#not counted in my current 15-page page count | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluesidez · 2 months ago

Text

Gym Rat Miguel Part 15

content warning: more angst, mentions of food, mentions of underage drinking and recreational drug use, some suggestive convos but nothing too crazy

word count: 6.4k (@slushycoookie thee wife, thee beta 🩵)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

“Does it show anything different?”

“Will you give me a second?”

GymRat!Miguel who was currently sitting at his desk, bouncing his leg while he waited for Tempest to tell him something good.

“It’s honestly looking like the same thing from last night. And the week before. And the week before that,” she deadpans through the phone.

Miguel turned and pressed his lips to his palm.

His call list was a constant cycle between his friends back home and Gabriel, but mostly Tempest, who has taken the role of checking for any updates from you online.

So far, all he’s gotten out of this was pain. You’ve completely removed anything that involved him from your pages. No anniversary pics, no highlights, no emojis in your bio to refer to him. From how Tempest put it, this was a huge deal.

“Look,” Miguel slumped as he geared himself up to listen to the same speech she’d been repeating. “I know you don��t want to hear this- don’t make that face! - but I think it’s time to give up or try something new.”

“It’s been forever.”

“If your definition of forever is a little over two weeks, then sure!”

“I just thought that,” he paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“That she would bend at your will? You’re cute, but not that cute.”

“No, that’s not- Temp,” Miguel whined. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She snorted, “Uh huh. Which is why we’re stalking her page like weirdos.”

“If the roles were flipped, I would be doing the same for you. I have done the same for you.”

“Touché.”

Miguel remembered Tempest spiraling over girls she thought was the one, the two of them huddled up over the phone watching as they all moved onto the next.

He sat beside her and reminded himself never to get this way. He perked up like a flower soaking up the sun every time there was an inch of hope, which truly rivaled how Tempest acted.

“I was just thinking that today would be different. Maybe she would think about me today.”

The thought sits in the air, Tempest’s face shifting to one of sad understanding.

“Not trying to feed your delusions, but maybe she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Miguel looked at the screen, a tiny bit optimistic.

“But in all fairness, I wouldn’t want anyone on my page who I thought committed one of the most cruel offenses. I would want to forget everything. You have to see this from her side too.”

Tempest was right, a common state when it came to their friendship. It didn’t stop that ugly rust of selfishness that crowded his heart.

He feels like he’s crying out for you, and you don’t care. A year of being together meant nothing to you.

Saying that out loud was insane, though. It didn’t align with how hurt you looked.

So, he’s been internally fighting the feeling, going from understanding to upset and back again.

“Have you talked to Xina at all?”

“She’s only keeping our conversations about school. And acting like nothing happened.”

“She’s probably embarrassed,” Tempest said. “She got caught this time and doesn’t know what to do.”

“Apologizing could be a start.”

“And that requires admitting she was wrong in the first place, so if you get that, let me know so I can mark the day. I’ll even make a t-shirt.”

The sigh that left Miguel was strong enough to irritate Tempest’s speakers.

He wanted to talk to her about the situation again, but it was like talking with a brick wall. It reminded him of when he snapped at her for constantly hitting him when they were younger. Looking back, they were just kids, and she probably didn’t mean anything by it. The red tint and angry pout on her face as she slid him her chocolate milk as an apology stuck with him.

“Why do you want an apology anyway? Or, why do you expect one?”

Miguel wasn’t sure himself. Xina was his childhood best friend, someone with whom he spent a lot of time and shared secrets. There were sweet memories and joyful moments.

It sucks to see her act so different.

“I think,” Miguel paused, looking off through his dorm window. “I think that-”

“Oh my god, she just posted.”

Miguel almost dropped his phone while he switched back to the messages app.

“What is it? What is it?”

“It is,” she dragged out her i’s. The sound of Tempest screenshotting and tapping away at her phone was like rapid fire. “An event, I think?”

“What event? You aren’t sending the pictures fast enough.”

“I already pressed send! Not my fault I don’t have high-speed internet.”

“Tell your cousin to stop fucking hogging it.”

“Shut up and watch the screen.”

His eyes dart across the screen as he waits for the screenshare to load.

Your account comes up, still intact. Miguel takes in everything like he did back when he first met you.

There were new posts about the sculptures you made in class and food from a new café. There’s also a glimpse of you smiling, and he feels like he’s ready to erupt.

Tempest refreshed your page again.

“This is so against girl code.”

“You haven’t even talked with her before.”

“How would you know?”

“Temp.”

“Right, sorry.”

She taps your story, and a flyer comes up.

“A Halloween-themed festival night?” Miguel says as the story disappears.

“Sounds fun!”

“I’m going to go. Put the story back up again.”

Tempest side-eyed him as best as she could, “Uh, maybe let’s not.”

“Why can’t I? I’m a member of the student body.”

“Do you usually go to these things?”

“No,” Miguel slowed his words. “But I could now? Maybe she won’t even be there.”

“And if she is? Wouldn’t it seem like you’re stalking her?”

He thinks about the many times he’s lingered around the art building, walked by your favorite spot on campus, and stared at corners of the library that you loved to see if you would be there.

“No?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just need to see her in person.”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t stop thinking about whether or not you’ll be at the festival.

If he doesn’t see you, he’ll be disappointed, but the panic clawing at his throat won’t shift to his mind.

If he does see you, he’ll be like a fish out of water. Floundering, lost, and begging his lungs to gain its necessities.

He just hopes that going is the right decision.

GymRat!Miguel who goes to his robotics club meetup the next day.

There’s no competition coming up, but the department wanted to revise a moving metal skeleton for Halloween weekend.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Margo. I feel like it, too.”

She pulled his cheek out and made baby noises out of sympathy before Miguel swatted them away.

“Still no luck with your ex? Or is that joint giving you trouble?” she snickered at his sloppy attempt at connecting moving parts.

“Uh, no and yes.”

Aaron peeked up from his station and looked over like a beaver.

“I-it’s not because of what I said, right?”

Margo made a line with her mouth as if to say 'get a load of this guy'.

“No, Aaron,” Miguel mumbled.

“Yeah, Aaron, stop being nosy and get back to work,” Margo joked.

He snapped his welder’s mask back down like a dork and returned to sawing something, sparks flying past him.

Margo looks down at Miguel’s work.

“Well, I hope you can get her back soon because you need to work on your anatomy. Those bones don’t go together at all.”

He looks to a femur and a humerus connected with the sheer will of his clouded mind.

He missed when you attached sticky notes to his body for practice. The prize for getting the different parts of his body correct being kisses. You would laugh at his mistake but give a peck on the lips anyway. His arms were one of your favorite places to put your star-shaped stickers on, too.

“I didn’t mean for you to get even sadder,” Margo snapped him out of the memory.

“It’s fine. My fault.”

Margo shifted her weight as she started to take apart his mistake, “It’ll get better, Miguel. I’m sure of it.”

GymRat!Miguel who sits across from Tyler at one of the uppity restaurants in town. The lights are dim, as if the people eating here are all hiding from something.

“How’s school?” Tyler asked, clothes still managing to glow despite the one warm lamp above the table. He thanks the waitress for refilling his water glass. “Made any new friends? Connections?”

The age-old awkward feeling of trying to concisely describe his growing adult life was at the top of his mind.

“It’s going well,” was always the easiest answer. Simple and open-ended.

Of course, Tyler took this as a sign to delve further.

“Your mother told me you’re taking up game programming this semester. Do you like the feel of that class?”

An ice cube floated to the top of Miguel’s glass.

“I was enjoying it at first, now I’m sort of ready for it to end.”

Tyler cleared his throat, hand covering the frown on his face.

“Ah, well, some people just like the end result, I suppose,” he refolds a napkin, the reflection from his watch panning across the tablecloth. “What about your girlfriend? How is she? Perhaps, you have some new pieces of her’s to show me. My colleagues love the one in the entryway.”

The waiter placed a filet mignon in front of Miguel and bluefin tuna across from him. Tyler moved to tuck the same napkin into his crisp button down.

“I’m not sure.”

Tyler pauses as a slice of fish dangles from his fork.

Miguel is still cutting into the meat unnecessarily, knife scrapping against the plate.

“Son, this cut of meat is like butter,” Tyler said, taking the knife from him and putting it back on its napkin.

A twitch at the corner of his lips almost aligned with Tyler’s. The man racked his brain for the memories of his first son coming home with a similar expression.

He chewed and swallowed his fish stacked with cucumbers and cilantro.

“As you know, I am not the best when it comes to relationships. Nancy and I have had quite the uphill battle. However, I believe I am well-versed in the field of compromise. Should I reach out to her for you?”

It was a long shot, and by the growing shadows on his son’s face, Tyler suspected that his suggestion was a poor one.

“What will that do? Other than show her that I can’t handle my own problems.”

“Surely, you two can work it out. She was lovely, truly,” Tyler frets, afraid he’s made Miguel even more upset.

He just starts to eat, mind elsewhere.

Tyler wondered if he should have ordered some wine.

“When you found out Nancy cheated on you, what did you do?”

Lemon juice from his dish hit his throat right as he swallowed, a hand banging on his chest as he coughed.

“I, uh,” two gulps of water were taken from the glass Miguel handed him. “Well. The fruit of that labor is in front of me.”

“Obviously,” Miguel’s shoulders dropped and Tyler grimaced again. Curse his silly statements. “I meant, how did you feel? What were your initial thoughts?”

“I remember being angry. Here laid the mother of my only child with a much younger and, honestly, less fortunate man. I thought I was foolish to think that my genuine love or money could keep someone.”

Miguel pushed around an asparagus on his plate, “So there was a betrayal. A pain you couldn’t describe.”

“Exactly. For me, that came afterwards. I’m a prideful man. If one thing does not satisfy me, I simply find something that does.”

“And that thing just happened to be my mother?”

“Ah, if you put it like that, it’s far too harsh,” Tyler fixes a cuff. “Your mother provided me a place of warmth, solitude, and love for a short time. It’s something I’ll never forget. I regret the hurt Nancy and I inflicted on each other, but I don’t regret you.”

Tyler watches and waits for a response. His son shifts in his seat and rolls his neck, eyes never leaving his plate.

“Has she,” Tyler tilts his head, “hurt you this way?”

“No, but I broke her trust.”

“You cheated?”

“Never. But we have a lot to work on.”

Tyler might order some bourbon tonight to drink in place of his son and the mopey demeanor.

“I’m all ears whenever you need me. But if there is as much love between you two as I saw earlier this year, then you’re sure to gain in back. That doesn’t go away.”

Miguel takes a deep breath and Tyler believes that some of the shadows on his face disappear.

The meal continued, and the people around them continued their quiet chatter.

“Could you do me a favor?” Miguel asks as they both clean their plates.

Tyler lights up, “Anything.”

“Don’t tell my mom about this?”

Tyler thinks back to the unpleasant things Conchata had to say about her son’s girlfriend and quietly agrees that it’s for the best of she’s out of the loop.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks up to the festival wearing one of the shirts you gave him for his birthday.

It was an impulsive decision because now that he’s here, he’s wondering if seeing it on him will upset you.

The festival is partially outside and inside, a mix of games, concessions, and small rides for students to enjoy.

He walked under the pumpkin and bat-shaped balloons, and fake smoke from a cauldron moved past him.

It smelled like sour candy apples, and marshmallows. Booths were all around the campus grass. He walked past them slowly, not interested but searching for something.

The turnout was nice for a night when he figured people would be out partying. There were a lot of students walking in and out.

A game caught his eye as he neared the entrance to the student center. It’s a Shoot Out booth with the ducks replaced with black cats and the gun switched to tiny ghost bean bags to match the theme. There’s a giant white bunny with an X for lips, a blue dress, and a bow on its ear.

It’s so you that he couldn’t resist.

The student volunteer told him he had three chances this round to knock out twenty cats for the bunny.

“Everyone’s been gunning for it, but this game is pretty hard!”

Miguel nodded in understanding.

If he focused enough, the bunny could be his.

On his first try, he knocked out thirteen cats, much to the volunteer’s surprise.

“Woah! You’re pretty good! Did you wanna grab anything from this tier?”

There was student association merch and a shirt with the college logo.

Miguel rolled his sleeves up, “No, I’m going to try for the plushie again.”

The second time, he knocked down the last cat with just a few seconds left on the timer.

The girl running the booth smiled with her eyebrows nearly merging to the top of her head in shock.

“I-I guess that means you win the bunny!”

She handed it to him with a lull of awe.

He muttered a quiet thanks and turned towards the doors with fake spiderwebs dangling off them.

There was music, a sign to go to a haunted hallway, and even more tables with food.

He wonders if you would have gotten scared walking through scary attractions with him. You would probably hold his hand as tight as he’s holding the belly of this rabbit.

Scanning the room, he doesn’t catch a glimpse of you anywhere.

Looking down at the little white face in his hands, he started to think he wasted the hour or so he’d been here.

Walking to the table of free cookies, he took a frosted Frankenstein in his hand and bit a bolt off.

He felt like a lost kid as he floated from table to table to stall.

Maybe he should give up. You were probably promoting this event for Jess.

GymRat!Miguel who was finishing off his fifth mummy-in-a-blanket when he saw you leaving the haunted hallway.

The first thing he noticed is the long, blue cardigan falling off your shoulders. The end of it is trailing after you as you run out.

There’s a grin on your face and an air in your steps, something he missed seeing.

The next thing he noticed was that you weren’t wearing your necklace anymore.

Then a hand pulled it up on your shoulders and slid back down your arm.

A guy is standing next to you and laughing as if you’ll give him money for doing so.

He’s tall. He looks like he could be built, too.

It’s like a slap in the face, worse than when you pushed him away.

Looking down, Miguel saw your hand in his, clinging tight. You smile at the guy and reach up to get something out of his hair.

Miguel thinks that there was nothing wrong with his hair. There was nothing to smile about either.

The guy’s hands touch you in places where Miguel has embraced. His fingers were covering the same neck he’d put his head in. His thumbs ran over the apples of your cheeks, the same ones that used to crowd his lips.

You lean into the guy’s chest and say something that he can’t hear.

His stomach makes an angry lurch and he feels that orange being shift to a green one. It’s clawing at him, pulling at his mind.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to end. You weren’t supposed to cling to some random guy. You weren’t supposed to be with someone else.

Miguel turns when he leans down towards you, chest burning. What he didn’t see was not true to him. What he didn’t know was not reality.

GymRat!Miguel stormed out of the building, and images of you happy with someone else faded onto the inside of his eyelids.

The material of his sweater was scratching against his skin as he made his way back to the festival entrance.

Everything was too much. The people were too loud, the lamps were too bright, and the music playing over the speakers sucked.

His nose started to twitch and he wondered why did festival food have so much damn sugar.

Someone nearly hits the ground as he pushes past them, a confused noise hitting the air, but he doesn’t feel inclined to stop.

GymRat!Miguel who almost breaks free from what feels like a harmful joke when Xina spots him.

“Hey!” She ran over to him, leaves crunching against her boots. She’s wearing the varsity jacket he bought her years ago. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I,” he stopped when he thought he heard your laugh somewhere deep in the festival. “I’m not feeling too good. Think I’m gonna go back to my dorm.”

“Oh, do you have a fever? The weather did drop out of nowhere,” her hand lifted, fingers twitching like she wanted to see for herself.

She hesitates, scared he’ll blow away.

When her fingers press into his neck, he just wants to cry. It felt like when she caught him crying under the trees on the playground or when he’d show up at his grandma’s house with a chubby face full of tears.

He covers her hand for a second, just one, then pushes it away.

If he talks about it, he’ll break into pieces.

“Here,” he shoved the bunny into her hands. The dress is wrinkled, and the bow is a bit lopsided.

Xina’s eyes grow as sees it. The smile on her lips is familiar, “Thank you. I love it.”

Her mouth opens as if she wants to say more, but Miguel starts first.

“Glad you like it. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, ok. Get back safe, Hare-Hare.”

He heads towards his building empty-handed.

GymRat!Miguel who is in denial.

He’s moved past his brain making up you being at the Halloween festival and was now choosing to believe that it was a friend.

The tiny Gabriel on his shoulder was telling him that you had moved on. You had a new boyfriend, so he needed to move on as well—or stop moping about you.

He was choosing to ignore him for now.

It’s been another week since he saw you. Thanksgiving was on its way and he hasn’t been focused in a single class.

At a time when he really needed Tempest to update him, she told him to step back and recenter himself. Something about him not being level-headed.

He didn’t care.

The point of no return was truly here as he stood in front of the elevator in the art building.

A bag of food was sweating in his palm, and the two drinks were seeping into his hoodie, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t try talking to you again before the semester was over.

He’s doing something he told himself he wouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help that he still knew your schedule by heart. Taking a chance on you sticking around for studio hours was all that he had.

GymRat!Miguel who got to the right floor and was happy to see a student leaving the room.

The lights in the hallway were still on and music came from down the hall.

Miguel walked down, peering in every door, leaving once he couldn’t see you or when the people inside gave him weird looks.

GymRat!Miguel who walks into the last studio in the hallway with quiet steps.

Your canvas is almost bigger than you, the top of it covering you as you moved your brush across it.

You had headphones on, star molds stuck on the sides of them.

Miguel sat the food down on the table, moving like a stealthy agent.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, yet paint was still on them despite your efforts. You looked tired, but god, you were still overwhelmingly gorgeous to him.

He stepped closer. Slowly, step by step, coming into your peripheral.

“Why are you here?”

Miguel paused mid-walk, face like a puppy who got caught.

He should have thought this through more.

“I wanted to see you,” he holds his hands before him. It’s not making him any smaller, but it brings a slight comfort. “Brought some food.”

“’M not hungry.”

An apology is his first instinct, but the sound of your stomach growling speaks for him.

You refuse to look at him, face warm.

“It’s your favorite. Come eat, please.”

Taking off your headphones, you sighed.

“Fine.”

GymRat!Miguel who has to pinch himself to stop staring at you.

You weren’t just tired, you were exhausted. Your eyes drooped as you bit into your fries, and your movements were sluggish.

You didn’t ask for his extra sauce like you usually did. You didn’t even try to steal his fries.

“How have you been?” he asks instead of digging himself further into the sad hole of his heart.

Your eyes flick at him over your glasses and back to your food.

“Really, Miguel?”

“Y-yes? I’m always wondering how you are.”

“Then you should know how I’ve been already, then.”

Miguel faltered.

“You’re not very subtle, you know? I could see you pacing back and forth around campus.”

“Oh,” he slurped his drink nervously.

“And I saw you at the festival, too.”

He almost punctured the styrofoam in his hand.

“So, you’ve been fine is what you’re telling me. I’m gla-” he choked on the words. “I see you’ve…met someone.”

“He was just a friend. You could have said ‘hi’ then, if you really wanted to speak with me.”

“Didn’t look like a friend,” left Miguel’s mouth before he could stop it.

You hummed, eyebrows raised, and a click sound from your teeth. “Oh, but now do you see how that feels?” You started to untie your apron.

“I didn’t mean for that to come out in that way. I came here to just talk.”

“About what? How you didn’t actually cheat on me? How you didn’t mean for any of this to happen? How you’re sorry you got caught?”

He bit his tongue.

That was almost what he wanted to say.

“About us,” he said as you rolled your eyes. “I still love you, and it’s killing me not to be with you. This is as plain and simple as I can say it. I’ll say it over and over and over again until you hear me.”

“Miguel,” your voice puffed out, weary and broken, “you cheated on me with your best friend and now you’re here trying to spin this and pull me back. I-I have dignity. As much as I want to pretend like what’s been happening this semester is meaningless, I can’t.”

“And I’m telling you that I would never do that you. Not in a million years, not in this lifetime, would I ever purposely hurt you in that way. Baby, please. Listen to me!”

“I see the way you are with her,” your words fall after his. “I remember the texts. There is something there. I don’t know if I can compete with that and I’m not trying to. So, if you want to be with her, then do that, but leave me out of it.”

Miguel is quick to grab your hands as you try to turn away, “Fine. There is something there.”

You try to yank yourself from him again, the pain from October 13th filling you again, but his hands are faster this time.

“There’s a girl who used to threaten to beat me up if I didn’t defend myself against bullies. There’s a girl who used to trade collectible cards with me in secret because her parents didn’t allow her to obsess over junk, and the girls at school thought it was lame. There’s a trust built long over a decade that has been broken. I do care about her, as I would do with any friend, but you have to understand that I care about you, too.”

“Then why didn’t you show that?” you whispered, tears leaving your eyes. “It felt humiliating, Miguel. That night, I felt disgusting. Like you were just throwing me away. I kept thinking that you lied to me about everything, that you were indulging in something that you never really wanted.”

Miguel reached to hold your face, thumbs sliding your tears away, heart breaking.

“Lo siento, amor. Hm?” he wanted to take your pain away and place it onto himself if it meant that you didn’t talk like this. “It’s not true. What we have created is not some trial run. I love you so deeply, that I was going insane. Knowing that you thought otherwise is painful to hear. The buildup to that night is a misunderstanding. You have to know that.”

You take a breath, “How could I know?”

Miguel stared at your face and thought the same.

He’s been yelling trust, trust, trust and when he thinks back to your few interactions with Xina, it clicks that you truly had no foundation to trust.

“If I had just been better, you would have known.”

Like you said, Xina had walked all over him.

“So what now?” you asked, and pull your sweater over your fingers.

Miguel blinked, “I was hoping to start over? Restart?”

“I can’t,” you said immediately and Miguel tensed. “You entering my life has given me far more ups than downs, but when those downs come, they can be brutal.”

“So, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, again?”

You shake your head and he felt like it was his turn to cry.

“I want action. Show me that something like this won’t happen again. We can sit here and tell each other promises until we’re blue in the face, but what do those promises mean if one person or thing can ruin it.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll do anything.”

You brush his hair back and wrap his arms around your waist to settle in this feeling. Your thumbs traveled from his hairline to curves of his ears down to his jaw. They rub circles into his skin, slow and rhythmic.

“Have you talked with Xina? Has she confessed to what you’re telling me she has done?”

He shakes his head softly, afraid to break the scene.

You laugh, small and quiet, then unwrap his arms from around you. You go back to your canvas and start to scrape at the glass of the taboret. Miguel was so in a trance, that almost didn’t notice the switch.

“I’m going to talk with her,” Miguel stated across the room.

You wave a hand in the air, unmoved.

He followed you as you go to the mineral spirits bucket to soak your brushes.

“Baby-“

“As far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t talk to me until whatever you two have going on is fixed. Don’t know who 'baby' is.”

You walk to the sink and turn the water on. Miguel was right behind you and grabbing the dish soap before you can.

“And I will talk to her,” Miguel sayid. You reach for the soap and he holds it out of your reach, petulant. “Baby.”

You give him an irritated look and pinch his neck. He makes a hurt noise and gives you the jug.

“Action. Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who waited until you’ve packed everything up.

He didn’t mean for this to turn into him teasing you, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting his fill while he still could.

“At least let me walk you back to your dorm,” Miguel sayid, picking up the wet paper towels you’ve been throwing at him.

“No, thanks. I have a date. I don’t need you changing up my energy.”

Miguel’s smile dropped.

“You do?”

“His name starts with an R, ends with an E. He’s super sweet. Sturdy.”

Reese? Reggie? Raye? Ronnie?

“I see,” Miguel’s heart plummets. “Your friend wasn’t just that.”

“Mm-hm. We’re still testing the waters, but I don’t think he’ll disappoint me.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say. He was nothing but bold, though.

“Who’s to say that…guy won’t hurt you?”

Who’s to say that he would treat you better than Miguel?

You pull the straps of your back over your shoulders and Miguel wants to hold it for you.

A snicker leaves you, “Because he’s made of plastic and is designed of pleasure.”

“Oh.”

“Bye. Enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

Miguel stood and watched you go, wondering if this was progress.

GymRat!Miguel whose bedroom was filled with the chatter of his friends once more.

Friendsgiving was always fun.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that Lyla is a terrible teammate.

“You’ve got be doing this on purpose,” Miguel groaned as Lyla’s Yoshi pumps the pedal incorrectly.

“I don’t know what you’s talking about!” Her giggles float across the room as saw Miguel get more and more frustrated.

Winston and Tempest were laser-focused, their Monty Mole and Peach following a stead 1-2 rhythm to get their cart across the track.

“Lyla!” Miguel yells as her Yoshi stumbles back. “You’re selling me. You want me to lose.”

The mini-game ends with Tempest and Winston high-fiving each other and Miguel yelling at Bowser to pick his head up.

GymRat!Miguel who laughed as he watched Winston reenact his band director, nearly breaking his neck.

“I’ve never seen a bald man somersault on grass until that day.”

GymRat!Miguel who, full off of food and peach cobbler that Tempest made, stared at the bag of gummies that she placed in the middle of their huddle.

“We can just try this tonight. We’re safe with each other,” Tempest whispered.

“You guys are horrible role models,” Miguel said.

“I don’t know. That blue one is speaking to me. It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” Winston mumbled.

Lyla motioned across one, “Maybe we can cut it in half.”

“That defeats the purpose though. These barely have anything in them,” Tempest complained.

“Says you,” Miguel quipped. “You just called me about a cherry bong the other night.”

“Ok, but wasn’t it cute?”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly jumped out his skin when his door slams open.

Everyone except him shoves their gummy in their mouth with lightening speed. Miguel just holds his awkwardly as he turns to see him mom standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, ma?” he says. He chose to ignore Winston who is over exaggerating, lips smacking.

“Mijo! I have a surprise for you guys!”

GymRat!Miguel who sat awkwardly on his rug, running his wrapped gummy in his palm.

Lyla was practically in Tempest’s lap, tapping at her phone. Tempest is looking around their circle expectantly.

Winston started tapping a fast beat on his arm.

Miguel is looking everywhere except in front of him where Xina was sitting with her chin tucked into her knees.

“It’s good to see you again,” Winston said, forever the peacemaker.

Xina relaxed a bit, “You guys, too. I’ve missed this.”

Miguel saw Tempest softening up a bit at Xina’s words.

“When is stuff gonna hit?” Lyla barks out to which Tempest elbows her.

Xina cleared her throat, “Actually can we talk, Miguel?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

Xina looked around them, “Alone?”

GymRat!Miguel who was standing across from Xina in the office-turned-bedroom that his parents barely used.

“Did my mom invite you?” Miguel asked.

“Actually, Tempest did.”

Miguel raises his eyebrows and nods. He didn’t expect that but he’s not mad at it.

Xina was antsy, arms hiding themselves in the sleeves folded across her body. Miguel stayed quiet.

“So, things between us haven’t been exactly smooth sailing lately.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Miguel looked down at the shark slippers you bought him last year.

“And I have some things that I want to explain to you.”

Miguel raised his eyes expectantly. Xina was mirroring his posture, but her face looked uncomfortable, conflicted.

Her eyes flicker over his before she covered her face and huffs, “这太难了.” (This is so hard.)

“What’s hard?” Miguel asks, pulling together the few times Xina taught him anything. He sat down, hoping it would relax her more.

Her hands drop as she blinks at the ceiling, “Everything. When it comes to you, everything just gets overwhelming.”

“As in?”

She looked at him in disbelief, “As in I’m doing silly shit, again.”

A pause in her words comes as they hear laughter from down the hall.

“Last year was so surreal. I did everything right. My mailbox was full of acceptance letters. My mom finally genuinely smiled at me for the first time in what felt like years. I moved so far away from my parents that I felt like that string that kept me attached to them had broken. I had fun. I went to my first party and got so drunk that when I woke up, I was on the porch of a frat. I made friends who could relate to me more than anyone else. I made acquaintances who could have never gotten into that school without their parents painting the campus with money. Still, I worked my ass off and got kicked out because one of them hid drugs under my seat.”

Miguel’s breath hitched, but Xina continued.

“It was my word against kids whose parents could have the school shut down within minutes. My dad was so angry at me that he pretended like I wasn’t in his home. And my mom just,” her leg started to bounce. “She helped me pack up some things and sent me to go live with my aunt for the summer. It wasn’t until she dropped me off at the airport that whispered to me that she loved me. That she was proud of me. That it was ok to make mistakes.”

“I cried like a baby for half of the flight. And it wasn’t until I got to customs that I realized that I should have called you. You always knew what to tell me no matter what the situation was and I just disappeared. Everything came back tenfold and I missed you so much. So when I saw you again, it was like I fell back into my old habits. I thought ‘I’m finally going to do it!’ but would chicken out and relieve that stress. I was kind of hoping that my tipsy self would have more confidence.”

“Because a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind?” Miguel hummed.

Xina finally laughed, “Are you 40 or something? Yeah. Exactly.”

Miguel blinked and looked up at her, “So tell me what your sober mind wants to say, Xina.”

Xina’s eyes lowered, “That I. I feel like I lose myself when I’m around you. It’s why I acted the way I did. It’s why I overstepped.”

His heart picked up as he registered her words.

“I like you so much, Miguel. More than I can bear. More than I’d like to admit. More than a friend.”

dividers by: @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Please don't be mad at me. 😵‍💫 Also please watch your tone in the comments. 🤠 Be very mindful, very demure.

The taglist is full, so if you would like to be informed of future updates, check my blog occasionally (💀) or subscribe to the story on AO3!

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #x chubby reader #x plus size reader #miguel o’hara x plus size reader #miguel o’hara x chubby reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x plussize!reader #miguel o'hara x chubby!reader #x fem reader

241 notes · View notes

garbinge · 2 years ago

Text

Clean Cut

Tim Bradford x F!Nurse!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of bullets, war, shrapnel, anxiety, worry, car accidents. Slightly angsty.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Okay so I just caught up with all The Rookie seasons and I’m just LIVING for Chenford. Like LIVING. buuuuuut I noticed there wasn’t much Tim x Reader fic out there soooooo I figured why not! This idea came to my head at some point when I was watching and I also have like a whole story of their life beyond and before this moment but enjoy this little reworked snippet from 2x08.

The Rookie Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

It had felt like a long day already and you had only been clocked in at the hospital for two hours. You still had 10 hours left in your shift and it felt like you experienced a whole day’s worth already. Being a corpsman for a Marine squad prepared you for a lot but sometimes the uniqueness of LA and the people who resided in it and tended to need your RN medical services at St. Stevens ran you for your money.

Currently, you were updating patient charts during the lull that was likely to last all of two seconds but it beat staying an extra hour to finish your paperwork likely unpaid because the hospital rarely approved overtime for RNs.

“Wanna tell me why it’s so crazy for a Tuesday?”

The statement from your coworker caused you to look at them over your shoulder and let out a laugh.

“I wish I had an answer to that, but I also feel like anything I say will jinx it even more.” You pushed the computer cart against the wall and moved over to your coworkers cart. “You’ve got like 15 pages here, what is this?” You picked up the manila folder that was larger than your normal ER patient folders.

“Police car accident. There’s a few of them in the ER right now, these things always include tons of paperwork. Everyone needs to cover their asses.”

Your heart started to beat faster at the mention of a police accident but what really caused you to go into panic mode was seeing your husband's name on the report.

Before you could even answer your co-worker you were moving down the stairs, knowing the elevator would take too long. You knew the elevator would probably be quicker but the thought of standing still while you waited for and in it would drive your mind crazy so rushing down the stairs was the better alternative.

Tim was sitting on one of the ER beds, the scene of it caused you to stop for a minute. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Tim hurt waiting to be treated. In all honesty this was probably the tamest medical treatment scenario you two had been in together. He looked fine from afar, but that didn’t stop the worry from boiling in your gut.

“What happened?” You were next to him within seconds, the worry being the fuel of moving you from the staircase entrance to his side in seconds.

“I rear ended a civilian.” Tim knew better than to try and calm you down with pleasantries and relaxing mantras.

“Jesus.” Your hand moved to your pocket in search of your pen light. Quickly, you flashed it in front of his eyes, searching for his eyes to constrict and then dilate when you moved the light away.

“They already did this.” Tim’s voice was neutral, but you knew he was annoyed.

“Humor me.” Your head tilted, now your own annoyance was clear to him.

His eyes softened as they met yours and he nodded which gave you the okay to keep running through the trauma checklist in your head.

“This isn’t like you.” Tim said after a few minutes of silence between you as he humored you by lifting up his arms as you pressed down on his ribs and checked his reflexes.

“In what way?” You talked as you continued to look him over.

“I’ve come home and told you I’ve gotten shot at and you barely react, I tell you that I got into a car accident and you’re acting like I have internal bleeding.” Tim’s eyebrows raised.

“Did they do a CT scan? You could have internal bleeding. Especially if the airbags went off.”

“Doc.” The use of the nickname only 13 people in the world knew you as caused you to stop your examination of Tim and stand in front of him, slightly defeated.

“If I worried about every close call you encounter everyday, I’d be dysfunctional. This.” You pointed towards him and the bed, “This is tangible. This actually happened.”

Tim nodded and a smirk slightly filled his face.

“You doubtin’ me, Sarge?” You frowned as you asked him, using your own nickname for him.

“No,” Tim let out a chuckle and shook his head before looking back up at you. “I know better than to ever doubt you.”

“Smart man.” Officer Lopez walked up to the two of you with a smile. “How’s he doin’?” She looked between the both of you.

“He’s fine. No signs of a concussion,” you looked at Angela and then back at Tim, “and no signs of internal bleeding.” You smirked at him knowing he was going to give you one back.

“Give us a minute, Lopez?” Tim stood up and ripped the hospital bracelet off his wrist.

“Yea, just wanted to let you know the break lights were cut in the car you hit, foul play, you’ll likely be in the clear.” She explained while looking at the both of you, relief coming as a sigh from both you and Tim. “I’ll be in the lobby.” She nodded at him and squeezed your arm to say goodbye before leaving the ER.

“We goin’ back to the conversation we were having or a new one?” You asked Tim as he towered over you.

“You pulled shrapnel out of my abdomen in Afghanistan and you look more worried checking me for a concussion.” Tim said with his arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Your one worded answer wasn’t convincing.

“Don’t lie to me.” Tim said more seriously than any of his other statements.

You sighed, “Like I said, this is tangible. In Afghanistan, we weren’t exactly given the space to worry. Here, I feel like it’s all I have to hold onto. But again, if I held onto every worry I’d be dysfunctional. I know you can handle yourself when bullets are flying, when shit goes sideways, it’s these out of your control scenarios that just get me flustered.” You explained moving your hands around as you talked.

Tim brought you in for a hug, knowing nothing he’d say could change anything. “You do realize, I’m the one that rear-ended the civilian, not the other way around, right? Totally in my control.” He teased you.

“Not according to Angela.” You corrected him and he chuckled.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He placed a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“See you tonight, I already texted Angela all the concussion signs in case we missed anything.” Letting your last bit of worry out.

“You haven’t missed a single diagnosis or injury since I met you, Doc!” He called out from a few feet from you.

“You know, I’m technically not a doc, anymore, Sarge!” You yelled out to him.

He turned around with his arms up as he continued to walk backwards. “And I’m not technically a Sargeant anymore.”

“Old habits die hard!” You yelled back just before the elevator doors opened and he stepped backwards into the elevator flashing you a quick smile before the doors closed and he was back on duty.

#Tim Bradford #Tim Bradford x Reader #Tim Bradford x F!Reader #The Rookie #The Rookie Fanfiction #The Rookie Fanfic #The Rookie Tim Bradford #Tim Bradford Fanfic #Tim Bradford Fanfiction #Timothy Bradford #my writing #garbinge

2K notes · View notes

twinsimming · 8 months ago

Text

Energy Drinks by Twinsimming 🥤

This mod adds custom Energy Drinks to a new type of vending machine.

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Requirements

The Sims 3: Late Night

The Sims 3: Seasons

The Sims 3: Supernatural

The Sims 3: University Life

Overview

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

Energy Drinks

Side Effects

Flavors

New Moodlets

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

- Price: §1250 - Category: Large Appliances - Includes all 11 original swatches + 1 recolorable option (3 channels) - Poly Count: 2346 - Originally created for The Sims 4 by RAVASHEEN, converted to The Sims 3 by me

Like the vending machines that came with University Life, sims can Buy Energy Drink, Shake Machine, or Slam Machine.

Energy Drinks

Teen and older sims can purchase energy drinks from the Soda-Lightful Vending Machine for §5 each.

Energy drinks boost the Energy need, give sims the custom Energy Rush moodlet, and remove any moodlets related to low Energy (Tired, Sleepy, Exhausted, Buzz Crashed, etc.), similar to drinking coffee, but the effect lasts twice as long (6 hours instead of 3 hours).

Drinking multiple energy drinks in a row will boost how long the Energy Rush moodlet lasts, as well as increase the moodlet's value, up to 18 hours and +30 mood.

Once the Energy Rush moodlet expires, sims get the custom negative Energy Crash moodlet.

Side Effects

If your sim goes more than 24 hours without another energy drink, they'll start to suffer from caffeine withdrawal and gain the custom negative Craving Caffeine moodlet for the next 2 days. Drinking coffee, tea, barista bar beverages, or another energy drink will remove this moodlet.

Drinking more than 2 energy drinks at a time also carries the risk of a sim being electrocuted and dying.

Teens and Elders both have a 5% chance of being electrocuted, while YA have a 1% chance and Adults have a 3% chance.

Flavors

There are 8 different energy drinks to choose from. 6 provide flavor-related moodlets from the snow cone machine from Seasons and the bubble blower from Late Night. These moodlets last for 4 hours.

From left to right in the second preview photo:

Charged Cherry (Cheery Cherry)

Pineapple Power-Up (On a Beach)

Lightning Lemon (Laidback Lemon)

e-Lectric Lime (Lucky Lime)

Blue Raspberry Blitz (Raspberry Romance)

Gigawatt Grape (Gleeful Grape)

The Unidentified Fizzy Ooze energy drink replenishes Alien brain power, but makes non-Aliens nauseous.

The last energy drink is called Mystery Flavor and it works like the jelly bean bush from Supernatural; including carrying the risk of death, so proceed with caution.

New Moodlets

Energy Rush: Given when sims drink an energy drink, lasts 6 hours, +10, +20, or +30 mood

Energy Crash: Given when the Energy Rush moodlet expires, lasts 7 hours, -15 mood

Craving Caffeine: Given when sims go more than 24 hours without another caffeinated drink, lasts 2 days, -30 mood

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Script Namespace

If you want to turn a different vending machine into an energy drink vending machine, open your desired object in s3pe and replace the current script name with the following:

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Twinsimming.EnergyDrinksMod.VendingMachine

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new scripted object, so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

All of the drink cans are different colors when placed in the world and during the drinking animation, but they all have a red can icon when placed in a sim's inventory. I'm not sure how to fix this right now, but that should be the only issue of note.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, mesh by RAVASHEEN, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, Sims4Studio, TSRW, Blender, Milkshape, Gimp, and Script Mod Template Creator.

Thank You

Thank you to RAVASHEEN and everyone in the Sims 3 Creators' Cave Discord!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

#sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 mods #ts3 mod #4 to 3 conversion #4t3 #download #my mods #energy drinks mod

381 notes · View notes

bamboozledbird · 4 months ago

Text

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings.

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch.

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.

To put it plainly, you’re drowning.

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now.

“Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours.

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you.

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until a haze of vape and weed and flashing lights consume your vision: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them.

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist. The solid weight releases some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.”

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.”

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt.

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself.

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.”

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see.

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender.

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over.

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted.

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots.

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples.

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you guys were actually born like 30 years old, or maybe it's some kind of reincarnation, soulmate thing—okay, it probably has more to do with the…”

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now.

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something.

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time.

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.”

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.”

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more.

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum.

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening.

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.”

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?”

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever.

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending.

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him.

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to the sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin.

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.”

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone.

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times, and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from.

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure that he wishes he sounded more confident, but he gives himself away with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself, like a child, ad press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but Stiles pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself over the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x you #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #theo raeken x reader #stiles stilinski x reader

221 notes · View notes

imsorrythatimweird101-blog · 8 months ago

Text

**Using gateway tapes for void state*

Many people (especially Tumblr, I see y'all) are really interested in the void state. Me too honestly but here's the information that I got about the void state through the gateway tapes.

**By One-lawfulness**

“Glad to see others here who also use the gateway tapes. I'm starting to believe we'll 1 you can shift with them but more so F15 is essentially the void state. It seems they are described the same way.”

“ body asleep/ mind awake is indeed F10. However the void state from what I read is when your pure awareness. You don't feel the body, you can't see, hear, touch, etc. There is no body at all your simply awareness. There's a post I believe in one of the shifting groups where someone linked and reposted a Twitter post where someone went into detail on what is and isn't the void state. All I know is the void state while it shouldn't be hard to reach isn't as simple as some think. But it makes sense since it seems shifting, manifesting, etc is all instant from it.

This should link to the post

https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/comments/18swmdp/definitive_guide_to_the_void_state/?share_id=1dj52vByrbmI3Q7rNmULO&utm_content=2&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_source=share&utm_term=

Well they say the focus levels are different for everyone but there are some general guidelines to it. Some where someone linked a page with a brief description of each focus level and when you read F15 I think or maybe 12 it's described as a void.

But if your looking for manifesting it seems some say you can do that in F10, 12, and 15 but I assume it's easier the higher you go.

(It's F15)

If I find the page with the focus level description I'll link it also

Found it

https://www.monroeinstituteuk.org/focus-levels/

Personal experience

what's recommended is once you get there the first thing is to manifest being able to enter it easily. Then from there do as you wish. That could work. I assume using it along with LOA is a great combo to help get into the void state the first time. When I was first trying the void state before using the gateway tapes I was in F10 essentially and couldn't fully go into it.

I stayed with F10 for a while but realized I was holding myself back because F10 wasn't hard to enter and I was saying I needed to master it first.

**By Beautiful_V**

F10 is SATS. SATS is the mind awake body asleep, you repeat a scene to mnaifest but that isn’t SATS it’s the state you do that hence state akin to sleep. You can manifest all the time using it! Instead of affirmations (lullaby method) I visualize until I fall asleep in this state. The trick is you can’t be too tired or too awake. Or even better just do it during a nap never takes me more than 3 days.

**Beautiful_v manifesting method**

“My routine”

-Do Wim Hof breathing technique

-Have theta waves immediately playing afterwards

-Count to whatever gets me to floaty feeling at first it was 500, now it’s 200/300 when you lose count just go back to the nearest 100th so you don’t fall asleep

-when I get the floaty feeling it means I’m about to fall asleep so affirm or visualize desired results.

-fall asleep in the wish fulfilled there will be no time for you to doubt because you’ll be too tired

-do this for 3-5 days it works in less depends on your beliefs but I always say 3 days because that’s what I read from Neville so I adopted that mindset !

**Big_suggestion9**

“Yes F10 is considered the void state”

Background: he has his own YouTube channel and is currently on wave 3 tape 6! He's personally like a mentor to me because I ask him about stuff. This is what he personally told me.

He's experience

https://youtube.com/@TheGatewayExperience?feature=shared

**My opinion**

Everyone is right in this discussion. Gateway tapes are based on personal experience. **No matter what, you need enter F10 for anything. Shifting, astral projection, void state. F10 void state or not. To achieve anything you need to achieve F10!**

**What do you recommend?**

You want to go into a void state? Then finish gateway tapes for F10 (gateway 1). Then do F12, after MASTERING everything. Go to manifest tape and affirm that you can go to void state instantly or whatever affirmation you want. Simple as that

**PLEASE READ**

(All credit to them, I did remove some digits from the username. Please do not contact them! I don't want to have a bunch of people flooding their Dms. If you have questions about it. Ask me and I will message them personally if it's that's okay. THANK YOU!)

#reality shifting #void state #void #shifting blog #manefesting #law of assumption #law of manifestation #gatewaytapes

241 notes · View notes

writers-potion · 7 months ago

Note

How do I plan out chapter plots so they flow okay??

Currently working on a 36 chapter thing. Would love some help. Thanks

Chapter Planning Tips

Hi thanks for asking!

I’m not a great plotter myself (I’m somewhere in between a plotter and a pantser), but here are some frameworks you can use.

Planning The Overall Plot

Before you start dividing the chapters, think about how you’d like the whole story to flow. You can use any of the below frameworks:

The Three-Act Structure (Act 1 - 1st doorway - Act 2 - 2nd doorway - Act 3)

Freytag’s Pyramid (Exposition - Inciting incident - rising action - climax - falling action - resolution)

9-step Plot Dot

The 15-Beat Structure (from Save The Cat!)

Then, think about how long you want each Act/Section to be.

In the 3-Act structure, Act 1 will be less than 25% of the overall word count

In Blake Synder’s 15-beat structure, Break into Act 2 comes at the page 25/110 mark.

Effective “Chapter Plots”

The most important thing in a chapter is that you make the reader want to move on to the next. To do this, consider the following:

Using a cliffhanger/foreshadowing at the end of chapters.

Each chapter must have a significant plot point assigned to it.

If you have a lot of time skips/flashforwards and backwards, consider titling each chapter with a timestamp. The same technique can be used for changing location/POV.

Have a mini-plot for each chapter. What I mean by this is that a chapter must have scenes with varying levels of tension. Just like in a story plot, a chapter will generally start off with mid/low tension, climb up to the major event of the chapter, then fall slightly at the end as the particular event comes to a close.

If you are a pantser and you feel like you can never stick to a plot (and that’s why your chapters are being disconnected), make sure you have a place where you track your plot changes, and alter the original plot as you write.

It also helps to write the whole story in a relatively short period of time so that you won’t come back to Chapter 24 after a 3-month hiatus, not knowing where you left off.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram!

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2

💎For early access to my content, become a Writing Wizard

#writing practice #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writeblr #poets and writers #helping writers #creative writers #resources for writers #writing prompt #writing community #writing advice #writing inspiration #writer #on writing #writing ideas #writer stuff

173 notes · View notes

splickedylit · 2 months ago

Text

Can't believe I thought I was almost ready to start posting this GamKar winter soldier pastiche like two years ago on halloween it's grown by several hundred pages and 100,000+ words since then. Current count is 325 pages, 167,000 words, 15 chapters. fukkin UNIT of a fic

EDIT for my own personal satisfaction:

10/25: 167,000

10/29: 174,700

10/31: 180,460

11/7: 185,775

11/18: 189,500

#How is it possible to write so much and yet still somehow have so much left to write >8I #And I still need to do some edit rereads when I'm done...... make sure I've gotten a beta read or two.... do illustrations...........#I suppose I should have known it would take exponentially longer than I thought after all I started writing this in #uhhhhhhh college. it's been a while in the making!!!!!!!! But also PLEASSEEEEEE i just want to POST ugh PLEASE QoQ #you open the door that says WRITING ROOM and just see me beating Gamzee with a big stick while Karkat tries to kill me with his teeth #I am glad I held off on just like starting to post and assuming I could finish the fic before I caught up with myself #I always assume I can and will and that is the devil talking U_U #that way lies frustration and months of hiatus

84 notes · View notes

rose-l-20 · 3 months ago

Note

Hello there, I just stumbled onto your page and I was wondering if I could request a Darth Maul x female reader with angst and fluff? Like reader is with the jedi order, but she isn't exactly liked because she has darkness in her but Maul likes her.....or if you have an original plot, go for it, I won't complain.

P.S.-I may come back and request something with Iceman or something from Harry Potter!

Please take me away - Darth Maul x Female!Human!Jedi reader

Hello! Thank you for the request! This idea is perfect for me to write my first Darth Maul Fic! 😫 I’ve always wanted to but never had the courage to do so! Please send any other requests you would like I would love that!

I also loved how you used blue for your writing! It made me read the request in the narrator from the Clone Wars show 😂

I hope you like it!

❤️🖤❤️🖤

SUMMARY: see request above!

WARNINGS: Reader is mistreated, reader is isolated, name calling, general angst, murder, swearing, stalking undertones, reader crying, insomnia, protective Darth Maul, age gap, nicknames, soft Darth maul, general fluff, running away, Jedi becomes Sith, Kyber crystal bleeding ritual. (TW) Unedited!

The sun was covered by clouds, seeping through the main Padawan training room. A lightsaber defense class was currently in session, with a head count of 12 15-16 year old Padawans. Along with a Master Jedi knight, who was teaching them a new range of skills and techniques.

There was a pair, consisting of a 15 year old boy and an equal aged girl. Her name was (y/n). She was known to be “slightly ahead” for her age. She found it easy to learn new skills. Almost like it was already written in her code.

The lesson started with meditation, to get everyone into the right head space. Moving onto an extensive warm up of the body, to ensure a full range of motion. Then the training began!

Each pair went one at a time, so their Master could watch them clearly without distractions. The majority of the pairs had their turn before (y/n) and her partner got to have theirs.

They got into position, ready to spar. The pair waited in idle anticipation for their Master to give the sign to start. Once hearing a “GO!” Blue crashed against green. The light crackles of contact, the hum of movement, and the children’s focused grunts were the only thing to be heard. The boy pushed (y/n) against the wall with the force, causing her to get frustrated as she knew she was years ahead of him. The sparing match went on, it looked like watching a dance routine.

The final straw for the young woman was the boys foot making contact with her chest, and shoving her to the ground. With a loud scream she used the force to pull herself up and started violently thrashing her saber against his, leaving him little to no time to strategies. She let out grunts and screams. “I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU”, the words flew from her mouth and echoed in the large room.

The boy had slipped and fell hard on the ground. He was frightened to say the least, his saber was the only thing protecting him from being sliced apart. He called out to their master “HELP ME! SHE IS GOING TO KILL ME!”. With that their Master used the force to retract the girls lightsaber, which lead her to look at him with furious eyes. Before she could make another sound, she was put to sleep.

———

Since that day you never got along with anyone. Some people were wary of you and always tried to avoid you, while others were cruel to you. But one thing both groups had in common, was calling you horrible names. You were bounced around to different Masters, some just gave orders and ignored, some would insult you and make your life a living hell. You suffered in more ways than one. You were always stressed, never sleeping well, constantly being tired leading to you being an anxious woman. The topic of being kicked out was a reoccurring conversation, which lead to anxiety attacks. You could never catch a break mentally.

Walking through the halls of the order felt like being an easy target. You constantly heard whispers and people would shout at you. “Freak”, “Sith spy”, “future murderer”, “red eyes”, “piece of shit”, “waste of space”, “I bet your parents were bad people, and wanted nothing to do with a child like you!” And so much more.

Their were many missions were you would be called a few names, and insults. But one mission stuck out from the rest. You were told to stay back after the night watch debrief, which you knew wasn’t to praise you on your efforts.

You were 18 at the time, and 2 years from knighthood. The leading Jedi knight who gave the debrief, got right up into your face and verbal attacked you. The sun was setting behind him, making the hood he was wearing cast a shadow over his eyes. He was intimidating both in general and in this moment.

“(Y/n), you worthless waste of resources. If you make even one mistake or fault…I will get you kicked out. Am I fucking understood?” He gritted out with his teeth. You nodded with a “yes Master”, he shoved your shoulder and walked off. Your whole body shrunk into itself as you whispered “don’t cry” repeatedly.

———

As you were gathering yourself, a certain Dathomirian Zabrak was watching on. He was there to seek out information on the Jedi. Amber eyes were fixated upon their first glance at you, and his body froze. Seeing your Master lash out at you stopped him in his tracks. He heard what he needed to, ready to move on when he heard your name being called. The sound alone stopped him. When the senior Jedi threatened you, his body tensed. He didn’t know why, but it was like a hidden instinct had kicked in.

He saw you take a deep breath, ground yourself and walk off to your night watch route. You walked around the south west side of the building, starting to scope out the terrain. His body followed yours like a curious cat, walking slowly and steadily. His eyes scan over your body, learning every inch, while his fingers itched for the blood of the master who treated you like shit.

His mind was all over the place, and he struggled to make sense of it. Why was he following this young woman, while he was trying to get a job done. You felt his strong force signature, and ignited your blue saber. Your eyes darting in different directions, the man skilled in force distribution. Your body was on fire with a concoction of anticipation and adrenaline, using all the energy you could on finding the being who was a potential threat to the order.

After 10 minutes the signature was gone, and so was your energy. You walked back to your wall position and slouched against it, fingers rubbing your eyes as a new ache came from your temples. “Fucking hell, they’re now messing with my night duties. How low can they get?”

The black and red patterned man left on his ship with new information and some…conflicting emotions.

———

A year and 10 months passed and your life was bizarre to say the least. The mistreatment, name calling and isolation was still the same to your disappointment. But your sleep quality was heavily improved, your body felt better rested, and your anxiety has gone down significantly. The only side effect was weird dreams.

Across the span of this time the man had gone through a handful of months of trying to shove you from his mind, you were like a plague. He also thought of the most brutal of deaths for the master who insulted you. He got so annoyed with his mind he requested to be in a new area of the galaxy to not be able to even feel your presence…it didn’t help a single bit.

5-6 months into the year he had started accepting the emotions, and decided to watch over you. He wasn’t happy about the Jedi order’s behavior towards you. He was ready to kill every person who looked disgusted or said anything about you. He watched over you as you cussed, and cried for an ounce of a nice nights sleep, so he used his powers to lull your mind into restful, sweet, blissful sleep. The next morning your body felt like it was on a fluffy cloud. Your eyes welled up with tears of relief, and joy as you had enough energy to put in a little more effort in your appearance. Hair tied up in a proper style instead of a messy ponytail, uniform clean, and a smile rested on your slightly red, bitten lips.

The joy was only short as you were sent on a 2 month mission a few weeks later, and your sleep got worse again. This caused the multiple horned man couldn’t find you. But don’t worry he is a very determined person, and found you within a week.

At that point, your anxiety and stress had sky rocketed. Your usual bullying had gotten worse, because you didn’t make it to base camp at the allocated time. Leading to your masters to yell at you, give you inventory to sort, and you couldn’t rest until it was complete. Half way through you felt the familiar force signature from the first night. A smooth, yet gravelly voice made you jump while instinctually igniting your lightsaber.

“You shouldn’t have to endure the torment they put upon your heart and mind” the voice spoke, while coming out of the shadows. Confusion etched its way onto your face. You could tell the hooded man was no good, a Sith Lord most likely but you didn’t try to alert any one of his intrusion. His words seeped into your mind like sand between one’s toes. Repeating over and over.

“What is your business here?!” You got into your fighting stance, trying not to question his words and protect your camp. If you save them from this guy you could finally be liked! He rolled his eyes, using his ability with the force to seep into your thoughts. “You know they’ll find something wrong, even if you succeed in taking me out Darling”

Your figure slightly slumped over as his eyes held the truth. His hand reached and snatched your Saber from your hand, retracting the beam and placing it on your belt. Your confusion amplified at his actions. “What? W-why are you even telling me this?”

“Because Darling” he walked up to you, stopping just a foot from your body. You could see the details of his face, the red more clear in contrast to the black. “You know I’m right”. Your heart sunk to the bottom of your stomach, you did, you knew he was right.

———

From that day he showed up randomly, sometimes when you expected it, and sometimes you had to aggressively push him behind a wall and whisper “are you nuts?!”. He would smirk and shrug, walking off. You’d roll your pretty eyes and follow.

You stayed in the order, but found your comfort and peace in the man who went by “Maul”. It took a while for you to believe he wasn’t lying about a few things about himself, but once a foundation of trust was made you hung onto his every word.

You of course went through the usual phases. “What do you want?”, To “you again?”, To “stalker much?”, To “oh thank kriff you’re here!”. You guys maintained a great friendship. You had inside jokes, comfort between one another, learnt every little thing about each other, and so much more. The friendship lasted 4 years, until the following year (when you turned 25) you both felt a shift in the atmosphere. Catching each other’s eyes at random moments, longer silences and more tactile interactions.

However your workplace never got better, Maul would be there to support you through the worst days. The first time you both initiated a hug was when you were having a mental breakdown, and just a simple hand on your back didn’t help he pulled you tight, and close to his chest. You froze immediately upon impact, shocked but still in the middle of a mental breakdown you continued to get all of your feelings out in the crook of his neck. From there you both were comfortable in each other’s arms.

The 5th year, as the aura of your friendship was in its transformation you were struck with another breakdown. You flung yourself off your bed, the tie of your pajamas becoming loose as you ran into the woods. The fabric lowed over your shoulder as your eyes frantically looking for your confidant. You knew not to call out his name, they, the Jedi, will find you and punish you. Or worse, kill him. So your body fell to the ground trying to breathe through the pain.

The crunch of his boots against grass had you looking up at his worry stricken face. He reached for you as you blabbered through sobs “please…take m-me…away from here!" he held you and fixed your pajamas. Once you settled into his embrace he lifted your face by your chin, looking for any hesitations. Once certain he took his cloak off and placed it onto your frame. “Ok Darling, let’s go”

———

You got yourself familiar with your new home, which was his chambers on the planet of Mustafar across the span of 4 days. “How are you feeling darling?” His voice sounded so sweet in your ears. Your mind was finally at ease being off that planet. Your stress and anxiety felt like a distant memory already. You got up from his surprisingly comfortable bed while grabbing his outstretched hand. “Better, much better Maul”. He pulls you to his meditation room which was attached to his chambers. “This is where I would seep into your mind to bring you restful sleep”.

“I knew it was you after a while, the pieces of the puzzle came together on their own.” You smiled up at him. He reciprocated with his own smile. Maul used the force to pick up your lightsaber off your night table. “Are you ready and are you sure?” He held your chin again. “Yes”. With the force Maul opened your saber, to retrieve the Kyber crystal, placing it onto the ground you sat cross legged.

“Now, focus all of your energy on the sadness, all of your anger, all of your frustration, all of your pain into a ball. With that ball, force it into your crystal.” He instructed, and you followed suit. The blue of your saber fought against the red hue that was being emitted from your very soul. It wasn’t strong enough, compared to how you felt about those who put you through the worst years of your life. “Concentrate” he kept you grounded. Maul could sense your mind wandering.

The crackling had stopped, and the Kyber crystal was bled. You pulled it to your hand with haste, opening your eyes to look at it. A smirk stretched across your lips. Getting up you walked towards the man who you owed your freedom to, looking into his eyes he noticed the rings of orange and red in replacement to your (e/c).

“I love you Maul, I think I always have” your face came close to his, seeking the same emotion in his gaze. There was a moment of quiet, before his lips made contact with yours. The kiss was soft, tender and warm. With undertones of sickening revenge on his end. Maul pulled away, smiling down at your flushed face.

“I’ve always loved you too, my love”.

———

After a while of Maul teaching you new lightsaber tricks, force abilities that were forbidden by the Jedi code. All the while being the best lover the galaxy ever saw. He gifted you all the necessary things you had left behind, exotic flowers from planets he frequented and took the utmost care of you.

Your training had come to fruition, and your lover had approved you to come with him to fight. You grabbed your bag as you went to his ship, you got on board. As you walked up the ramp you saw Maul sitting in the cockpit. You placed yourself in his lap, folding your legs over each other. He kissed your lips as he took off.

On the way to your destination you had your regular conversations, and sat in comfortable silence. Maul never explained where you were going, but your gut told you that you already knew. Opening your bag you got your device, and when through some information with your lover. This consisted of notes from training, and important information from different groups of people he worked with. Half the time he got lost in your voice and had to get you to repeat yourself. “You are Darth Maul and you’re getting distracted? If the Jedi could see you now!” You laughed

“Of course I’m distracted love, have you seen yourself?” He rubbed your arm gently and held your gaze, which will never not make you blush deep red. “Shut the fuck up” you mumbled under your breath. His throat vibrated with a deep, amused laugh. Kissing your neck as he put the ship into hyperspace. His arm snaked around your waist to keep you from flinging forward, not letting go. This didn’t help your blush in any way.

You had landed at your destination, you were super excited to finally use your new skills and knowledge. Getting up from Maul’s lap, you put your cloak on and made sure your lightsaber was secured to your belt. Maul’s larger hands placed the hood over your head, casting a menacing shadow. “Ready, Darling?” His knuckles caressed your face and with a simple “Yes Master” you followed him out of the ships door.

The gravel beneath your boots was satisfying to your ears, as you approached a Jedi bass camp. Déjà vu hitting you hard, making your body burn with anger. Maul could sense it and refocused your mind, “stay focused Darth (y/n/n)”. Your response was a sharp nod with a small grunt. As you followed him you sensed force users. their signatures leaving a sour taste in the back of your throat. The camp was small, only housing 10 Jedi minimum.

"Wait here my love, you'll know when to come out" he placed a rough kiss to your lips, which you matched perfectly. You stayed behind the stones which hid the camp, choosing to lean against one that was nicely shaded. In your waiting time you practiced your breathing and preformed a brief meditation ritual, connecting to all the Sith Lords and Ladies that came before.

Maul walked up to the Jedi Knights, who were talking strategy around a table. some sitting, some standing and some lying down on the dirt. Their discussion came to a stop as they felt the aura of a threat. All of them got into formation, ready for anything.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen... If you could even call your selves that." his hands reached for the hood of his cloak, and elegantly placed it on his neck. His eyebrows lowered as he recognized all of your main bullies. His anger rising as he remembered all of your anguish and suffering. One, the worst of them all had the gall to speak. "What is the meaning of your intrusion, Darth Maul?" This caused a sinical laugh to come from the depths of his soul.

"Darling! come!" his voiced rasped. You smirked as you started walking, head down facing the dirt ground. Each step you took was an ego boost, while making you feel giddy for your plans to take shape. "The "meaning of my intrusion" is her"

Your steps came to a stop on the right side of his body, your black cloak twirling in the wind. The air became suffocating as your advanced force signature took over the atmosphere. "would you be so kind to introduce yourself my love?"

Raising your head, lowering your hood from your head you made eye contact with the Jedi. Their mouths become agape, shock etched onto their faces within seconds. "(y-y/n)?"

"You thought I was weak, but now I’m back to show you the true meaning of power. Let’s see how you handle the darkness you created."

With that the sound of 3 lightsabers were ignited and blood finally shed.

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

DONE! I hope you enjoyed it! It's not my best work, but if you feel otherwise then that is great!😂 For both my own indulgence, and research I went to TikTok to watch edits/clips to get a good look into the way his character is written in the movies. I hope I did him justice, and i conveyed what you envisioned! My years of developed creative writing skills finally kicked in a little over half way when i was writing! I'll edit it at some point, but for now I just want it posted. -L🤍

#fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #darth maul x reader #darth maul #darth maul x female reader #star wars one shot #star wars the clone wars #star wars imagine #sith lord #sw prequels #x female reader #female reader #romantic #fluff #angst #bullying

54 notes · View notes

grave-z-boy · 1 year ago

Note

Right so I love your writing and just need more mx m cause fuck I'm tired of imaging dead me .

I'm a Trans man..I think ( female to male ??) So I was hoping for a fic somewhat like that . Arthur and reader meet when they're female but 2 years later or so they meet again and arthur doesnt recognize y/n (because they transitioned) I just want some fluff and acceptance of that . I know back then homosexuality was a big no no and being trans is unheard of so it'll be fun to see where you take it.

Arthur Morgan x Trans!Male!Reader

Summary: You’ve felt stuck and unhappy for years, so, in pursuit of your own happiness you leave everyone and everything you’ve even known behind. Including your currently out of state lover, Arthur Morgan.

Word count: 6,011

Warnings: reader is a bartender, reader steals, readers sister and mother are mentioned, implied past sex between Arthur and reader, drinking and alcoholism mentioned (not reader or Arthur), y/n and his guns, guns mentioned, shooting mentioned, abandonment, hurt comfort, reader being One Of The Guys™️, sleep deprived Arthur, Tilly being helpful, reader get misgendered and deadnamed a lot but it’s before they knew he was trans, reader cries really fucking hard at one point Arthur being sleep deprived, sleep deprive Arthur being really gay for Reader, not mentioned in the story but the reason Arthur is so tired is because about half way though his second trip to town his horse bucked him off for pushing her too hard and he had to walk the rest of the way, worlds longest warning list damn

Sept. 15, 18XX

My Dear Arthur Morgan

It’s been thirteen months since I saw you last. The time has passed slowly for me- sometimes it felt as though I was standing still for days at a time. Like everyone and everything around me was moving forward- but for me, and only me, time stood still. In the months since you’ve left it seems my joy, as well as a my love for my home town, has dwindled to nothing. Staying here, the way I am, it pains my heart. I know I said I would be here, that I would wait for you to return. But I need to change and the change that I need cannot be achieved here. The people here know me, they’ve known me my whole life, and no matter what I do I will always be that same little girl to them.

I’m heading up to a little town in Nevada, maybe I can start over there.

Always yours, D/n.

Arthur received your final letter months ago. In the time since he’s read it hundreds of times, mulling over every little detail. The crumbles in the paper, the unevenness of your writing, the all too familiar tear stains that permanently warped small circles on the page, the way your name ripped through the paper, as though you’d traced it dozens of times before sending it off.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand what happened, why after all this time of waiting, all this time of writing him dozens of love letters, why you decided to say goodbye, he understood change. Arthur has seen people change, he’s changed, and if it was change you needed he’d do it again. But you left. If he really wanted to, he could find you, ride day and night, ask everyone he saw if they’d seen the beautiful woman that he loved more than anything. But…

You didn’t want that. You didn’t want to be hunted down, you didn’t need to be convinced. You needed change, not a reason to stay the same. So he let you go and even when the following days were filled with the nothing but pain and confusion and the complete desolation your decision brought, he still let you go.

The gang knew he was hurting, he was withdrawn, went off on his own for a couple of days. They figured he went to find you, but when he returned, without you and in a severely worse state, they knew not to press him on it.

You weren’t much better.

This was your decision and you were going to live with it. You yearned for Arthur, every day and every night, it was different from waiting for him in your hometown, he was the one who’d left then, but you knew he’d come back to you one day. Now you were the one leaving, and you could never go back to him.

You needed to move on, you sold every piece of clothing you had to a local tailor, it was almost funny to see some of your nicer dresses displayed in the window the next morning, early on, your new wardrobe came from various drunk men. You’d be surprised just how much you could find in an alley next to a bar. After you had an outfit, a proper male outfit, you were able to assimilate.

You lived above a tavern. The owner was far too old and far too tired to run it anymore, and he wanted to live in his own house for the first time in decades, so he offered you the place for a little over a hundred bucks. You worked at the bar at night, while you handled various chores and other responsibilities during the day. The pay wasn’t great, but you had a permanent place to stay and spare food from the bar to eat, and it was more than enough.

You’d taken up a new name, y/n, you thought about it for a long time before you left. A good name, the name of a proud man with no connection to who you were before. No one ever questioned you. You were just a man to them. They teased you, in the earlier days, called you feminine, pointed out your hand, your cheeks, and your hips among other things, but in the end it was just teasing, they didn’t know why you were like that, and they didn’t question when you put in an effort to change or hide your more feminine aspects. Maybe they were just too drunk to care.

You loved this life, you were just the friendly bartender.

But even with this new life, you found yourself missing aspects of you’re old one.

Your old friends, your old family, your old lover. They wouldn’t take you back, not like this, they’d think something was wrong, they’d try to change you, try force you back into the box you clawed yourself out of.

But still you dreamed of them, your sisters cooking, the way she was effortlessly graceful even when she was teasing you, your friends, the girls you’ve know since you were in diapers, singing, making flower crowns, getting into trouble. Arthur…

You dreamed of Arthur the most. Your days and nights were filled with thoughts of him. You think back to your last night together, the way he held you so tightly, you swore you could still feel his hands there. The praises he muttered, the love he confessed through out the night, every move he made, the way he left and the hole that was left in your chest after.

You dreamed of him, like one day you’d wake up and he’d be beside you. And he tell you that he loved you, not d/n, not the girl from before, but you, y/n, as your truest self.

But just like yesterday, and the days before that, he wasn’t there when you opened your eyes.

The sun was just coming up. But the sliver of light that did shine through the window seemed to magically be angled at your eyes. Making the rest you so desperately wanted impossible.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, your elbow popping the moment you were upright, your eyes were just barely open, you scratched your chest and let out a long yawn.

Your room was still dark for the most part, but you were still able to pull on some pants and fasten a belt so you could head downstairs. The tavern was empty, you cleaned up good last night and you wouldn’t have to worry about really opening until later. Still, you unlocked the front door and flipped the wooden sign in the window to say open, the people here knew you weren’t really open to serve, you were just open to the chatty people that passed through in the morning, locals coming to say hi, or travelers in need of direction, others came to sit with their friends and get out of the violent Nevada sun. Either way, you’d be polite enough to them, but they weren’t welcome for a drink for another couple of hours.

Stepping into the backyard you picked the laundry off the line and into a basket. You heard the bell up on top of the front door ring a couple of times. As you got closer to the back door you could hear the faint chatter of two people inside, Doctor Mayer, one of three doctors in town, and Anita, a house wife. She was in here more often than her husband was, but you always figured that she just needed something to do while he worked considering you’ve only ever seen her drink a handful of times in the past year.

When you came through the back door she let out an excited yelp,

“Y/n!” She shouted, like she hadn’t seen you the night before.

“Mrs. Matthews.” You said with a respectful nod. “How’s you’re husband?”

She groaned, “paranoid.”

Setting the basket down on the bar, in between the upturned stools, you turned back to her.

“He used to be a farmer, farmers are always paranoid.”

“He was not a damn farmer, don’t let that man fool you, he was a farm hand, it’s different,”

Dr. Mayer piped in, his voice low and tired, though that just how he always sounded, “the bastard smells like one…”

“It’s getting warmer out there.” You responded, leaning against the bar.

“Doesn’t mean he has to walk around smelling like a damn animal!”

You laughed, turning back to Anita, “what does your husband do anyway?”

“He’s a banker, which is why he’s so damn paranoid in the first place.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well..” she stated, adjusting herself in her chair, “one of his colleague’s brother-in-law told his colleague that he saw a gang ‘a outlaws heading up this way, but here’s the kicker, Johnny, the colleague, is a notorious liar. Lies left and right like his life depends on it.”

“Johnny Flores?” You asked.

She smacked the table, “That’s the bastard!”

“Yeah, he comes in here every Wednesday like clockwork, telling the boys his stories. It’s a surprise the whole town hasn’t heard about this..”

“Well, it isn’t Wednesday yet, is it? It’ll make it’s way into you’re bar, don’t worry”

You laughed again, grabbing the basket off the table you said, “Alright, I’ll be back in a minute, got a few more thing to settle.”

You weren’t too worried about the rumors, there wasn’t much in the town anyways, no sheriff either so if they did come and make noise, it’d be a free for all and they’d leave with less than they came with. Everybody had a gun, hell- you had two, a shotgun the last owner had given you, and a pistol Arthur had given you a few weeks before he left, one was under the bar on a shelf, the other was under your bed, you’ve never really had a need for either, but if Johnny was being truthful for once in his life, which you doubted, you figured it was good to have them.

That night, when the bar did open, a few unfamiliar faces strode in, though none were to shady. A couple of working girls took to them quick and they were gone after being chatted up by for a bit. Outside of that, it was a normal night.

You closed late, shooing out the last drunk nearly two hours later than usual. Wiping down the tables, flipping the chairs and stools on them, washing the glasses, sweeping, mopping and making sure the front and back door was locked before heading upstairs. You scrubbed yourself down at your washstand. Of all things you missed from your old home, your bathtub was one of the bigger ones. Your mother had invested in it early on, and now you were saving to have one installed here too. What you wouldn’t do for a hot bath after a long day. You were almost there, another fifty dollars and you’d have all the money you needed. That’s were a good portion of your money went, you didn’t mind, after all you’ve sacrificed you deserve something nice.

——-

A couple of weeks later, Wednesday afternoon, Johnny Flores and a couple of his friend decided to take over the seats directly in front of the bar. Again, he told stories of bandits headed your way, but he was “serious” this time.

“I swear, I know what I saw, Dutch’s boys, just like the damn posters! I saw them coming from the east, clear as day.”

Before one of his friend could respond you asked, “and what the hell were you doing in the east, huh?”

“Well-“ he straightened himself out, “I was out with my lady friend-“

“The prostitute-“ his friend, Oscar, interrupted.

“-Not a prostitute, she's a-”

“-escort-” both Johnny and his three friends said together, they've heard that one before.

“Isnt that the same thing?” you asked.

“He doesn't think so!” Oscar said.

“They almost knocked our carriage over!” Johnny shouted, getting the conversation on track.

“Sure they did..” you said, drying the glass in your hand before setting it back down. “Bet they stuck you up too, only let you live cuz you're so pretty.”

“Go to hell, y/n.”

“I'll go where ever your lying, drunk ass ain't.”

“Im not lying, and I’m not drunk either, so get me another whiskey, asshole!”

“Hey now,” Daniel, who was also a regular, piped up, “careful how you talk to him, he might shoot ya’”

You set the glass down in front of him, he snatched it quickly, gulping it down.

“Or I might just piss in your whiskey.”

He choked hard, luckily the drink went down his throat instead of all over your counter, then you would have shot him. His face morphed to one of irritation, but his friend's laughter was infectious and he found himself laughing along with them.

The night ended with you carrying a passed out Johnny to the alley, you cleaned up, scrubbed yourself down, and went to bed just as you always did.

The next morning a delivery was made to the bar, food and alcohol, you kept your meats and some of your more expensive liquor in the ice box and things like bread and supplies were kept on the shelf. Food wasn't ordered commonly in the tavern, but there were those who ate here nearly every night because they had no skill for cooking and no one else to do it for them. You enjoyed those people, and you think they enjoyed you too, especially since the last owner would drive them out if they tried to come in for more than three days in a row. He thought that they were stealing food from other customers, but you didn't, You knew they were just hungry and needed to eat, and they couldn't be stealing because they always paid.

After that, your day was pretty normal- other than what you consider to be one the best things to happen to you in a long time- your bathtub, your beautiful porcelain bathtub with golden feet and faucet, was done. Fully installed and in perfect working order. You weren't going to pretend to understand how the man you paid did it, but he did. And finally, after what felt like years, you were able to take a hot bath.

It was weird, staring down at your distorted body as you soaked. Usually, when you scrubbed yourself down at the washstand all you could think of was how desperately you wanted this to be over. Your mind was clear, but that clarity only lasted so long though, as it did most nights, your mind wander to Arthur.

Saying you missed him was redundant, it was meaningless, it was stupid. You know, but you did. Letting out a long sigh, the last time you saw Arthur was like a dream, you spent an entire day together, you woke up together, ate together, bathed together, dressed together- everything you did, every little move you made reminded you of that day. And with Johnny spreading rumors about the Dutch’s gang, you heard his name more and more. You let yourself sink into the water, your eyes clenched shut as warm water covered your face. You stayed there longer that you should have, when you finally sat up, you were nearly gasping for air.

You got out few minutes later, you were tired, dressing yourself halfway before collapsing into bed.

You didn’t dream that night, your mind either too tired or too pained to show you your usual fantasies.

——-

Arthur swore he wouldn’t look for you, he swore it to you and to himself that he’d let you be free. But it seemed unavoidable now. Dutch had settled the gang in a large clearing in Nevada, the gang was mostly hidden by a small chain of mountains, and there was a streak of towns and settlements all within a couple dozen miles from each other.

There weren’t many cities in Nevada, it was dry and damn near impossible to farm out here if you didn’t know what you were doing, and if that wasn’t enough, the heat would be.

You were out there somewhere.

Dealing with the heat, with the drought, and with the shitty crops. And you still didn’t go back home. He’s been to your home. He's gone back dozens of times, you were never there, whatever you wanted to do, whatever changes you made, you succeded. He was happy for you, you were happy, God he hoped you were happy- he doesn't know what he'd do if he found out you weren't. If you were somewhere miserable and sulking, all this time, when you could have been with him.

He pushed those thoughts back- you were happy, you had to be.

When Arthur mentioned he was riding into the nearest town, he got a few odd looks. It wasn't a secret that you'd run off to Nevada, not even close. Most didn't say much, maybe a quick good luck, or a request for something from town. Some didn't say anything, but Dutch did. Dutch warned him, warned him about you and how some changes weren't good, and if Arthur did see you that he needed to be careful.

Arthur wasn't one to ignore advice, and he didn't ignore it, he thought about it as he road through the desert lands of Nevada, but whatever changes you made, he could handle it. He wasn't a child, he didn't need have his hand held. There wasn't even a guarantee that you'd been in this town, or the next one. So for all he knew he'd never have to face you're changes.

The town was bustling with life. The people went about their business. The town was…normal. Small, busy, and normal. He road in unbothered, no one here seemed to care enough to even look when the man when he trotted by.

Hitching his horse to a sturdy pole he set off to one of the small shops nearby, after picking up some extra oat cakes and apples for the horse, he tried to find the sheriff’s office, only to find that this town didn't have one after asking a mildly disheveled yet nicely dressed man for directions, no government either. The town was its own unit outside of the occasional trading.

“Danny Hikman used to be the law here, well, not really, but he kept people on the right track. Encouraged them to do right- and get guns, he used to run a bar a little down the way, gave it to his nephew or something-” the man said, laughing slightly.

“‘ bar any good?” he asked, only half listening to the man.

“The best, fresh food, cold whiskey- bartenders a good guy too, won't hesitate to throw your ass out though.”

“I’ll bet- which way’s that bar, again?”

———

You started serving earlier than usual today, mostly so you could close earlier without complaint. The familiar chime of the bell above the door called your attention for a less than a second, you recognized Johnny, then looked back down at the glasses you were cleaning.

“Changing your schedule on me, Johnny? I thought you were a Wednesday man?”

He let out a short laugh, sitting in the spot directly in front of you, “just showing a friend around.”

“You’re friends are all alcoholics, I doubt they need help finding a bar.”

“Hey now, I’ve got a new friend. Mr. Uhh-“

“Arthur.”

You felt like you’d just jumped out of your skin, the glass in your hand clattered against the floor, ever so sturdy. Landing thankful one piece. Staring at the man in front of you, standing just behind Johnny, Arthur Morgan, right there, looking just the way he did when he left, just the way you remember him.

He glanced at Johnny, then back at you- it felt like he looked right through you. Looking at you with none of the love or adoration from before. Because he loved d/n, not y/n. Y/n was just a bartender to him, an awful one who apparently couldn’t even hold a damn glass.

Your heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself, your chest was tight and you could feel your throat start to close as tears weld in your eyes. Quickly, you broke eye contact with Arthur, ducking down under the bar to grab the glass, using the sleeves of your shirt to wipe the forming tears in your eyes before standing up.

“Sorry boys,” you muttered, “you’re, uh, friend startled me is all.”

Taking off his hat and setting down on the counter, Arthur took a seat on one of the stools.

“Sorry, your friend here talked you up quite a bit, had to see for myself if what he said was true.”

You let out a laugh, forced and almost nervous, setting the glass down with the rest of the dirty glasses, you said, “Trust me, it’s true, what you looking for Mr. Arthur?”

“Just Arthur, and whiskey, thanks.”

You nodded to the man before heading to the storage room, you’d hate to admit it, but you wanted to run, straight passed the storage room and out the back door. But that would make Arthur think something was wrong, and yes, something was wrong, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t recognize you, and that was okay, it was supposed to be okay, you left so you wouldn’t be recognized, you left to start over. But he’s out there, and you were hiding in the storage room so you wouldn’t have to face him. You gave yourself a moment, for your throat to release and for your heart to stop pounding and aching. Only the pounding stopped. You needed to work, you couldn’t let them know anything was wrong.

Grabbing a bit of higher quality whiskey out of the icebox, feeling the frosty glass sting your hand as you carried it out of the storage room. Without looking up at the man you grabbed one of the clean glasses and poured him about half a glass. You remember Arthur complaining about it once, only getting serviced the tiniest amount of alcohol, no matter the price. Capping the bottle you gave a short wordless nod before setting it under the counter. Arthur grabbed the glass, before he could speak you were on the other side of the bar, serving somebody else.

Johnny didn’t stay long, he had other things to do on a Thursday afternoon, but Arthur stayed, you poured him a couple more glasses before cutting him off, at least from your expensive whiskey.

“How much do I owe you?” He ask, his speech a bit slurred as he sat unsteadily in his seat.

“Nothing, I’ll put it on Johnny’s tab, come Wednesday he won’t notice it.”

“Thank you kindly-“

“Y/n-“

“Thank you, y/n.”

“You have a good night Mr. Morgan.”

You crawled into bed that night, still in your day clothes, feeling like your heart had been torn out of your chest. And you cried, you cried until the sun came up, until your body couldn't cry anymore and every sound you made was a rough heaving sob. And when you had no more energy left to sob, you stared at your open window, watching the sunrise, listening to the people.

You were supposed to open today, unlocking the door and flipping the sign, staring out the window, at the people, at Mrs. Matthews waiting across the street for you to open your doors.

You flipped the sign back, you stated at the word “OPEN” facing you, then at Mrs. Matthews's face fell as the word “CLOSED” faced her.

————

Sitting on his cot, journal on his lap, Arthur stared at the picture he drew. It wasn't perfect, considering he was half drunk when he drew it, but it was something. The bartender from last night. He was…something. A nervous something. Arthur felt bad for him when he dropped the glass, then he just…stared at him, long enough for Arthur to get a spark of familiarity when he saw his face. Arthur tried to get his attention as the night went on, ordering drinks, asking questions, trying to get the man to stay close, be he'd walk away the moment he'd answered or served him.

He wasn't like that with other patrons, he laughed, he joked- then he kicked everyone out.

He heard him say he was closing early, but let him stay until he finished his last drink. Arthur thought about the name he'd given. Y/n.

“I see you're drawing d/n again, did you catch her in town?”

Looking up he saw Tilly standing next to him with a kind smile on her face.

“No, it's not d/n, some bartender in town, he looks so familiar.”

Tilly hummed, sitting on the cot with Arthur and taking the book out of his lap. She flipped through the pages quickly before finding a drawing of d/n, with your final letter stuck right next to it.

“Needs a change, huh? Maybe she skipped town and became a bartender, you never know.”

“A bartender and a man?”

“You never know Arthur. Maybe that's why she left, couldn't make a change like that where people know you. They would've hunted her down.”

“Tilly..”

“Maybe you should talk to the bartender, if it's not her then it's not her, but if it is, are you really going to miss seeing her again because you won't take a chance?”

Handing the journal back to him she said, “Just think about it, at least.” Then she walked away.

————

You heard the slam of the front door behind you as you sat the freshly cleaned glasses on the rack. If you were going to sulk and lock yourself in the bar then you were going to clean while you did it.

“We’re closed..” you said, your tone not exactly customer friendly.

You had a list of things you needed to do, you've already mopped the floor, scrubbed the tables and walls, washed every glass, plate, and utensil, did your laundry, scrubbed your tub, cleaned your room-

“D/n..?”

You paused, then glanced over your shoulder. You knew it was him, you already knew, you knew his voice too well to ever mistake it. Taking a breath, you hands shaking and heart pounding, you turned around.

“Arthur, I-” you breathed out, but you didn't know what to say. “How did you-”

“Lucky guess..”

Taking slow steps towards the bar, you heard him sigh.

“Are you…okay?” he asked, unsure.

You nodded, “Yeah, yeah I'm okay.”

“We should talk-”

“Yes, we should-”

You stepped from behind the counter, still unsure as to what could happen next. Then, without warning, you were pulled into a tight hug, Arthurs's body practically enveloping yours. You stood there, holding him as tightly as you could until your arms started to burn from the strain.

You didn't know what to say, or how to explain what happened, the realization you went through while he was gone, why you left.

When you pulled away you still didn’t know what to say, you opened your mouth to talk but no words came out. You kept your face glued to the ground for a long moment.

“You look different, I didn’t recognize you yesterday..”

You pulled out one of the stools.

“I told you I needed change.”

He pulled another out beside you.

“I know, I just don’t know what I was expecting.”

“This must be so confusing.”

“It is, but I’m betting it was more confusing for you that it could be for anybody else.”

Leaning on the counter, you looked up at him.

“I guess so. In my home town I figured that they’d be a little more angry than confused so I left..” you stopped, taking a breath, “I didn’t want to leave you, Arthur.”

Arthur sat there silently, his eyes turned towards the counter.

You couldn’t help but stare, you haven’t seen him in so long, his eyebrows were slightly scrunched downward, his pretty blue eyes focused on nothing as his mind raced. His fingers tapped against the counter every few seconds. You tried not to let that anxious feeling in your chest build, but the longer he was silent, the harder it got to push down.

“You said you aren't happy anymore..”

You blinked.

“I wasn't.”

“How about now? Are you happy now?”

“I'm.. I have more good days than I did before, so…yeah, I'm happy.”

He stayed silent for another moment. You figured he was just trying to find his words.

Then, when he did speak,

“I still love you.”

You sighed, “I still love you, too, Arthur.”

Another long silence passed. It was odd, you've dreamed of seeing him again, all the damn time. And now that he's here you didn't know what to say. Your relationship, how ever strong it was before, was dying. Even though you loved him and he loved you.

Arthur was having similar thoughts, he didn't care how much you changed, he wanted you to be happy. That's all he wanted for you. But he wants to be with you, he doesn't care that your a man, it doesn't matter to him, he doesn't think it's ever mattered. He's never thought too hard about it. But now, with you sitting there looking the way you did. Looking so different, so muchlike yourself, so much more at peace even though you were being confronted, he thought, ‘yeah, I could be with a man.’

Before he could, you took a chance.

“How long you thinking of staying in town for, Arthur?”

———-

You laughed, he missed your laugh.

“You can't just go around taking people's clothes off!”

“I needed clothes and they were so drunk they wouldn't miss them!” you argued.

“How have you not been caught yet?”

“I bought new clothes!”

“Why couldn't you do that first?”

“I needed to avoid suspicion.”

“Avoid suspicious by stealing clothes..”

You laughed again.

You and Arthur had found your way upstairs, both of you sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He asked you how you ended up here, it was funny, explaining to Arthur, a known outlaw, the various ways you broke the law, and having him lecture you.

“I will not take this from an outlaw!”

“You're an outlaw too, now, Clothes Bandit.”

“Oh that's awful, why couldn't I get something good?”

“‘Good’ like what?”

“I don't know, you're better at naming things than I am.”

He looked over at you a small smile on his face.

“Really now, Mr. Y/n, how’d you come up with that anyways?”

“Well I found a baby naming book.”

He sat up, giving you a look.

“Are you serious?”

You looked at him for a second, a stren expression on your face, then slowly a smile broke out on your face.

“You're an ass.”

“You really think I got Y/n for a baby naming book?”

“You could have!”

“But I didn't-”

Eventually, after showing him your room and the various aspects of your new life that you adored (yes, the tub too), you headed back down to the bar, only to see Daniel, one of Johnny’s friends, behind the bar serving himself.

“Daniel, I'm going to kill you, how many drinks have you had?” you said, rushing over to him, snatching both the glass and bottle from his hand.

“One-” you gave him a look, he caved quickly with a sigh, “five.”

“Goddamnit.”

“‘M sorry, you are closed, your never closed!”

“I wouldn't be serving drinks this early anyways!”

He laughed, walking around to the other side of the bar, “I'm special though right? Won't get shot or banned or nothing?” he practically pleaded, but formed it like a question.

“No, you're not banned, but you still need to leave.”

He sighed, dragging himself out the door.

Sighing yourself, you turned to Arthur, “See what I have to deal with?”

“‘Seems like a handful.”

“Daniel is harmless, he's just an alcoholic.”

“Never met a harmless alcoholic.”

“He's harmless now, he doesn't want to risk almost getting shot again.”

Arthur laughed, sitting at the bar, just like had yesterday, “Who shot at him?”

You stared at him for a moment.

“You?”

“I gave him plenty of warning, see that hole in the wall that there—” you pointed to the very back wall of the tavern, between two tables was a loosely patched hole, “- warning shot, missed him by an inch.”

“Who the hell taught you how to shoot?”

“I taught myself, maybe I could teach you sometime.”

“Very funny, y/n, I wouldn't mind seeing you shoot sometime though.”

“There's a range in the next town, I could take you there sometime.”

The two of you talked until the sun had fully set and the town had gone quiet. The bar made you feel more open somehow, it always did. Arthur helped too, you guess. You missed him, you missed being like this, so normal with him. You were surprised his quickly things settled back in place, like neither of you had ever left. It was clear that you were different, but Arthur seemed to accept this change flawlessly. He never messed up, seemingly having ingrained every aspect of your new life into his mind.

Y/n, Mr.Y/n, Sir, he even called you handsome, you swear you nearly fell over when he did.

By midnight, you both were tired, and despite what he planned before, which was bringing you- if it was you, back to camp with him. But that plan never fell through, you ended up pulling him into the bathroom with you. You thought you'd be uncomfortable at first, but you figured if he was going to be back in your life you should get used to him seeing you naked again. But it wasn't, it was calm, comforting. You were thankful for your massive bath, the both of you fit well, you sat behind him, his hat tossed in on top of the heap of clothes you two had left, you ran your fingers through his hair, water from your hands running down his face. He hummed in contempt. He didn't speak much at first, simply enjoying you and your presence. It wasn't until the water had begun to cool and the cold air of the Nevada night started to seep in did he pressed himself closer to you, muttering something quietly.

It wasn't until you got out, long after the water cooled, we're you able to figure out what he was saying. You had some clothes you figured might fit Arthur, something you'd bought impulsively without actually checking to see if you could fit it.

“You have…nice arms-” he muttered.

You were pulling your pants up over your waist when he spoke, you turned to look at him, one hand holding your unbuttoned pants up, you asked, “Arthur, are you drunk?”

“No, no I'm just…real tired.”

“Didn't get much sleep?”

“I didn't sleep, I kept thinking of you.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

He groaned, “Tuesday, I was on watch Wednesday, I was pre occupied by your ass on Thursday, and now here we are.”

“Fucking Christ, go to sleep.”

“I want to look at you, I missed you-”

“I'll be here in the morning Arthur.”

He didn't respond for a long moment, you figured he dozed off finally, until you decided to switch shirts, shoving the one you had on into your drawer and pulling out another.

“You have a nice back too-”

“Good night, Arthur.”

Your night ended with you curling up around Arthur, your arms nearly wrapped completely around him. You didn't dream again tonight, your usual fantasies of seeing Arthur were deemed useless now and we're thrown out with the rest of today's mental trash.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x male!reader #rdr2x male!reader #male!reader #male reader #x male reader #x male!reader #male y/n #x male y/n #arthur Morgan x male #✮ — z-boy

268 notes · View notes

poisonmushdude · 11 days ago

Note

I am Ahlam from Gaza

I am 54 years old and have 9 daughters and a son

I suffer from kidney failure, and with limited hospital resources, I ask you to help me go out to receive treatment so that I can take care of my children.

I am displaced in tents. I have been displaced more than 10 times, and my house was bombed, and I have no shelter, and this makes my condition worse.

Every €15 or €20 will contribute to saving

my family🙏🩸

https://gofund.me/61f1dd1f

My campaing Vetted by/ @gazavetters

@90-ghost

@gaza-evacuation-funds

Ahlam (vetted) is currently displaced in a tent while undergoing dialysis. She has been struggling with kidney failure for 11 years and is now being forced to live in terrible conditions alongside dialysis 4 times a week. Ahlam is currently trying to survive in a tent along with her 10 children (7 of whom are married and have their own families). Conditions are abhorrent with the amount of people crowded in the tent and bugs entering as well. This is a smaller portion of the story on Ahlam's GoFundMe page. This GoFundMe has been established in the hope that it would raise the funds to evacuate Ahlam from Palestine. Getting her to a location that would allow her to get better medical treatment, and live more happily. As of writing this, Ahlam has reached 36% of her total goal. This is why I ask you to donate to Ahlam. Any amount will count towards Ahlam's goal. She is not asking for much. Prices to get across the border, when open, are thousands per person. To get across alone will take a large percentage of the raised money. Otherwise, whether you can or cannot donate, I ask that you share Ahlams GoFundMe. This helps bring to to people who can donate to her. It also makes sure that people do not forget about her and her story. Keeping her 'alive' in the conversation about Palestine. (1 USD = 0.95 Euro)

(The amount raised for Ahlam as of writing this)

#all eyes on palestine #gaza genocide #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gofundme #gaza strip #help gaza #gaza #palestine #free gaza #free palestine #vetted #palestine gfm #gaza fundraiser #donations #vetted gofundme #verified fundraiser #vetted gfm

23 notes · View notes

catcze · 22 days ago

Text

#CATCZE — Writing and Edit Commissions !!

Thank you for giving me your attention! For commissions, I will be taking two kinds: writing commissions and in-game edit commissions. If you're at all interested in commissioning me for these, please proceed below ♡ If you can't commission me, then I would greatly appreciate you reblogging this post!

— Check below for availability, T&C, prices & more !!

Current status (12/02) :

Writing Commissions: 0/3

In-game edit Commissions: 3/3

Writing Commissions

To have an idea of what my usual work is like, my masterlist can be found here !

What I write :

Genshin Impact character x reader

Genshin Impact character x original character

Honkai Star Rail character x reader

Honkai Star Rail character x original character

I will also be accepting commissions for NSFW works !

Prices & Payment:

[SFW]

Minimum of 100 words — 1 USD / 50php

For every +100 words you would like to add to the minimum word count, that is 1 USD / 50php. So 1k words = 10 USD. 2k words = 20 USD.

[NSFW]

Minimum of 100 words — 1.5 USD / 75php

For every +100 words you would like to add to the minimum word count, that is 1.5$ / 75php. 1k words = 15 USD. 2k words = 30 USD.

Note : If you would like your explicit content to come with some sfw scenes for build up, please tell me so we can negotiate! You can indicate a minimum word count for sfw scenes, as well as a minimum word count for explicit scenes so you can save some money !!

Note 2: After the final piece is sent, the client may request minor revisions. Major revisions, depending on how much is to be changed, may cost extra.

Methods of Payment:

Payment accepted via p.aypal or gcash.

After showing the client the initial draft (minimal editing, mostly only there to get a grasp for the plot/feel of the piece, is usually only 1/2 or 2/3 of the total word count) for suggestions and corrections, 50% of the total price should be sent for me to continue.

Full payment is required only after I have confirmed that I have completed the commission.

Terms & Conditions:

Read my rules before you commission me. All do’s and do-not’s found in there apply here.

I will not be taking commissions from blank blogs. Ageless blogs may not commission me for explicit works.

Please have patience if you plan to commission me. Completion time varies according to details of the commission + my own personal circumstances. Expect about 2-14 days (or more).

I can send the final work to you, or post it on my tumblr. Whichever one works for you! You may repost it wherever you want (as long as it is for non-commercial use only) but you may not remove the byline ( ‘written by Catcze’ ). If you prefer that I don’t post it to my social media, please feel free to say so!

Feel free to ask for updates, but please try not to make them too frequent! (once a day is good enough :D)

Please be open to any questions I may have! I want to make this as best as I can for you, and sometimes I may need to ask for details or clarification.

If you have any ideas, scenes, dialogue, prompts or whatever that you would like me to use as inspiration for the work, please feel free to tell me! They can be super helpful in knowing what kind of vibe you’d like ♡

If you would like to commission me, please fill out this form!

In-Game Edit Commissions

Here is an example of a full body edit (left) and a half body / profile page edit (right) !

Prices & Payment:

Full body edit — 40 USD / 2000 php (base price)

Half body / profile page edit — 30 USD / 1500 php (base price)

Note: Complex designs (wings, large horns, detailed outfits, etc.) may cost extra. Additionally, I will not be taking commissions for characters with full body armor, furries, or anything out of my ability.

Note 2: After the final piece is sent, the client may request minor revisions. Major revisions, depending on their severity, may cost extra.

Methods of Payment:

Payment accepted via p.aypal or gcash.

After showing the client the sketch for suggestions and corrections, 50% of the total price should be sent for me to continue.

Full payment is required only after I have confirmed that I have completed the commission.

Terms & Conditions:

I will not be taking commissions from blank blogs.

Please have patience if you plan to commission me. Completion time varies according to details of the commission + my own personal circumstances. Expect about 10-20 days (or more) after the sketch has been approved.

I will send the final work to you via discord/email when I'm done! You may repost it wherever you want (as long as it is for non-commercial use only) but you may not remove my watermark. If you prefer that I don’t post it to my social media, please feel free to say so!

Feel free to ask for updates, but please try not to make them too frequent! (once a day is good enough :D)

Please be open to any questions I may have! I want to make this as best as I can for you, and sometimes I may need to ask for details or clarification.

If you have any ideas, references, inspirations, or whatever that you would like me to use, please feel free to tell me! They can be super helpful in knowing what kind of vibe you’d like ♡

If you would like to commission me, please fill out this form!

Thank you again for the interest ! Even if you can't commission me, please feel free to support me by reblogging this post ♡

#Writing commissions #Edit commissions #fic commissions #Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact oc #Genshin impact original character #genshin impact x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #「 ‼️ 」 Important !!

24 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 11 months ago

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 3

AO3

Summary: In the wake of a terrible loss, the arrival of a new airman at Thorpe Abbotts promises to change the trajectory of Frankie's life forever

Warnings: Death, grief

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles

A/N: HE'S HEREEEE 🗣🗣🗣

It was dark in the mechanics' hut, the lights kept off during the day to preserve power, but the overcast nature of the afternoon did nothing to light the space from the outside. Hours had passed since the pilots had left, and although Frankie was never made privy to the specifics of their missions, she could tell by the amount of fuel that had been requested that they were going far, much further than they ever had before. There was not a man among them who hadn't seemed to have a dark cloud over his head as they had prepared to depart that morning.

She and Lemmons sat on the floor together, backs propped up against the wall, both too troubled by worry to work. Frankie had an old fashion magazine in her lap, and they passed the time by flicking through each section and poking fun at a myriad of ugly sweaters and ridiculous hats.

"Those are nice," Ken stated, pointing at a pair of green brogued shoes.

"Seriously? I think they're garish."

He shrugged. "My Fonda has some like it. They look nice on her."

She let out a low whistle, teasingly nudging his side as his face turned bright red, a satisfied smile curling his lips. For a boy as young as he was, he sure loved Fonda. Frankie had noticed the heart-shaped locket that hung from his neck the very first day they'd worked together, but it had taken weeks for him to let her have a look inside. It must have been nice to be loved the way she was.

The magazine was losing its charm. It had been over an hour, and they were running out of pages. With a huff, she tossed it across the room, landing in a heap of crumpled pages underneath the table. Ken looked over at her, raising a brow.

She shrugged. "Bored. Want a cigarette?"

Without waiting for an answer, Frankie dug around in her pocket and produced two loose, slightly bent cigarettes, passing one to Lemmons. She lit hers swiftly, taking in an inhale of smoke. He rolled his between his fingers, never bothering to light it. Sometimes she forgot he didn't smoke.

"I'm gonna take you for a drink tonight. We deserve it."

"I'm nineteen."

Frankie stared at him for a long moment. "...So?"

"So, I can't drink."

"Jesus Christ. Welcome to England mate, you might be the only nineteen-year-old currently in the country who doesn't already have a drinking problem."

He opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could emerge they were interrupted by a rapid knocking at the door. Far from the usual pounding thuds the men usually used, this knock was delicate, polite, but its urgency set Frankie's heart to beating twice as fast.

Scrambling to her feet, she rushed for the door, tossing her cigarette into the ashtray on the table as she passed. Hauling it open, a wave of nausea coursed through her as she saw George standing outside, hair damp from the drizzle, tie pulled loose away from her neck, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Wh-" Frankie trailed off as she slammed into her, gripping her in the tightest hug she'd ever felt. As she wrapped her arms around George's back, she could feel her shaking beneath her palms.

George let out one sob after another, face buried in Frankie's shoulder as her tears soaked the fabric of her coveralls. Looking back over at Lemmons, their gazes met in wide-eyed expressions of anxiety, and if George hadn't been crying so loudly Frankie was sure the thumping of her heart would've been audible.

"George- George," She spoke firmly, hands pressed to George's cheeks as she forced her to meet her eye. To be so harsh to a woman who needed nothing but softness ripped a hole through her, the guilt churning her stomach, but she needed to know. "Tell me what happened."

She nodded hurriedly, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. "They made it to Africa - we started getting messages through about an hour ago, but, uh..." George's lip trembled, and she sucked in a long, haggard breath. "Curt's dead, Frankie."

Lemmons let out some sort of strangled gasp as Frankie felt all of the blood drain from her face. For a moment she didn't know how to process the words, she just knew she needed to hold George - to hold her tight, tighter than anyone ever had. There was not an inch between them as she stroked a gentle hand through her golden hair, trying with all her might to keep breathing as she felt a warm tear roll down her cheek.

Over George's shoulder, she spied Ken making for the door, a frown casting a shadow over his boyish face. He met her eyes, and she offered him a nod, freeing him from the scene so he could inevitably tell the others.

The two women held each other for a long moment, Frankie's chin burrowed against George's collar. When she finally spoke, it was little more than a hoarse whisper, her throat suddenly dry as a bone.

"...And Bucky?"

Sniffing loudly, George pulled back, shaking her head. "No, no, he's okay. He made it to Algeria." Frankie hadn't released she was holding her breath until she let it escape her, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she nodded.

"Yeah? Yeah. Alright," She could worry about the others later - for now, knowing Egan was alive was enough to settle her drumming heart. "You need to go home, ok? You need to rest."

"My shift's not over, I still have to-"

"I am gonna walk up there myself and tell them you're not coming back today. Not tomorrow, neither. And if they've got a problem with that they can take it up with me - believe me, I don't give a shit if I take an insubordination charge over this."

A tearful smile broke out across George's face, holding onto Frankie's hand as it cupped her cheek. "Tangling with you? I don't fancy their chances."

Frankie chuckled, pulling her into one last hug and pressing her lips firmly to her temple. "Go, go. I'll see you soon, ok?"

"Yeah," She whispered against her neck, reaching out to squeeze her hand as she broke the hug, stepping backwards towards the door and disappearing.

As soon as she was alone, Frankie sucked in a long, laboured breath, collapsing into one of the rickety chairs that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. Doubling forward, she lay her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes as she focused on taking one breath after the next.

Since the war had begun, she had been cycling through phases of fear and calm, letting herself slip into the all too comfortable belief that it couldn't touch her here - couldn't take from her as long as she was home, as long as she was safe.

But God, how the world kept proving her wrong.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Almost a month had passed. Every mission took a toll, but the trip that had killed Curtis Biddick seemed to hang heavier than any other ever had.

Or perhaps it just seemed that way because of George.

Some nights Frankie would stay up late, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes as she fought to stay awake long enough to finish a chapter of her book, lit by the dim bulb of her bedside lamp. And then in the darkness she would hear a rustling, a casting aside of the course, army-issue bedsheets, and feel a weight press into the mattress beside her as George slipped under the covers, silently resting her head against Frankie's shoulder. She liked to listen to her heartbeat on the nights she felt most alone - when she felt the farthest from home, the most separated from the boy she almost loved - it brought her comfort to listen to that telltale sign of life radiating from the person closest to her. She had someone, and that was enough to live with.

Frankie had liked Curt, but she hadn't known him well. Sometimes she wished she had, if only so that she wouldn't feel so guilty, comforting her best friend over a loss she no longer felt so keenly. Instead, all she could do was softly whisper the words she was reading to her, and let her mere presence be the comfort as they both drifted off to sleep.

It had grown warm overnight, and the humidity combined with the heat of George's body burrowed close next to hers left Frankie slick with sweat by the time she woke up, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands. Peeling the covers away as she clambered out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping friend, she made a beeline for the showers, hoping to wash away the unpleasant, sticky sensation that coated her skin. She was used to evening showers after a long day's work, and it felt strange to stare down at the hot water rolling off of her body and see it come away clear, clean, not streaked with the dirt and oil she was often coated with by the time she made it home each night.

Wringing her hair out with a towel as she made her way out of the bathroom, Frankie dodged the other women emerging from their beds as she reached her own area, her coveralls and workboots waiting for her on a nearby chair. George had moved back to her own bed, carefully removing each of the curlers she meticulously applied every night, just like all of the other servicewomen who were afforded the luxury of working indoors, a far cry from Frankie's reality. It wasn't that Frankie didn't like to dress up - she loved the chance to do her hair and makeup, to dress up and feel pretty for once - it just wasn't a practicality her profession afforded. Her hair needed to be out of the way, and it made no sense to waste money on makeup that would be ruined by sweat and grime within the hour.

"If Dye makes it back, there'll be a party tonight," George stated, watching her reflection as she looped her tie into a knot. "You gonna go?"

"Uh," Frankie considered this for a moment, sniffing her coveralls from the previous day and grimacing at the smell, switching them out for a clean pair. "Nah, not tonight, I don't think. I've already got some outstanding stuff from the last few days that needs sorting, it's gonna be a busy one."

"Alright, I'll see if Sandra and Helen are going."

"I'm glad you're going," Frankie smiled.

George's gaze turned to her, and she considered this for a moment before shrugging. "Can't sit here forever."

It was a fact that didn't need dwelling on, and Frankie wouldn't patronise her with praise. This was just the way their lives worked now. One by one, the women in their hut finished getting ready and left for their various jobs until Frankie was the only one left, locking up the front door as she exited. The burn that had scorched her palm had long since healed, leaving a mottled pink scar across her hand, but she could clutch the handlebars of her bike without pain now, so she had returned to her morning ritual of cycling as fast as she physically could to the airstrip, revelling in the feeling of the warm morning air blowing through her hair.

Dye's plane was swooping in as she arrived, and Frankie couldn't help but smile at the chorus of whoops and cheers that pierced the air, flight and ground crews alike lining the runway to await his valiant return. Twenty-five missions. She could barely fathom it. For as long as she could remember, planes like this had been her life, but she'd never flown in one - Dye had done it twenty-five times. The number boggled her, a reality so close to and yet so distinctly separate from her own.

"Frankie!" Lemmons called over from where he was sitting with a few of the local boys. The village kids had taken a shine to the young mechanic, and she found she rather enjoyed their presence, childish wit relieving the strain of their long working hours. She crossed the grass towards them as he spoke up again. "Gonna replace the panelling on the bombers from last week, you in?"

She shook her head, batting a hand dismissively. "Nah, you go enjoy the celebrations with the others, I'll handle it."

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I hardly even know Dye, I'm not missing out. Take the night off, you deserve it."

A smile began to spread across his expression. "Well thanks, Frankie."

"No worries. Hey - did we get that delivery of rivets that was meant to come in?" Lemmons shook his head, and she shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I'll take a list to the boss of everything we need."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was growing dark, a work light on the tarmac illuminating one of the B-17 engines as she worked away at it, a pile of scattered tools littering the ground from where she had tried and failed to toss them back into her toolbox without paying proper attention. She could hear the muffled music far off in the distance, the lights from the party casting a golden reflection against the clouds like a beacon in the night. Tightening one of the bolts, Frankie prayed to herself that George was having fun.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind alerted her to sudden company, but she was too engrossed in her work to turn. Besides, she could already guess who it was.

"Heya, Frankie," Bucky's voice came, and she suppressed a smirk at the accuracy of her prediction.

"Evenin'."

"We missed you at the party," He stated.

"Busy," She replied, letting out a grunt as she pinched the skin of her thumb with her wrench, flapping her hand for a moment to relieve the pain.

"Just came to see ya 'cause I don't think you've met Rosie yet."

Frankie let out a sigh, sliding her wrench into her pocket, speaking as she began to turn. "Bucky, if you boys have got yourselves another fucking dog, I swear-"

There was another man there, standing next to Egan, blue eyes watching her as she stumbled over her words, trailing to an awkward stop. She had a smear of oil across her forehead from where she had absent-mindedly wiped the sweat from her brow with a filthy hand, and Bucky pursed his lips tightly as he tried not to laugh.

"Not a dog," Rosie stated, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"No," She breathed, snapping herself out of her awkwardness. "No, uh, sorry - Frankie, I'm Frankie," Holding out her hand to shake, she noticed its filthiness and grimaced, swiftly retracting it.

"Frankie's one of our mechanics," Egan explained. "She'd be happiest if we fired the rest of the ground crew and let her do the whole thing herself."

"But then who'd clean the dog shit and vomit out for me, eh?" Frankie shrugged, a pink spatter colouring her cheeks. Bucky almost frowned, taken aback by her uncharacteristically awkward demeanour.

"Look, I promised Buck I'd only be gone five minutes, so," He looked down at his watch, shrugging.

"No, no, that's fine, you have a good night," Frankie smiled, wiping her dirty palms on the sides of her trousers.

Bucky turned to leave, pausing for a moment. "Rosenthal?"

"Oh, no, I was gonna head off anyway, thanks Major," Rosie nodded, and they lingered in silence for a moment after Egan left, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness down the runway.

"Sorry I thought you were a dog," She chuckled slightly, breaking the quiet as she rubbed her thumb where she'd pinched the skin, a red mark forming.

"Well," Rosie shrugged, standing with his hands in his pockets. "Been called worse."

Frankie smiled, a flash of teeth in her grin as she glanced back at the engine for a moment, the great thing looming over her in its frame. "And... sorry Bucky dragged you all the way out here, I'm sure the party is much more interesting, and-"

"Hey, you don't have to apologise," He shook his head. With the work light shining on them, it seemed to cast a halo around her head, brown hair running golden along its edges. Even covered in filth, she must've been one of the prettiest girls he'd seen in... well, he couldn't quite recall. "How long have you been out here?"

"Uh, what time is it - eight?"

Rosie let out a laugh. "Gone midnight."

"Jesus Christ," She flashed him a tired grin. "Shit, I missed dinner."

"Well," He shrugged. "I am a Captain. Sure we can find something."

"You're on," Frankie agreed, the empty feeling in her stomach suddenly amplified once she realised how long it had been since she'd eaten. "Although, I'd better clean up first," She noted, wiping her hands on one of the engine rags.

"By the way, you've got a little-" Rosie gestured to his own forehead.

"Oh, shit," Frankie muttered, reaching up with the rag and just managing to miss the oil stain. He let out a chuckle, stepping forward.

"Here, lemme just-" She offered up the rag, and he dabbed at the stain, which less went away than it did smudge even more. He furrowed his brow as he tried to get rid of it, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at the sheer concentration in his expression, their faces far closer than she would ever usually allow with a man she'd only just met. But there was something endearing in him, something safe. "I think... I think I got it."

"Thanks," Frankie chuckled, taking back the rag and stepping back towards the Nissen hut. "I'm just gonna wheel this engine inside and wash the crap off my hands, then we can go."

"I await your return, milady," Rosie nodded, smile turning to a cringe as she turned away from him. What was that? Don't say that!

She smiled to herself as she entered the hut, her pleased expression turning to a grimace as she got a waft of herself, the twelve-hour shift out in the sun making itself known. Oh shit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mess hall was completely deserted, the only light coming from the kitchens as Frankie waited patiently for Rosie to return. He had volunteered to go and scrounge for food, confident that his rank would protect them if they were discovered, and she grinned as he returned, proudly carrying a large tin of peaches and a couple of bars of ration chocolate.

"Oh, perfect. Midnight feast," She beamed, taking a seat on one of the long benches that lined the tables as he sat down opposite, producing a tin opener from his pocket.

"Food fit for kings, I'd say," Rosie agreed, wrestling with the peaches for a moment until he was able to break the lid. Producing two forks, Frankie held one out to him, using her own to skewer a slice of the orange fruit.

"I'd just like to preface this by saying that I don't usually smell like this... actually, I do," She admitted, picking at some dirt stuck beneath her nail.

"Hey, I'm not judging - you wouldn't either once you'd smelled the inside of our flight suits," He shrugged, and she let out a huff of laughter, chewing on her peach slices, a droplet of sweet juice running down her lip. "So... how long've you been a mechanic?"

"Dad's been running an auto repair shop at home since before I was born, I grew up on it," Frankie explained, skewering another slice with one hand as she unwrapped her chocolate bar with the other. "He wanted to go over to France, help fix army jeeps, but he lost his foot in the Great War so they won't take him - I was born when he was away, see, he'd been over there for six months or so when a shell went off and he lost it. So the cars were all we had. I switched to planes when I was about fifteen - bit of an impractical hobby, but I've read every single book on it they had in Stratford library," She chuckled.

"Stratford... Shakespeare, right?"

Her brow raised. "Yeah. Right. Y'know I think the only good thing about this war is that the tourist buses have stopped coming around," She joked, and Rosie laughed, nodding along as he ate. Why was she telling him all this? In the last hour, he'd found out more about her than Bucky or Lemmons had in months. But she found she didn't feel embarrassed telling him any of it, the words just flowed naturally.

They sat there in the dim mess hall eating peaches until they started to feel sick, the hands of Rosie's watch ticking steadily past 1am by the time they left, making sure to hide all evidence of their midnight raid. It had begun to rain by the time they stepped out into the night air, and before Frankie could utter a single word of complaint he had shrugged off his uniform jacket and given it to her to hold over her head, her own makeshift shelter whilst his own curls fell flat, the water leaving dark streaks down his shirt.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked for what must have been the third time as they reached the end of her row of Nissen huts, Rosie's hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, his skin almost visible through the drenched state of his clothes.

"I said stop asking," He assured her, nodding confidently despite the visible trembling in his shoulders.

"I'm just worried I'm gonna ruin your jacket."

"Well, it'd die for a worthy cause."

Frankie grinned, slowing to a stop as she reached the front door of her hut. The lights were all off inside, not a single sign of life as her bunkmates enjoyed their well-earned sleep. When she spoke again, it was in whispers, careful not to wake them even despite the hammering of rain against the metal roof.

"Thank you for dinner, it was... unexpected."

"Very," Rosie nodded in agreement, mirroring her smile. She handed over his jacket, and he folded it, tucking it beneath his arm, already well past its usefulness.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a rough morning."

"Take the day off, have a lie-in, you deserve it."

She raised a brow, and he laughed. "You know I won't."

"I suspected as much," He agreed, nodding firmly. "G'night, Frankie."

"Goodnight."

Frankie slipped carefully inside, cautious not to make a sound as she crept over to her bed, stripping off her wet coveralls as she reached quickly for her nice, warm pyjamas.

When George's whispered voice broke the silence, she swore she almost had a heart attack. "You've been... working?"

"Something like that," Frankie shrugged, taking the fact she was awake as a sign of consent to turn her lamp on, giving her the light she needed to untie her boots. "Have you met the new Captain?"

"Who, Rosenthal? No. Why?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, buttoning up her pyjama shirt before flicking off the lamp, plunging the room into total darkness as she climbed beneath the blankets, letting out a satisfied sigh at the warmth.

"He's nice."

George let the silence simmer for a moment, her tone laced with suspicion. "... Right."

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #john egan #ken lemmons #curtis biddick #oc: frankie #oc: george #fic | i'm your man #robert rosenthal

94 notes · View notes