underfoot.

Despite himself and his mission, Alex’s eyes glimmer with rage, perhaps there are indeed changes that ought to happen. Just as the thought occurs the manifestation of Nicky’s words shoot into the room like wind, rushing past Alex before slamming into the haughty businessman and curling around him. The witness can almost see on the rich man’s fabric where the tendrils squeeze in tight.

Eyes widening with fear, he drops the glass of exorbitantly priced whiskey he was drinking to claw and something he cannot see. Every inch of exposed skin is filled with warmth that quickly races under his clothes as well. Muscle boils under his skin and he falls to the floor, cutting his cashmere trousers on the shards of glass. Only concerned with his own appearance, this shocks him out of his pain. McCarthy forgets whatever stroke or seizing just struck him and scoffs at what sloppy misfortune has sullied his wardrobe.

Grumbling to himself he stands and finally does he see the man standing in the room watching him, “Ughh you must be the help. Clean up this mess, now.” He scowls and straightens his tie before realizing how weary he feels, his arms heavier than they should feel and brow covered in sweat. Is it this little degenerate’s fault, was I drugged? He grabs his handkerchief and wipes his sweaty face, ignoring as it scratches against stubble that he would never allow to grow.

The thought’s almost laughable, sweaty and unshaven- like some common laborer! McCarthy indeed laughs once more at the image, his hand raised to hide any emotion on his face from Alex as the impudent lout seems to neglect the order given. He opens his mouth to chastise the shoddy employee, but then both men hear the sound of fabric tearing resounds through the room.

McCarthy’s eyes look down and he falls to the floor once more as he sees his hand. Barely changed as of yet but clearly thicker, rougher, and still changing. Hairs begin to creep up his wrist and poke out of fingers that grow fat and unelegant. He grabs at his arm and finds his dress shirt has torn as his hidden bicep grows bulkier.

Alex smiles as he sees the man scrambling on the floor grow frantic. His other arm soon enough bulges larger as well, this time tearing both his dress shirt and suit. “Shit!” The titan of industry tries to stand but falls forward as his chest bursts into existence. Weighty pecs begin to pop buttons off into the spilled whiskey. The 200 dollar bland haircut on his head begins to retract and shift messy as stubble stains his doctored jawline. “Help me you- you- Grah!”The sound of his suit ripping and tearing grows louder and more frequent as he tries to remove it as his back widens and his arms continue to bulk to a point that the garment’s survival is impossible. Alex’s expression matches the smug one of McCarthy not moments ago as he sees hair poking through the torn fabric and a thicker brow juts out to shade his eyes. His eyes grow a darker almost blood red as something in his stomach quivers at the sight, “I think I’m helping you just fine Mr. McCarthy. Or hm, I suppose you’d prefer to go by Duke now hm?”

The corporate fiend writhes and rather than attempt to salvage his luxury clothes, simply begins to tear them off his new sculpted form. Free of its silken trappings, the muscle begins to pack on at an explosive rate. Thick curls cover his harried pecs before racing over spherical shoulders and bulging traps to cover his sculpted back. Bursting free from matching pants his thighs pattern with bulging veins starkly similar to the same tendrils that launched him into this new life.

As a beard covers the financial officer’s face Alex sees the man’s eyes glaze over and he stands to a height a few heads taller than what he enjoyed in a life now gone. Scratching at his stomach Duke groans and squeezes at his head with his free hand. The witness averts his eyes from the thick new cock pointing directly at him as he instead looks past Duke to see his new life laid out like a book. No longer some rich asshole who prides himself on pushing others down to get ahead but a man whose hands are scarred by countless days of strenuous work for others.

Smiling as he pages through the story of Duke Carter’s new life he hungrily sees all that Nicky’s will has changed for the better in just this one case. Filled with contentment that perhaps this is not so bad an event after all. He finds himself drawn into the vision, seeing the young man grow into the hunk that stands before him now. Speaking of, Duke seems to be coming to his senses, “Hey there uh, young fella? Yew know what I’m doin’ all the way up here?”

Alex tilts his head and only then realizes that only a faint trail of the Talisman’s magic remains here. It continues to work throughout the largest city in the states, but the head of the surge has shot on while Alex was distracted. Gritting his teeth he stumbles through a farewell to the confused, changed man and races out the window. Duke is of course concerned at the man jumping from the top floor of a skyscraper but once done, the sweaty laborer can scarcely remember meeting him at all. Looking around the suite as the whole building creaks and begins to change into the HQ of a nonprofit, his phone rings and he smiles as it seems the chance to lend a helping hand is on the horizon.

For his part Alex is soaring over the sea. Struggling to catch up he decidedly ignores his desire to stop at the few cruise ships and scattered Atlantic islands that the beam shoots through, surely fulfilling desires and morphing men along the way. Flashes of tourists losing their native tongues as they find themselves at home in the Azores and cruise ship pools becoming foam parties sear into his vision but he keeps pace with the racing wish. Looking forward, Alex sees the spell almost torn between two potentialities. To preserve itself it’s going to split in two to hit each continent they were rapidly approaching.

In one world he sees the larger going to Africa and becoming unstoppable just from the sheer numbers game. Clenching his jaw he reaches out and tries to control the path as if it were lassoed. Keeping a grip on it he forces the split to occur early and steers the larger proportion North while trying to keep an eye on the latter speeding off towards West Africa. He almost splits his awareness in two as he tries to focus on both before realizing that he’s already being dragged through the capitals all across Europe. Dublin, London, Madrid, and Lisbon fly past, all to varying degrees overcome by the storm of change.

Alex struggles to breath under the pressing weight, the existential need, to go observe what is becoming of dirtbag chavs as their little crews shed their jumpsuits and their haunts convert to gayborhoods. He fights the urge to see Spanish academics venture into the countryside and become burly bearded farmers. Ignoring bodybuilding Italians shredding their beards and built bodies to become twinks more than happy to bottom. As Nicky’s will continues to affect more people it becomes harder for Alex to resist his compulsion to witness and spread the change himself. Feeling a need to nip it in the bud, he strains himself to pull ahead of the surge once more.

Maintaining his grip on the storm, he has an idea to stop it and steers it to a rural Bavarian peak where a lone tourist looks out over a lake. In an impossible stroke of luck the man wistfully utters a wish, “Man. I wish- I wish that I could spend more time in nature.” The tendril swiftly averts course to the man and Alex uses its momentum to steer it directly through him and into the center of the lake, far from any life besides the backpacker and himself. While the tourist, Finn, begins to change Alex allows himself indulge and witness. Using the gratification gained to hold the throbbing tendril in place. No idea if this would achieve anything nor time to wonder what even it would do. For now he must simply hold and watch.

Finnegan was probably less than prepared for this day trip. His roommate at uni was driving him up a wall enough to force him South on this uncharacteristic escapade into the Alps. He’d never really appreciated the wild but as soon as he began this trek he wondered how he could possibly overlook the serenity. The cold air stung his lungs as he wandered through the serene trails and stumbled upon this massive lake where he takes a load off. Hands scratch into dark earth as he adores the sight before him, an otherworldly force screams through the air above him as he speaks his humble wish and is filled with transmutative energy to become a man who will spend more time in nature.

The coat which has been struggling to do anything against the elements is suddenly working overtime as steam begins to rise from the man now panting on the overlook. Hands numb from the cold burst the seams of mittens as he quickly disrobes and frees his thin upper body to the mountain air. Finnegan’s hips flex against his tight thermals as his package immediately understands what it means to become one with nature, quickly hardening into a cock that would be nigh impossible to hide. And a strange thought flickers through his changing mind, why would he ever need to hide his cock anyway?

His lithe arms begin to balloon with weight as his hands can't help but shove into his pants and explore a more sensitive dick and quivering balls that begin to send hormones coursing through him. Finn grimaces as he struggles to kick off hiking boots far too small for his new wide soles, rough from trending on dirt and stone. Never too much of an eater, the young man’s torso begins to bloat and strain his shirt as the rigors of the outdoors demand he get some more meat on his bones.

Arms that have likely lifted nothing heavier than a textbook bulge larger as his stomach continues to put on mass, bloating into a strong, manly torso. Pre covered hands begin to scratch at his meatier chest and barrelling gut as a garden of body hair begins to grow. His sticky fingers pull at the curls lengthening on his bulkier stomach and he delights in the sensation, the scratch, the drag of darker hair now patterning his heavier form.

His neat hair pulls shorter, darkening and growing greasy as it shoots down his cheeks, creating a stubbled chin strap before it becomes an outright beard. Finn grunts as he feels his newly hairy back on the earth behind him. His hands find his cock once more as his nose finds his tangled pits and the trove of musk within. Bucking into the cold air he languishes in his first load spilled on his journey to be a man of the wild. Hearing similar grunting in the nearby lake he looks to find Alex struggling barely above the water. Sniffing and finding the floating man alluring, he furrows his brow and hops in a canoe to go meet him.

Running the numbers Alex is sure that countless men and women have already been irrevocably sculpted by wishes haywire. As Finn approaches he too continues to change. Beard thickening and sticking out from his face as body hair spreads like wildfire. At the same time, the energy Alex is wrestling with almost begins to crystallize. Finn grows burlier and bulkier, every disparate patch of hair from his meaty fingers to his longer toes races to meat in one mighty jungle of fur as he continues to pack on muscle. The watcher’s hands burn with effort as he forces the storm of energy to stay still, to forfeit being an aspect of metamorphosis and lock it in this state, in this locale.

Near enough to shout out, Finn opens to speak to Alex, as he does a grunt falls from his mouth. What need has he of complex thought or language, why is he out on the lake anyway, fishing? Finn scratches his pit and smells his hand as Alex strains for just a moment longer and then there’s a flash as the strange beam solidifies outright. Manifesting as a spire in the center of the lake, surely still holding the transformative power of the talisman but, for now, immobile. In the back of the once delivery man’s mind he can sense the other half shooting through Oman, preparing to launch itself towards the Indian subcontinent. He needs to go now.

Finn doesn’t really listen as the man shadowed in crimson asks something important of him. Memories of his architecture lectures and school projects begin to fade and he doesn’t quite mind, seems better to get his hands dirty and protect this little smidge of paradise anyway. Protect, pursing his lips and looking at the spire he floats near to, protect? His eyes narrow at the malevolent spike, not of the world. He scratches his still lengthening beard, he’ll watch this too, make sure nothing funny happens.

Alex once more shoots across continents, soaring over slavic streamers finding themselves doing a little more than gay-baiting and Maghrebi men finding new ways to appreciate the male ideal. He’s not quite sure how long this has been going on, but as he catches up to what remains of Nicky’s will that at least some parts of the world have become aware of what’s going on. The Indian military is mobilizing to some degree to prepare an emergency response and while hemorrhaging tendrils continue to create shooting stars of transformation down towards metropolises and hamlets, when it sees such lofty forces gathered it has no recourse but to beeline right towards them.

When he signed up to be a foreign correspondent Logan Hopsworth never wanted to end up in India, let alone doing military coverage. And yet here he was. The team back home has been radio silent for a few hours but when his unfortunate host nation declares a national emergency he hits the field to report on- ? Logan doesn't quite know, he’s refused to learn the language and plans his time here to be a stepping stone soon forgotten.

He forces a fake at the cameraman as he’s sure the local hire is always trying to film his bad angle. Suddenly there’s a red flash and Logan scoffs as the camera operator gasps and turns his lens on the crowd of uniformed men behind him, “Uhmm!? Hello? Your marks right here Nikhil?” When he keeps his lens focused on something other than himself, the ‘reporter’ crosses arms and turns to see what’s so important. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The performatively macho men of the nation that has time and time again declared themselves the most powerful in the world are suddenly stripping and finding their nearest platoon mate to fuck.

“Jesus Christ! It’s like a fucking pornographic flashmob!” Logan drops his microphone and tries to make sense of what’s happening, “Nikhil are you getting this shit!?” Turning back he sees the flash of red soar past again, this time hitting his assigned cameraman who drops his equipment and begins groaning. Clutching at his headset the cam operator pulls at his clothes as to Logan’s less than discerning eye he seems to suddenly be wearing something a few sizes too small.

Never concerned for anything more than his own hide Logan screams his usual sign off and turns to run, “THIS HAS BEEN HOBSWORTH REPORTI-” Though before he can finish Alex’s wrangling of the wish does one more round, going squarely through the reporter before the harbinger shouts in success and the force veers off towards China.

Logan coughs and clutches at his chest as he feels like he was just hit by a train filled with glimpses of everything he could have been. Presenting at the NYE drop, doing court reporting in Australia, recording slice of life stories in Tokyo. Instead he’s here. His spirits deflate as he smells spice on the air and his chest fills with warmth, and then his chest fills his shirt.

Well of course he’s here? Where would he rather be? Ignoring the sounds of rapturous lustful disregard a few dozen feet away he gasps at the thought. Lakhan’s hands shake as he looks down to the dark hair that begins cresting across his forearms. Like countless men across the world, and the army behind him, the reporter quickly takes off his shirt to see what is becoming of him. Ever thin and hairless he is aghast as his thin shaved pubes begin racing up his torso and darkening into a black treasure trail he would never be rid of.

He tries to tear at his growing hair before noticing that its growth is not the only change occurring. Across his exposed torso splotches of his skin begin to darken, turning a shade of brown just like the cameraman still growing behind him. He begins to hyperventilate and hold to the identity he knows he should have before realizing he can’t even tell if he’s turning into Lakshan or if Lakshan’s turning into some pasty white asshole.

With each frantic breath the changes continue to race, he clenches his eyes shut as the irises shift to a brown and his coiffed blonde locks darken and shift into a look he’s seen on countless Bollywood stars throughout the years. While his skin continues to tan he realizes that he’s also beginning to grow, blanketed under a healthy coat of chest hair, pecs begin to fill out his upper body while powerful biceps flex. He’s always been quite a bit more inclined to work on vanity muscles after all.

His pits fill out with dark black curls enough for deodorant to never quite reach the skin beneath, not that he cares of course. All that time at the gym is to make sure he never escapes a man’s notice, his musk is simply another way to make sure everyone knows he’s the boss. “Fuck!” He shouts with a deep Pradesh accent, it’s where he grew up and went to university after all, “मैं बहुत सेक्सी हूँ! (I’m so hot!)”

Starting to turn himself on just from thinking about his own tightly packed muscle, Lakshan pulls at his pubes and moans as the movement makes his far larger, veiny cock bounce in the air. His eyes turn to the cameraman who similarly has finished changing into a powerful bharati man of stature. The two men approach each other and just like the horde to the west find more pleasure in a good fuck than they’ve experienced in some time, perhaps ever.

Above China, Alex wrestles to keep the wily manifestation of Nicky’s wish under control, also does he realize that he hasn’t had a second to plan what exactly he is to do after keeping it on course through China. Thinking it safe enough to take a breather for half a second, he loosens the reins to come to the conclusion that he should just steer it back to Nicky. With even the slightest deviation however the wish forcefully bolts downward towards Shanghai.

En route, the tendril discards as many strands as it can across another cradle of civilization, perhaps making it easier for Alex to manhandle but what does it care, it’s not sentient. It is power manifest, it simply must do. Why should it mind as it is taken through a concert hall at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. It is not out of malice as it passes through Shen Hao that he flubs a key press and fails to recover. Though would that it had the awareness to know it brought about more than an auditorium of change it would certainly feel delight.

Hao’s face burns as red as the static that shoots through him. His eyes stare at his keys knowing how many long hours have been spent perfecting this etude. It was a mistake he’s never made, not one out of juvenile haste or shoddy hand placement, one that simply should not have happened. If he were trying to make the mistake again he would surely be unable to, such a flagrant err is anathema to the virtuoso.

And yet, he’s a professional, he takes a deep breath and returns to the piece. He will do it right this time. But then, his hands cramp. He shoots long and bites his tongue enough to draw blood as his pinky plays an E rather than an F. That- That shouldn't be possible. Hao looks down in shock to find that it is indeed impossible, or it would have been, had his fingers not stretched longer. His palms wider, his fingers fatter. This must be a nightmare.

The pianist shifts back and the bench creaks under his weight, he turns to nod an apology at his audience and is unable to see how many are watching him stumble through this should-be cake walk. Pulling at his collar as he sweats under the spotlights, Hao finds himself unable to get a finger under the tight neckpiece. God he can barely breathe. He clears his throat and pulls hard, the sound of him tearing through the buttons echoes through the auditorium just like his misplayed notes resound through his own head.

He feels his chest growing, straining his tuxedo, but refuses to look. His arms sting as meaty biceps begin to fill the sleeves and make it difficult for him to even ambulate enough to play the piano. It’s no matter, he’s a professional. He’s suffered for his art before and he will force himself to do this. He stretches his fingers and even this movement sends a few tears down his arms. Good, that will only help his range of motion.

Getting in position to play, he finds his hands thrown off as his wrists stretch further out from strained sleeves hugging his new forearms and biceps like a second skin. He just needs to be aware, that’s all. His arms are longer, that’s fine. Just do it right. Sweat trickles down his thicker neck and joins the litany of wet patches clearly visible on his white button up. He just needs to get through this. He just needs to be perfect.

Hao takes another deep breath and buttons burst from the sheer width of his pecs. Grimacing, he ignores them plinking against the piano and resolves to begin and- Uhh. He doesn’t remember the notes. That can’t be. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is overwhelming, his suit too tight, his mind too slow-

His meaty fists slam into the keyboard, sending a dissonant cacophony throughout the hall. Silent despite the impossible horror of the man clearly growing into some steroid filled monster on stage, this act of rage elicits gasps. Hao tears off his tuxedo revealing a tattoo covered chest and a body that would make anyone drool. Turning to the audience he sees nothing but red. They saw his mistake, they saw him grow into this oafish form. He- he knows what he must do. A new song fills his mind.

Turning to the keyboard the ivories stain crimson as he begins to play a new song, one that demands the attention of every student and professor present for his recital. One that echoes through the lobbies and halls of the building. With every mellifluous note the tune fills them and begs they continue to mindlessly adore him, and as it continues they too begin to change. An erhu musician snaps his bow as Hao’s melody creeps into his practice room, staring confused at sheet music he’s barely able to read. Behind the curtains his assistant professor finds her himself wanting, needing more of his artistry as a problem he’s never had before begins to strain and lift his skirt. His judge in the audience forgets the notion that he should ever critique the stud’s work as it’s simply so clear there is nothing more to life than enjoying Hao’s presence and performance.

Flying above the Pacific Alex is already soaring past Hawaii by the time Hao takes his bow and bathes in the adoration of an audience truly handcrafted to laud him. Nearing the cafe that Nicky has hopefully not left, Alex finds himself with more than enough will to ignore the presumably final waves of transformation he flies above. An older man on Oahu dons a stetson and years just fall away as he becomes the white hat he always dreamed to be, some squirrely student in Baja California lights a syllabus ablaze as his uniform stretches to become tight leather gear as he begins a bear club where the university co-op once stood.

And then he’s flying over countryside he knows all too well, shooting past the city he circles back and spirals back down to earth for the final time. In his mind he sees the cafe as it sits now, mostly empty, Simon having dealt with whatever cyborgs, werewolves, and overly horny stock traders in the vague time passed. So too has he barred entry from any of the wandering patrons of Jirou Heroes and any of the other clearly wanting hordes lost to their lusts.

This of course does nothing to stop Alex as he pilots the energy back to the Talisman that cast it out. Ramming it straight through the chest of a catatonic Nicky, the glimmering Talisman clatters to the floor across the cafe, leaving a sound of laughter echoing through the heads of the three men present. World Peace. Foolish. Foolish. You think this over? Your will will continue to be enacted whether you change your sad little mind or not! You demand the world have peace and so it will! When every soul sings praise and plays fool to their most basal lusts and primal urges then, then there will be peace you whelps-

Nicky stirs, groaning. While Alex will certainly have words for sending him upon an odyssey across the world however this shakes out, the caster has clearly had his work cut out for him here. Simon looks at his boyfriend and nods, helping Nicky to wobbly feet as the so far unchanged man stumbles over to grab the talisman yet again. The blazing voice in their minds is muted as his hand covers the gem and Nicky ushers forth one more wish, a demand. “Give me the strength to destroy this.”

Until this moment his previous work has continued almost unabated despite the efforts of Alex and Nicky chasing and controlling from afar. Men and once women have continued to have their senses heightened and minds dulled to the end that they all may end up puppets of what or whomever pushed this artefact, this power unto Nicky. That they all might become Talismen themselves.

In fact perhaps even you were in the process of changing. Your mind numbing as you typed away at a spreadsheet, as you scrolled through social media, as you waited in line for lunch. Like a buzz the alien hunger began within you, slowly displacing your priorities, cancelling meetings, skipping class, hitting up clubs despite having work the next day. All the while your form begins to corrupt.

Perhaps you as you sat in a park noticed a strange itch under your collar as hair began to inch above your neckline and up the small of your back. Shorts straining as thighs bloat and a cock that isn’t even erect fills the crotch of your pants enough to burst then and there. Anxiety fills you, or it would, were shame a preoccupation of your lust filled mind. The same story goes for every person around as they too struggle to control the new beasts hanging from their waists.

You who midgame shivers as your screen flashes red before moments later tossing your setup across the room in a rage as your clothes no longer fit and your interests realign to fighting and fucking. As your shredded outfit reforms to the trademarked uniform of your favorite character, becoming a second skin to yourself just as much as them.

You students racing to complete last minute assignments in the library as books on shelves melt into liquor bottles and carpets stained with decades of spilled beer. Sidling up as you grow larger to get in with jocks who dizzily stumble as their muscular bodies compress to become those of hairless twinks, hungry to sample your new rod.

Is there something wrong with giving people what they so desire, turning them into something greater than what they are, what they could be? So what if they lose their minds, their genders, species, sentience? Are not some people made to be used already? What difference does it make if they do so as a person or object, plasticine skin is sure to last longer.

Nicky struggles to hold this all in his mind and ignore it, returning to the point of it all. He needs to stop this. He sees the world changing and stays the course. Changing himself into something, someone powerful enough to destroy the Talisman. His hand widens to completely hide the amulet in his palm, red beams of light struggling to pour through the cracks in his fingers.

Almost muted to even his own mind the Talisman cries out Nownownownow let’s just wait a minute! Surely you don’t want to give all this up, I mean c’mon now kid! There’s a flash as the first crack appears in the talisman’s gem, not strong enough yet Nicky grits his teeth and continues to grow, forcing all his might and attention towards silencing this voice that sounds increasingly like the shoddy wizard that foisted this accessory upon him. Dontcha wanna make the world better what happennnnd to thaaAAt!?

He grimaces and shoots up almost a foot in height as he forces his two fists together, he vibrates with the dispelling of this seemingly all-powerful object. NONONO! You don’t know what your doing just one more wiiiiIIII- And red dust falls from Nicky’s now brutish hands. He looks down with a sigh and takes in his new form, torn clothes scattered at feet bursted from his favorite shoes. Though even as he notices they begin to knit themselves back together and he realizes this clearly isn’t over.

Though not consciously his fault, as the man who began this impossible new world order, and one who clearly still exercises some limited control on reality he has quite the mess to clean up. There remain other, newly created artefacts scattered throughout the world that less than scrupulous people will be drooling to get their hands on, and no one knows how to fix this better than the two people who saw the world change. Simon’s moral support will also be gravely needed.

It takes quite some time for the world to even try to begin rebuilding. Though freed from the imposed shackles of lust thrust upon them by the Talisman, many who changed simply find themselves truly taken with the hedonistic lifestyles their new forms encourage. Despite whatever mustache twirling plot the amulet had in the end, many were indeed changed for the better after all. For now the trio simply travel the city, nation, and world to help clean up the most pressing loose ends and prevent another outbreak of transformative disaster. As to how successful they are to this end? Well, that is simply a story for another day.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #hair growth #reality change #personality change #racial change #muscle tf #straight to gay #masculinization

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nothomegal · 1 year ago

Text

"Flashing warnings"

Pyramid Head x GN Reader

Summary: you've been with the executioner for quite some time, enough for you to have your own special bond. You were his, and that fact alone was enough for the whole Silent Hill to avoid you, well aware of what they'll find out if they mess around. However, this little rule is unknown for any unfortunate newcomers that get trapped in this cursed town, and today you've met one of these newcomers... One would think, seeing monsters avoiding you like fire should be enough proof to do the same, but... Eh, some people are way too stubborn and blind.

Warnings: typical violence and gore, (Y/N) getting mistreated by meanies >:(

Word count: 2.9k

(Y/N) been sitting on this old matress for quite some time, they've already tried any possible sitting position yet non made the book they're reading more interesting.

Pyramid Head, or how they began to call him, 'Pyra', left to hunt and punish whatever soul putrid enough to get his attention. He's been gone a good amount of hours and they haven't heard a single sound of his in the distance, no metal scraping against the concrete at the distance or any screams of agony from his victim, nothing. How many hours it been? Three? Five? It's tough to tell, specially when this town knows no day/night cycles and it's always foggy. Even though they're not sure how long it been, they can tell it's the longest Pyra's been gone.

They switch into a laying position as they begin to think about what to do now. They could totaly go out and take a walk if they wanted, but they're concerned they'll end up bumping into the people Pyra is hunting. No, they won't get punished but they don't want to witness a literal slaughter neither, and whenever something (literaly anything) dares to interact with (Y/N), the pyramid headed beast seems to go wild of fury.

This is some very serious issolation, but (Y/N) became fine with it and Pyra is not as bad of a company as he initialy was. Feel him close to them, his big palm resting against their body as a reminder that he's there, the random noises that come out his helmet whenever he seems content or wants to get their attention... To be honest, these little things became more than enough at this point, and it's not like they've used to be the most social butterfly anyways. And even if they were... Well, arguing with Pyra is useless, he never budges, and if (Y/N) starts to get unreasonable or the argument goes nowhere, he simply brushes his togue across their face, purpously waiting for the moment their open their mouth. And ta-da! Argument solved since (Y/N) is too shocked and flustered to continue and Pyra simply let's out a deep and amused rumble.

(Y/N) chuckles to themselves at this memory, when it happened the first time the face they made was probably priceless, and the way Pyra allowed them to hide their face in his chest so the shame goes away... Sigh, they hope he returns soon.

The hairs on the back of their neck stood up when they began to hear the sound of numerous people run and hurriedly yellsomething to each other. (Y/N) of course panics a bit, and to avoid any possible interaction with the group of people they sneak into the corner of the room near the door, so if anyone of the group peeks inside they won't notice (Y/N) right away. It also seems like the people are running away from something, something that is not Pyra because of the lack of known bulky footsteps and scraping sounds.

Unfortunately, their little plan went town the drain when the group of around five man bursted through the old door and attempted to close it, while the creature outside of it was desperately slaming itself against the wooden surface. (Y/N) turned completely still as they shrunk in their place, internally hoping that due to the intense moment these people wouln't notice then and would simply brush off their form as some inanimate object.

Unfortunately, one of the men did noticed them.

—"Hey Dave, there's another one hidin' over he-"—

The man couldn't finish the sentence as the creature from the other side managed to burst through the door, throwing the men on the ground in the process. Some of them stumble back, others pull out their weapons and point at the creature, who resulted to be a monster known as ‘Slurper’, take a guess why it's called that. Not the most difficult creature to deal with but definitely the trickiest, it’s very fast and definitely can handle or dodge some shots and hits from the group.

The monster crawls inside of the room, it’s elongated face making some slurping noises as drool and blood drips from its mouth. But the beast suddenly freezes mid-step, and very slowly and subtly turns it’s head towards (Y/N), making the men look at them as well. The monster suddenly lets out a whine, similar to that of a dog, and practically runs away at high speed, completely terrified.

The group stare at the door in shock, their mouth gaping a bit. (Y/N) remains stiff, their knees pressed to their chest as they think what to do now. The answer comes when one of the man, who seems to be the leader, stands up and starts walking towards them, his expression indescifrable, but his gaze definitely holding malice.

So (Y/N) jumps to their feet as fast as they could and make a run through the doorway and down the hallway. They can hear the group yell something as they chase them, their voices angry and irritated, which only motivated them to keep running since it’s now clear that these people weren’t kind at all.

Things turn significantly worse when they get grabbed by the back of their clothes and then tackled down on the floor, the impact was rough and quite painful which made (Y/N) release a pained whine. The man above them grabs a good chunk of their hair and presses their head agains the dirty and cold floor as he looks at them.

—“The fuck was that? How did you do it?!”— he exclaims strictly, his tone demanding.

—“D-Did what?… S-Scaring the- the monster th-thing?”— you nervously reply, your voice a bit shaky. —“I-It’s not really me, it’s the being tha-that ‘owns’ me.”—

(Y/N) knew they sound like they’re crazy, like they’re out of their mind, but it’s the best way they can explain their unusual situation. It is true, the executioner practically owns them, he has the power to claim and to keep them with him, to keep anyone and anything away from something his, to keep them eternally by his side, his and no one else's.

As expected, the man on top of them only scrunched his face with confusion and disgust, definitely thinking that (Y/N) is just another crazy ex-resident of this hellish town.

—“Yeah… Right.”— he slowly says.

—“Mathew, do you still have the tape? Bring it.”—

A clear sound of a duct tape being unwrapped made them shiver, uh-oh, they’re in a big-time problem. They attempt to wiggle out and keep running, but the man above them slams their head agains the floor.

—“Keep it still bitch, we just want to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you.”— he grumbles angrily and slams your head again.

(Y/N) could feel blood start dripping from their nose. Being forced to calm down since these men clearly aren't fooling around and are not afraid to hurt them if they need, they relax and allow another one to tape their wrists together behind their back, as well as their ankles.

—“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, the executioner will not have mercy…”— you comment, not even bothering to elaborate, knowing that these people are dead meat already.

—“Pff, executioner. If you’re of his property, then why were you in that room just chillin’ all by yourself?”— another man asks.

—“Because he can allow himself to do it, and because any smart creature knows to not fuck around me because of what they’ll found out.”— you say, your tone a bit sassier by the end.

—“Any smart creature, huh?”— the man that was on top of you suddenly grabs you by the throat. —“In my understanding, a smart creature will learn to shut the fuck up, I could easily cut your tongue off right now if I wanted but not sure if that will affect whatever effect you have on the monsters, so I'll give you one last chance to remain quiet, understood? You farm animal.”—

The grip on (Y/N)‘s throat was tight and it was hard to breathe, the male’s eyes were dark and cold, no hesitation in them as he said these threats, definetely not the first time he makes them. Believing his words, (Y/N) nods hurriedly as the lack of oxygen began to affect them. The man grins and let go of them roughly, basically throwing their body on the floor.

—“Aight, who’s going to carry their ass?”—

The men discuss for a short moment, until agreeing that the biggest one of them should do it. Ones everything was sorted out and (Y/N) was being manhandled in his grasp, the group resumed their walking.

The men were shocked, some of them even got smug, at the way the creatures avoided them now. What’s that? A monster does have guts to attack? A single sound or movement from (Y/N) was enough to set the creature from fight into flight. Each time something run away, the men would laugh and cackle loudly, clearly feeling like they've beat the system and are some sort of untouchable beings.

Silly bastards, they don’t know what awaits them.

It’s unclear how long they’ve been roaming around, but it was long enough for the group to get lost, again, and decide to take a rest. The man carrying (Y/N) carelessly (throws) puts them on the ground, face first, as the rest settle down as well. Non of the five bothered to talk or acknowledge (Y/N), though sometimes they would throw some random questions at them, but of course they'd never been able to finish the answer since one of the five would end up rudly interrupting them.

At some point (Y/N) began to ignore them, aware that they're nothing but a gag to these people. The youngest of the group seemed a bit pissed at being ignored, so he stands up and walks towards (Y/N)'s lying form, who was still paying no mind, and out of nowhere kicks them hard on their stomach, making the air inside of them leave in a violent exhale.

—"You talk and look at us when we speak to you."—

They say nothing, still trying to regain their breath. The man above them sighs and rolls his eyes before crouching down and grabbing them by their hair, to posteriorly pull them to their knees.

—"Listen sugar, just because you scare away the crap that lives here, it means shit to us. You're fuckin' helpless and at our mercy, so you do and act as told and when is told, understood?"—

Before (Y/N) could do anything, a sudden deafening roar resonated through the whole building and from an unknown direction. The noise similar to some huge unknown beast fiercely howling through something metallic. A shiver of anticipation ran through (Y/N)’s spine, Pyra must’ve found their drops of blood and figured out what happened, and now he’s on his way to take them back.

The other five noticeably tensed up and frantically looked around, as if trying to locate the creature through the walls...

Walls.

(Y/N)'s gaze was already focused on one of he walls, knowing that their lover would't waste his time in searching for an entrance. The man, who's still holding them by their hair, slowly drags his gaze to the same wall.

—"Guys..."— he says uneasily.

—"Yes, we heard that too, dumbass."— one of the other four hisses back.

—"No, guys, get away from the fuckin- "—

A loud crashing sound resonated behind the mentioned surface, followed by the well known heavy footsteps and scraping of metal. The other four quickly get behind the fifth and (Y/N), who was currently having the brightest grin on their face, relieved that he came for them.

—"{The fuck was that?!}"— one of the males yells half whispers to you.

—"That?"— you let a little hum as you close your eyes and look away so the dust doesn't get directly into your face. —"That is the reason why everything in here avoids me."— you say with the calmest tone possible.

—"Wha- "—

Another loud crash and a huge wave of dust cut off his question completely. While the dust was still on the air, the previous heavy footsteps were quickly approaching, making the floor shake with each step. When the men saw the silhouette of this massive unknown creature they paniced, since it showed no hits of stopping, quite the opposite actually. The one, that been holding (Y/N), pushes them roughly forward without thinking, actin on some desperate instinct.

—"Here! Take them instead!"—

The five were ready to run, but got stopped by their own shock when the monster reached out and caught (Y/N) before they fall on the ground. It was still hard to see what exactly the beast did, due to the still thick layer of dust, but the sudden loud and deep metallic growl that the beast let out was enough for them to defrost and set into running. They don't get too far though, since their legs get suddenly caught and tangled into a bunch of rusty wires and thorns coming out of the floor, whick held them still and cut their soft flesh with the mildest movement.

A small chill jolted through (Y/N) at the sight of the mysterious thorns. They knew it was Pyra's doing, he rarely used that hability of his and they learned that he only uses it when he's trully pissed. And he wasn't just that, he was livid. The sight of bruises on (Y/N)'s neck from the previous grab really railed the monster up, just how dares that filty mortal touch and mark something his? Only he has the privilege to touch (Y/N), to hold them, to look at them, to hear their voice and all the things they say in that calm and sweet tone they always use when they're happy... Just how dare they attempt to take all of this away from him? The executioner.

The monster tears the tape off (Y/N)'s wrists and ankles before putting them down, his movements a bit rough due his agitation yet he did his best to keep it under control.

He then rises to his full height, sword in hand, and slowly walks towards the group. The closer he got, the more desperate the man acted, pulling their legs out of the sharp wire-mess just for it to tangle around their limb even tighter.

The beast's first target was the youngest one, the one who had the guts to hold (Y/N) by their hair and threaten them, Pyra really didn't like that one.

The male has no time to even inhale to start begging, as the monster simply cuts him in half with his sword. (Y/N) of course didn't want to see the gore that is about to happen, so they carefuly and quietly leave the room through the hole their beast of a man made durning his enrance. The last thing they've seen before leaving was Pyra practically tearing one of the man up apart like paper, going specially slow to inflict even more pain.

(Y/N) is unsure how long it took Pyra to finish them, they simply remained sitted on the floor with their legs pressed against their chest and covering their ears to silence the screams and the wet gory sounds of muscles and bones breaking. They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly pulled up by a pair of large arms and is pressed agains a broad torso. Pyra held (Y/N) in this posessive embrace for quite a while, the mildes movement from them would make the beast growl and press them even closer.

(Y/N) however, still attempted to soothe their lover by gently nuzzling agains his chest and rub it with their hand.

—"I am so sorry..."— you apologize, though you both knew it wasn't really your fault. —"I was just hanging out in that room we've been before, and... And these people entered there while running away from another beast, and- "—

They couldn't finish the explanation since Pyra suddenly shoved their face further into his chest, muffing the rest of their little rant. The action, which embarassed (Y/N) a bit, also made them understand that their lover doesn't need any excuses or explanations, he's content to have them back and unharmed. They sigh softly and eventually relax in his grasp and going practically rag doll, in response and after some time, Pyra's body also relaxed a bit, yet his grip on (Y/N) remained strong and firm like iron, refusing to let go.

—"Pyra."— you manage to move yout head just enough to say it.

A low grumble resonated from his helmet and chest, though it didn't sound hostile, more like his version of 'hhmm?'.

—"I love you, thank you for being around."— you say honestly, as you move just enough to reach his neck area and kiss the little skin exposed between his clothes and helmet.

The little sweet gesture was answered with a low purr as Pyra's large hands roam around their body for a bit, caressing and feeling each curve through their clothes. The touches weren't suggestive surprisingly, which meant that this affection was genuine and not the product of his monstrous lust towards them.

They both stay like this for a while longer, (Y/N) saying and whispering things in a soft tone that Pyra absolutely adored to hear, and he kept holding them against himself, pawing their body time to time just to feel them more. Their warmth, their pulse, their breathing...

To feel them.

To feel them being all H̸̫̥͙̮͍̮͋͑Ḯ̴͓̦̻͈̜͍̇̃͋͠S̴͖̘̍̓̉̑.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

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capquinn · 2 months ago

Note

Does Quinn do elf on a shelf with Bug and Cub?

girl, you can bet on dad!quinn taking his role as elf on the shelf co-coordinator with the utmost seriousness. like, truly — he’ll be treating this like it’s a full-time job with a performance review at the end lmao

“Okay,” he mutters, crouching on the floor and studying the tiny elf with an intensity that could rival his game tape analysis. “What if we set up a zip line? Between the bookshelf and the tree? They’d think that’s cool, right?”

You try to stifle your laugh, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “A zip line? You realise you’re talking about a kid who lost her mind last year when the elf just sat in a bowl of marshmallows?”

“Exactly,” he says, looking up at you with that boyish grin that still makes your stomach flip, even after all these years. “We’ve gotta step it up this year. Bug’s smart. She’s going to start asking questions if we don’t bring our A-game. Plus, it’s Cub’s first Christmas. He deserves something special.”

“Oh, our A-game?” you tease, quirking an eyebrow. “This feels a lot like your game plan. I’m just here to make sure you don't go completely overboard.”

Quinn scoffs, picking up the elf and turning it in his hands like it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Overboard? I’m not the one who suggested having him write notes in icing last year.”

“Okay, first of all,” you point a finger at him, “that was adorable. Second of all, it was your idea to have him spill the sprinkles everywhere.”

“True,” he concedes, but the glimmer in his eye says he isn’t done brainstorming.

By the time you both finish setting up for the night, the elf is precariously perched on a zip line Quinn had insisted was the perfect length — stretching from the bookshelf, past the twinkling Christmas tree, and down to the TV cabinet. The elf itself? Nestled in a repurposed Easter basket at the end of the line, surrounded by a chaotic tumble of candy canes as if they'd crash-landed in spectacular fashion.

“This is good,” Quinn says, stepping back and crossing his arms as he admires the handiwork. “It’s believable.”

You snort. “Believable? It’s an elf on a zip line, Quinn.”

But even you have to admit, it's fantastic. The candy canes, the tiny basket, the zip line stretching across the room — it's chaotic and whimsical and perfect. Bug is surely going to lose her mind, and Cub — well, he might not fully understand what’s happening, but you just know he’s going to be wrapped up in his sister’s energy, his tiny hands clapping and his little laugh bubbling up as he mirrors her excitement — and honestly, you can't wait to see their little faces.

And so the next morning arrives, and Bug’s shriek of delight breaks the stillness, and she’s off like a shot, her little feet pounding against the floor as she charges into the living room.

“He’s flying!” she exclaims, her voice an awed whisper by the time she reaches the elf. Her hands hover over her mouth as she stares at the zip line, her excitement bubbling over into giggles.

Cub trails behind her, still mastering the art of crawling, his chubby hands slapping against the floor with determination. He babbles loudly, clearly swept up in Bug’s enthusiasm even though he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening. When he finally reaches the Easter basket at the end of the zip line, his tiny fingers curl around a stray candy cane with the single-minded focus only a baby can muster.

“No, Cubby!” Bug gasps, darting forward and shielding the basket like her life depends on it. “You can’t touch him! He’s doing his elf job!”

Quinn appears just in time, crouching down to scoop Cub into his arms before he has a chance to undo all his handiwork.

“Whoa, buddy,” he says with a soft laugh, lifting Cub high into the air and eliciting a delighted squeal. “The elf’s got important work to do. No sabotage today.”

Bug tugs on Quinn’s sweatpants, her expression solemn, her wide eyes darting between him and the elf.

“Daddy, did he really fly here? Like… magic?”

Quinn lowers himself to her level, balancing Cub on his hip as the baby grabs at his hoodie string. “Absolutely,” he says, his tone serious, though the twinkle in his eye betrays him. “Do you think I could’ve set up something this cool? That’s all elf magic.”

Bug’s mouth drops open, her hands clasping dramatically in front of her chest as she whispers, “he's the best.” Her awe is palpable, her gaze glued to the tiny elf perched on the string.

Cub, meanwhile, has no patience for elves. His hands pat Quinn’s chest insistently, demanding attention with a flurry of babbles. Quinn leans his forehead gently against Cub’s, his voice soft as he whispers, “don’t worry, Cub. You’ll figure it out next year.”

You lean against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile tugging at your lips. Bug turns to you, bouncing slightly on her toes.

“Mommy! Do you see? He’s so cool!”

“I see him, Bug,” you say, stepping closer to circle an an arm around Quinn’s waist, leaning into him. “Looks like the elf pulled out all the stops last night.”

Quinn tilts his head, brushing it lightly against yours. “Told you the zip line was genius,” he murmurs, his voice low and smug, though the warmth in his gaze softens the teasing. He nudges you lightly with his hip, the playful gesture drawing a quiet laugh from you.

Bug grabs his free hand, her eyes alight with anticipation. “Daddy, do you think he’ll do something even cooler tomorrow?”

Quinn glances at you, sharing a small smile like it’s your own little secret, before turning back to Bug.

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” he says, his tone full of playful assurance, giving your hip another gentle nudge as if to say, we’ve got this.

#he'd 100% send you ideas when he's on the road too and ask for video reactions since he can't be there <3 #dad!quinn #capquinn’s requests #capquinn's writing #quinn hughes x reader #quinnmas

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cheeseceli · 11 months ago

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We cry together

Pairing: Idol Hyunjin × non Idol Gn!Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, drabble

Request: Can I request reader who’s an en empath and when she senses that hyunjin has been sad lately she starts crying and then that makes hyunjin cry too and finally open up to her about what’s wrong😭🩷

Warnings: none I can think of

A/n: I think you requested this like last year💀 I'm sorry for taking so long but hopefully you'll like it!

Hyunjin hasn't been himself lately, and you knew that better than anyone else.

His eyes were darker than usual, like he was feeling tired all the time. He'd barely joke around anymore or do his dramatic antics. You knew he wasn't being his normal self, however you didn't know why.

"I'm fine, don't worry" was his usual response to any approach you'd have. Just like now. A whole week had passed and he still was walking around like a zombie - a zombie who'd always fake a smile to try to make you feel a little bit relieved.

You didn't know what else to do. You tried to talk just to hear lies about how he was feeling alright. You tried to comfort him just to realise that he was wearing a barrier around him. You tried to be there for him just to realise that he himself wasn't there, nor anywhere. He was so inside his mind that the real world was inexistent to him.

With this dilemma inside your mind, the whole day had already passed and it was time to bid goodbye. He didn't look at you though, and his "goodnight" was such a whisper that you doubt he meant to say that at all.

Now that's a funny thing about loving someone. You don't only have feelings for them, you have their feelings. If they are happy you're gonna share their smiles. If they are angry you're gonna share their screams. And if they are sad, even if you don't exactly know the reason, you're bound to share their tears.

So when you hug Hyunjin as a farewell, you can't help but cry. You didn't mean to, but the more you cried the more helpless you felt and just tried to find comfort in your lover by hugging him tighter, hoping that you wouldn't disturb him. However, your sobs made Hyunjin come back to earth and back to you.

"Love?" he asked with a soft voice "are you crying?"

You didn't reply at first. Oh, how embarrassing it was to cry like that for no apparent reason. But Hyunjin took your face in his hands and looked at you with the kindest eyes to ever exist. It was the first time in the whole week that he looked at you properly. You didn't realise how much you missed it.

"What happened?"

"I should be the one asking this, Hyunjin. You've been weird for God knows how long and you refuse to tell me what's wrong."

A mixture of confusion and guilt showed up in his eyes before he dried your face with his thumb "You're crying because of me?"

You smiled. Not because you found it funny, but because you couldn't believe the situation itself.

"I just... I just want you to know that you can trust me. I'm here. For whatever you may need or want. Even if I can't solve the problem, I hope that at least we can cry together."

Hyunjin hugged you closer before you could see his tears forming. It was kinda contradicting, really. But for Hyunjin, the way you were already crying together ended up solving the problem in his head, at least for enough time for him to breathe again.

"Do you think I could sleep here tonight?" His voice was a little bit muffled, his face in the crook of your neck, but his words resonated in your skin. You felt he was little to little coming back to life.

"Of course. Why's that?"

"I wanna trust you tonight. I'll tell you everything. Just let me be here with you, please."

"Always."

Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

Dividers by @enchanthings

#celi drabbles #stray kids #skz fluff #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin angst #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin #is it too obvious that the end was rushed 💀

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gfmima · 2 years ago

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c. ルーロック | blue lock + f!reader t. solving the big question of “what are we?”

reo was dumbfounded. “uh… what do you mean? you’re my girlfriend.”

he shifted his weight against the doorframe of his bedroom, nimble fingers run through his disheveled locks. the gesture mirrors his current state of mind, a habit of his whenever he needed to make sense of a situation he couldn’t understand.

“woah, hold up, i’m your girlfriend?!” he can hear the heavy tinge of disbelief in your voice, the slight tremor in your tone had assured him that you weren’t playing an unfunny prank on him or toying with his emotions.

is he dreaming? what the hell is happening?

his confusion reaches ten-fold. the expression worn spoke a thousand words, the intensity of his gaze was familiar, it mimicked the same face he made whenever he had to cram through his taxation homework. if you took a snapshot of him in this moment, you could edit it to be a reaction meme his friends can laugh over.

“are you sure you’re not my girlfriend?” you nod at him then say, “i think i’d know if i had a boyfriend or not.”

how can you say such a thing when he’d been by your side for months on end? he was rendered speechless. he walked you to class, spent the night at your dorm and vice-versa, and shared countless meals with you. he even introduced you to his parents, a gesture that held weight since it’d take a miracle to sneak himself into their busy schedules.

“are you sure you’re sure ‘cuz this makes no sense? what do you mean you’re not my girlfriend?” he shoots an inquisitive look, brow raised in curiosity.

“for one, you never asked me to be your girlfriend, reo? you didn’t even confess that you felt this way about me…”

wait, what?

he inwardly retraces his steps in search for any memory of a confession. seconds pass then a minute and his face turned red with embarrassment and frustration.

he drew a blank.

“oh...” wearing a sheepish grin, he scratched the nape of his neck. “would you like to be my girlfriend then?”

when people thought of you and nagi, the status of ‘friends’ would be the last to come to mind. any person with working vision can see the dynamic of your relationship went beyond the borders of platonic, there was a connection that ran deeper. his concern for you and your well-being surpass what was expected out of him as your friend.

the term itself proves to be inadequate, to them at least.

it failed to capture the extent of your feelings for each other, the unspoken words exchanged, the stolen glances, and the unyielding longing for one another.

after all, just friends don’t send “good morning” and “good night” texts on a daily basis; just friends don’t gingerly kiss each other on the cheek as a greeting; just friends don’t experience a twinge of disappointment and bitterness when one of them goes on a date; just friends don’t embrace one another a little longer than necessary; and just friends don’t feel their hearts skip a beat at the sight of the other’s smile and and the sound of the other’s laughter.

most of all, just friends don’t cuddle in the way you two did. and that fact lingers in the air between you. lightly nudging him, you hope to rouse a answer from him. instead he gives you an annoyed groan, and an even louder one escapes after he heard your question.

“tired, mostly sleepy.”

“i’m being serious! what are we?” tone laced with a touch of playfulness. a stream of consciousness flickered in his eyes, momentarily breaking through his fatigue. a coy grin tugs at the corner of his lips, as the grogginess melts away, and replaces his initial annoyance.

nagi draws your body close to his chest then wraps his arm around your torso, enveloping you in a warm hold. his voice, softened by his affection for you, murmurs near your ear, “we’re… whatever you want us to be.” he tucks his chin over your shoulder then looks up and meets your gaze. “happy?”

#nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo x reader #blue lock x reader #blk x reader

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ribbonskiss · 28 days ago

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ANOTHER ROUND -> CS55

Part 2 of 3. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: A spontaneous night out alone lands you in a new bar in town, owned by a man whose story seems to intersect with yours—not that you know it, yet.

Tags: strangers to lovers, meet cute, very angsty in this part!, slow burn, multi-part fic

A/N: thank you to the anon who suggested some angst for this story, you will be very happy to know that I’ve ended up incorporating your idea into it ☺️ andddd as it turns out this will be a three-parter at the very least! I probably won’t be able to update it as fast as I have been so I hope you do enjoy this part haha

Things get easier and more comfortable after that night, but not as comfortable as you’d like. You eventually meet Alex, Charles’ girlfriend, when she shows up at the bar one night after a particularly gruelling day working. As it turns out, she’s an art gallerist, one with a busy workweek as she’s built up an impressive portfolio of artists that entrust her with their works and careers, and you get along surprisingly well. She promises to come by more often now that she knows you’re a regular, prompting Charles to pout and moan that she no longer loves him. And that’s that; you feel like you’ve solved the puzzle of Charles Leclerc. He’s a charming man in a steady relationship with a strong woman, and even if you don’t know the details of his life, you feel like you understand who he is.

But there’s something about Carlos. Carlos is warm, sweet and kind. You speak for hours easily, he attends to you as much as possible even when the bar is ridiculously busy, and you stay until it’s time to close much more often. He’s an open book. He speaks to you freely but you can’t help but feel like there’s so much you don’t know yet, so much you’ve yet to discover. Maybe he needs time; in that case, you’re more than willing to wait. It feels like it’s worth it.

It’s not so bad, either, if this is the waiting period. The car rides become more frequent. Carlos drives you home now like it’s just a fact of life that he has to, and you greatly appreciate that. You quickly discover, however, that by the end of the night he is often too tired to make steady conversation. You exchange a few words in the beginning, thanking each other for one another’s company; you exchange a few strange sentences, ones that blur the lines between customer and bartender or even acquaintance and acquaintance. One night he tells you the colour of your dress makes your eyes look like gemstones set in rings of silver; another night you tell him you’ve noticed he makes a face when an obstacle presents itself to him: his eyebrows furrow slightly, jaw drops loose and tilts to one side, the tip of his tongue poking slightly, gently at the corner of his mouth.

Then the words dry up. The silence is goosebump inducing at first; you are terrified that it could be an indicator of his true feelings for you, ones of disinterest and apathy. That these interactions, the conversations and car rides, are conditional and transactional. But the silence prevails, and what a relief it turns out to be—when the words subside, what is left is a common language of action. Carlos never ceases being attentive to you. He rolls the window down when he notices you pulling a face, letting the fresh air in to soothe you. He turns the music on, skips to a track that seems to make your eyes light up. And then, your favourite part of these car rides: when he stops at a red light, you begin a game of stolen glances, the objective of it being to not get caught by the other despite both of you being plainly aware of what is really happening. Cheeks warm, lips curl up into sly smiles concealed by the darkness of the night. And how wonderful it is, when the rare word is finally spoken before you leave his car.

“You may not understand,” he says. “But I’m most grateful for this—this time of the night we have, together.”

Surely he understands, then, why this would hurt you so much. There was no way to anticipate this. It had never dawned on you until now that Carlos had made no mention of his love life to you—and of course, you feel like a fool.

He’s made you look like a right fool.

You don’t even make it inside. You stand outside, hovering over the glass of the shop window as you watch the woman cross her legs and lean over the counter, looking at Carlos with a twinkle in her eye in your seat. He treats her with the same kind of attentiveness he does with you, and watching it in action now as he smiles at her fondly reveals to you a certain mechanical quality. Was it always this rehearsed with you? You can’t really think straight, ankles wobbly as the night breeze blows and Carlos pours her another glass of wine.

You feel a cold, awful shiver run down your spine and fill your stomach with a terrible feeling of sickness. But then Alex emerges from the bathroom a second later and spots you outside, looking rather distraught. She walks past the bar, gives Charles a look of concern as she recognises the situation at hand, the woman monopolising Carlos’ time and attention, before bolting out the door to you. She doesn’t know what to say. She just yanks your handbag out of your hand, puts it on the ground and pulls you into a hug.

Charles comes running out the door soon after, halting to a stop as he sees Alex has already come to comfort you. You’re not crying, it’s not that serious, and being this upset even is such an incredible overreaction, you think to yourself. He sighs, turning back and forth between the two tableaux that have transpired in and out of the bar.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he starts.

Alex pulls her head off of your shoulder. “Yeah,” she nods. “It’s… It’s complicated.”

Your stomach twists as you realise they’ve only come to bat for him. You pull away from her, coldly breaking the embrace. Alex frowns, looking at you with soft eyes. “I should be leaving now,” you say.

She reaches out, tugs on your hand. “No. It’s really, really not what it looks like. It’s—Charles?”

Her boyfriend comes bolting towards where the two of you are, offering you an apologetic look as he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Charles lets out a huff that draws out for longer than you expect. “None of us like it,” he says. “It’s… It’s only Carlos’ story to tell. Neither of us know everything.”

“He’s sort of always been hesitant to talk about that,” Alex nods. “About his relationships. But it at least seems like it was only her, for a very long time.”

Charles sighs again.

“It was bad,” he continues. “Very, very bad for him. She is… not good for him. She left when he was thinking about quitting. She would wait for him outside our work and they’d just start going at it, arguing the moment he got off work. And he did quit, and she left for a while, but now…”

“It’s not love,” Alex shakes her head. “So don’t break away, if you can be so gracious. I know it’s selfish to ask, but with Matador and you and everything that’s been going on in his life now…”

Charles comes even closer, puts a hand on where Alex’s is holding onto yours. “He’s become vibrant,” he says, smiling bitterly. “I can’t tell you what he’s thinking, but Carlos has changed.”

You’ve been holding in your breath for god knows how long. You let out a belated, deep breath, and it feels painful in the cold air to breathe this deeply. You look at them with eyes that don’t signal anything good, and before any words can even leave your parted lips explaining how conflicted and awful you feel right now, Alex nods. The couple look at each other, before turning back to you with a look of complete understanding.

“It was a big ask,” Charles says. “I get it. But thank you, anyway, and I hope we’ll see you again.”

He mutters something to Alex, holds her hand fondly and kisses her on the cheek before giving you a final nod and retreating into the bar. But his girlfriend stays, holding your hand still as her thumb rubs circles into the back of it.

“I can’t say anything definitive,” she murmurs, still smoothing her thumb over your skin. “I can’t say I have heard any evidence of this. But words can fail us, anyway, and I have seen better evidence. I have seen it, and I know what I saw. Whatever it is you have… it is true. But it’s your choice, babe. Your choice.”

In the corner of your eye, Carlos has long abandoned his station, watching the situation outside of his own bar unravel in front of his eyes. And it makes him feel sick, having to watch you fall apart. Now it becomes crystal clear to him, and Charles, who is watching from afar, what is happening. Well, it’s too little, too late.

You can’t help but feel like this is some sort of divine punishment for having been led astray. You had forgotten what it feels like; you weren’t even aware it was happening. The realisation only happens way after it creeps up on you, the realisation that you’ve been behaving inexplicably irrationally. In the end, it has resulted in very little. So what if he drives you home? So what if he looks at you a certain way? It means nothing—or it meant nothing to him. How shamefully you’ve behaved. You can barely deal with the weight of it.

You stumble out of bed the morning after when daylight streams through your curtains. As much as it pains you to admit it, the night before has certainly dampened your spirits for this weekend. Saturday is joyless, spent mostly lying down on your couch in silence. The worst thing you could have done for yourself is overthink it, and that is exactly what you do, overthink every interaction you have ever had with him, and the worst part is you don’t even come to a satisfying conclusion. It would be so gratifying in a way to end with the sentiment that none of it was ever real, to allow yourself to feel that tragedy and sweep it away by Monday, but you are far too aware that the truth may not be so catastrophic. And that’s much worse; that things may be complicated, too complex for you to understand now, and all you can do is wade in the water and wait. Wait for a conclusion that may never come.

It consumes you in ways you did not realise. It is bizarrely feverish and ails you in more ways than one. You clutch at your stomach, nauseated by the scenes that replay in your head on loop, scenes of her and him together, her in your seat, how he looked at her and she looked at him, how she leaned closer and over the counter. Your head is pounding, chest tightening as your heart becomes heavy.

It won’t be permanent. Heartache is not chronic. You choose to believe it will come and go like a cold, or the flu if it chooses to persist for longer, that eventually you will survive it and return to your old ways. You have a steady job, a comfortable home, you’ve even gotten good friends out of this whole thing. Losing Carlos is not a net negative. The way it is now, it can only end so many ways. You can sit and let it simmer, or you could take it into your own hands and cast it out of your life before it can hurt you more. You can forget about it. Soon he will mean nothing to you, and these visions of them together will subside and disappear. And then life will be normal again.

You can’t say you won’t miss the whirlwind of emotions all of this has come with. It has been a while since you’ve felt so much, so deeply, and you’ve forgotten how much it overwhelms all your senses. You haven’t been dating for around three years at this point, after your last relationship… Well, it wasn’t so much that it crashed and burned; it fizzled out slowly, an emotional deadlock that culminated in him cheating on you. You didn’t cry then, and you’re certainly not starting now, when you’re reaching for your phone to delete Carlos’ number from your contacts.

Before you can, though, a notification pings. Alex wants to get coffee with you. ‘An apology for the trainwreck that was yesterday.’ Today is too soon. ‘I was going to say we should do it tomorrow, anyway.’ Okay, then it’s locked in. You’re having coffee with her tomorrow.

“I swear, on my mother’s life,” she says, hand on her heart while the other clutches her coffee cup. “I had no idea she was there.”

You’re sitting in a little café with Alex, where the oven stays on in the kitchen as they continue to warm their croissants and pastries for the day, the heat radiating to fill the entire space. It’s very cosy, and it smells lovely, like sugar and vanilla. “She came while I was in the bathroom,” Alex continues. “Didn’t even have time to wipe my hands on the paper towels, fuck me.”

You’ve always loved how blunt she is, and it does make you chuckle, a welcome sound that seems to lighten her up too. “I just want you to know that I’m on your side,” she says. “I’ve known Carlos for a long time, sure, but over the weeks we’ve become…”

“I know,” you nod. “I get it. You’re my friend. And I don’t really wanna let go of this just because I’m letting go of the other things.”

“Yeah,” she nods back at you, smiling now. “Exactly. And hey, you don’t have to see Charles ever again, honestly, I can keep him out of our business completely—”

“It’s fine,” you snicker softly, taking a sip of your coffee. “He’s an innocent bystander. He’s safe.”

“Oof, okay, thank god,” she sighs in relief. “Sorry, he’s quite clingy and I know I did offer but I really wouldn’t have known how to get rid of him.”

For an hour more you stay, eventually ordering yourself a Danish as you chat with her about other things, about work, life, the shoes you’ve had in your online shopping cart for way too long (“absolutely fucking not, their sales are total bullshit!”). It feels good to move on, to know you’ve got a safety net when things take a turn. You really are grateful for her, and you’re so glad she took the initiative to reach out and comfort you. Life, as it turns out, will be okay, and you will move on.

But maybe not just yet.

“I’ve been trying to negotiate a price between the two of them but they’re just so stubb—”

Alex halts to a stop mid-sentence. Her eyes drift above your head and out the window, widening before furrowing in confusion. “Sorry,” she says, getting up from her seat hastily. “Just, one minute.”

She bolts out the door, coat flowing in the wind as she runs over to someone, speaks to them in what is seemingly an antagonistic, interrogating tone. Your eyes trail her all the way to him, a meek, hesitant man who seems not so certain of himself either, but insists on whatever his objective is to her as they continue to argue with exaggerated motions.

You recognise those eyes under the cap he’s wearing. He’s looking much scruffier now, more worn out and exhausted. It’s Carlos.

This is admittedly not proofread 😅 so sorry for any mistakes! As always, please feel free to leave any thoughts, ideas and suggestions in my askbox. All my love <3

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic

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