#not that you have to go that advanced but just the wrap text function looks so much better than the automatic

[shootybangbang]

The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.

--------

The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]

for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted

This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.

More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again. 

broken cabinet.

Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.

broken cabinet. sorry. :’(

[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]

You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.

Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.

How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.

And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.

Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.

This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma. 

God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–

Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. 

Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…

…Oh.

It’s Morgan. What the fuck.

“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.

“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”

Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”

He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”

Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”

The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.

“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”

His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”

As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”

Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.

“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”

He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency. 

A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.

“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”

You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”

This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.

It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.

“Are you, um…”

Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”

Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”

“Yes,” you reply weakly.

For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”

He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.

The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?

I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.

Oh. He hates it.

Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”

“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”

“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”

You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”

“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”

You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.

Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”

“Catsitting,” you say.

“’…s’cuse me?”

“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”

“Cats can get anxiety?”

“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.” 

Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”

You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.

He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”

Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.

Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.

You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.

“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.

“No?”

“Figured you’d prefer snails.”

“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.

“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”

“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”

He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —

“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”

“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”

“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”

The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”

He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest. 

For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”

“You’re not what, exactly?” 

“I don’t know,” you say weakly.

He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”

Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–

But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”

Huh. What.

“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.

“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”

When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.

***

You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.

“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”

Sebastian stretches and yawns. 

“I hit on the maintenance man.”

He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you. 

“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”

Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.

“Okay, one bottle drunk.”

He sniffs haughtily.

“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.

“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”

***

You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?

The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath. 

You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.

But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.

The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.

Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.

“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”

“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.

Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.

You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.

Of course my mind goes there.

Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.

“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours. 

“Mr Morgan—”

“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”

You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.

Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.

Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—

The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.

For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.

“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”

“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”

Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.

“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.

“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”

You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .

***

Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.

A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.

“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”

Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”

He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief. 

“Do you like her?”

He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.

“Because a girl as pretty as her…”

“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”

As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.

[idigitizellp21]

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[magicmoon65]

How to turn a photo into a pencil sketch in Microsoft Word

First, to show you what you’re in for since this’ll be a long post:

Here’s what I ended with

 I started out with a picture of a jackalope. You’ll want a picture with a lot of details and a fairly high definition-- no visible pixels. I tried with an axolotl picture earlier and it turned out lame-- too smooth a body

see? that was the best I could do before I gave up.

tutorial below the cut

So my first step is removing the background, and this one is the slightly more complicated way of doing it, but in an occupied background you have to

To the side, you can see I copy/pasted the same picture so I could have a ref. So click on picture-> Picture Format-> Remove Background and you get this pink stuff. The pink stuff will become transparent, the stuff that’s white will stay. You have to draw on the picture until it gets it, and warning, this part can be VERY frustrating (I use this tool a lot)

But draw on it until it looks right (You can always press Keep Changes and if it doesn’t look right go back into the tool and fix it)

And now it’s just a floating bunny! That in itself is pretty awesome. But we’re sketchi-fying this.

First I usually crop it cuz the new image will usually be smaller

Now, you should grayscale it

Aw bunny got kinda blurry

Fix it up in corrections. Sharpen it and fix brightness and contrast. This is always different but play with it until the details are sharp. It’s okay if it looks unrealistic, this is turning it into a drawing.

Okay, so I already have the tool over on the right open, but to get to it yourself click on Artistic Effects Options, and then go to the bottom right where it says Artistic Effects.

Click the little image thingy and select an effect. The best I’ve found is “Pencil Grayscale” but “Pencil Sketch” also works. It depends on the picture.

Here’s how they can look different.

But wait. Those effects were there, why did I have to go to options?

See those two slidy scales? That’s how you get it to look right. FIddle around with the scales until you like how it looks.

Bunny sketch!

You can be done there but I’m a little crazy. So here I went to Design->Page Color-> and adjusted it to an off-white. So it looks like aged paper.

What might happen if you do this is it becomes obvious that there’s white in the image. How’s you get white on yellow paper? (I forgot to take a screenshot when I first did this ignore the tiger to the side)

Go back to color->More Variations and click on the same color you used for the background

Now, look at that bunny drawing!

Remember how I said that was the more complicated way to take the background off? When you have a picture with a solid color background like my tiger here

it gets a lot easier

Go back to color, click “set transparent color”

My mouse moved to take the picture. But click on your solid color background

And it’ll make it transparent! This is also useful if at any point the background color stands out from the page.

Here’s my sketch. But I don’t like the hard edge along the bottom, you don’t sketch like that. So into Remove background

Yikes, it’s all in his face. But that's okay, that’s just the transparent part, when you exit it looks fine:

Look at him! He looks great!

And that’s all I got! Hope you enjoyed and learned something! Explore artistic effects, color options-- transparency can also be useful, along with soft edges. Experiment with some of the stuff here, there’s a bunch of different uses! 

Oh, if you have trouble positioning your picture on the page, try right click->wrap text-> in front of text (or behind text). If you have that on you can move it anywhere on the page, but if you want text around it you might have to adjust accordingly. The Wrap Text one is good. You can also put it in a textbox.

I’ve been playing with photo editing in Microsoft Word for quite a while now. If you have any questions or want some advice feel free to message me. Oh, and if you do sketchify an image feel free to send it to me I’d love to see!

Have fun!

Jackalope

Tiger

[idy-ll-ique]

Voices.

Pairing: Chris Evans x F!Reader

Genre: nothing but floofy-floof

Warnings: none

Requested: nope

Summary: in which you can hear the voice of your soulmate in your head and Y/N's soulmate is someone really special— her celebrity crush.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! do y'all know how long ago I wrote this fic, like— at least 2 years ago. damn. so in advance, im sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes or bad punctuation in the fic that I forgot to correct (apology for bad english 😌)

oh and

bold/italics - chris

only italics - y/n

---

Hey, you still there?

Y/N snapped out of a trance and focused on the voice. Yeah, yeah I'm still there, she thought to herself. She was hearing the voice of her soulmate, or rather, was speaking to him, telepathically. The thing is, you could hear the voice of your soulmate in your head. You could talk, hold conversations, but the only thing was that you couldn't ask for their name.

You had to guess. Most of the people made plans, like let's meet here or there and concentrate hard enough, I'll see your name written on a paper. It was a thing, I mean, if you concentrated hard enough, you could see what your soulmate was doing. It was like a cheat code of sorts. Most of them found their soulmate in that way.

You see, Y/N loved surprises, so she wasn't going to find her soulmate just yet. Y/N wanted to figure it out for herself. Your soulmate couldn't hear every single one of your thoughts, though (which was how she had zoned out mid-conversation). Listen, we should meet up sometime.

Aw, already? she thought with a pout on her lips. Yes, I'm very excited to meet you, I've been waiting for too long, the voice replied, chuckling. It was a manly voice, really deep and raspy. She loved it. When Y/N was small, about 4-5 years old, all she could hear were swear words and dirty thoughts; characteristics of a teenage boy.

From that, she inferred, that soulmate was much older than her, about 8-9 years older than her. She didn't mind, She was kind of into older guys anyway… But I like this game we have! Why do you want to ruin it? she asked, shaking her head. Alright, sweetheart, just for you, I'm holding back. But I don't have much patience, the voice laughed. Y/N smiled.

Without even meeting her, Chris loved the voice in his head. She sounded so sweet and welcoming, maybe she was younger than him. He couldn't wait to meet her. Chris had tried to plan their meeting for so long now, but she just wouldn't give in. She was also a feisty one. He smiled to himself as he walked down the street, engaged in thoughts about his soulmate.

In his haste, he accidentally bumped into someone. "I'm so sorry!" he blurted out, instead hearing a soft ouch, shit in his head. His brows furrowed. The lady he had bumped into just kept on walking. Are you alright? he asked his soulmate in his mind. Yeah, just bumped into someone while walking.

I bumped into someone just now too! he told her excitedly, still staring at the lady who had now stopped in her tracks. She turned around, scanning the crowd. Then she looked at him, but maybe she didn't realize that she had bumped into him. Holy shit, I see— Then it all went blank. See what? Chris questioned desperately.

He still wasn't sure whether the woman he had just bumped into was his soulmate or not.

Why can't I say the name of the guy who played the role of Captain America?

Chris froze and stared at the lady, jaw dropped. She was lost in her thoughts, confused. He slowly walked to her and stood in front of her; she stared back at him, her heart racing. This was her celebrity crush, who was currently looking at her as if she hung the moon. But why? Why was he looking at her like that?

"You can't say his name because that's me, you technically can't say his name because you aren't allowed to," Chris whispered to her, smiling softly. Her eyes widened.

"You! You're the voice I hear in my mind! Chris freaking Evans is my soulmate?! How did I not realize?!" The woman exclaimed, shocked. Soon though, she got a wide smile on her face. His eyes widened too, hers was the voice he heard as well! "What's your name?" he asked her as they hugged. "I'm Y/N Y/L/N," she replied, smiling.

"Wanna join me for a coffee?" he offered, holding his hand out. She put her palm on top of his and nodded. Both of them entered a nearby coffee shop. "So, what do you do?" he asked her after ordering two coffees. "Nothing. I'm unemployed right now, just got out of my last job. I gave an interview yesterday at Ralph Lauren, just waiting for a call back," she shrugged.

"Oh, into fashion?" he asked her, smiling. "Yeah, got my degree and all. Just needed a job, Ralph Lauren offers a good amount of money," she chuckled. Chris smiled again. "Reminds me of Rachel Green." She laughed more, which warmed his heart. Her laugh was adorable. Suddenly, her phone rang and she looked at him, wide-eyed.

He nodded dismissively and she picked up the call. She spoke for a while and when she ended the call, she had the biggest smile on her face.

"I got the job at Ralph Lauren, I'm starting tomorrow!" Y/N squealed. They couldn't have picked a better timing. "Congratulations, Y/N!" he told her, grinning. After spending some more time at the cafe, they parted ways. She went home while he went back to the sets where they were filming Avengers: Age of Ultron.

"Hi Chris, you were out for a long time, what's up?" Chris Hemsworth asked, smiling at Chris Evans as they stumbled upon each other. "Nothing, just met my soulmate, had a cup of coffee with her." The older Chris feigned nonchalance. "You what?! That's awesome, man! So, how is she, what does she do?" Hemsworth asked him excitedly as both of them walked inside.

Robert and Scarlett were there, talking. "She's so beautiful, I stopped functioning when I saw her. She works at Ralph Lauren, she's a fashion designer," Chris told him with a smile. Robert and Scarlett looked up. "Who?" Scarlett questioned. "Y/N," he said simply, sitting beside Robert. "Who's that?" Robert inquired. "My soulmate." Chris smiled, as if in a trance.

"Boy, you look like you're in love," Scarlett laughed. "Because I am, she's that beautiful," he told her adamantly. "Whoa, did you ask her out?" Robert snorted. "I'm back from our first date." We had our first date right now, didn't we? he asked her in his mind.

Of course we did, I loved it. Hope to meet you again soon, her voice replied and he could practically feel her smile.

Sure, I'm in town for a few more months, I'll mind-text you as to when I'm free, he told her, sporting a smile on his face. She outright laughed in the comfort of her own home. Mind-text? Sounds fun, she agreed and focused on the Netflix series she was watching, turning off the "magical telepathic link" between them.

Chris, too, focused on the others only to see them smiling at him. "Talking to her?" He nodded at Scarlett. A few minutes later, all of them went to another room to begin with the shooting of a new scene.

---

Y/N danced as she prepared dinner, singing along to You Don't Know Me by Jax Jones. It had been a month since she last saw Chris. He had promised her a date, but he didn't get time. She couldn't blame him, he was a busy man. Y/N was shouting the lyrics of the song in her head, unaware of the fact that Chris was snooping in on her mind.

Hey, calm down, she heard Chris chuckling in her mind and shrieked in real life. What are you— are you snooping on my mind? Chris! she thought, scandalized. He laughed more. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wanted to ask you out. Are you free right now? We could meet in the same coffee shop, he asked. She grinned and nodded to herself. Of course, I'll be there in 15.

She quickly got dressed, wearing a pair of track pants and a t-shirt (like she was wearing on their first date). She didn't bother with her hair or makeup, it looked good anyway, she just bolted out of the house. Y/N entered the coffee shop to see Chris already sitting there, wearing a suit. She cursed herself mentally, making Chris look up.

He stifled a laugh. She went and sat in front of him.

"I'm so sorry I look like a single mother of two kids who hasn't slept in a year," she moaned, "I didn't know you were gonna show up in a suit." She facepalmed for good measure. "It's quite alright, you look beautiful. I wouldn't have you any other way, I should say. I'm coming back from a party right now, therefore the suit."

She blushed softly at his compliment. He ordered two coffees for them and they started talking. "So, how's your job at Ralph Lauren?" Chris asked, smiling at her. "It's amazing, I got promoted. Now I'm the head of the department, with my own office and all," she told him, smiling back. "That's great! Oh, congratulations, honey," he grinned.

"Thanks," she muttered, blushing slightly when he called her a nickname. "You look cute while blushing, has anyone ever told you that?" Chris winked as their coffees arrived. "No one, ever. I don't interact with people much, it's a tedious job," she half-joked, smiling.

"Really! So who are the people you talk to?" he joined in. "Well, there's my assistant, my mother, my bro and you. That's all. I've got some friends, but I rarely talk to them, only on the phone while texting, that is," she shrugged. "Nice, nice," he nodded as they finished their coffees. "Allow me to drop you home," Chris offered, taking out a key which she found out was for his bike as they left the café.

"No it's alright, I'll go," she refused immediately. "Nonsense, you're practically my girlfriend! I'm going with ya," he shook his head. They looked like an odd couple; one wearing a suit while the other looked like she had just woken up. Surprisingly enough, the one who looked like she just woken up had the best fashion sense among them. "Hop on," Chris grinned.

She sat down behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Both of them chatted for the 2 minutes that took them to get to Y/N's home. Once they reached her building, she got down from Chris's bike and turned to him.

"Thanks, Chris, this has been an amazing second date. Can't wait for the third," she told him with a smile. "Me too," he smiled back. A few seconds later, she turned to leave but Chris suddenly grabbed her hand, turning her around. "Wha—" She didn't get to finish her sentence as Chris pressed his lips to hers. She kissed back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I just had to, sweetheart," he panted as they pulled away from each other, breathless. "Wow," she breathed out as Chris rested his forehead against hers. "So, um, see you on the third date, yeah?" Y/N giggled as they stepped away from one another, smiling. "I'll make it as quick as possible. Can't stay away from you, darling," he winked.

"How flattering," she winked back and turned to leave, purposely adding a sway to her hips knowing that he was watching. And fuck, was he watching. "Oh, the things you do to me, my dear Y/N."

"I heard that!"

"Good!"

---

A/N: Thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

[asset35-maya]

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>Y

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Hey:) have you read the ATLA comic Love is a Battlefield? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it !

The comic makes me seriously wonder what the person who okayed it was drinking.

For one, it’s the single best demonstration anyone might need that the conflict the ship is based on isn’t one you want to have in your romance under any circumstances—that between a girl who’s just not that into a guy and said guy who won’t take no for an answer.

It single-handedly validates every anti-cataanger out there—Aang’s portrayed as entitled, selfish, and utterly delusional about his relationship with Katara who is supposed to have no voice in it and quietly conform to his idea of her and their bond instead of functioning as a separate being with her own wants and notions.

But let’s bring the receipts, shall we?

So the story begins innocuously enough, with Aang drawing the air and water symbols in the sand and adding a heart around them. Cute and innocent so far, I like. Katara appears, acting as though she wants to talk to him, and Aang concludes it’s about the invasion kiss. Why would he think that is beyond me but let’s roll with it. But instead of delving into that particular can of worms, Katara splashes Aang with some water in an attempt to get him to practice.

He doesn’t take it well.

Notice the bold “finally”. What this says to me is that in Aang’s mind, it’s Katara’s job to come to him and report as his girlfriend, just by virtue of being kissed, and it’s been mighty upsetting to him that she “failed” to do so.

After all, consider The Ember Island Players:

“We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together.”

Aang doing a thing means that Aang & Katara did a thing mutually.

In his view, he isn’t supposed to be the one who approaches her and explains why he saw fit to plant one on her; who opens up about his feelings and initiates a frank conversation. No, that was a claiming kiss at the invasion and Katara can only acknowledge it as such and reciprocate.

Our Every RomCom Guy Ever doesn’t realize that Katara not talking to him about it is the answer to where they stand.

This is the third time in as many pages, btw, that Katara tries to get Aang to practice. And for a good reason because we’re a short while removed from The Western Air Temple where he yet again refused to face up to an unpleasant truth and instead had to be literally chased around like an unruly child. Katara’s fully in a sifu mode here, not even perceiving the opportunity to talk about their relationship. And if an assertive fourteen-year old doesn’t think to talk about her second ever kiss with the guy who gave it to her, that should tell you all you need to know about how much she appreciated it.

Aand that’s fourth time. Katara really seems to think that taking down this Fire Lord dude is important or something and that Aang is once again failing to prepare for it. Look, she even has a nickname for it at this point. Yet for some reason, Nice Guy Aang reframes the situation—WHILE HIDING IN A LITERAL ROCK—as a role reversal where it’s Katara running away from confrontation and having to face the truth, even though he revealed in this very scene that he didn’t think it was his job to be open about his feelings with the girl he believes he loves.

At last, Katara realizes Aang’s hinting at the invasion kiss and reacts like any girl who’s harbouring a secret crush would—by visibly cringing and pretending she doesn’t know what he’s talking about and the wind’s really strong for her to hear what he’s saying anyway so maybe it’d be a good idea for Aang to come out and practice? (fifth time)

Finally, supreme gentleman Aang does the one thing he’s not supposed to do—he loses control and depending on how charitable you are either puts Katara in harm’s way (by firebending, weird how that keeps happening), or outright assaults her in blind rage.

Luckily, Katara’s just glad that Zuko’s training is yielding results and maybe the world won’t end in an Ozai-induced inferno by the end of the summer.

Scorned LoverBoi couldn’t give less of a shit, though.

And there you have it, explicitly in the text. Katara, despite showing no signs of attraction and not encouraging Aang’s advances in any way, is perceived by him as someone who’s cruelly toying with his feelings—simply because her reactions don’t conform to what he wants them to be. The relationship is utterly about him and it’s so mean of Katara that she doesn’t feel like playing the demure cut-out in his hero-gets-the-girl routine.

Let’s not mince words, this is some prime incel logic Aang’s operating on.

And the creators don’t seem to realize this. Which is why they never challenge him on his behaviour in the show, reward it in the finale, and go on reaffirming it in every single post-canon material there is.

And I find it sort of infuriatingly hilarious that someone not only conceived of the ship this way, but thought it was a good idea to present it to the world as a basic vanilla romance.

Which makes me wonder.

Because as strange as this might sound, there is a universe where this story is not only perfectly okay, but absolutely crucial to the overall narrative.

That is if the show actually followed up on The Guru and culminated in Aang letting go of Katara to unlock the Avatar state.

From start to finish, the comic proves Pathik completely and utterly right—what Aang feels for Katara isn’t selfless love, it’s selfish attachment. But instead of it being cloaked in vague religious language, we see it manifest in a painfully tangible way. The story’s kinda unintentionally brilliant if you read it like this—it’s show to Pathik’s tell. Aang is too wrapped up in what he feels to see the signs and runs away from having to acknowledge the painful reality that’s clearly evident, i.e. that Katara doesn’t love him. And because he’s so invested in his delusions, he blows up whenever challenged on them, acting on entitlement and baseless expectations and going so far as to slowly kill the beautiful relationship they actually do have—a lifelong bromance.

If this story foreshadowed that Aang needed to let go of his attachment not only to save the world, but to even keep Katara in his life, I’d be fully on board.

But for that to happen, the creators would have to take a step back, start considering perspectives beyond Aang’s, and stop treating him like an infallible bringer of truths who deserves human prizes just for doing his job.

And if they were able to do that then we wouldn’t be here in the first place.

[let-me-luve-you]

Almost a Goodbye

Tom Holland x Sister (with Sam and a little bit of Paddy)

Summary: Your brothers interrupt you before you make a life changing decision.

Warnings: attempted suicide, angst, comforting brothers, difficult talks, vulnerable reader

A/N: This is a very triggering story, so please do not read if you think you will be effected by it.

MASTERLIST

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since your family had been fully together. Tom and Harry were in the States filming for the new Spider-Man movie. They were set to return in a little over a month. Being the only Holland girl within the siblings, you were protected and worshiped by your brothers. Yes you had your fights with them, but at the end of the day, you were family and you all loved each other. Even though Tom took Harry with him all the time, Tom was actually closest with you.

Recently you had been quiet. You stayed in your room more. Only went to school and home. Everyone just thought it was school since finals were coming up. But what no one knew was all the hate you got online and in person. People kept saying how you were using your brother to try and make your life easier. Thought you were using his name to get good grades by bribing the professors. The list of things people thought about you were endless.

At first you ignored it. Especially when it was only online. Then it started to happen in person and it slowly started to get to you. You didn’t want to believe them, but the more they said it, the more you did.

After weeks of constantly looking at the hate on social media and hearing people whisper about you at school, you finally hit your breaking point. People who had been your friends stopped talking to you. You couldn’t do it anymore. You decided that morning that today would be your last day.

You skipped school. Found a quiet, isolated place in the park. You pulled out your spiral to write your final words. Writing a note to every single person in your family except Tom. That was going to be the hardest one. He would be so disappointed in you. Hate you for giving up. You couldn’t write one. At least not yet.

After walking in the house, you quietly declined the food your dad offered you. Saying you grabbed food on the way home. You went to your room and shut the door. You sat your backpack down and sat at your desk. Deciding now would be the time to write your letter to Tom.

What seemed so hard, flowed so easily. You expressed how hard it had been. How you tried to ignore it and fight. That nothing was getting better. It felt like your whole world was falling around you and trying to bury you. Tears fell on the paper. You didn’t even know you had started crying. You finished the letter with an “I’m sorry. I love you.”

You went to your bedside table and grabbed the over the counter pain pills. You sat on your bed staring at them. You didn’t realize you had been sitting there for so long until you heard Sam.

“Hey Y/N/N, I made a new dessert. Want to come try it?” Sam asked. You looked up startled. You quickly moved the pain pills to the side where Sam couldn’t see them. “You okay?”

You panicked slightly knowing you had tears still falling down your face. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll be down in a bit. I’m not very hungry.”

Sam moved to sit by you. “Y/N you know you can talk to me.” He said as he saw Paddy in the doorway. “What’s going on? Is it school? Friend problems?”

“You can talk to me too. I always listen.” Paddy added as he walked towards your desk to sit down. He looked at the note that still lied on your desk. “What… What is this Y/N?”

Your head snapped up to see Paddy holding the letter to Tom. You shot off the bed to grab it from him but he ducked your advance and showed it to Sam. Sam started reading it and then saw the pain pills on your bed. He teared up finally understanding what was going on.

“Y/N/N baby…” Sam said as he looked up at you. “Talk to me.”

“I.. I uh..” You stuttered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Make me understand.” He almost pleaded.

“I just…” You sighed as you sat on the bed. You grabbed your pillow and hugged it close. “I just can’t do it anymore. I have no friends. Everyone just talks crap about me online. I’d be doing everyone a favor if I was just gone.”

“You’re wrong.” Paddy spoke up. “I wouldn’t be able to fully function without you. You help me so much. You’re always looking out for me. Making sure I do my homework, or helping me with it. You fix me dinner when Mum, Dad, and Sam are working.”

“Paddy anyone can do that for you.” You sighed. “I’m never going to be good enough. I just want to be good enough.”

“Y/N you are the best damn thing that has happened to this family. Between us siblings, you’re the glue that keeps us going. You are the one that helps all of us.” Sam said as a tear fell down his face. “You give and give and give but you never take. Let us take care of you for once. Let us take away some of the pain you are feeling. Talk. to. us.”

“I can’t.” You whispered.

Sam sat down on your bed next to you. He wrapped you in a hug and kissed your forehead. “You can. You know why. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Ca-… Can I just wait for Tom to come home and talk to him? I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” Sam sighed. Sam knows Tom is coming home early to surprise you, but it was still a week away.

“Tom won’t be home for a month. You know this Y/N. We can’t let you sit on something like this for that long.” Paddy said.

“How about this? Tonight we don’t talk. We just hang out and watch a movie. We can sit here and when you are ready to talk to us. We can talk.” Sam said.

“Just please don’t tell anyone. If I have to talk to you, please don’t tell mum and dad. And please please please don’t tell Tom or Harry. I don’t want them to worry. They have enough on their plates.” You begged.

“Okay, for now this is between us.” Sam lied.

“I’ll go get the popcorn, dessert, and pick out a movie for us. Meet in Sam’s room.” Paddy dictated. “Also wear your onesies I got you for Christmas last year.” You and Sam laughed at his bossiness.

The next week flew by. It was Friday afternoon and you didn’t have any classes. Your parents decided to take a small vacation to Ireland for the weekend to have time for themselves. Sam was working. Paddy was at a friends house. You sat in the living room watching tv.

He had told Tom that night after you had gone to bed. He had to get Harry to stop Tom from missing his last week of work. He tried to tell him he was watching you like a hawk and getting small bits and pieces out of you. Finally, one night you blew up. You were so angry at everything that day, that you just exploded on Sam. He finally understood.

He talked to you about deleting the social media apps from your phone and not getting on any of the websites on your computer. You easily agreed after you calmed down. Sam had noticed the difference in your attitude. He knew you still had work to do, but it was getting better.

Tom and Harry had just landed. Sam had texted when he left for work that your plan was to watch tv and movies all day since you had the house to yourself. Tom hopped into the driver seat of his car with Harry in the passenger seat. Tom dropped Harry off at home, knowing this was a conversation that needed to be had between just him and his sister.

As Tom pulled into his parents driveway, he started to get anxious. He sat there for a minute trying to gather his thoughts. He sighed as he got out of the car. He went to the back seat to get the bag of things he had bought for you. He always brings back something from each movie he films, but this time he went a little overboard when he was at your favorite shop.

He quietly walked in the front door. He walked towards the living room where he could hear the movie playing. When he peaked in, he saw you cuddling up with your favorite blanket asleep. He gently put the bag down next to your head as he sat down next to you. He pushed some of your hair behind your ear. He looked at you for a moment just to try to remember every detail he can. He almost lost you and he isn’t willing to risk wasting anymore time not embracing the moment.

“If you keep staring, I won’t grow a second head like I’ve always wanted.” You said as you started to wake up.

Tom laughed, “Just wanted to see how long it took you to wake up.”

“Well I’m awake now.” You acted annoyed as you sat up. “I really missed you Tomothy. Why are you home so early? I thought you weren’t due home until next month?” You said hugging him as you said his nickname.

“I missed you too, Goofy Goober. We wrapped early. I told everyone else and asked them not to tell you so I could surprise you.” He gave you a kiss on your head. “How have you been? How’s school?”

“Everything’s great.” You lied.

“Please don’t lie to me.” Tom sighed.

“I’m not.” Another lie.

“Sam told me.” Tom said. The color left your face as you heard what Tom said. “I’m not mad. I just want to talk about it. He also told me what you guys talked about a few nights ago. Thought it would be easier to have this conversation.” You looked away from Tom.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I swear I’m getting better now. I even scheduled an appointment with a therapist. Sam doesn’t know that though. I regret what I almost did. I’m going to get better. I promise you that.” You felt tears fall from your eyes. You tried to avoid looking at Tom.

Tom put his hand under you chin and turned your head towards his. “Look at me Y/N/N.” You refused to meet his eyes. “Come on. You can do it.” You slowly lifted your eyes to his. You noticed he was tearing up.

“I’m going to be with you in this fight. This isn’t something you have to fight alone.” He whispered. “No matter what, I will be here for you. I don’t care if it is 3 am and I’m on the other side of the world. I will answer a phone call or I’ll be on the next flight out. Nothing is more important than family. Not work, not Spider-Man, not anything. You are one of the most important people in my life.”

You started to cry harder as Tom continued. “When I got that phone call, it scared the living life out of me. I was on my way to ask for sometime off when Harry stopped me. He said Sam was helping you. That if I focused, the week would fly by and I could get home to you sooner.” You smiled at him.

“I’m really glad you’re home. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Now we focus on getting you healthy and winning this battle.” Tom said wiping your tears from your cheeks.

“But I’m healthy.” You said confused.

“Mental health is just as important as physical. It’s okay to not be okay. But together and with the help from Sam, Harry, Paddy, Mum, and Dad, we are going to get you back to your normal self. Help you learn how to cope with thoughts like that.” Tom said.

“I’m trying to learn to ignore people. They don’t know me.” You said. Tom smiled.

“Exactly. And for the hate you are getting from my fans, I’ll be saying something about that. I’m not going to stand by and watch them hurt someone I love.” Tom said.

“I love you Tom. Thank you for being the best big brother.” You said wrapping him up in a big hug. “Okay time for the important question, what present did you bring me?”

“I love you too Goofy Goober.” Tom said kissing your forehead. He laughed at your last question. “It’s all in the bag right there.” He pointed at the bag that now sits by your feet. You moved to start looking through it. “Now, what movie are we watching next?”

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 3

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 3: Memory

"Mother."

"What is it, Suzu?"

When I called, my mother turned around and replied.

Eleven years ago. The house was still new. There was no garage yet, and potted flowers were lined up all over the garden. "Do not cut my hair."

I told her that and ran down the slope in front of my house. Mom walked down the stairs opposite her, resting her hand on her waist and waiting. I ran away in the opposite direction, bouncing, saying that I would never let my hair be cut. But I was taken back without a hitch. She was seated on a bench in the garden and dressed in a haircut cape. “I’m going to make you look cute, Suzu.” After cutting my hair, I don't like the tingling of my hair. She shook her legs and sharpened her lips. But when she held the scissors without hesitation, she cut my hair all at once. "Because you’re going to be an elementary school student," I hope the hair on both sides doesn't stick to my shoulders. The bangs were far above the eyebrows. Even when I went to school, my neck was tingling for a while.

I played a lot with my mother. I took a sumo wrestling on the lawn of the riverbed in the evening. I pushed her by force and my mother rolled on the grass. I won, I laughed happily. Mother also laughed. I asked why? Won’t she cry if she loses? Mom shook her head. “I'm glad that the weak Suzu has become stronger.” Dad was laughing while lying on the grass. My mother often made salted seared meat. She lightly sprinkles salt and roasts the bonito stabbed on a gold skewer from her lenticel over an open flame on the stove. I was staring from the top of the chair. Since the fat drips, the microwave oven will not get dirty if you bake it while sucking it with cooking paper. When it gets burnt, dip it in ice water to cool it, and then drain it. It was a style. So as a kid, I had a hard time holding a thick piece of salted meat with chopsticks, and I had a hard time putting it in my mouth. Mom was waiting for dad's return, holding a mug and watching my struggle.

My dad was a salaryman at that time, and he wore a tie and went out to the city every day. Perhaps because of that, we had some money in our house in the old days. Mother bought a state-of-the-art smartphone at the time. I decided to try out the performance of the on-board camera, and on dad's lap, I pointed my smartphone at my mom. I asked dad to help put mom in the frame and pressed the shutter. She is dressed in white.

The smiling mother, she was beautiful. The photo of her was printed on paper and is still at the house. I was a cheerful child running around, unlike now. I definitely liked playing outside rather than inside the house. If there were trees, I climbed, if there were leaves, I tore them, and if there were insects, I chased them. But it didn't burn in the sun. I must have been such a constitution. Instead, my face is freckled.

I was often injured. My knee was also full of scratches. In the woods, on the riverbed, on the slope in front of my house, I often stumbled and fell. My mother ran up in a hurry and she hugged me tightly, crying in pain. Mysteriously, it hurts somewhere. That's when I was happy. I don't know how many times I fell because I ran around vigorously and wanted mother to hug me. Every time mother rushed in as if it was a big deal for her daughter and worried. Every day was like summer vacation. I clung to mother doing the laundry and cleaning and played. After lunch, she opened the tatami mat, laid a summer futon on the tatami mats, and we took a nap together. The smoke of the mosquito coil was rising slowly. When I woke up, most of the time, I couldn't see my mother sleeping next to me, and she was busy doing housework. In retrospect, she never been told me that she is busy. She was always with me when I asked for it. Since my house was in the mountains, I rarely went out to eat somewhere, and instead my mother cooked any kind of food. One day she saw it in a picture book, and she said she wanted to eat yakitori. She had never eaten it before. My mother made yakitori by sticking chicken on skewers one by one. For the first time in my life, I saw yakitori with the naked eye. I didn't know how to eat it, so I couldn't do well by chewing the meat and removing it from the skewers. Dad and mom were staring at me. Never missing what her daughter experiences for the first time in her life. The place where we, who live in the mountains, go out to play is not an amusement park or a shopping mall, but a campsite further in the mountains from our house.

On a sunny summer day, my mom and I wore a wide-brimmed hat and crossed the subsidence bridge. Dad was carrying a lot of camping equipment. The water crystal pool in the depths of the Yasui Valley was a breathtaking blue color even for us living in the area. The water is so transparent that you can clearly see your shadow on the bottom of the river. I feel a little scared as if I were floating in the air. My mother was an advanced swimmer. She boasted that her mother, who was once a local kid, swam like a kappa every day in the summer. She knew all about the fun of the river. At the same time, she never let her swim in dangerous places on dangerous days. Mom wraps around me, floating. She dived into the water to show her off her skills. Still picked up by her, I became anxious and called out. “Mom, don't go.” But mom, she swam in the blue water, as if she couldn't hear me.

One evening, I was playing with my mother's smartphone and saw a strange app. I put it on. When you launch the app, you'll see white and black horizontal stripes lined up. I pointed to what this was and asked my dad who was next to me. Dad looked it and twisted his neck, calling mother, who was preparing dinner. After dinner, mother's hand fixed the smartphone I was holding vertically. I laid it down and found it to be a piano keyboard. As prompted, I pressed one of the keys. There was a "do" sound. I looked at my mother's face. My mother also saw my face, saying that she had come out. It's mom’s music production app. Only then did I look around my mother's room and notice. Old records, cassette tapes, and CDs are lined up on the shelves to the end. And if you set them on a record player or cassette deck and pass them through an amplifier, music will be played from the left and right speakers. The collection was a brilliant one that accurately captured the main points of the history of classical, jazz and rock. I didn’t know at the time, the value and meaning of such a lineup being packed in a room at the end of the world.

In that room, I pressed the keys of the app one after another and recorded. When played, each sound sounds in the order in which they are arranged. Even if you enter an insane scale, it will play back in a lawful manner. I was so happy that I bounced on my chair. My mother was laughing too. Warm incandescent light was illuminating us. After that, I was crazy about this app. I had my mother lend me a smartphone and I was playing around with it day, night and morning. The operation was intuitive and easy to use. There were words that I couldn’t read because it wasn’t a children's app. And there were many functions I didn't understand. But I was absorbed in that kind of thing. I was completely absorbed in the exciting new experience of writing songs. I composed a number of songs and previewed them in front of my mother. The mother who finished listening gave me advice in short words each time. If you do xxx, it will be better, or the trick is to do xxx. She sometimes took out some of the records in the collection and listened to them for reference. My mother is neither a musician nor a composer.

I think each piece of advice is accurate even if I look back on it now. Over and over again, she listened to my melody, and she said she noticed something, and she sang herself to make sure it was. When I asked, she said it wasn't bad. She said she was smirking at me as she said. I put the sound in a place that I wouldn't normally put it. I'm sure this song was a failure, and all the work I've done so far will be ruined. But as it gradually takes shape, it seems strangely cohesive, she said. I felt as happy as I wanted to. I'm sure it's my parents' favor, but even if my mother added, I was happy. For me, I'm not making it with the intention of letting someone else listen to it. It would have been nice if only my mother could listen to it. My mother sings along with the song I typed in. Take the tempo with her right hand and sing gently. The voice of mother, who was also a member of the chorus made by her friends, echoed and was transparent.

She listened to my weird songs many times. I was happy and sang along with it. Anyway, it’s a song that is as nice as my mother.

I couldn't. Happy memories of me and mother suddenly end here. And that August has come. After this, all I have is a painful, painful memory. The voice of a little girl crying and crying echoed in the riverbank. A girl was left alone on a sandbar. Is she 4 or 5 years old? She looked smaller than I was. It was so sunny just a while ago, but I noticed it wasn't a blue sky, and it was covered with overcast clouds. The beautiful and calm river was cloudy, flooded, driftwood-filled, and surprisingly fast. I can imagine that it is raining heavily upstream. Before this happened, there were people happily making noise on the opposite bank when the flow was still transparent. They are now staring at the girl on this shore. She wore colorful outdoor clothing that made it easy to see that she probably came from the city, not a local. The girls' clothes were also bright colors that I had never seen. Why did people from the city overlook the girls' flashy colored clothes? Why did she forget her existence and she came back to this shore? What to do with friends, their families, and those who enjoyed fishing and canoeing on the riverbanks.

It seemed that she couldn't do anything, and she had no choice but to stand and look like a stick. It's no wonder you're standing. The violent flow of the river separated the girl from the people. Everyone realized that it couldn't be helped. One of the adults was talking to someone on his cell phone. However, everyone can see that where the girl is, is gradually narrowing. Everyone is aware that it is very unlikely that the rescue team will arrive in time. Therefore, I have no choice but to stand up without being able to do anything. Is it just listening to the girl's crying as it is? At that time, someone picked up the red life jacket beside the canoe.

I went forward while staring at the girl. She was a mother. Mommy, and I hurriedly clung to the hem of her mother's clothes. She realized that what her mother was trying to do was too dangerous. She wouldn't have been anxious. She screamed and pulled hard, trying not to let her go. Mom crouched down and squeezed my hand, and she told me something. At that time I can't remember what mother said. Maybe I was screaming and not ready to hear the words. Mom stood up to shake off my chasing and ran, locking the buckle on her life jacket. I fell down on a stone in the riverbank trying to chase her. Still, I got up and shouted at mother's back. Don't go. I think mom didn’t hear my words. While checking the girl's whereabouts, I went around the river, went into the water, and got in the stream to help. It started to rain.

How long has it passed since then? Suddenly the surroundings became noisy. The girl was rescued from the river. Adults are pulling the soaked and tired girl out of the river. I was staring at while getting wet in the rain. People running up. A mixture of joyful voices and crying voices. Are you okay? Open your eyes. I'm glad I was saved ... The girl was wearing the same red life jacket that her mother wore. At that moment, I understood at once what was happening. Mom isn’t here.

"Mother ..... Mother .....!"

I looked left and right, searching for her.

Not anywhere.

"Mother ...!"

In the distance, I heard an ambulance siren. The girl was wrapped in a blanket.

Carried by many adults, she leaves the riverbank. Everyone is crazy about it and realizes that my mom isn't there.

She isn't.

"Mom!" Only I raised my voice and kept calling. Many times. Many times. Many times. I don't remember much after that. When I heard that my mother was found all the way down the river, it seemed like a lie. It wasn't long before I realized that the mug that mother was using was missing. Dad put a picture of mother, which he took someday, in a picture frame and put it in a corner of the kitchen. He had to add flowers every day next to it. Neighbors bothered to talk to me every time I met them on the road, listened to me in a friendly way, and encouraged me with tears. Meanwhile, the Internet was flooded with anonymous posts about the accident.

"It's a suicide act to jump into a river flooded by rain"

"It seems that she was confident in swimming, but it's different from the pool."

《It is irresponsible for my child to help someone else's child and die》

《If there is an accident, playing in the river will be a nuisance and annoying》

《Because helping people is a good person, this is what happens》

The person who wrote it probably didn't know anything about the actual situation, and the day after he wrote it, he probably forgot what he wrote. However, the person who wrote it keeps sticking in my chest forever. Immediately after the accident, an acquaintance told me with resentment that it was terrible when I saw this. In front of these words, I was too young to understand all the meanings. However, as I grew up and became able to understand the meaning of the words accurately, I continued to suffer from the unconscious malice contained in them. Losing mother.

How should I pass on these writings as a bereaved family, even though I still can't accept them, as if the mother who helped me was all bad?

Aside from me, my mother just smiled in the picture frame in the kitchen. From that accident, I think something has changed decisively from what I used to be. One evening, in mother's room, where dust began to build up, I stood on her chair, hoping to return to her happy memories. And I sang the song I sang with mother. But when I started singing, I realized I couldn't sing at all. My voice became stuck in the back of my throat and couldn't get out of my mouth. I was confused. Something in my heart was suppressing me from singing. Why can't I sing? Tears came out.

Hey mom. Why can't I sing?

It was clear that the reason why singing was so fun and necessary was because my mother listened to it.

However, just because you can't sing... You don't have to worry about anything. Even if you can't sing, no one will blame you. Life just goes on. I went to a local junior high school. The jumper skirt uniform was stuffy. Many of the elementary school classmates went to the town as they went on to school, and there were not half of the students remaining in the local area, so even in junior high school, it became a compound class. Therefore, the chorus practice was accompanied by the vice-principal teacher, and it was decided to sing in all grades. There were three people in all grades. Because there were only three people, I quickly realized that I was just lip-synching without singing. I was asked why I didn't sing, but I didn't say anything. I thought they would get angry, but they didn't get angry. It means that only I can visit from the next practice.

I sat alone in a corner of the music class and watched everyone practice. I may have looked like a lethargic girl who was just silent. But inside that, there are things that can't be translated into words.

I think it was swirling. When I left school and returned home, I irresistibly entered mother's room in the twilight. The twilight light was shining through the window. Cardboard boxes containing tableware and seasonal home appliances that are no longer in use are piled up on the table. It was completely turned into a storeroom. It's been many years since then. It has passed. I listened to the large number of records there, one by one from the edge of the shelf. Days, days, days. By listening earnestly, I managed to calm my rough feelings. But one day, there was a moment when I thought I couldn't bear it anymore. Upon returning, I entered my mother's room, sat down in front of the keyboard, quickly opened the report sheet, and began to write fiercely with a pen to spit out the incomprehensible feelings in my chest. I was almost suffocating if I didn't spit it out. I turned over the paper and continued to write forever. -Why did mother leave me in the river? Why did she choose to help the child who she didn't even know her name rather than live with me? Why am I alone? Why, why, why – I added paper, supplemented with post-it notes, and wrote long, long lyrics. The scale that springs up is notated long and long. Those that were neither were spit out as pictures. It was a swirl of many kinds. It was like a whirlpool floating on the surface, like a black hole that swallowed everything, and like a hole in the top of my head. The floor of the room was filled with pieces of paper with a mixture of lyrics, pictures and sheet music. But suddenly..... I returned to myself and stopped writing. Right now, I've noticed the worthlessness, meaninglessness, ugliness, and helplessness of the words, pictures, and scales I wrote.

What are you doing? I broke the paper. Everything I've written so far.

I threw it in the trash can without hesitation. The bundle of paper looked like a vomit that I had just spit out. Then I became a high school student.

I finally found myself worthless. The uniform tie was stuffy. I crossed the subsidence bridge while looking down and went to school. I took an exam and passed the exam at a junior and senior high school in the center of the city, and transferred from high school. There, I met my childhood friend Shinobu-kun again.

"Shizu.."

"Shinobu-kun ..."

Now that I was in high school, Shinobu-kun looked tall and shining, all different. On the other hand, I didn't seem to have grown at all since then, and I was irresistibly embarrassed and couldn't even talk. What have I been doing so far? I started a new life going to the city from the mountains, but I couldn't get into studying. Even though I had a hard time taking the exam, I just looked out the window during class. Knowing that this shouldn't be the case. Club activities didn't go anywhere. There were very few such students. On the way home, you can see the students devoting themselves to club activities. The track and field club is jumping the training hurdle in a line in the courtyard. The volleyball club is running on the ground. A percussionist in the brass band with a metronome in his ear is striking a stick in the hallway. The Naginata club sits upright in the martial arts hall with a good posture, and thank you for your cooperation, saying before the practice. The first-year students of the baseball club, who have not yet been numbered, stand side by side and watch as if they are digging into the practice of their seniors. I didn't belong anywhere, so I left school quickly. It was already winter. There is a river called Kagami River that flows from east to west in the center of the city. Since the flow is often gentle, the TV tower and buildings on the opposite bank are reflected like a mirror. When I returned to the station through the road beside it, the girls of the light music club carrying the "Chahahaha" musical instrument case overtook me with a light step while laughing. A cute cat-shaped stuffed animal attached to the school bag is shaking. Attached to my school bag was a cheesy plastic plate of "Gutto Koremaru". "Gutto Koremaru" is an egg-shaped character who can poke his hand against the wall and endure the pain. I have a crack in my head, probably because I endured it too much. Of course, it's not cute.

In a dark and narrow corridor.

I resisted, "I can't do it! Hey!", But I was pulled into the room, saying "OK." The soundproof door slammed behind me. Shinboku "Ah!" There was a flashy room in a karaoke box, and the pink and purple lights were spinning mysteriously. It smells of incense. Only for girls in the class.

I heard that it was a social gathering, but when I saw the frenzy of the girls standing on the sofa and shaking their heads, I thought that I could not get into this tension very much.

"Peggie Sue is cute"

"This is the one that is popular in" U ", isn't it?" On the monitor screen on the wall, the popular Az of "U", Peggy Sue, was seen singing in a black rubber dress. Purple lipstick that shakes silver hair. An eccentric beauty with red eyes. Peggy Sue? "U"? Az? Is it popular? I don't know anything. It's like an event in a different world from me. Then, Hitomi suddenly offered a microphone, "Yes." Sing, and so on. "Huh?" Puzzled. Neither the coat nor the muffler is taken off. But "yes" the microphone was pointed again. Why for a child like me who is at the end of a class?

"Sing together?"

"Hey, sing."

The shadows of the girls press the microphones. What do you mean?

"Are you not going to sing alone?"

"Isn't it a lie that you can't sing?"

I see, so it’s this situation.

Dozens of microphones are forced against my face one after another. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

"Sing"

"Hey, sing?"

"Sing"

Those voices sound like a threat.

"You're telling me to sing."

"Sing!"

"Sing!"

Ahh!

Immediately, the microphone popped off and fell to the floor.

The girls dancing on the sofa suddenly saw me. It's calming down as if I was taken aback.

"What happened? Suzu-chan"

The mic and the shadows of the girls disappeared like a phantom.

"No, nothing. I'm sorry. Hey ..."

Without saying anything, I pushed the door of the karaoke box open by force and went out like crawling. Someone might have heard and told everyone that I couldn't sing.

When I got off the bus, powder snow was flying. I almost slipped down the slope from the bus stop. Even in Kochi, it usually snows in the mountains, aside from the city. When I crossed the subsidence bridge, I heard a crackling sound of thin ice. The surface of the concrete bridge is frozen.

Cold. It's not dexterous enough to get used to everyone, and it's not divisible. On the other hand, I’m not strong enough to be alone, not prepared, and have no idea.

I don't do anything selfish. Rumors that you can't sing, that's a lie. I'm just not confident in myself for a while. I want to get along with everyone. Really. I know. Of course I know. So "Ah ... Ah ..."

In the middle of the bridge, I impulsively exhaled my voice.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ah"

As I breathed in, cold air sank into my throat. Still, I sang towards the river. "Ah..”

Did I sing? It didn't match a song. It's just a growl. The bag slipped off my shoulder. Will you forgive me if I sing? Can I get along with everyone if I sing? It doesn't help to sing alone in such a place. It's like a scream of a dead end before being crushed. Still, I sang that song with my mother with a squeezed voice. I was happy back then. It's different now. Powder snow was swirling in the flow of the river. Suddenly, in front of me it became pitch black. Nausea swelled from the back of my stomach, and I held my mouth with both hands.

"Uuuuu!"

I crouched on my knees. However, I couldn't stand the momentum of the backflowing gastric juice. I pushed my body forward and vomited towards the clear stream under the bridge. The vomit that was about to kneel and vomit fell to the surface of the water, creating a number of ripples. I spit out everything in my stomach and fell on the bridge. My hair is messed up and my mouth is smeared with gastric juice and smells. It's already spicy. I want to get rid of everything. Shivering and crying as if groaning. Drops of tears ooze on my cold cheeks and tingle. I wish I were gone.

I could hear the slight sound of powder snow folding and piled up right next to me. A notification came to the smartphone that slipped off my bag. It was a message from Hiro-chan.

<< Look at this, Suzu. It’s so amazing that I’m seriously laughing. >>

There is a link to somewhere.

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[ddarker-dreams]

Yandere Behavior: Trish Una

⋆ ˚｡ Yan MBTI: RAML ⋆｡˚ ⋆

Trish has a non traditional approach to love, or relationships in general. She’s abrasive to those near her, taking a while to warm up to even the thought of being around others. It’s a defense mechanism that’s surrounded her since she learned about her father, and the chaos that followed her ever since. There’s deeply rooted trauma in the experience she went through at that age, having to be thrown into the world of gangsters just shortly after losing her mother. 

She doesn’t change this prickly initial approach with you. If anything, it increases tenfold, as she simply doesn’t know how to handle these feelings. Most people that she’s cared for in her life have left her in some capacity, leaving a gaping hole in her heart. At this point, she’s established herself as a professional singer and wants to move past the hurts that haunt her. 

When she comes to terms with how precious you are to her, that’s when there’s a sudden shift. It feels almost jarring, how she goes from ignoring or looking down on you to constantly checking in. Trish wants to get to know you, every little detail is equally important. She has a busy schedule, being a revered singer, but she still makes time for you. It’s become a bit of a hassle for her manager, as she sometimes slips out of recordings early or turns down interviews in favor of your company. 

Any on looker can tell how different she treats you. She pays attention to every word that leaves your lips, not standing for any ounce of disrespect anyone might offer you. She’ll shut them down with pointed words and an apathetic stare, making it obvious that anyone that messes with you has to deal with her. It’s enough to detour any similar occurrences in the future. 

Should you ever reject her adamant advances, she’ll act like she’s taking it in stride. Trish knows how important appearances are, as she’s managed numerous masks herself. There’s a faint, knowing look in her eyes when she realizes the gap in feelings between you two. It hurts, the pain festering and refusing to leave. She wants to distance herself from you, to forget the sting of rejection, of being left behind yet again. It’s the cry of her heart, that goes unheard, as she continues to relentlessly pursue you. 

The gifts of this world are her go to. How can anyone reject fine luxuries, designer grade items, invites to the most exclusive events, and connections to almost every part of the entertainment industry? She lavishes these things upon you, like a band aid over a gaping wound. The tense relationship you share cannot be healed solely by shallow stuff, no matter how much she tries. It’s what Trish has used in an attempt to plug the void in herself, so why doesn’t it work on you? It’s frustrating, but she has other methods to rely on.

One of the strongest problems that you’ll find yourself in, is how can never connect on an emotional level with her. It’s what made you distance yourself from her in the first place, feeling like despite all the hours talking over the phone or in person you don’t know know the real Trish Una. Instead, it feels almost creepy how perfect she presents herself, like she isn’t a human being. It’s a tentatively crafted facade, meant to leave positive impressions on you.

Trying to have a heart to heart with Trish is mentally exhausting, as she doesn’t see the point. She’ll make an attempt at it should you press the matter, but looks vaguely disinterested, making the situation worse. It’s frustrating to her how you won’t accept her actions at face value, always assuming there’s an ulterior motive somewhere.

She always makes sure you come back to her in one way or another. There are less savory connections are her disposal should the need be, but in the end, she doesn’t feel like it’s necessary. The two of you grow addicted to one another in a way, unable to function apart from the other. She offers you thrilling escapades, new experiences that others would die for. Dinners in penthouses, fast drives in sports cars, evenings spent on private beaches... more luxuries than some may see in a lifetime.

Even when she’s not physically with you, expect lots of texts and calls. Trish loves sending you selfies and pictures of her current surroundings, and expects the same from you. She’s saved every picture you’ve ever sent her, but won’t admit it. She isn’t keen on kidnapping you like some yanderes might be, instead wrapping you around her finger and keeping you there. The right balance is struck of just how much she can get away with, and as soon as that sweet spot is located, she takes full advantage of it.

You’ll be a picture perfect couple. She has matching outfits set out in the mornings, and there’s an unspoken expectation that you’ll indulge this fantasy of hers. People will coo over the two of you, speaking how adorable your relationship is, how Trish is so sweet on you. It twists your gut in an uncomfortable way, and she takes control of the situation before you can reveal anything you’ll regret. Every aspect of your life has her touch on it. You even start to smell faintly of her sweet, passion fruit perfume.

In private, she’s physically affectionate, or at least more than what most would expect. She’s always sitting by your side, to the point where your thighs are touching. There will be an arm wrapped around your chest in a hug, or she’ll put her head on your shoulder as she scrolls through her social media feed.

Trish wants to keep you by her side. She wants your support — the validation you offer her is addicting — and she can’t go without it. After going through this life by herself for so long, surrounded by false compliments all for the sake of advancing their own agenda... it was only a matter of time until she found you, clinging with no intention of ever letting go.

Quotes.

“I got reservations for our date tonight. Hm? You’re busy? Well, whatever it is, it can wait.” 

“Maybe you don’t understand, so I’ll explain it. [First]... I don’t want you looking at anyone else like this. Promise me, that I’m the only one in your heart. Otherwise... I won’t ever forgive you.” 

“It’s been a long day, all I could think about is coming back to you. Let’s have a spa day tomorrow, my treat of course. Oh? You look so excited. Well, it’s not like I can blame you.” 

[lancermylove]

Sleep? What’s That? (HC)

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: Victor x Reader, Gavin x Reader, Kiro x Reader, Lucien x Reader,

Warning: Gavin’s hc gets a little suggestive. 

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hello!! Can I request an MLQC headcannon with an MC whose like “haha, sleep? Never heard of it” because she’s working at the company, and helping out other people? Maybe fluff? Haha- I think it’s quite fitting because of your name- be as creative as you like and alter whatever you need to do! Thanks in advance ✨

A/N: Hi! I wasn’t sure which guys you wanted, so I picked the main 4. Haha, I just went with my blog’s name for this hc’s title. I got a bit carried away with Victor’s hc...is my bias-y showing? XD

——————————————— 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You thought someone was trying to break down your apartment door.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Picking up your pace, you flung open the door, ready to give the visitor a piece of your mind.

"Ms. Chips! Are you okay?"

You were shocked to see Kiro standing at your doorstep. He was out of breath, and small beads of sweat covered his face.

"Kiro? What are you doing here?" You stepped aside to let him into your home.

"Savin told me that he saw Willow's post about you not sleeping enough! I rushed here as soon as I could."

You watched your boyfriend place a few bags on your coffee table before plopping onto the sofa.

"Kiro, what's all this?" You couldn't help but wonder why he was carrying so many bags.

"Well, I thought you could use a little help," he started taking the items out of the bag and placed them on the table, "so, I got some chamomile tea, melatonin gummies, a few fruits with magnesium, lavender oil, passionflower tea, a few vegetables that have glycine, and over-the-counter sleeping pills."

"Kiro, did you buy the entire grocery store?"

"Sorry, Ms.Chips, I wasn't sure which item would help you, so I just got everything." He flashed a toothy grin, causing you to laugh.

You couldn't help but hug your sweet boyfriend. "Sorry for worrying you, Kiro. I have been extremely busy with the company and helping people around town."

"Princess, you need to sleep!" Kiro placed his hand on his chin, "You know what? I have an idea."

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Savin. "Hey~! I am going to take the rest of the day off, take care of everything, okay? Thanks!"

Just as Kiro was about to hang up, you heard Savin screaming from the other side, "KIRO! YOU HAVE A LOT OF COMMITMENTS TODAY!"

"Kiro, are you sure that was a good idea? Wait, why do you want to take the day off?"

"Savin will handle everything. Ms. Chips, let's go to bed and not wake up until tomorrow. Actually, I don't want to hear anything...we are sleeping for the rest of the day, and that's final."  

Kiro left you no choice as he threw you over his shoulder and carried you off to bed.

No getting sleep was nothing new to Victor. After all, he was the CEO of a very well known company, and on top of that, he had a reputation to maintain. 

When Victor learned that you were not getting proper sleep, he wasn't surprised. Whenever you emailed your reports, Victor made a mental note of the time. 

The first few times, Victor didn't think much when he saw 1 am, 3 am, 4:30 am. He assumed you were procrastinating, but when this became a frequent occasion, he began to worry.  

One day, you received a text from Victor asking you to come to his office asap. No excuses. 

You immediately thought that Victor was going to reprimand you for not sending in a proper report, but when you walked into his office, he seemed more worried than upset. 

"Victor, is something the matter?" 

"Yes. From now on, I want you to send in your report before 10 pm."  

You expected Victor to give you a reason, but instead, he remained silent, awaiting your reply. 

"T-That will be difficult to do." You bit down on your bottom lip, knowing well that your response was not going to go down well with your boyfriend.

"Why is that?" His face remained expressionless.

"Well, you see..." you started but decided to stop. 

"Why are you always tired?" He asked and examined your face, "Your dark circles have gotten worse, and it seems as though you've lost weight."

Victor opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a stack of paper. He looked straight into your eyes before placing it in front of you. 

"V-Victor, I..."

"You were in the hospital last week. Did you truly believe that you could hide this from me?" 

"I am s-sorry. I knew you were busy and didn't want you to worry." 

"Why are you not getting enough sleep?" 

Taking in a deep breath, you told Victor the truth, "I have been volunteering, and there is a lot to do around the company. Anna has been sick, and Minor has to take care of a sick family member, so I have to do their work as well."

Victor sighed, "Did you think that I would get angry at you if you told me the truth? Your well being is more important to me than anything." 

"Victor..."

After making a few calls, Victor turned his attention to you, "For the time being, you will solely focus on your company. I have asked Goldman to send a few employees of LFG to your company. As for volunteering, you will take a break from that."

"But-" Before you could make any excuses, Victor interrupted you. 

"There are others in the city that can volunteer in your place. Also, you are still responsible for sending your reports in on time."

You were waiting for him to say this, but what Victor said next caught you completely off guard.

"Send your report to Goldman in bullet point form, and he will convert that into a formal report." 

"What?" You gawked at Victor, thinking that you may have misheard his words. 

Victor chuckled, "Dummy." 

He rose to his feet and made his way to your chair. Victor picked you up and walked to the sofa in his office. 

"Now, I want you to rest." He gently lowered you onto the black and white sofa before taking off his suit jacket. 

Victor covered you with his blazer and took off your heels. He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

After a few minutes, Victor turned his attention from his laptop to you only to find you sleeping peacefully. A rare smile appeared on his lips, "Sleep well, my beloved dummy." 

After what felt like an eternity, you finished your volunteer work. Anna had warned you to think carefully before working on a show that required you to volunteer. You couldn't help but think that you should have listened to her. 

The clock read 1:10 am, and your report was far from being finished. You were almost tempted to call your employees and ask for their help, but you decided against it. After all, the company was your responsibility. 

You decided to take a break and walked over to your open window. 

"Having trouble sleeping?" 

You nearly lost your balance, but Gavin caught you. 

Even though this was usually Gavin's way of visiting you, for some reason, you could never get used to it. 

"Gavin? What are you doing here?" You regained your balance and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

"You have not been sleeping for the past few days." 

"Huh? How do you know that?" 

"I come to check on your every night." He gave a smile. 

"You do? Are you that worried about you?" You pecked his lips. 

Your action caused Gavin's cheeks to turn red. He averted his eyes and cleared his throat before speaking, "I always worry about you. Would you like to come out with me?" 

"Well, I have a report due, but..." 

Gavin smiled and lifted you out of the window. "It won't take long." 

The night air was crisp and refreshing. The moon's brightness made the ocean shimmer. The cool air brushed your cheeks, causing you to wrap your arms tighter around Gavin's neck. 

"Cold?" He asked with a hint of concern in his voice. 

"No, the air feels good." 

By the time you got back, you felt so calm that you were able to finish your report in no time. 

All the while, Gavin sat on the sofa and watched you with a smile.

After you finished, you took a shower and changed into your nightclothes.  When you walked out, Gavin couldn't help but stare at you with wide eyes. 

You had completely forgotten that Gavin was still there and had accidentally worn your revealing nightwear.

Your boyfriend rose to his feet and slowly walked towards you, taking in the beautiful sight in front of him. 

"Gavin, will you be staying? It's pretty late." 

You failed to notice the mesmerized look on Gavin's face. He wordlessly lifted you and carried you to bed. 

After placing you on your bed, Gavin brought his lips closer to your ear and whispered, "You look beautiful. Don't let any other man see you like this." 

After saying those words, Gavin quickly walked into your bathroom. 

In your tired state, you had failed to notice a tent in Gavin's pants. 

The next morning, when you saw yourself in the mirror, you realized what Gavin meant. Luckily for you, your dear boyfriend wasn't there to see you turning a hundred shades of red. 

It was 3:45 am, and you were typing away on your laptop. Your mind was too preoccupied to hear a knock on your apartment door. 

The sound of your text notification nearly made you jump from your seat.

My dear kitten, I know you're awake. I can see the light under your door.

You were confused for a second, but it suddenly hit you that the only way Lucien can see the light under your door is-

Rushing to the front door, you opened it to find your beloved boyfriend, smiling. 

"I have been knocking for a while. You had me worried."

You let Lucien into your apartment while explained that you were too focused on your report.

"Dear kitten, sleep is an important commodity. Do you wish to impair your brain functions?" 

"Of course not, but Lucien-"

"Have you forgotten that I am a neuroscientist? Sleep deprivation will negatively impact your body." 

"But Lucien, your awake as well, and you don't sleep enough." 

Your straightforward response startled your boyfriend. "I realize that, but my dear kitten, I do sleep. It does not seem as though you have slept recently." 

"I have just been so busy, and I need to get the report in before morning!" You sighed and rested your head on Lucien's shoulder. 

"Then shall we get your report finished?" 

Though Lucien was a firm believer of "one has to do their own work", his concern for your health forced him to make an exception. 

With the help of your genius boyfriend, you managed to get the report finished in half an hour. As soon as you submitted your report, Lucien carried you to your bedroom and placed you on your bed. 

"Do excuse me for a second." He made his way to the bathroom, and after a few minutes, he returned. 

"Lucien, are you staying here?" 

"But of course. How else will I be sure that you receive adequate rest?" With those words, he got into your bed before pulling you close to him. 

Your comfortable bed, Lucien's warmth, and his comforting scent were enough to help you relax. Soon, sleep began to consume you.

Lucien gently ran his fingers through your hair as he studied your sleeping face. "My love, do take care of yourself. You worry me more than you realize."   

———————————————

➣ MLQC Masterlist ➣ Buy me a Ko-fi or Commission?

[dreamlover31]

Broken Promises

Hello my dearies, thank you for all of your comments and support throughout this comeback of mine lol

And now here's the third and final installment of my mini drama...my apologies since this took me a while to post this

Tagging: @madpanda75 @dreila03 @laceybellerain @melsquared79 @southern-magnolia @glimmerglittergirl @xemopeachx @misssirenlove @tropes-and-tales @thatesqcrush @sweetsummertime99 @imjustreallynosy @amirightcounselor @rampantmuses​ @youreverycolor​

Two pink lines...what should have been caused for great joy, instead has brought upon nothing but anguish and despair. After the incident at the apartment, you had packed up your belongings and moved into your sister’s place in Soho; leaving behind the man who had all but decimated your heart. Though the time was brief, being held hostage by your fiance’s mistress was a real wake up call, the wool that had been pulled over your eyes that day; and it revealed a very ugly truth, that Rafael Barba was nothing more than a vile creature who had taken your love for granted and threw it back in your face, however, when you revealed the pregnancy it was merely a ploy to get Sophie to drop her guard so that he could take the opportunity to take her out of the equation.

A few days after the incident, you had started feeling nauseous and had some weird cravings for pickles and garlic knots, and that was when the gears turned in your head; so one day when your sister was at work, you trekked down to the bodega down the street from her apartment where you had purchased 3 different types of pregnancy tests. Upon your return, you anxiously awaited the results as you sat on the edge of the tub, after a few minutes, you peered down at the stick and your heart dropped.

Later that day, your sister Rebecca returned home from work where she found you on the couch curled up in a blanket; eyes shrink wrapped in tears. She set her things on the coffee table and wrapped an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder soothingly until your tears had subsided and that was when you revealed the reason for your distress.

Meanwhile, Rafael painstakingly went about his life, despite protests from Liv and the others, in his mind it made sense to keep himself busy, that way he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality that he had lost the love of his life...and her confession of becoming an expectant mother. After the Sophie fiasco, Rafael was desperately trying to contact Charlotte, he had lost track of the many phone calls and text messages he sent her; although he couldn’t blame her...he had violated her trust in an unforgivable manner and as much as he wanted to just make everything that happened disappear, there was no way that he could reclaim the life he once had.

Rafael was sitting in his office reviewing one of his case files when his phone beeped, his emerald irises widened when he saw the message… it was the last person he expected to hear from...Charlotte.

We need to talk...meet me at the coffee shop down the street from my OB’s office

Alright...I’m on my way

Charlotte scheduled an appointment with her doctor once she had time to collect her thoughts, as she was sitting on top of the examination table, her mind drifted back to the conversation she had with Rebecca the night before...as hard as it would be, if it turned out that she was indeed pregnant, she would have to notify Rafael. At that moment, her doctor entered the room with the test results in hand, with a soft smile, she confirmed what Charlotte already knew and now it was time to have an unpleasant conversation with the man who betrayed her; as she exited the building, Charlotte texted Rafael and began making her way to the coffee shop. The front door chimed as Rafael stepped inside the establishment, his eyes scanned the enclosure for Charlotte until he saw her in the back corner, slowly, he padded towards the table where she had a coffee already waiting for him. They barely looked at one another as the world around them continued to function in its normal capacity, the tension surrounding them was so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Charlotte lightly tapped her fingers on the container housing her chamomile tea as she thought of the best way to approach the subject...finally, it was Rafael who ultimately broke the awkward silence.

“I would ask how you are doing but…”

“Then don’t” Charlotte snapped all the while maintaining her composure without breaking down into tears again, she breathed through her nose and exhaled a deep breath then blurted out:

“It’s official...I’m pregnant and your the father”

Rafael blinked as he took a moment to process the huge bombshell that was just dropped on him, although he had his suspicions, receiving actual confirmation made everything all the more real. While his first instincts were to reach out and hold Charlotte’s hand and comfort her, he knew that she would rebuff his advances, with a heavy sigh, he continued:

“Charlotte...I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make up for everything that has happened, but I just want you to know that whatever you decide...I will respect your wishes”

Charlotte replied, "Well look at you...the great Rafael Barba playing the martyr"

The venom in her voice caused Rafael to inwardly cringe while on the outside his face took on a wounded appearance.

Charlotte sighed, "I'm sorry Rafael...that was unfair of me"

"It was well deserved believe me"

She looked out the window for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts while Rafael looked on, carefully gauging her mood. Finally, she spoke:

“Look...I don’t know where we go from here...all I know is that I do want you to be a part of our child’s life and we’ll figure it out as we go along with regards to visitation and support”

Her words were like a dagger to Rafael’s heart, granted that she was willing to let him see their child, a part of him hoped that she would consider the possibility of raising their little bundle of joy together; and yet the more realistic side of him understood that once a trust has been breached, it could take a long time to rebuild or worst case scenario, one can never regain that trust. He frowned but nodded his head in agreement, upon exiting the coffee shop, they both decided that Charlotte would update Rafael on the baby’s development and went their separate ways.

6 months later…

Charlotte stares idly at the monitor as the doctor ran the ultrasound wand along her abdomen, waiting to catch a glimpse of the tiny life growing inside her, today was the day that she would find out the gender of her baby. The doctor adjusted the image on the screen to where a little grey jelly bean came into view, as she pointed out how the baby was developing on schedule, Charlotte became overwhelmed with emotion; tears began to prick in her eyes as she sniffled. 

“Charlotte..are you ready to know what you are having”

“Yes, please”

The doctor clicked a few more buttons and a more clearer picture came into focus

“Congratulations Charlotte...you’re having a healthy baby girl”

The floodgates opened as tears streamed down her face, the amount of joy and love that she felt for the tiny human being inside her was astounding; at that point the doctor excused herself so she could print out the ultrasound pictures. During this moment of solitude, Charlotte’s happiness was quickly foreshadowed by the fact that this beautiful child was created out of the love that she once shared with Rafael, the man that she was set to wed before it was revealed that he had been unfaithful to her but as much as she wanted to hate him for the rest of her life...there was a part of her that still loved him and missed him very much. She quickly wiped her eyes as the doctor re-entered the room, she was handed the ultrasound pictures before gathering her belongings and leaving the examination room. She was then escorted down the hall to the reception desk, as she was finishing up with the receptionist, a familiar figure was sitting patiently in the waiting room. Upon entering, Charlotte was greeted with a smiling tall, sandy haired gentleman.

“You ready to go Charlotte”

“Ready when you are Sonny”

Sonny smiled as the two of them made their way out of the building, he helped her into his car that was parked along the sidewalk and as soon as he was in the driver’s seat; he started the ignition and drove off. A few months prior, Sonny had ran into you while grocery shopping at the local market, the two of you exchanged pleasantries and even agreed to meet up for lunch later on that week and ever since then, Sonny was like a Godsend. Whenever you were feeling overwhelmed or you just needed someone to talk to, he would always be there. He even invited you over to his place a couple of times where he would share with you the many culinary delights from mama Carisi and cuddle up on the couch and binge watched on various movies involving tragic romances. Sonny meandered down the streets of downtown Manhattan while Charlotte looked out the passenger window watching the buildings pass by, her mind a jumbled mess with everything that has happened, she finds herself in one hell of a moral dilemma. It was almost as if Sonny could read her mind because when they came to traffic light, he looked over to her and asked:

“Is everything ok?”

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte replied, “I don’t know Sonny...how can you miss someone who dismantled everything you once knew to be true...who you gave your heart and soul to, only to have it torn apart…”

He frowned as he put the car in gear and continued driving towards her apartment, “I know what Barba did was inexcusable…but I’ve seen him in the office and he puts up a good front but deep down I know he misses you terribly and would give his soul to be with you again”

Charlotte smiled softly, knowing that Rafael still cared for her brought some comfort, but the underlying question was that if she reunited with Rafael...how does she know that she can trust him again. The car came to a stop outside her apartment building, and they began their ascent up the elevator then as they reached her floor, they strolled down the hall towards her door; Charlotte settled down on the couch while Carisi prepared dinner. The aroma of cooked pasta and oregano filled the room, after chowing down on their exquisite feast, Charlotte and Carisi planted themselves on the couch and browsed through Netflix until they decided on a romantic comedy with Jude Law and Julia Roberts. 

They were well into the movie when there was a knock at the door, Sonny got up and looked through the peephole and then opened the door a crack where in his line of sight he was welcomed by  his colleague in a three piece suit; the well rounded and sassy ADA known as Rafael Barba. The two men nodded at one another upon entry, Charlotte carefully sat up and stood in the middle of the living room, there was a moment of awkward silence before Sonny spoke:

“Well I’m going to run down to the store real quick, we ran out of milk”

And with that, Sonny grabbed his coat and left, Rafael and Charlotte looked at each other with weariness in each other’s eyes, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rafael broke the ice:

“How are you feeling?”

“For the most part, I feel tired and gross”

Rafael snorted, “If you don’t mind me saying...I think you are still the most beautiful woman to ever walk this Earth”

Charlotte blushed at his words, she forgot that he could be pretty charming when he wanted to be, she fiddled with her fingers as she sat back down on the couch. Rafael soon joined her but kept his distance.

“Listen...the reason I came over was to tell you that I’m happy for you and Carisi”

Charlotte furrowed her brows, “Excuse me”

“He’s a good man...and I know that he’ll take care of you the way you deserve to be...and I think we can make this whole co-parenting situation work as long as there is an open communication with one another”

Charlotte grinned and began giggling, at the same time, Rafael looked on with puzzlement.

“Did I miss something?”

Once she sobered up, she replied, “Rafael...I’m not dating Sonny, we’re just friends”

“But everyone at the precinct has been saying how close you both have gotten and that it was only a matter of time before…”

“Look Rafael...these last six months have been hard and as much as I want to hate you with every fiber of my being, I’ve come to realize that I still love you and I miss you so much”

Rafael gazed upon Charlotte’s face, slowly he brought up his hand and cradled her face, his thumb caressed her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He pulled himself closer to her until their faces were inches apart, he gave her a hesitant kiss on her lips but from there it gained momentum. All those months apart, the longing and need spilled out into the fiery, passionate kisses but then they reluctantly broke the kiss in need for air; their eyes connected for a brief moment until Rafael spoke again:

“I love you Charlotte...and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you...if you’ll have me”

Charlotte desperately wanted to believe him, and while she was unsure as to what the future held for them, all she knew was that she couldn't imagine a life without Rafael in it.

“We have some work to do, but I am willing to give us another try”

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Do You Even Think About It? 

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: ~8.8K Notes: Sam Smith is an absolute angel and I’ve been obsessively listening to their new album Love Goes. One of my favorites on the record is Kids Again, so I gave myself the opportunity to listen to it over and over again by writing a fic based on it. This is the product.  Warnings: There be angst ahead. Summary: 

Peter needs a job to help pay for graduate school, so MJ hooks him up at the breakfast for dinner restaurant she works at, Stevie's. It's not his dream job, but he likes the atmosphere and the cute sous chef who's chalk full of advice.

6 years later, Peter's mind is stuck on the young love he let go and the man who changed his world.

Or: A Starker love story told in flashback and set to a Sam Smith song.

Read on AO3 here.

November 2nd, 2020

Peter should’ve known the day would be an odd one when he heard Beyoncé’s Mine to start the day. Though his mind took many detours to the thought of Tony Stark, tangible things like their song made his heart ache just a little bit more than usual. It’d been years since he heard from him, and even after all that time, he still missed him – more than he usually cared to admit. Like it was six years prior, Peter sung along to the lyrics, the ghost of youth and Tony’s touch wrapping him up and surrounding him, dragging him under the weight of precious memories.

With Tony now on the forefront of his mind, Peter mindlessly went through his getting ready routine. His school had a pretty lenient dress code, so he slipped into straight-legged black trousers and a white button down, maroon cardigan combo. Topping off the outfit with all black Chuck Taylor’s, Peter made his way out to his kitchen to heat up the water for the French press that sat in a place of honor on the counter. Another Tony Stark influence, Peter realized as he portioned off his coffee serving and pressed down the pump, the delectable smell of freshly brewing caffeine bringing a soft smile to his face.

He didn’t do anything adventurous until he met Tony all those years ago – let alone make his coffee in a fancy French press. Tony’s love of food and fancy utensils to create and serve it rubbed off on him in a lot of ways, his brown eye’s catching the well-maintained cast-iron skillet sitting on the back burner of his stove. Sucking in a deep breath, Peter forced himself to see the remnants of Tony littered around his place. They lived so much life together in those short years together. It wasn’t surprising, now that he let himself think about it, how much Tony stilled ruled so many things about his life.

They changed the world together – Peter’s world specifically. It itched, how much he yearned to be that kid again; youth brought him happiness – the understanding of that now several years too late.

Forcing himself to get his shit together, Peter gathered his messenger bag and the lunch he packed the previous night before heading out of the house. He caught up on grading over the weekend, so a later than usual arrival wouldn’t be too debilitating. His mind was so caught up on other things, he marveled at the fact that he managed to get out the door at all. Sometimes, the feeling was so consuming – sometimes, he pushed through it and coped with their song on repeat his entire drive into work.

The day went by pretty easily, for the most part. Teaching advanced physics to high school aged students wasn’t too colossal of a task – he’d been working in the same classroom for the last six years; he could probably do half of his lesson plans with his hands tied behind his back. A majority of his students were those most would deem brainy, so there wasn’t much ruckus to deal with or discipline to dish out. Instead, he let his mind stray to Tony’s dark hair and the tan of his skin after a day spent down by the ocean. He stayed in the game just long enough to get through the day – then, Peter let his thoughts run away from him.

Before he knew it, he was behind the wheel of his car heading towards the east side of the city. Tony hadn’t lived there in years, but Peter did his best to avoid it, anyway. The corners of his mind that Tony occupied seemed like enough space to give him – visiting their old haunts felt like a step too far. Until now of course, his car idled by the all too familiar sidewalk, the blue door of Tony’s home still as bright as it looked back then. Whoever took over the lease there kept it up – they would’ve been insane not to after all of the work Tony put into it.

A weird yearning sat in the pit of his stomach. As a good looking soon to be 30-year-old, it should’ve been insane to be this wrapped up in the past and all the delectable memories it held. He wasn’t social awkward and had a good head on his shoulders – there’d been many men that tried to steal his attention, even. Yet, Peter invited the presence of those memories, instead. For every not so good thing that happened, there were 20 great adventures that took its place. Despite years of distance, Peter missed Tony – missed him and the person he let himself become under the radiant affection and liveliness that Tony brought to his life.

Peter tried not to think about the prospect of turning back time, but as he sat in front of Tony’s old place, he wished for just a few minutes of those old times – some of the best days of his life. What he wouldn’t give to be a kid again, sitting in the shining sun with the most radiant man he’d ever met, even now – even years later, Tony held that title so tightly, there wasn’t room for anyone else.

Shaking his head, Peter gave the blue door a longing look – if he didn’t force himself to leave in that moment, the strength would never come. His fingers gripped the wheel tightly, the tires grinding against the curb ever so slightly. He laughed at himself, the consistency of his driving habits making his chest feel warm. Even after all those years, he still misjudged the width of the curb. The thought gripped his heart tightly – there were so many things that hadn’t changed and so many things he wished didn’t all that time ago.

In his melancholy, Peter didn’t notice the front curtain twitch, or see the door open – a slightly older Tony Stark stepping out of it with confusion written all over his face.

The ride home consisted of a few tears and the stereo of his car scratching ever so slightly with the loud volume of the song he’d been listening to non-stop all day long. Peter stopped to grab a sub from his favorite pagoda in hopes of making himself feel better, then finished the trek back to his lonely apartment – the folding of his laundry the only thing for him to look forward to when he got there.

He got one of his feet out of the car before the vibration of his phone in the cupholder stopped him. Not recognizing the number off the bat, Peter let it ring, the buzz of it against his thigh as he slipped it into his pocket. Not thinking much about it, Peter got up into his apartment, dropping his sub and keys on the counter without much thought. Then, his phone vibrated again, this time, the three-pulse rhythm told him that whoever just called left him a voicemail.

Intrigued, Peter fished the phone from his pocket, his eyes bulging when he saw Siri’s suggestion of who it was (MAYBE: Tony Stark). Taking in a deep breath, Peter set the phone down, then immediately picked it back up – his brain was running haywire and standard operating procedures were not functioning at their usual capacity.

It was almost like the universe heard his call, or understood the pain he’d been in. Why, after 6 years of no talking, texting, or communication at all, did Tony reach out now? And if he listened to the message, what would come of it? Did he really have the strength to do the right thing here? Or the wrong thing for that matter?

Almost like he was working on autopilot, Peter let his thumb navigate the phone until he was a second away from listening to Tony’s voice for the first time in what felt like forever. Anticipation raced through him, his skin tingling with nerves and excitement that he couldn’t quite tamper down. Tony Stark, after so much time. Grinning, Peter let the rest of his resolve crumble, his finger pressing the play button before he could think too hard about the whole thing.

Hey Pete,

At least, I hope this is still Peter Parker’s number. I remember you saying you hadn’t changed your number since you were a teenager and am banking on that fact. I could’ve sworn I saw your old Honda out in front of the old apartment today. I’m back in New York, for good this time, and wanted to see you. I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough to stop you, but I thought I’d reach out. I’ve missed you.

Anyway – call me back. This is my new number, so you know where to reach me.

Peter spent the next five minutes listening to the message over and over again – the cadence of his voice hadn’t changed a single bit and the slightest hint of affection that sat there was unmistakable. Tony made it seem like no time at all had passed, like it was normal to call an ex up out of the blue, like it wouldn’t change Peter’s world to hear that he missed him – that after 6 years, Peter was still on Tony’s mind.

Clutching the phone to his chest, Peter took a few long deep breaths before making a decision. His mind would never leave him alone if he didn’t take the steps laid out in front of him – if he didn’t hit the call button and see where a conversation with the love of his life could take him.

There was a slight pause before the phone rang, then a click of the call being answered on the other side of the phone. Peter waited with bated breath as Tony settled onto the other side of the line, his inhale before saying anything more than enough for Peter to spring forward into the abyss.

“Hey, Tony – “

August 2012

Walking into Stevie’s, Peter didn’t know what to expect. Being a small-town kid, the big city still seemed impenetrable, despite living there for the entirety of his college education. Though, thinking about it, he supposed that he stayed in a pretty narrow bubble during his time in school. Getting into the master’s program, Peter knew he not only needed to branch out a bit more, but also needed to make some spare change to help pay for the next two years of classes.

Which is how he found himself standing outside the small restaurant, his first shift set to start in 10 minutes. With his apron in hand, Peter took a deep breath and pulled open the door. The smell of cinnamon and something on the savory side hit his nose as he stepped inside, his chest already loosening. Comforting scents always brought down his defenses – the 20 candles that riddled his little apartment spoke to that very fact. He liked to be wrapped up in familiar things, smells included.

Taking a few more steps into the restaurant, Peter brightened up even further when he saw MJ approaching him. They met during freshman philosophy, the two of them making fun of the professor before even exchanging names. With that sort of chemistry, their struck-up friendship didn’t surprise anyone. Her decision to stay in the city and continue her education played a huge part in Peter’s plans – Nebraska wasn’t calling him home, or anything, but he didn’t want to be lonely in the city – he got his fill of that feeling during the first few months of adjustment when he first arrived.

MJ getting the waitress job couldn’t have happened at a better time, either. Though he was smart (smart enough to graduate with a double major), scholarships were few and far between, so only half of his education was getting paid for by the school. Unlike his undergraduate experience, Peter knew he needed to work, both to make money and gain experience. Stevie’s wasn’t the classroom that he belonged in, but it was a step in the right direction.

“Peter Parker – am I glad to see you,” MJ said in the way of greeting, her cheeks pulling up in a slight smile. She was a tough, sort of grungy girl, but her affection for Peter shaded her actions towards him, giving her a softer edge where Peter was concerned. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and turned him towards what could only be the employee break room. “It’s kind of slow tonight, so you’ll have lots of time and space to learn everything you need to know.”

The slightest feeling of relief washed over him when they busted through the doors and only a couple of people were scattered around the room. On any part of the weekend, Stevie’s had a line out the door. There weren’t many breakfast for dinner joints in the city and the unique combination of sweet and savory of their menu brought people from all over the city to their little corner. Before applying, Peter battled with the anxiety of being around that many people – but the good money and ability to work with MJ overran the negative feelings he almost allowed himself to manifest.

After being introduced to the few people sitting around the break room, Peter clocked in and donned the traditional black apron that all of the servers were sporting. MJ took him around, showed him how the computer system worked, and let him shadow her during a couple of orders. When things started to pick up, she sent him off on his own – she had the utmost confidence in him and told him so many times throughout his brief training. He could handle thermodynamics like it was elementary math – serving people had to be a breeze.

Quickly, Peter realized that being a waiter took a lot more skills than he initially thought. Though the computer system was easy enough to navigate, remembering what went where and who ordered what took a few tables to get used to. He played musical plates a few times before getting the hang of labeling the people at the table and putting their order by said label. By the time Peter got within an hour of his shift being over, he finally felt like he could handle himself.

While in-between tables, MJ flagged him down – her hair was a mess and there were more than a few spills on her apron. “I’m swamped with this huge party that just sat down.” She looked over at the large table, her eyes focusing in on the unruly children climbing all over the chairs. “Could you take my other table? Their food should be up soon – it shouldn’t be too much work.” Without waiting for an answer, MJ turned back to the big party, her shoulders set in what Peter knew to be her determined stance.

Using the table planogram, Peter got the table number before heading to the kitchen to grab their food – their ticket number had just popped up on the screen outside of the window. Looking over the order one more time, Peter was surprised to see a tan hand reach out to tap his fingers that were just about to wrap around the edge of the first plate. “That’s a hot plate. You’ll want to cover your hand before you pick it up.”

Somewhat shocked at the timbre of the voice talking to him, Peter took a step back from the window, his hands flying up in surrender, like he’d actually touched fire, or something. Looking up, Peter forced himself to catch his breath. The older sous chef that stood in that spot for most of his shift was gone, only to be replaced with the most gorgeous human Peter could remember seeing. His lips were framed with a gorgeous, and well kept, goatee. Honey-golden eyes watched him with intrigue, and when their eyes met, Peter got to see the most glorious smile.

A soft blush overtook his face – Peter did his best to hide the rush of it and the smile that accompanied it. Ducking his head, Peter bit into his lip, his brain desperately trying to cling to whatever words he could remember in the heart racing moment. “Uh – thanks! I’m new, so I probably would’ve burnt off my skin if you didn’t step in.”

He ached to hold his hand out between them, to see if his skin was as warm as his eyes were. Yet, he understood how much he already made a fool of himself – Peter kept his hands down by his side with a sort of resolve that shouldn’t be necessary in a situation like this.

That rich voice sounded again, this time directed solely at Peter – the man’s attention on him explicitly. “I figured as much. I’m Tony – one of the sous chefs around here. You’ll learn pretty quickly what you can and can’t pick up. Just don’t drop shit and you’ll be okay.” His words were brief and somewhat cut off, but his eyes never left Peter’s – they seemed to burn into him with every second that passed.

“Good to know. Thanks again, Tony.”

Peter used the cloth napkin he tied to his apron earlier to grab the plate – the heat barely there through the fabric. He grabbed the other plate with his free hand and was about to turn away from the kitchen when Tony spoke again.

“What’s your name, new kid?” His eyebrows were raised when Peter turned to look at him, a smirk on his face.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

Beaming, Peter turned away, his cheeks burning from excitement and a rush of heat that his short conversation with Tony brought about. He sucked in a couple of long breaths before approaching his new table, his smile now back to its normal range.

The rest of the night flew by, Peter getting lost in the last couple of tables that came in before closing time. Though, none of them ordered any food, so he didn’t have an excuse to head back to the kitchen. Despite that, Peter found himself turning towards the window he knew Tony would be standing behind, their eyes meeting every now and again. He counted himself lucky in those moments – for a few seconds, those golden eyes were stuck on him, looking at him.

After getting closed out for the night, Peter pocketed his tips, shed his apron, and stood outside the employee entrance for a few minutes, just soaking it all in. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be doing, but his time spent at Stevie’s would bring him one step closer to his ultimate goal, so it wouldn’t be too terrible. He made it out of the first day alive and even managed to impress both MJ and his boss. Sighing, Peter let his back rest against the wall, his tired eyes closing.

A heavy creek and the door opening brought him out of his silent reverie – he couldn’t recall how long he’d been standing there by the time he looked up. Much to his surprise, Mr. Brown Eyes himself stepped out, his long legs encased with a dark denim, his upper body still covered by the chef whites he’d been sporting earlier.

“Looks like you made it through the first night,” Tony said as nimble fingers worked at the buttons first at his collar, then down the length of his jacket. When the sides were pulled apart, Peter caught sight of a navy-blue V-neck shirt, the gap of it showing off just the right amount of dark chest hair to keep Peter’s eyes transfixed there. His breathing picked up, the same rush of heat from earlier trying to overtake him again.

“It wasn’t so bad. It seems like people are actually interested in the food we serve here, so they don’t really give much of a shit about me. As long as I don’t drop shit, I’m good.” Peter shot Tony a smile, the man’s own words sitting in the air between them. The tension in the air made his heart slam against his chest, Peter feeling slightly lightheaded in those seconds between speaking and Tony answering.

Instead of words, Peter was met with a solid laugh, the sound coming from Tony’s stomach and out of his mouth likely before he could stop it from happening. Peter watched a subtle blush bloom on Tony’s cheeks, his stubble not doing much in the way of hiding the red hue. If he wasn’t fucked before, he sure as hell was now.

“You’re a fast learner, aren’t you? I like that about you, Peter Parker.” Tony snuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground before looking up again, his eyes shining. “Want to grab a drink?”

November 3rd, 2020

Instead of the dreamy haze from the day before, Peter spent most of his day riddled with stomach-churning nerves. It seemed like a good idea, when Tony’s voice was in his ear and his presence could be felt, to meet up for coffee at their old haunt. After a day of thinking about Tony non-stop, Peter could do nothing but accept the invitation. It’d been years since he stepped foot in Stevie’s – if nothing else, the nostalgia of the trip would be worth it. Yet, Peter couldn’t stop himself from hoping – what he was hoping for, he wasn’t sure, but hope sat in the pit of his stomach, nonetheless. It made the time drag on, his lessons for once not up to his usual standards.

It must’ve been that type of day for everyone, because no one questioned or even batted an eye at his abnormal behavior. His students were a couple of weeks from Thanksgiving vacation and the will to pay attention was lacking in pretty much everyone. Grateful for that fact, Peter snuck out a few minutes before the end of the day bell. His planning for the next day was completed and there wasn’t anything else to hold his attention – he hoped no one noticed his early departure.

Though, the second he walked out of school, he was instantly at a loss. They weren’t meeting until after Tony’s shift (which just so happened to be at his very own restaurant, Peter Googled it earlier that morning). That meant he had more than an hour to kill and not a lot to distract him from what felt like a momentous meeting. There were so many things left unsaid between the two of them, so many memories that were so prominent – it was hard to separate the good from the bad – the forgettable, and those he didn’t ever want to forget.

For his own sanity, Peter put what happened between them before Tony left at the back of his mind. In the years since that day, Peter realized how childish his decision was – between not showing up and not thinking things through, there wasn’t much room for any other conclusion. The conscious thought of that didn’t take away the heartache he felt, however – Peter figured they both would be feeling a lot of that throughout the conversation they were about to have.

Left with the decision between fretting and heading back to his place for a quick spruce up, Peter drove the few miles between the school and the apartment he called home. He spent a lot of time in front of the mirror earlier that morning but knew a glance or two in his closet wouldn’t hurt the situation. He stripped out of his button up shirt and ran a washcloth across the skin of his upper arms, down across his chest, and along the length of his neck – it’d been unseasonably hot in his classroom.

Satisfied with his cleanliness, Peter walked into his meager closet, most of the clothes hanging in it ones that he purchased many years ago – there were lots of things in his life that felt like they were on pause, his wardrobe included. Sifting through them, Peter found himself smiling when he flipped by the hunter green Henley he squared away more than six years ago. The vivid way the color made Tony’s eyes stand out made his heart race – Peter still thought about those bourbon beauties on a pretty frequent basis.

Trying not to think too much of it, Peter pulled the shirt down from its hanger. Though some time past, Peter could swear the smell of Tony’s cologne still clung to the fabric. No matter how many times he ran it through the wash, the ghost of his former lover stuck around – the shirt like a tangible personification of Peter’s feelings over the years. Slipping it on felt like coming home in a way none of the other items in his closet could ever make him feel. That singular thought spoke volumes – though, Peter went out of his way to ignore the obvious. It was easier like that.

Finally satisfied with both his outfit and the time in which he had left to get to Stevie’s, Peter took a couple of deep breaths and one more quick glance in the mirror before heading back out to his car. The nerves from earlier seemed to be leveling out now that he took the time to pump himself up (being wrapped up in Tony’s shirt didn’t hurt, either). He made it through six years by himself, without the company of Tony – he could make it six more and then six more after that if things didn’t turn out the way he wanted them to after this little meeting.

With that in mind, Peter tried to decide what he actually wanted from his time with Tony – after all of these years, it seemed silly to walk into anything without at least thinking it through. More than anything, he wanted to step back into Tony’s arms like no time at all past; if they could pretend that the six years didn’t exist between then and now, he’d be perfectly alright with that. No matter how good of an idea Peter thought his decision was all that time ago, he knew that Tony, after being without him, brought something to his life that no one else could – he desperately tried to find it, but couldn’t, no matter how much effort he put in. It seemed a little outlandish, to think that their first interaction would be that magical, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping – Peter always tried to be optimistic when the situation called for it (and this one totally did).

Despite not having visited his old stomping grounds in years, Peter’s mind remembered the way like he still travelled there on a daily basis – like the route was engrained in his brain so deeply, he couldn’t ever forget. Which made sense, after a bit of thought – some of the best memories of his youth were based around his time at Stevie’s and the people he met there. If he let himself think about it too hard, a wave of sadness would hit him; that was the opposite effect he wanted from this interaction – he wanted this blast from the past to be a happy one.

The buffer of time he originally had dwindled down to nothing as he found a meter to park in front of and fed it a few quarters. His steps were impatient as he made his way back towards the white bricked building, the flashing sign still bright and alluring.

Each second he crept a little closer to the door, his hard beat harder and harder. With just a couple more strides left until he reached the entrance, Peter looked up and his breath caught – through the window he saw Tony Stark sitting in “their” booth, his hair a little longer and his goatee just a little bit more refined, big framed glasses sitting on his nose the only noticeably new addition.

It felt like getting knocked off his feet, seeing him again. Peter stopped, just for a second – he took a long gulp of oxygen before even thinking about opening the door. Like most memories, they all came flashing back – the place, the man, even the recognizable step he almost tripped on time and time again – each one a trigger for every precious second spent in this very place.

Before he could get swept away, Peter tightened his resolve and gripped the door handle.

September 2013 – October 2014

Though Peter was determined to make the most of the situation when he first started at Stevie’s, he quickly came to realize that everything he needed in that moment existed within the orbit of that café. The year he worked there so far, Peter made more friends, learned more about people, and met (who he hoped to be) the love of his life. Each piece of the tiny little puzzle of the Stevie’s community fit so well within his life that Peter couldn’t remember ever being happier than he was.

On top of the amazing job and the people surrounding it, Peter was quickly making his way through his master’s degree – he wanted to teach people the same way his professors were relaying information to him and was only a couple steps from doing exactly that. All of the fretting and worry from the start of his program dissipated after a booming fall semester that led straight into a scholarship to cover the remaining tuition problems. Now, he felt no pressure when he walked into Stevie’s – the job wasn’t a burden, but something he thoroughly enjoyed every time he walked through the door.

Of course, one of the main reasons his time within the walls of the all-day breakfast spot remained some of his favorites was the lovely man that so quickly swept him off his feet. After that first night where they talked about anything and everything tucked away in the corner of some no-name pub, he and Tony were pretty inseparable. For a while, he thought that he might exist in the friend-zone – and some of the pieces of him would’ve been okay with that. Yet, when his back hit the wall of the alleyway where everything started and Tony’s lips descended upon his own, Peter didn’t stop himself from feeling elated and relieved; there were so many wants and needs that included Tony not being “just” his friend.

Like most relationships do, the two of them settled into a comfortable sort of adventure that was both consistent and completely random at any given time. They worked the same shift, so it was easy for them to pick one of their apartments after work and head that way together. No matter where they were, Peter ended most of his days tangled up with the sheet stealer that Tony was. They didn’t need any awkward conversations to know that whatever time they could spend together, they were going to. In the most natural way, things fell into place and made Peter deliriously happy.

It seemed like nothing could touch them, either. Being so young and in love, Peter thought he finally found a place where he belonged. After so much time being the weird nerdy kid, or the new boy, Peter got to claim a spot in a pack – one that was handpicked and made so much sense – the group of them were almost too similar and too close to one another. Or so the people on the outside said, anyway.

When the changes did start to happen, Peter tried not to let them blindside him. It started out simply – Fred, their menacing head chef, quit after a particularly hard shift; two of the newer waiters were fired on the spot after dropping countless orders. He stormed out in a huff; his only words being thrown Tony’s way as he handed over the coveted black chef jacket Peter knew his boyfriend wanted more than pretty much anything else in the world. The adjustment seemed pretty flawless – Tony picked up a couple more hours here and there, but still managed to make the trek home with Peter every time they shared a shift.

Then, things started to pick up in the restaurant because of the exciting changes Tony made to the menu. Stevie’s went from being a place only packed on the weekends, to being packed at every major service time. They were so popular in their little corner of NYC that local news crews came around to do spots on the newest menu additions and the chef behind them. Those few extra hours Tony picked up turned into many more than a few. Being the loving and proud boyfriend that he was, Peter did his best to be supportive and not balk at their time together that seemed to dwindle more and more as the days past.

Luckily, Peter found some reprieve from the nagging worry of his personal life during the last semester of his graduate program – his student teaching sent him into the wilderness of Midtown High, a school known for its advanced programs and science specification. At the beginning, it felt like a good coping mechanism – if he wasn’t at home waiting around, he didn’t have to feel the small slices of resentment starting to creep into the tiniest cracks in his heart. As things progressed, Peter caught the bug and decided that the childish things he wanted just months before were things of the past.

Despite this, Tony seemed to be just as committed to the them they created throughout their time together. In a lot of ways, both of their careers booming at the same time felt like a good thing. Both got to work where their hearts drew them, but at the end of the day, they came home to each other. From his actions, Peter knew that was enough for Tony. They weren’t staying up all night drinking and talking about whatever struck their fancy – but they were together, soaking up the joys of life with the one person that seemed to understand the drive and need for those successes and happiness.

Which is why, a couple of weeks after celebrating their two-year anniversary, Tony looked at him with the biggest smile on his face. In their time together, Peter learned the many facial expressions of his gorgeous other half. For someone so reserved with their emotions, Tony said a lot with the slightest twitch of the muscles in his face. It took Peter a second to steady himself – even after two years of being together, the genuine nature of the look still tried to knock him on his ass. Young love was sweet and soothing, but there was something to be said for the transition into something more concrete, more stable.

“That’s your excited smile. What’s up, Tones?” Peter questioned; his eyes wide with the residual excitement that seemed to be floating around the room. His chest felt a little tight with it, apprehension and secondhand adrenaline tapping against all of his major organs like shoes on hardwood.

“I got a call from Chef Barton – the world-renowned culinary instructor in Paris. He had a spot open up in his breakfast kitchen and wants me to take it.” Tony stopped then, taking an excited breath before continuing. “I want me to take it, too. And most importantly – I want you to come with me.”

His arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders then, the grip tight, Tony’s affection only increasing with the amount of excitement running through his veins. Being tucked into Tony’s chest gave Peter the opportunity to say nothing, which is exactly what he did. Instead, he forced his arms to wrap around Tony’s hips in hopes of returning the hug with at least half of the fervor Tony used to hold him. Peter tried to melt into the embrace – but his mind was racing. Paris? Now – when he finally felt like he was making the right steps towards actually being an adult? It seemed childish to just pick everything up and run across the country, no matter how much he loved Tony and the direction they were heading.

Keeping all of those thoughts to himself, Peter kept living his life with Tony – only ever getting quiet when they started to talk about their future plans – ones that, if Tony had his way, included the two of them skipping across the country, hand-in-hand, towards the unknown. Not wanting to deal with it head on, Peter avoided the topic, and everything that went with it, like the plague. He knew Tony could feel the hesitancy, but he never brought it up, so Peter didn’t either. Why disturb the peace when he could just ignore everything that would totally obliterate it?

Peter kept that attitude until the day before they were set to leave. Still on the fence about his decision, he half-heartedly packed a bag. In the weeks leading up to their departure, Tony sent most of his own stuff ahead to the small apartment waiting for them to arrive. In his infernal need to give Peter his space and independence, Tony figured Peter would get what he needed there some way or another. It didn’t even cross his mind, Peter figured, the thought that he wouldn’t be coming with him. The lack of communication and unwillingness to step on the fine sheen of ice between them hindering any sort of progress, or reassurance that they both needed.

Like most of his life, Peter listened to his brain instead of his heart – instead of meeting Tony at the airport, he holed himself away in MJ’s apartment, despite her own qualms against it, which she voiced loudly for most of the night as his phone rang with calls, and then chimed with text after text.

It was several hours after Peter knew Tony would be in the air that he finally let himself look at all the text messages sent his way. They ranged from distraught to upset to infuriated, and then resolved. There were so many of them to sort through, but the last one was the one to really catch his eye.

Tony Stark [8/13/2014 9:53PM]: It’s okay, Pete. I get it. Just let me know that you’re alright.

According to the timestamp, Tony sent that last one a couple minutes after their flight was supposed to take off. While in the air, putting distance between them after being ruthlessly stood up, Tony was still genuinely worried about his well-being. Piles of regret deposited themselves on the expanse of his chest – the repercussions of his decision hitting him with a fervor Peter didn’t know existed. He claimed to love Tony with all of his heart but let something like fear and a lack of communication strip that all away from him. Whatever happened, he needed to own it and deal with the fall out.

Peter Parker [8/14/2014 2:00AM]: I’m sorry – I’m okay, but I just couldn’t.

Surprisingly, Peter wasn’t bombarded with calls or texts the next day, or even the next. He figured that Tony would be calling like crazy the second he touched down in Paris – yet, Peter didn’t hear a thing. After looking at his quiet phone with distaste for two full weeks, Peter pulled up Tony’s contact information with the intention of calling him, instead. His thumb hovered over the call button more than a few times over the following few days, but no matter how much he wanted to, Peter couldn’t bring himself to do it. Like ripping a band aid, maybe the breaking would be quickest with one tough yank. From the lack of calls his way, Tony must’ve figured the same thing.

Tinged with unexplainable pain, Peter made his way through the next few days, and then the next few weeks – before he knew it, it was October. He finished up his degree during the summer and once he managed to pick himself up off the floor, applied to several of the local high schools. In a strike of luck, Midtown was so stoked about his performance during his internship, they offered him a job outright – without an interview or anything of the sort. In the matter of what felt like a second, Peter went from a loved individual with a spice for life to a high school teacher, who’s only joys came in the form of a new flavored coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

It worked. It gave him stability and adulthood. Happiness would come back – he hoped, anyway.

November 3rd, 2020

It was dizzying, having Tony’s attention focused on him again. The glasses were a welcome addition to Tony’s stupidly attractive face. They magnified the color of his eyes and gave off an air of maturity – though, the AC/DC shirt that clung to his chest counteracted that a little bit. Shrugging that thought off, Peter forced himself to forget about that debilitating mindset. It already cost him Tony once – the least he could do for himself was stop it from happening a second time.

When he first walked in, Peter was surprised to see that not a lot changed over the years – there were a few new art pieces on the wall, but the bare bones were the same. Even the menus Peter spent countless hours passing out and cleaning looked exactly the same. It felt like both a blessing and a curse, being in a place that seemed so familiar and yet entirely too foreign all at the same time. As he got further into the restaurant, Peter waited for the second that Tony caught sight of him – and was not disappointed a single bit. A reserved smile slipped across the other man’s face, the slightest bit of wrinkle by his eyes the only physical mark of their time spent apart.

Peter didn’t expect the hug that was placed upon him, but before he could even think about it, Tony’s arms were around him – his grip the same tightness he held Peter’s body with during their time together. It made his heart ache; how much he missed such a simple touch – and how easily he let go of it. Ignoring how pathetic he should’ve felt, Peter returned the embrace, his own arms tightening around Tony’s as if this were his only opportunity.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Peter heard Tony say, the whiskered lips mere millimeters from the shell of his ear as he did. “It’s good to see you, Pete.”

Unable to do anything else, Peter tucked his face a little further into Tony’s neck, his nostrils expanding with the long breath he pulled into his chest. Though the underlying smell of Dove for Men wasn’t there anymore, Peter could recognize that cologne anywhere. The olfactory association of the scent brought him to so many places all at once, each one reminding him of all the good memories and wasted time in between then and now.

“I missed you, too. I can’t believe you’re here. That you wanted to see me. Hell, that you look so damn good,” Peter said in reply as he finally tore himself away. His hands shifted to take hold of Tony’s biceps, his grip still firm, still clinging in a way that spoke of hope – hope that, when all was said and done, Tony wouldn’t walk away.

After getting his shit together, Peter took the seat next to Tony at the table – his chair a little closer than normal proximity usually called for. If Tony minded, he didn’t mention it; the man was so cool, he sipped at his warm coffee without a second of hesitation, despite the billowing steam rushing from the top.

Using the ruse of settling in, Peter took a minute to really take Tony in. His hands were still insanely sexy, fingers long and tan like the rest of him – his skin riddled with a few more nicks and cuts than before, but that was to be expected. His t-shirt fit him tightly, the sleeves highlighting the benefits of manual labor that running a kitchen called for. His coveted chef whites were hanging over the back of his chair, the crisp Stark’s on the right lapel bringing a smile to his face.

“You look amazing, Tony. Like time didn’t touch you at all.”

Tony turned towards him then, his fingers abandoning their hold on the coffee cup in front of him. “Nice of you to say. It feels like it has. Sometimes, it feels like 20 years past, instead of just 6.”

Reaching out, Peter let the tips of his fingers rest against the back of Tony’s hand, his pinky finger finding the same scar he obsessively touched whenever they held hands all that time ago. The caress pulled a shiver from them both, hazel met brown for a long second before Tony blinked and looked away.

“I thought it was just me that felt like that.”

Their conversations hit a pause after that, both of them soaking in the situation while the waitress came to take Peter’s order – his customary order of French toast and espresso rolling off his tongue before he even needed to think about it.

“It’s nice to know some things don’t ever change.” Tony looked at him, a hesitant smile on his face. “Do you still slather it in peanut butter?”

“Is it even French toast without it?”

The comment made Tony light up, his eyes twinkling with amusement, a laugh leaving his lips. “No, I guess it’s not.”

Laughter sat between them for a few minutes – their waitress came with food and coffee for Peter, her eyes lingering on them longer than necessary until her glance moved across the wall to where the old crew photos were hanging. “I knew I recognized you two. Stevie still talks about your crew like it hasn’t been years since you were last working here.” She gave them both a smile, left behind utensils, and turned away – a new sort of pep in her step.

“Do you even think about it?” Peter asked, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of the photos, like he didn’t just ask the most complex question to ever exist. “Those times, I mean.”

Tony took another long pull of his coffee before answering, the seconds between his lips wrapping around the cup and his eyes meeting Peter’s feeling like days. He caught himself holding his breath, his subconscious tensing up for whatever blow that might come his way.

“Every day.” Tony finally answered, his tone of voice serious, the look he gave Peter whimsical. “I can’t remember a time in the last 6 years when I wasn’t thinking about this place, this city – you.”

Like magnets, their hands were drawn together – Tony let the back of his rest against the table, Peter slipping his own against it so they were palm to palm, fingers interlaced.

“Tell me how you lived without it. Did somebody change your world?”

Tony looked at him then, his eyes wide with questions, with the need to have answers to them without having to voice them, or even put them into the universe to be heard. His fingers tightened around Peter’s; their palms now pressed fully together. The contact was almost too much for the moment, their closeness on the border of being suffocating when that sort of demand sat on the table.

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter squared his shoulders, his own fingers gripping Tony’s in a small attempt at reassurance. “It was never anything like that. Someone or something else. When you told me about Paris, all I could hear was my aunt’s voice telling me that I wasn’t going to be a kid forever. That one day I’d need to grow up and, in that moment, it was too loud – too loud to ignore or fight against. I didn’t see past anything after that.”

“But didn’t that make you sad? Thinking that we’ll never be kids again? Letting something like that make all of your decisions?” Tony tilted his head to the side, eyes not leaving Peter’s for a second.

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, the words shooting from his mouth. “I came to realize, not long after I let you go, that growing up didn’t change who I was, or what I wanted. Being with you, the feeling of child-like wonder would never go away. We were moving towards what I wanted without me even realizing it. That’s the thing that made me sad the most – knowing how silly I’d been, thinking I’d want anything other than that feeling of never coming down.”

By the time he finished talking, there were tears in his eyes – the big drops there threatening to fall with every blink. He felt warm everywhere, like if he let go of anything – Tony’s hand, the way he felt, the pent-up guilt residing within him – he just might explode.

Knowing him as well as he did, even after years of distance between them, Tony pushed his chair away from the table and closed the space between them, his arms wrapping around Peter in a bone crushing hug. The time between their past and their present narrowing down to nothing with their embrace.

“It’s okay, Pete. I got it then and I get it now. I thought about you every day, not because I was mad or hurt, but because I knew – even with so much time and space between us – that you were worth every moment, every thought, every second of pining I couldn’t stop myself from doing. Paris was great – but it wasn’t where I needed to be. No matter how hard I tried to make it home.”

Each word drove him a little closer to the edge and when Tony’s warmth finally seeped deep into his core, Peter was unable to hold himself together. Tears streamed down his face, each one trekking to his chin, only to fall down the length of his neck to stain the collar of his shirt. He clung to Tony with all that he was worth – his perception of the restaurant around him narrowing down to nothing but their booth, their connection, their skin brushing in the most intimate of ways.

When there weren’t any more tears left to cry, Peter shifted slightly, his nose brushing against Tony’s cheek with the movement. Instead of shying away like he had every right to do, Tony leaned into the caress – his cheek warm to the touch. “It’s okay, Pete. It’s okay. I missed you, too.”

There wasn’t much productivity after that. Peter pulled away completely, only to remember that he was in a public place and just had a very real, very vulnerable melt down in front of a lot of random people. His cheeks colored for a moment, but Tony was there to sooth him, his work roughened hand grasping Peter’s without hesitation. They shared a tentative smile – the light in Tony’s eyes something Peter wasn’t sure he remembered being so goddamn vivid.

They finished up pretty quickly, Peter’s embarrassment still sitting in the forefront of his mind, despite the quiet support from Tony’s presence. He laid a couple of twenties on the table, waving Tony away when he tried to add his own money.

“I cried on your shoulder – let me buy you some breakfast.”

With a laugh, Tony nodded and walked towards the door, his eyes tracking Peter’s movement as he got himself together once more – it was almost like Tony was afraid he’d disappear if he looked away, even for a second.

Out on the sidewalk, Peter started walking towards his car when Tony’s arm shot out, his fingers gripping firm biceps. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you. I can’t go another six years.” As he spoke, Tony loosened his fingers, letting his hand rest on Peter’s hip, instead. “Please tell me I can see you again.”

Despite his hopes and the smallest bit of expectation Peter couldn’t help himself from feeling, he wasn’t expecting anything like this – an invitation for something further. Turning until he could wrap his arms around Tony’s shoulders, Peter leaned in until their foreheads were resting against each other’s, breaths shared between them. He felt Tony’s nose brush against his before their lips met in the smallest hint of a kiss -

“Any time you want, Tony. I’m not going anywhere. Never, ever, ever again.”

[belovedstill]

Prompt 33 with MC and Gavin but MC is the one whose bleeding? Thanks in advance ✨

of blood and bandages (ao3) | mlqc | gavin & mc | 3.8k

cw: mentions of blood, hospitals, and guns, described panic attack, shock, guilt

thank you for this prompt, nonnie 💞 i hope you like this! (expect chapter 2 someday *hugs*)

After what seemed to be hours of scuffle, screams, and gunshots, suddenly all that was left was—silence. Ringing, painful, burning silence, it seemed to clutch at MC’s body and squeeze cold, aching numbness into it.

“Got ‘em,” a gruff voice crackled through a portable radio attached to Gavin’s holster. “Taking them to the station now.”

“Got it. Good job, everyone.”

Don’t cry.

She had no right to, after all; it was her own fault she was here in the first place. A long-hunted gang gone off the police radar had sounded nearly impossible in Gavin’s frustrated voice last time she’d caught him skipping sleep in lieu of more work again, but had become very much real when she’d accidentally stumbled upon two members of it earlier that night.

“You okay?”

(Imagine the report I could write, she’d thought as she’d ducked behind some bushes and listened on. The materials I could gather. My company, trending on the Internet for helping to close this case.)

Stupid. Don’t cry. Do not cry.

At least she’d managed to text Gavin before she’d dropped her phone when they’d noticed her.

“MC?”

She snapped her head up at the sound of his voice, so much closer now, so much clearer. The ringing in her ears slowly dulled to nothing.

“I’m fine,” she said purely on instinct.

Except she wasn’t. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lungs refused to take in enough air. Breathing hurt. For some reason, her side burned even when she was still.

“Hey… Look at me.” When she didn’t, Gavin gently took her face in his hands and leveled their eyes. “Focus on me. You’re in shock right now but you’re safe. It’s over.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and she could almost feel it despite the numbness. “We’re going home now.”

These days, home was split between two places, two apartments in different parts of the city evenly filled with both of their clothes, hygiene products, and favourite snacks. (Impractical, their coworkers called it— and maybe they were right, but it was comfortable for now; just right.)

“Let’s get you up.”

Gentle fingers moved down her arms when she stayed silent. The touch disappeared somewhere past her elbows.

“I can’t feel my hands,” she mumbled with a frown.

Gavin paused for a moment, then nodded to himself. “That happens sometimes.” His voice sounded soothing to her ears, even more so than usual, and perhaps that was why she could hear it clearly despite the scattered mist of her mind. He let go of her hands and instead reached for her waist. “I’m going to pull you up now,” he said.

His fingers brushed against a particularly aching spot. Before she realised what was happening, pure white flashed in her eyes.

She screamed and clutched to Gavin’s jacket, and when her body tensing only burned more, she pushed against him and tried to get away. In the corner of her eye, she caught Gavin’s eyes growing wide with fear. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear any sound through the sheer amount of pain—pain that, for a moment, grew even worse.

One moment, all touch was gone from her body; in the next, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and another slipped underneath her knees.

The world turned. Something scratched harshly against her side and then disappeared; the fabric of her shirt ripped against it.

It burned—yet felt freezing at the same time.

Gavin’s hand felt slick on her arm; when she looked, his fingers were coated in red.

Her heart seemed to stop.

Oh no.

“G-Gavin?” she mumbled. Her vision blurred, eyes zeroed on the red smudges his fingertips were leaving on her skin. Hot, stinging tears made her squeeze her eyes. Her fault. It was all her fault. “Is that—blood?”

Gavin said—something, she couldn’t hear it over the blood pulsing in her ears.

Only when she felt wind on her tear-soaked face did she realise they were in the air.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“Shh, Pumpkin.”

She sobbed. Her side burned with her muscles contracting; she gasped and bit her lips.

“You’ll be okay.” Gavin’s voice sounded off. He tried to be soothing but instead he sounded panicked. “I’m taking you to the hospital, it’ll all be okay soon.”

“No,” she called on instinct, fingers clutching at Gavin’s jacket. Only after she did, did she realise what exactly he had said. “...Why?”

Gavin, shooting her a concerned look, clenched his jaw as his eyes flickered down for a moment and then back up, focused again on their flight. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

“It’s—it’s mine?” She took a shuddering breath and looked at Gavin’s face for the first time since the frightful moments back in the alley. “It’s not yours…?”

It was an interesting mix of feelings that took over her heart in that moment; relief, calm, and near contentment almost immediately followed by unease, a sense of fright, and sickness pushing emptily at the insides of her chest. The dreadful realisation crawled from her stomach up her throat like bile until she choked on it; she couldn’t breathe.

Hospital meant people in white coats. Hard beds. Needles.

Lips trembling and body growing cold, she mumbled, “No hospital.”

Unclear, distant—unknown—childhood memories resurfaced from the depth of her subconsciousness. They brought back a discordant beep beep beep of a heart rate monitor; the sound grew louder and faster along with her quickly increasing heartbeat, swallowing the ambience of the city below her in an all-consuming high-pitched noise.

“What?” Gavin’s fingers grew a little bit firmer on her body. “They need to treat your— “

“No hospital,” she managed to yelp on not enough air. Her fingers curled tight on the collar of Gavin’s jacket; she couldn’t have let go even if she tried. “Gavin—please, not now, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to, I— “

“Hey— “

She clenched her eyes shut and pressed her face against Gavin’s shoulder, shaking her head. “Not ready,” she blabbered as her chest heaved and her lungs refused to breathe properly. “Don’t want to—Not yet—Not now— ”

At some point, the world seemed to freeze. The wind stopped enveloping their bodies with cold breeze; now it seemed to stand still.

Gavin adjusted his hold on MC. He held her even closer to his chest now. “Shhh,” he whispered soothingly against her hair, pressing slow, gentle kisses wherever he could reach.

She clung even closer, all pain be damned. “I— “

“We’re not going. Okay?” he kept murmuring. “We’re not going.”

Finally, the invisible blockade in her lungs disappeared. She gulped in the air, trembling all the while and holding fast onto any part of Gavin—of comfort—she could get her hands on. Only then did she realise it wasn’t the world that froze, but them; they were suspended as one in the dark of the night above a badly lit park, no life to be found anywhere near.

“I’ll take care of you tonight,” Gavin said in a soothing tone and pressed another warm kiss on her temple, “but we’ll go tomorrow. Okay?”

She didn’t even have the energy to protest; her body was awfully slowly relearning how to function off the adrenaline rush from earlier. She closed her eyes and gave a small nod against Gavin’s neck. Realistically, she knew that throughout the night she would have the time necessary to mentally prepare herself for the hospital visit—as much as she could, anyway. For now, she still wanted to give into her flight instinct.

She wouldn’t have noticed they arrived at Gavin’s place—at home—if it hadn’t been for the leftover smell of the scented candles she’d bought him the other day. They were meant to help with relaxation; Gavin desperately needed some of that, she’d claimed.

The cooled-down smell of lavender stirred in the air when Gavin’s presence disturbed it. He didn’t even bother with getting into the apartment through the front door—instead, he landed on the balcony and pushed the glass door open with his shoulder, still holding MC close to his body.

“You didn’t close it?” she asked through pain-clenched teeth.

Gavin barely reacted, his focus clear and running on autopilot now. He gently put MC on the bed, eyebrows furrowing with deep concern at her every distressed and pained gasp and how she tried to hold them back, and reached for the hem of her shirt.

Now, finally, it seemed, he could get a good look at where the blood was coming from.

“A towel,” MC mumbled, pushing at his hands, but he only grabbed her wrists and stared at her questioningly. “The bedsheets will— “

“Don’t think about the bedsheets,” Gavin cut her off with a short breath and pulled his hands away. He reached for the shirt once more but she stopped him again. He let out a frustrated huff and, for the first time in a long time, leveled her with a serious look. “MC. Let me take care of you.” His voice was harsher than she’d heard it in a while.

Her breath hitched.

His eyes grew gentler again. “Please,” he said, softer now, “Let me take care of you… I need to take care of you.”

MC bit her lip and looked away. As Gavin ever-so-gently worked on her clothes, she glued her eyes to the dark world outside the window. The stars twinkled back at her as though they wished to offer the comfort she desperately wanted—yet didn’t deserve.

“When did this happen?” Gavin’s voice sounded strained as he finally got a good look at the wound. “It’s not a bullet wound—otherwise I would’ve taken you to the hospital no matter what you said.”

Bullet.

Her heart clenched with guilt.

“Did they stab you before I got there?” he asked.

She sniffled and shook her head. “They barely touched me.” She tried to think back to those moments back in the alley—dark, cold, and painful—and shuddered. It only seemed to distress her side even more.

“Careful,” Gavin murmured—to her or to himself, she couldn’t tell—his thumbs brushing soothingly over the unhurt skin on her stomach. His voice took on a far-away tone then as he looked closely at the wound.  “Must have fallen on something sharp… Something in the wall…?”

MC’s eyes widened and grew blank; everything around her faded into fog, any sounds turned into static.

Something sharp. In the wall.

A vague, fear-blurred image of herself emerged slowly, colours and lights of the dark alley dulled like on an old photograph. A man in his 40s pulling out a firearm. Gavin pushing her away just before the cry of a gunshot. Her stumbling over her feet and falling to her knees against a wall. Sudden sharp pain in her side. A weak, illogical thought of I’m going to fall running through her mind. Dark cloud growing in her vision. I’m going to— 

“Here, darling.”

Back in the room, her eyes snapped to Gavin. His police jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up. In his hand, he held a small bottle of orange juice with a flexible straw stuck in the opening.

“Drink this,” he told her. “It’ll help you feel better.” As she took it, a shine of relief came about his face. “That’s my girl. I’ll be right back.”

Only when she brought the bottle to her lips and took a tentative sip did Gavin excuse himself to the bathroom, a quick peck on MC’s head and one more concerned look thrown her way before he disappeared behind the door. She could hear running water, some clatter, and his soft curses, then more clattering. Finally, he emerged back with a first-aid kit in one hand, a bowl of water in the other, and a towel flung over his shoulder. He set everything on the bed and on the bedside table and sat at MC’s side.

Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing very well what was coming next. She put the now-empty bottle on the nightstand.

“It’s not bleeding as much anymore,” Gavin said, quite possibly more to himself than to her, as he grabbed a clean bandage. MC refused to look at her stomach. “I’m going to put some pressure on it to stop the rest of it, okay?”

It didn’t matter whether she agreed or not, she knew he’d have to do it regardless of her answer, but she still gave him a shaky nod.

Even with the warning—or perhaps because of it—her body jerked on the bed the moment the cloth as much as touched her skin, even before the actual pain sank in. She looked down just in time to see Gavin’s hand gently pressing her uninjured side to keep her hips flush against the bed.

“Don’t move.”

She took a shaky breath and curled her fingers in the bedsheets.

I’m sorry.

That one thought spread through her mind like venom. It fed on each and every single doubt and fear, no matter how tiny and insignificant; now, they were pulled violently into the spotlight of her mind and broadcast throughout her whole body, reaching every muscle, every limb, rushing through her veins, hot with shame.

She could have lost so much that night. She nearly had.

So when the slowed-down images and noises of recollection bit into every corner of her consciousness, MC clenched her eyes and let them.

Gavin’s voice continued on; he told her everything he was going to do and waited for her nod or hum of agreement, no matter how absent-minded it was to her. Soon, the bleeding stopped completely and she was half-aware of being moved and carried.

A click of a light switch.

A cock of a gun.

A door bumping against the washing machine.

Shot. Fired.

The shower being turned on.

The loud ringing in her ears that followed.

“Gavin—!“

“GAVIN!”

“Shhh, I’m here. I’m here.”

She clung onto him, the brightest source of comfort in her life. Warmth caressed her body wherever it could reach; it breathed against her face and pressed kisses on her forehead. The pure magic of it slowly, gradually enveloped her in a numbing cloak, enough that the gunshots echoing in the walls of her mind slowly, slowly died down.

“—rinse it now, hold on tight.”

She didn’t let go even for a second.

When she opened her eyes next time, they were back in the bedroom. Gavin had put on disposable gloves at one point—she hadn’t even noticed when. By now, her body felt drained of any and all energy; the dull ache of her wound, now rinsed clean, throbbed with every pulse of her heartbeat. Uncomfortable, but not as horrendously painful anymore.

She rolled her head to the side, nuzzling softly against the pillow that smelled of Gavin as she let her eyes naturally drift to the starry sky. Gavin’s soft voice lulled her senses; it seemed to wrap the comfiest wool around her thoughts even when all he told her was what he was going to do next.

Despite being prepared for it, her body twitched as Gavin delicately dabbed her side clean.

“Stay still,” he said, pausing for a second to let her adjust to the sensation again.

She tensed and clenched her jaw, breathing in through her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Gavin stroked her unharmed hipbone; each brush served as a soothing reminder she was in good hands. “I hate that it’s causing you pain but we have to treat it before I get to bandage it for the night. It won’t take long, okay?”

Her hand found his, she covered his fingers and clung to them for dear life. In turn, he shifted his hand palm up, slotting their fingers together without stopping his ministrations.

The words “treat the wound” swirled in her mind among half-forgotten memories of scratched knees and disinfecting liquids ‘to let it heal faster’; the phantom sting tightly curled her fingers over Gavin’s as soon as he reached into the first-aid kit.

“Will it hurt?” she asked in a voice so small she wouldn’t have been surprised if Gavin didn’t hear her.

Goodness, did she feel like a child…

Gavin’s thumb stroked soft circles over her no-doubt pale knuckles. “I’m not going to disinfect it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said softly. Once her grip relaxed just a little, he showed her a tube of some kind. “To wounds like this one, you apply an antibiotic.”

She blinked up at him. “That’s all?”

Gavin lifted their joined hands and kissed her hand. “That’s all.” With the reassurance given, he uncorked the tube. “It might still hurt just a little at my touch but it shouldn’t be as bad as an antiseptic.” Before he touched the antibiotic to her skin, though, he leveled her with a serious look. “If anything stings too much and doesn’t stop or starts to burn, tell me at once.”

A nod from her was all that was needed for Gavin to start spreading the ointment over her harmed side. He was right, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as her childhood memories warned her it might—but her body still tensed and her breath hitched at each single brush against her wound.

“I tried out your candle today,” Gavin spoke suddenly, voice sounding suspiciously calmer than earlier. She stared at him in confusion. “It smelled nice.”

Lost for any coherent words, MC only made a noise. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect her to answer him because he continued talking.

“When you were at work, I did the groceries, too. The old cashier lady asked why my fiance wasn’t with me.”

An image of the smiling older woman who always commented on what a lovely young couple they were popped into MC’s mind. Even though they’d only done grocery shopping together two or three times at that specific store, the woman had basically adopted them as her favourite customers.

Through the discomfort flaring at Gavin’s every touch, MC asked, “Did you tell her we’re not engaged?”

Did you tell her we’re not engaged yet? was what she’d meant to ask—but cowardly stopped herself several words in.

Gavin hummed a negative. His fingers, if possible, grew even gentler for a moment. “I think she’s aware it’s just a matter of time.”

MC’s heart jumped in her chest for a completely different reason than the pain in her side. She brushed her thumb against Gavin’s hand still holding hers and continued looking at the dark sky outside the window. The sparkling stars swam in the tears gathering in her eyes.

For a long moment, none of them said anything; Gavin worked in silence, eventually discarding the gloves. With expertise that made MC’s heart sting with worry, he covered the wound with a bandage and secured it in place in record time.

His soft sigh drew her eyes back to him. There were no distractions now, nothing to focus on but them and what had happened—

—and what had almost happened.

“I’m sorry,” MC gasped, the words tumbling out, down, down, like puppets with their strings suddenly cut loose.

Gavin’s face crumbled a little and soon he was lying right next to her, his arms carefully drawing her in. Along with the warmth of his embrace came the comfort of a blanket drawn over her body.

“I’m really—really sorry, I—“

“You keep saying that,” Gavin murmured into her hair. His eyebrows pinched together in a way she never saw them do while he was in his Officer Gavin mode. “You have nothing to apologise for. If anybody does, it’s me.”

Her eyes grew wide—it was ridiculous; what was Gavin even supposed to feel guilty about?

It was her who disrupted his day off. Her who put herself in danger. Her who—who put Gavin in danger.

“They shot at you,” she whispered, teeth biting on her lower lip as she stubbornly kept her eyes fixed on Gavin’s chin.

Gavin sighed, stroking her hair, and said, matter-of-factly, “Not the first time.”

She barely managed not to flinch. Of course she knew Gavin’s job was important but perilous, that was exactly why he never wanted her to follow him into the field when criminals were involved. Even aware, though, she’d seemed to subconsciously ignore the extent of on-duty risks.

Now that she’d experienced it first-hand, however… Gavin’s harsh everyday reality stung more than any disinfectant ever could have.

He must have heard the shaky hitch in her breath because in the very next moment, his hand was cradling her cheek. He guided her face to look at him and made sure her eyes wouldn’t dart away before he murmured, “I’m safe.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m safe.”

“But they almost—“

“But they didn’t,” Gavin interrupted her and kissed her forehead. “And now, they won’t ever get a chance to try again.” At MC’s small shake of head, he breathed out and looked at her again. “You helped us today; as much as I hate that you were in danger, I need you to know that.”

“Why do I feel so guilty, then?”

Gavin let out a pained chuckle. “Because you worried me sick, Pumpkin.”

Oh.

Chin nearly trembling and eyebrows bowing under the weight of leftover guilt, MC took in a shaky breath. “I’m really— “

He kissed her lips before she got a chance to repeat the words.

“I guess that makes us even,” he whispered and she could taste the words when she breathed in. “But please, don’t ever risk your safety ever again. Promise?”

Goodness, I love him so much.

She sniffled and nodded her head. “I promise.”

Gavin’s eyes softened with clear relief. His next kiss was slow and sweet; it brushed feeling back into her lips, chasing away the leftover numbness.

Finally, her heart began to relearn its calm, rhythmic beat as it followed the clear instructions Gavin’s heart whispered under MC’s palm.

Perhaps her breathing betrayed her since the very next second Gavin broke their kiss and searched her face for something. Curiosity turned into a loving smile the moment he caught on. “That’s my good girl.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle through the tears once again collecting in her eyes.

Don’t cry, she thought as she cuddled up to Gavin, smiling all the while. Don’t cry, silly.

He was alright. They were alright. And as long as they were together, nothing would ever change that.

[hqprotectionsquad]

Hello! can I request a hc of Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo and Ushijima’s reaction to their s/o who’s titled as the goddess of volleyball who also won the nationals but unfortunately fainted or fell sick right after the competition. Sorry for my grammar and if the idea is quite weird 😅 Thank you in advance thoo! I hope you have a nice dayy! 💜

Oikawa, Bokuto, and Kuroo reacting to his S/O getting hurt during Nationals

A/N: hi! thanks for your request! i basically took in the request as the s/o’s team is going to nationals or is also going, and then took it from there! so not exactly the same, but slightly more realistic! also i expended all of my energy on the three of them and i don’t have any more brain power to think of ushijima 😭i’m sorry!!!

Oikawa

He’s definitely supportive of you no matter what.

Oikawa shows up to the end of your practices with your favorite snack. (He also eats like half of it before he even gets to you because he just came from his practice.)

“Hey Y/N-chan, I got you your favorite snack!” He says as he holds out the plastic bag to you.“You definitely ate part of it.”“WhaaaaaAAAt no! Why would I ever do that?”

You’re really appreciative of everything he does for you because he is oh so whipped.

Since his team didn’t make it to the spring nationals, he takes his loss in stride. Yes, he’s upset, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. ;-;

He loves the fact that you’re so excited to experience this new thing since it’s your first time going to nationals!

You two have been to Tokyo once as a special date, but to experience it together as a participant and their supporter is really awesome!

Oikawa takes the opportunity to know what it’s like to be an audience member and not on the court. Sure, he has watched games but usually to analyze them. He isn’t saying he won’t but he definitely wants to try to take a step back.

(He also uses this time to eat. I mean, they have so many food stands! He slips away to find a street market and dig in while you’re in practice.)

Your matches go splendidly and you’re more than thrilled when your team earns a place in the finals.

“Y/N! I’m so proud of you!”

But the match isn’t going as well as you had hoped to.

As your team’s libero, you’ve grown accustomed to smacks to the face and hits that hurt your ribs for days.

However, one of the last spikes in the game takes you out of commission as it totally knocks the wind out of you and you can’t get the air into your lungs without the medical team bringing you to their wing.

At that moment, Oikawa wanted to rush the court and help you even though he isn’t experienced like the nurses are. He just felt so helpless, who wouldn’t?

For whatever reason, significant others aren’t allowed in until after the athlete should be okay to go on their own, but it’s Oikawa. C’mon. The man knows how to get through anything and everything that’s in his way.

"Y/N-chan, what did I tell you about taking it easy, now look what you did to yourself.” He scolds you teasingly as you are resting on the nurse’s bed. He whispers a bunch of cute little things to you while your eyes are shut. He knows you can’t hear him, but he says these things anyway.

When you wake up, he leaves so that you have some time with your parents.

And when he comes back, the first thing you do is wrap your arms around him so tight that he forgets to breathe.

“You’re breathtaking.” His eyes flicker at the pun and you smack him a good one. “Ow, Y/N-chan! They should’ve put you back in the game, you’re fine now!”

Bokuto

The two of you are dating long-distance, so although he couldn’t be there for all of your games, Bokuto made sure he sent texts with lots of love before and after each one.

However, he made a trip to your part of Japan and he was there when your last play was the one where it decided you were heading to nationals!

Bokuto was extremely surprised at how amazing you blocked the ball and it went straight to the floor. Your teammates crowded around you and all jumped for victory.

But was he surprised that your team was heading to spring nationals? Of course not! Your team is one of the most hardworking teams out there.

He takes you out to eat after your match, as a good gentleman should.

“I can’t wait to see you in Tokyo next month! You’ll finally see where I live!”

When your team arrives for the spring nationals, Akaashi holds him back from meeting you before you settle in.

“What?! Why can’t I see her once she comes in?”“You’re going to bother her team.” (cue emo Bokuto)“But—” “You’ll see her later.” (cue happy Bokuto)

He finally takes you out on that date he’s planned since months ago. Minus all the ice cream you were going to eat together, so now he’ll have to eat it by himself. (He’s not really complaining.)

When your matches begin, he’s in the crowd as often as he can. He arrives as early as you do, making sure he gets a seat super close so he can take photos. (Yes, Bokuto is aware he’s also competing at nationals. He still does it.)

Bokuto on snapchat: “THAT’S MY GIRL 🥵😭SO GOOD BABY!” (He is definitely that cringy, but I feel like he doesn’t know he’s being cringy.)

The worst thing is that some of your matches coincide with one another, but you make sure to catch up afterwards. It doesn’t bother you as much as it does Bokuto, but you know in an ideal situation, you both would be able to support the other full-time.

What’s even worse is when your team arrives to the semifinals, you’re over for the game because of a rough shot right to your fingers. The nurse talks to you as she tapes your fingers.

“Luckily, nothing is dislocated—”“So I should be good to go back in then?”“You didn’t let me finish. I don’t recommend you going back into the game if you think you’ll continue onto the finals. You have a better chance then because your hands might be semi-healed.”

You return to the court, but on the bench. Head hung, but you’re hopeful for the rest of the game, as you cheer on your teammates.

The game came out close and your team had the upper hand this time around.

“(Y/N)! We heard what happened!” Bokuto rushes up to you after both of your games are finished. Akaashi trails in the background and silently provides his condolences for your fingers. “Are you okay?” Your boyfriend hugs you gently, which could leave one with their mouth open, but he has always made sure that his hugs never hurt you despite his stature.

“I’m okay! I should still be able to play in the finals in two days. How did your match end up?”“Ah, we ended up losing. I’m still recovering from it. Right, Akaashi? Tell (Y/N).”“Yeah, he’s still working on it. Clearly.”

Bokuto and Akaashi are in the crowd for the finals. They originally sat but every time you blocked the ball, Bokuto would raise to his feet and start cheering for you. The people in his section kicked him and Akaashi out for disrupting. Now they’re standing by the railing and Bokuto doesn’t even have to get up because he’s already—you guessed it—standing.

Your team was not the better six this time around, but lucky for you, you have Bokuto and Akaashi to comfort you with hugs (Bokuto), handshakes (Akaashi), and ice cream.

Kuroo

Kuroo's been excited for you and your team since the start.

"I know you guys are going to make it to nationals. Have you seen your team? You all are much more talented than some of the people here.""That's not very nice to say, Tetsurou.""I'm just saying the truth. I'll be at the match."

Kuroo's usually busy, but hearing that he'd be at the match makes your heart squeeze.

You're the outside hitter/wing spiker of your team and you love know that any time you get a shot in, Kuroo's cheering for you in the crowd.

After the match, he’s waiting for you outside of the court with a small bouquet of flowers. (From where he bought those, you have no idea and he has no intention of letting you know.)

“You did amazing, I’m so proud of you,” he says while squishing you in a tight hug. You can’t breathe anymore, but who really cares for necessary human functions?

“Thanks for the love, Tetsurou. Let’s go out to eat!” He has to choose the restaurant because you can’t choose; everything looks good to a hungry athlete!

You two have never been at a tournament together, competing together, so please forgive him when he spends his break with Kenma because he forgot that you had a match.

It's really exciting because Kuroo is the captain of the host representative team and even though it doesn't mean he's the king of the world, he's the king of your world.

To experience Tokyo at this bustling time alongside your lover is beyond words. To have him by your side instead of through a screen is so much better.

Your last match is unfortunately pretty rough. You dug for the ball, just as another girl had. You heard a crunch and you couldn't tell who it came from.

This is the only match Kuroo could attend and he winces in pain seeing the collision on court. He soon realizes that it's you and exits the top floor to come down to the court floor.

You're able to get up after the medic stretches your limbs and it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong from a first glance. They take you in for a full exam.

Kuroo isn't ready to freak out, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't suppressing any feelings. He needs to be strong for you. He plays games on his phone to distract himself, sends a few texts to the team to let them know he'll be late to dinner.

You come out with a smile that grows wider seeing him. "You were here the whole time?"

"Of course." Don't mind him, he's crying on the inside because he feels like he's so lucky to have someone who is actually sunshine. "You were amazing out there, and I don't want to hear anything about your cute ass complaining you didn't do good enough."

[bitchin-beskar]

Folklore

Rating: T 

Warning: Mentions of racism and bigotry against minorities, along with slight swearing and brief mentions of cheating. I do not condone racism in any shape or form, against anyone of any ethnicity.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: So, this one was a struggle, but I finished it!! I’m sorry it’s so short, but the words just did not want to come tonight. Please, enjoy!

Tags:  @mxndoscyarika, @perropascal, @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @cryptkeepersoul

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

mad woman

Your whole world was crashing down around you.

Standing in the kitchen, you stared at your mother in horror, watching as a self-satisfied smirk spread across her lips. In that motherent, you hated her, more than you’d ever hated anyone else in your life. Your father was an easy man to hate, but he was hardly home enough for you to hate him. Your mother however… she made it so hard to hate her, swinging wildly between personalities. One minute she was the happy, loving mother you’d always wanted, the next minute she was worse than all the evil step-mothers from the different fairy tales combined. 

But this… this was the worst thing she’d ever done, and you can scarcely believe what she’s just admitted to you. You know your mother didn’t like Frankie, she never had. The one time he’d come over to your house, your mother had called him a ‘dirty immigrant’ and she’d tried to attack him with a broom. You’d refused to allow Frankie to come over after that, not wanting to subject him to your mother’s racist vitriol.

Frankie’s family wasn’t poor, but they certainly weren’t upper class, like your mother desired. She envisioned you marrying some trust fund kid, with enough millions to allow her to live comfortably for the rest of her life, attending social functions with the upper echelons of society and mingling with the 1%. So when she finally found out you were dating Francisco Morales, she was furious. 

You’d never assumed she’d understand or accept it, but you figured she would at best, ignore your relationship, at worst, she’d make snarky comments every time she’d see the two of you. But for her to do this…

You’d found the texts on accident. You’d been downstairs, making lunch when your mother’s phone, which had been laying on the counter next to you, had buzzed. You hadn’t even meant to glance at the phone screen, but your eyes had darted over, and you’d paused when you’d seen who was texting your mother.

You’d never been friends with Francesca Gomez, so why did she have your mother’s phone number? Before you’d realized what you were doing, you’d unlocked your mother’s phone, reading through her texts with Francesca.

They went back weeks, and the more you read, the more disgusted you felt. Your mother had approached Francesca, using her desire for Frankie to enlist her help to break the two of you up. Your mother had planned it all, encouraging Francesca to throw herself at Frankie, taking pictures of Francesca when she forced Frankie to kiss her, hell, your mother had even managed to get a fake sonogram from a doctor she knew you’d recognize, all so that you would believe Frankie had cheated on you. 

Your mother had somehow managed to convince Francesca that if you broke up with Frankie, he’d fall right into her waiting arms, and when that didn’t happen, Francesca began texting your mother with increasing anger and frequency.

The last two dozen texts or so your mother hadn’t answered, and it was clear Francesca was angry that Frankie wasn’t immediately falling into her arms or her bed. You felt a small sense of happiness that Frankie was refusing Francesca’s advances, but then you immediately felt guilty. You’d dumped Frankie, treated him like trash, and all because you’d believed your mother’s lies and manipulations. You should have known he’d never cheat on you, but seeing the photos had really fucked with your head.

You wanted to cry, you hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself when you broke up with him, refusing to hear his protests that he hadn’t cheated. You felt like the absolute worst person in the world, and you could only hope that Frankie would find it in his heart to forgive you–and you knew he would, that was the worst part, Frankie was so forgiving, so understanding, you didn’t deserve him–when you went to apologize.

“How could you?” 

Your voice was a whisper, but your mother heard you loud and clear. She scoffed at you, a look of disgust on her face.

“How could I? How could I not? You were bringing shame onto our family’s good name by dating that… that… that gangbanger? He doesn’t deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you! Let him fuck around with his own kind, we’re better than that!”

You were sickened by the words spewing from your mother’s mouth, so disgusted, you couldn’t believe the two of you were related. You hated her, for what she’s done, for how she treated Frankie, for how little respect she had for you or your relationship. 

You threw her phone on the counter in anger, turning to storm out of the house. Her angry voice followed you as you walked away.

“Don’t you dare leave this house young lady! If you walk out that door, you better not come back!”

You didn’t even turn around, yelling your parting words over your shoulder. “I’d rather sleep on the streets than come back here and be subjected to your racist bigotry!”

There were tears streaming down your face, but you ignored them, running down the driveway and across the sidewalk. You had no idea what Frankie would say, but you couldn’t go a second longer without apologizing, not without telling him how sorry you were.

***

“And you’ll poke that bear ‘til her claws come out

And you find something to wrap your noose around

And there’s nothing like a mad woman.”

[cloudhunter25]

Commands For Terminal On Mac Os

The Terminal app allows you to control your Mac using a command prompt. Why would you want to do that? Well, perhaps because you’re used to working on a command line in a Unix-based system and prefer to work that way. Terminal is a Mac command line interface. There are several advantages to using Terminal to accomplish some tasks — it’s usually quicker, for example. In order to use it, however, you’ll need to get to grips with its basic commands and functions. Once you’ve done that, you can dig deeper and learn more commands and use your Mac’s command prompt for more complex, as well as some fun, tasks.

Mac Terminal Commands Pdf

Just open the Terminal and type in the following command: say 'Hello, from MacLife' This will cause the default selected voice in OS X to spring to life and say the words that are wrapped in quotes. You can view a full list of potential Mac terminal network commands using the networksetup tool by typing networksetup -help at the terminal. This will display the help list, with various examples on how to use the tool to view and change different network settings. Terminal (officially called Terminal.app) is, strictly speaking, an emulator and works off most typical UNIX commands (OS X is a UNIX-based system, as opposed to Windows, which is NT-based). Unlike OS X, which has a graphical user interface (shortened to GUI), Terminal works off a text-based interface and all commands have to be typed in - this.

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How to open Terminal on Mac

The Terminal app is in the Utilities folder in Applications. To open it, either open your Applications folder, then open Utilities and double-click on Terminal, or press Command - spacebar to launch Spotlight and type 'Terminal,' then double-click the search result.

You’ll see a small window with a white background open on your desktop. In the title bar are your username, the word 'bash' and the dimensions of the window in pixels. Bash stands for 'Bourne again shell'. There are a number of different shells that can run Unix commands, and on the Mac Bash is the one used by Terminal.

If you want to make the window bigger, click on the bottom right corner and drag it outwards. If you don’t like the black text on a white background, go to the Shell menu, choose New Window and select from the options in the list.

If Terminal feels complicated or you have issues with the set-up, let us tell you right away that there are alternatives. MacPilot allows to get access to over 1,200 macOS features without memorizing any commands. Basically, a third-party Terminal for Mac that acts like Finder.

For Mac monitoring features, try iStat Menus. The app collects data like CPU load, disk activity, network usage, and more — all of which accessible from your menu bar.

Basic Mac commands in Terminal

The quickest way to get to know Terminal and understand how it works is to start using it. But before we do that, it’s worth spending a little time getting to know how commands work. To run a command, you just type it at the cursor and hit Return to execute.

Every command is made up of three elements: the command itself, an argument which tells the command what resource it should operate on, and an option that modifies the output. So, for example, to move a file from one folder to another on your Mac, you’d use the move command 'mv' and then type the location of the file you want to move, including the file name and the location where you want to move it to.

Let’s try it.

Type cd ~/Documentsthen and press Return to navigate to your Home folder.

Type lsthen Return (you type Return after every command).

You should now see a list of all the files in your Documents folder — ls is the command for listing files.

To see a list of all the commands available in Terminal, hold down the Escape key and then press y when you see a question asking if you want to see all the possibilities. To see more commands, press Return.

Unix has its own built-in manual. So, to learn more about a command type man (name of command), where 'command' is the name of the command you want find out more about.

Terminal rules

There are a few things you need to bear in mind when you’re typing commands in Terminal, or any other command-line tool. Firstly, every character matters, including spaces. So when you’re copying a command you see here, make sure you include the spaces and that characters are in the correct case.

You can’t use a mouse or trackpad in Terminal, but you can navigate using the arrow keys. If you want to re-run a command, tap the up arrow key until you reach it, then press Return. To interrupt a command that’s already running, type Control-C.

Commands are always executed in the current location. So, if you don’t specify a location in the command, it will run wherever you last moved to or where the last command was run. Use the cdcommand, followed by a directory path, like in Step 1 above, to specify the folder where you want a command to run.

There is another way to specify a location: go to the Finder, navigate to the file or folder you want and drag it onto the Terminal window, with the cursor at the point where you would have typed the path.

Here’s another example. This time, we’ll create a new folder inside your Documents directory and call it 'TerminalTest.'

Open a Finder window and navigate to your Documents folder.

Type cd and drag the Documents folder onto the Terminal window.

Now, type mkdir 'TerminalTest'

Go back to the Finder, open Text Edit and create a new file called 'TerminalTestFile.rtf'. Now save it to the TerminalTest folder in your Documents folder.

In the Terminal window, type cd ~/Documents/TerminalTest then Return. Now type lsand you should see 'TerminalTestFile' listed.

To change the name of the file, type this, pressing Return after every step:

cd~/Documents/Terminal Test

mv TerminalTestFile TerminalTestFile2.rtf

That will change the name of the file to 'TerminalTestFile2'. You can, of course, use any name you like. The mv command means 'move' and you can also use it to move files from one directory to another. In that case, you’d keep the file names the same, but specify another directory before typing the the second instance of the name, like this:

mv ~/Documents/TerminalTest TerminalTestFile.rtf ~/Documents/TerminalTest2 TerminalTestFile.rtf

More advanced Terminal commands

Terminal can be used for all sorts of different tasks. Some of them can be performed in the Finder, but are quicker in Terminal. Others access deep-rooted parts of macOS that aren’t accessible from the Finder without specialist applications. Here are a few examples.

Copy files from one folder to another

In a Terminal window, type ditto (folder 1) (folder 1) where 'folder 1' is the folder that hosts the files and 'folder 2' is the folder you want to move them to.

To see the files being copied in the Terminal window, type -v after the command.

Download files from the internet

You’ll need the URL of the file you want to download in order to use Terminal for this.

cd ~/Downloads/

curl -O (URL of file you want to download)

If you want to download the file to a directory other than your Downloads folder, replace ~/Downloads/ with the path to that folder, or drag it onto the Terminal window after you type the cd command.

Change the default location for screenshots

If you don’t want macOS to save screenshots to your Desktop when you press Command-Shift-3, you can change the default location in Terminal

defaults write com.apple.screencapture location (path to folder where you want screenshots to be saved)

Hit Return

killall SystemUIServer

Hit Return

Change the default file type for screenshots

By default, macOS saves screenshots as .png files. To change that to .jpg, do this:

defaults write com.apple.screencapture type JPG

Press Return

killall SystemUIServer

Press Return

Delete all files in a folder

The command used to delete, or remove, files in Terminal is rm. So, for example, if you wanted to remove a file in your Documents folder named 'oldfile.rtf' you’d use cd ~/Documents to go to your Documents folder then to delete the file. As it stands, that will delete the file without further intervention from you. If you want to confirm the file to be deleted, use -i as in rm -i oldfile.rtf

To delete all the files and sub-folders in a directory named 'oldfolder', the command is rm -R oldfolder and to confirm each file should be deleted, rm -iR oldfolder

Just because you can use Terminal to delete files on your Mac, doesn’t mean you should. It’s a relatively blunt instrument, deleting only those files and folders you specify.

Another way to free up space

If your goal in removing files or folders is to free up space on your Mac, or to remove junk files that are causing your Mac to run slowly, it’s far better to use an app designed for the purpose. CleanMyMac X is one such app.

It will scan your Mac for files and recommend which ones you can delete safely, as well as telling you how much space you’ll save. And once you’ve decided which files to delete, you can get rid of them in a click. You can download CleanMyMac here.

As you can see, while Terminal may look scary and seem like it’s difficult to use, it really isn’t. The key is learning a few commands, such as those we’ve outlined above, and getting to know the syntax for those commands.

However, you should be careful when using Terminal, it’s a powerful tool that has deep access to your Mac’s system files. Check commands by googling them if you’re not sure what they do. And if you need to delete files to save space, use an app like CleanMyMac X to do it. It’s much safer!

Mac Terminal Commands Pdf

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