#now it’s consciously stolen ig

[sableeira]

I love you bungou stray dogs and all your the complex characters and their mysterious pasts. I love all the intricate relationships, how everyone and everything is interwoven with each other. I love how all of them feel like they were meant to meet each other or to be in each other’s lives, for better and/or for worse. How a character’s influence shapes another person and how this person in turn shapes the people in their life. There is no force in the universe strong enough to completely tear them apart so the universe decided it was better to not waste the energy. It’s better for all of them to be together even if it means for them to crash into each other. Let their world views and powers clash. Let their influences unravel. Let everything they have been through, all the good and bad things they’ve learned dissolve and mix to create a beautiful performance of their own invention.

[peachpassionfruit]

entombed.

🏹 scaramouche x reader drabble

“it was said that the electro archon discarded him due to him crying upon his creation. he wasn’t worthy of housing a gnosis if he didn’t possess divine strength. if a god in the making dared to let tears fall from his eyes once again, was he worthy of this ascension?”

not proofread / written at 4am after i recently finished the sumeru story quest / so basically character and lore study / about when scara is “becoming” a god / previous situationship (?) / kind of suggestive but not explicit / angst ig / enjoy <3

you’d heard from him last before he fled inazuma with the electro archon’s gnosis. though the lack of goodbye pained you, you had since come to terms with the idea that it would be the last you’d see of him. that was, until you heard sumeru’s akademiya, in association with the fatui, was building a god.

your blood ran strikingly cold at the mention of it. the great balladeer was attempting to leave behind his past of being a discarded puppet and acquire the godly power that had once been his birthright. what his own mother had robbed him of; what he, in turn, took from her. you knew this about him, as before this sickening bitterness began to run through his veins and infiltrate his mind, he was the kunikuzushi you collected sakura petals and ate lavender melon with.

everything you had shared didn’t matter now. he was a traitor. the lasting impressions his kisses had left on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone; the ghost-like remnants of his fingertips brushing against your skin. the stories he whispered into your ears while resting his hands on the hilt of your hips, as if that slope was made for him to hold you. you missed scaramouche.

in these dry deserts and lush rainforests of sumeru, your dreams were not your own. the desires of your underlying subconscious weren’t something that could be indulged in during the comfort of the night; there was no longer solace to be found in the want of your imagination. it was taken from you; your mind leeched off of and stolen from in order to feed an undying desire for all the knowledge in the world. only to place it in the palm of his undeserving hands.

you had believed in him, once. you understood his pain. one that took root in the lightning bolts that came down in his past, in the strings that had long since been cut and allowed him to roam these lands himself. though you didn’t know what he saw in this time, you knew the hurt balladeer that came to you to seek out his own comfort; his own solace. and here he was, greedily taking that refuge from others.

this dream had been taken from you. one you woke up from with hot tears blooming in your eyes, staining your face, and you did not even know why you had been crying. somewhere else, deep in the akademiya, in a tangled mess of pulsating wires and mechanical whirring, that boy took in sumeru’s knowledge as if it was the very oxygen he breathed. and in that, he saw you.

he saw the dream your mind had harbored that night. they were flashes of white-hot feelings and energy, a flickering slideshow of memories that had since passed. moonlight illuminating a bare window, filling the shared bed with light. the feeling of goosebumps being raised wherever he trailed his hands over your skin, muscles flexing underneath his touch. he had shown you not just the stars, but the universe.

it was something sacred, of sorts. something sealed off and to be kept only by you two. they were unspoken promises shared by his lips pressing to yours, as if your lives coexisted in a mutualistic frenzy. every hushed whisper, every gasping breath, they were only yours to share. because, at your very core, you were his, and you were always searching for a way back to the home you dearly missed.

he couldn’t help but to share your consciousness. as your fingers delicately brushed over your burning skin, still shaken from your rude awakening, you saw the familiar purple glow as if it was right in front of you. you figured it was a hallucination; your mind was thinking up what you wanted to see so desperately. he only stared at you, and you were unsure what to make of the ghost-like figure lingering in front of you. and so you rested your head on your pillow and went back to sleep.

it was said that the electro archon discarded him due to him crying upon his creation. he wasn’t worthy of housing a gnosis if he didn’t possess divine strength. if a god in the making dared to let tears fall from his eyes once again, was he worthy of this ascension?

this was a life he had long since left behind now, accompanied by titles he had since relinquished. you were a thing of the distant past to him, and the electricity that existed between you had ceased. at once, it began to pour outside, lightning bolts raining down in harsh snaps, thunder rumbling through the earth as if the tectonic plates were shifting.

was this the raiden’s doing? or…

<3 M

[skydinzeal]

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[m4nd0l0r]

Angelic Lips.

Description: A fixation bleeds through him: he catches himself always glancing by.

Ship: Five Hargreeves x GN! Reader

Word Count: 860+ (this is more of a drabble tbh-)

Author’s Note: writer’s block is a bitch and i fought it off with horniness so ig this is a lime (or lemon/smut?? genuinely idk)— i mean it deals with mouths, making out and what i thought oral fixation meant before taking a google search at 1am and becoming so aghast (basically i thought it was a mouth fetish or smth rather than a keen liking to biting and sucking cos of childhood shenanigans—) so it seems accurate, this also is just pure filth n’ brain rot of five, with that said i hope you enjoy reading and pls interact for a little boosting!! <33 (i’ll be posting more five content soon once i get a little more inspo/motivation!!!)

(Five’s body is aged up, and his consciousness ranges from 25 to 50 in my works for him from now on— However you decided which age you want for your experience/comfort!!)

Five Taglist: @ells-graveyard @noahspector @aelinismyqueen @sunweee @fivelegance @ne0boss @twauna00 @placidpluto @eichenhouseproperty @heartsforsuyin @ghostlywavelengths @ghostlycherryblossomwonderland @seconds-not-decades @coolcatlover4 @emotionally-unstabel @peachy-wolfhard @its-loki-bitch @raven-fandomtrash @theilliterateskankula @magicstrange @venusrambles @whereintheworldisspencerreid @honeycombdumbass @kazuive @oscarisaacsleftballsack @zenithinthebin @peachteeaaa @rchaoz @wickedmystery @wordsandnerds @umbrellatte @666abby6666 @iameddiemunsonshair @starlightinhumanform @vennythearsonist @trashmouthsahra @crinklypink @halfumbrella (if you want to be removed/added, pls tell me via pm!!)

This started all because of your damn mouth.

Five keeps, no- always finds himself watching. He feels as if he can’t turn away- that it pulls him back into this tight spot he can’t crawl out of. 

And he never tries to get out. 

Half of the time, he was sure you’ve catched him looking— it wouldn’t surprise him if you have. He feels- knows that he was too obvious, that he was becoming so perverted- that his eyes shouldn’t dare to look at you ever again. 

And yet each time he can- he dares. He feels vulgar, as if he has sinned, but when he sees your lips quirk up into a smile, your canines, molars form a smile that you think shows a little too much gum to the point you try to hide it— he likes it- he can’t help but look. 

He looks at you as if he’s seen an angel. 

His eyes travel down to the curve of your lips- noticing your cupid’s bow accentuating the shape. He takes in every smile, every frown, every time your mouth gaped open and shifted close. How it flattens as you purse your mouth out of frustration. 

He likes how red— angelic, your lips are— how soft it is when you kiss him- when you leave crimson kiss marks on his cheek- neck— even in his own mouth, he loves it. 

It always starts small- so sudden at first. A stolen moment in time, you both grasp unto it. 

His face pressed up on your cheek, and he breathes. He draws you in- the scent of laundry and other sorts of chemicals flood his senses- but it sets him a reminder- to know again that he was not dreaming. 

That he was not creative enough to imagine you and your lips right next to his.

He plants a kiss— it was almost.. sweet- unlike the bitterness of cold coffee, the same one he loves to take in- much to your disdain. It was one that lingers through your skin like a spark. His fingers hold you near, and you could feel the desperation for closeness through his palms.

You push back, returning the gentleness. And yet he strays away, making you want to chase him but he comes back for more— like a starving man- knowing the pleasure is finally in his reach— the desperation clings as his lips push in- His lips smile against yours as he takes you in, his tongue on yours, teeth clashing. 

His viridescent eyes watches you, the glint in his look could eat you alive- consume you like fire to wood- turning your vigor into smoke— it was obscene- your chest felt stuffy as you could feel his heart beat so furiously just inches away from your own. 

His fingers tracing over your hip bone up to your sides. Your hands hold on his upper arms— his again on your hips- sliding across your back, his thumb rubbing shapes, leaving feathered caresses down your spine. 

You were aflamed- burning under his touch, his skin— his lips trailing down your neck- his weight pressing onto your body, molding you both like clay risen from the earth’s mass ever so perfectly. 

You both needed to breathe— gasping unto each other- But if he were to pull away, he’d feel as if he stopped being alive— that he couldn’t be away. He wants- needs to further feel you- taste you. His hands grabbing you everywhere- his tongue briefly touching your lower lip— he breathes, takes you in like the air he lacks itself. 

“Five— Five, shit—“ Left your swelling lips. He only rasps ‘fuck’ before wrestling away, letting your blood rush somewhere else- not on your cheeks- your lips— the crimson merely pumps swiftly in your chest- adrenaline swimming in your veins. 

Silence fills the space between you. As you breathe in and out, hands on the sides of his arms— all he does is stare at your red lips- all swollen up, glistening with a vermillion glow, because of him. 

It was tantalizing.

Impulsivity floods his thinking: and he is a drowning man.

“Open your mouth.” His voice strungs you out of your daze— making you blink. It surprises him too- he shouldn’t.

And yet. 

You slowly part your lips— his thumb coaxes you, further separating them. Your pupils watch him as he finds himself staring on the inside of your mouth. All teeth and gum- supple skin— Enough of that, he tells himself.

There was no point in this- he knows how you feel— how you taste- what was the point of checking the source? But he continues- an urge sinks in deep his fingertips— it was not enough. 

“Wider.” 

His knee shifts, now resting between your thighs- he jerks his clothed thigh up, causing you to let out a small throaty gasp. He only takes this opportunity- slipping his finger in. And just as he was about to move away— He felt your tongue slide on the pad of his thumb and your lips quirk into a mischievous smile. 

He only broadens his shit grinning grin even further. 

“Atta, angel.”

[ndiecity]

this is probs not going to be interesting at all and it’s not even really a confession but I have to get it off my chest so I’m sorry it’s going in your inbox ig

so i was hanging with this group of friends this summer but at one point one of them said something like “…we’re all just a couple of twinks…” i can’t remember why or how he said it but he referred to everyone present as a twink in a joking way and like. i almost saw red. he, along with everyone except for two people me included, are straight. i know in reality it’s not that big of a deal; a straight person using historically gay/queer terminology, especially incorrectly, happens on twitter probably hundreds of times every minute. words change n shit. but in that moment and now looking back it felt like i was watching my queer identity being stolen and steamrolled. I was watching this word whose definition I knew intimately and could relate to become re-adapted and bastardized by the very group of people the word was supposed to differentiate me from. and like i’ve known/been friends with these people since we were in kindergarten, but it was just one of the rare moments in our relationship when I was consciously aware that I am Gay and they are Straight and that makes us Different. by the time I had processed the fact that the comment not only really pissed me off but also made me feel incredibly lonely and disconnected from the guy who said it and by extension every other straight person there, the moment had already passed so I just stayed quiet. and i fucking cannot forgive myself for this because every time i see a post talking about the body positivity movement in the queer community (like posts talking abt how the term bear is being misused a lot lately and how that’s damaging) i think abt how I could have done something to combat the misappropriation of queer terms especially by straight people and i just did nothing. like I’m so fucking useless

I’m so sorry for this i know it’s like “get over it dude it’s not that deep” and so much worse stuff happens/gets said every day but it’s been a rough day and then i was reminded of it and I’m just gonna stop typing ok love u love your blog thanks

okay

[mettywiththenotes]

It's actually weird that Tomura has only AFO the in his consciousness rn, because didn't AFO himself said that the vestiges of the quirks he has stolen would haunt him and torment him in his sleep? Where are those vestiges now and how is Tomura coping with them? I kinda want to see a Pov switch to see how the vestige world is like for him (other than the part where he is battling to save his own consciousness from being taken by AFO)

A very good question!

Maybe AFO perhaps has some kinda quirk to keep them away? Though that would have to be a very specific kind of quirk

Or maybe the vestiges he talks of are about the OFA vestiges? Because of the vault in OFA. I’ve seen a few theories about that vault door being a gateway to both of the brother quirks, a door that goes both ways, so to speak

Or I suppose that AFO suppressed these vestiges enough so they wouldn't come to the surface and haunt him or something (using his mind, not a quirk, to keep them out)

I wouldn't be surprised since the Void seems to largely be controlled by subconscious, and AFO has quite a bit of control there. Against his brother and Izuku, there was a tug-of-war for control, but I think AFO in his OWN Void, he'd have a lot of control over what came up

Though one thing I find very interesting in relation to this topic, now that I'm thinking about it, is this panel

See that city below? Why is it there?

With Tomura's subconscious being used in the Void, I wondered if it could maybe be the city he walked through as Tenko, and the hands floating around here could be the hands that neglected to reach out for him. And that is entirely possible!

But what if the city below is holding the many Vestiges of the quirks All For One took?

Just think about that for a second. All For One took SO MANY QUIRKS that he has AN ENTIRE CITY HIDING IN THE VOID to hold all of them

This man could have a whole goddamn civilization of vestige ghosts just. walking around in there

All For One is already such an expansive quirk. It holds so many powers, so I don't see any reason why AFO didn't just. sort his brain out and stash all of the vestiges in one spot, then hide it away

The Vestiges would still be THERE, they would still EXIST. It's just that they'd be hidden

And I imagine that the Vestiges were screaming for some kind of closure, some kind of help for the unrest they have, and All For One just smiled and said "Hey, what if I just make you guys a city, just like the one you lived in when you were alive, and you could spend your undead lives there, away from me? I think that solves everyone's problems"

See, the subconscious is a powerful thing. It hides stuff we aren't even aware of sometimes. It stores the memories we repress, the happy ones we never meant to forget, it has them all. So I think it's entirely possible that AFO just... imagined a place to stash them all, and kept it there

Especially if AFO is good at visualizing, he could easily make up this city and just shove them all in there

I don't think the Vestiges are GONE, or that he's lying, or that he just doesn't have any anymore. They just don't BOTHER him. Cause they're "living their undead lives" away from AFO, and allowing him to think more clearly

And, if we think a little deeper into this, those disembodied hands floating around Tomura could be the Vestiges reaching out for help or smthg

As for Tomura, I don't think he has the faintest idea as to what is going on. Or EVEN WORSE, AFO could have stashed HIM away too (to avoid Tomura from distracting him ig) and put him with the Vestiges in the city! Again, maybe not likely, but could you IMAGINE if that were true? It would be so horrifying

Thank you for the ask! You got my brain-gears turning with this one, and I always kinda wondered about the city in the Void, so I'm glad this question itched that scratch as to the possible why and how :)

[fanfoolishness]

Primary Directives (The Mandalorian)

(IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian.  Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption.  IG-11, Din Djarin, and Kuiil. 2020 words, canon-typical violence, Din!whump.)

***

It was a droid.  It had always known this, as surely as it had always known the ways of battle and weaponry, as it had known the ways to terminate over six hundred and forty-three organic species.  IG-11 knew what it had been manufactured for, and that knowledge was as certain as code and metal and electricity.

Still, though, there were surprises.  Such as the Mandalorian —

[Mandalorians: most commonly human but may hail of any race.  Exceptional warriors operating within a strict honor-based code, plated in beskar armor protecting vulnerable body systems: cardiovascular system, cranium, spine.  Beskar armor repels blaster fire, adjust angle of bolts fired to avoid secondary damage due to ricochet.  Weapons may include wrist-fired whipcords, small ballistics, flamethrowers, or missiles in addition to standard issue blaster pistols and rifles.  Kill points include jugular vein, brachial arteries, lungs —]

Despite this knowledge, IG-11 was not invulnerable.  The Mandalorian fired a blaster into IG-11’s central processing unit and all awareness ceased.

***

Systems rewired, reprogrammed, new knowledge, new directives.  Protect and nurse.  Defending became the new priority instead of attacking.  The work of the Ugnaught’s hands laid new tracts within its circuitry, paths that were worn deeper with the passage of time and every subsequent use. 

The old knowledge of vulnerabilities and weaknesses of organics melded with information on how to ease the suffering of these creatures.  There was also new information regarding the understanding of what suffering meant.  This knowledge was assimilated, and IG-11’s study of protection and nurturing began.  

It took time, as did all things worth knowing.  Fragments of prior memory were still accessible: it could still visualize clearly the manufacturer’s killing fields littered with the droids whose programming had not fully taken hold.  IG-11 had navigated those killing fields successfully, a ready and willing deliverer of death, and had emerged a formidable and fatal machine.  It did not mourn the units that did not succeed.  It knew only what it had been made for, and it knew that it would be successful.

Until it failed.  

The Mandalorian ended its previous existence and claimed the bounty for his own, and IG-11 was left for scrap.

Now IG-11 trained with the Ugnaught Kuiil on the muddy world of Arvala-7, and it found success in movements made for building, in carrying tea that nourished the Ugnaught, in protecting the small forms of life that skittered and scurried through the mudflats of their shared housing unit.  The old programming made a scaffold for the new, a web that built its way throughout IG-11’s surface awareness and sublevel routines, and it strove to fulfill its purpose as ever it had.

***

IG-11 stood over the fallen Kuiil.  It regarded the Ugnaught’s prone form, analyzing the absence of breath, the pallor of flesh, the stillness of form.  Kuiil and IG-11 had been united in their purpose to protect the Child, to defend, to nurse.  Now IG-11 stood alone, its sensors identifying molecules of smoke and burnt organic flesh carried on the harsh Nevarran wind.

It would fulfill its master’s work.  The death would not be without use.  IG-11’s purpose did not waver, and it broke into a run over the dried lava fields, leaving its master behind.

The Ugnaught’s hands had been steady and true. 

***

IG-11 succeeded, as its programming had assured it that it would.  The Child nestled against IG-11’s metallic form, letting out squeals the droid analyzed as filled with delight.  They traveled on a stolen 74-Z Imperial speeder bike as IG-11’s targeting software focused on stormtrooper after stormtrooper.

IG-11’s aim was steady and true.

***

IG-11 and the Child rejoined the Mandalorian and the humans, though the Mandalorian appeared to have been injured.  They hid from overwhelming numbers of Imperial troops as IG-11 monitored the situation for ways to protect the Child.

It did as the humans requested.  The male human requested assistance with ascertaining a route of escape as he imbibed alcohol to dull his senses.  IG-11 worked as instructed, even when the environment was temporarily compromised by the attack of a Flametrooper.  

[Imperial enemy.  Flamethrower does not project temperatures higher than 300 degrees, a level of heat that is tolerated by all IG units but is fatal to multiple organic species. Standard stormtrooper weaknesses apply.] 

Strangely, the threat was removed by the Child, a sentient creature IG-11 lacked all data for.  The Child weakened after mounting its defense.  It would still require protection.

The threat neutralized, the female human requested IG-11 bring the body of the dying Mandalorian to them.  IG-11 gave its assurance to the woman, then gave the Child to her.  She had no levels of inebriation, and protocol dictated that the Child be placed with a guardian most likely to assure its survival.  The man and woman fled the smoke-filled shelter with the weakened Child, descending into the sewer system.

IG-11 then turned its attention to the Mandalorian.

It watched the Mandalorian’s breathing.  His chest rose and fell, the breath strained, labored, then absent.  Breath, breath, apnea.  The cycle repeated.  This abnormal pattern of respiration suggested a severe head injury.  Perhaps that was why the Mandalorian had so resisted the female human’s offers to render aid.  

Instructions of kill points and nursing directives, which intertwined at countless points, were accessed.  [Brain trauma: results in altered consciousness, delirium, obtundation.  May be fatal.]

“Do it,” rasped the Mandalorian.

“Do what?” IG-11 asked.  It could not comply with the Mandalorian’s orders if the directive was unknown.

“Just get it over with,” the Mandalorian said.  

Analysis was performed.  [Fluctuating timbre of the voice.  Abnormal breathing pattern persists.  Severe pain is present.]

“I’d rather you kill me than some Imp,” the Mandalorian continued.  IG-11 noted trembling in the body, particularly the hands.  Ah.  Perhaps the Mandalorian expected revenge for the previous shot fired into IG-11’s central processing unit, and the obliteration of its old directives.  Such a thought was foolish, but then again, the Mandalorian had been injured and could be trapped in aberrant thinking patterns.

“I told you, I am no longer a hunter,” stated IG-11.  It attempted to modulate its voice to be perceived as more friendly and less threatening.  “I am a nurse droid.”

“IGs are all hunters,” said the Mandalorian stubbornly.

“Not this one,” IG-11 corrected.  “I was reprogrammed.  I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”  The injury could not be successfully evaluated or repaired without doing so.

IG-11 reached to remove the Mandalorian’s helmet, and instinctively the Mandalorian raised a blaster in his shaking hand.

“Try it and I’ll kill you,” the Mandalorian threatened, his chest heaving.  

IG-11 regarded the Mandalorian in puzzlement.  All prior programming had suggested that an injured creature would do anything to accept aid.  It paused.

“It is… forbidden,” the Mandalorian gasped, desperation tingeing his voice.  “No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I… I swore the Creed.”

IG-11 understood the issue, then.  It was a problem of programming.  The Mandalorian could not deny his prime directive any more readily than IG-11 could.  Perhaps there was a logical means of resolution.

“I am not a living thing,” said IG-11 gently.  It extended its arm to touch the helmet.  The blaster shook in the Mandalorian’s hand, but did not fire.  IG-11 lifted the helmet, breaking its seal, and removed it from the head of the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian was human, as IG-11 had expected from the sound of his voice and the patterns of movement displayed by his body in battle.  The droid experienced no emotion at the sight of the man’s face, but it studied it so as to better understand the extent of the injuries.  

Blood trickled from the left nostril into the man’s patchy facial hair.  A laceration arced across the bridge of the nose.  Anisocoria was visible in the man’s brown eyes, a negative prognostic indicator.  One that, in his previous programming, would have been a sign of impending success, especially when combined with the quantity of blood and sweat matting the man’s hair.  Yet IG-11 felt no sense of completion at the man’s injured state.  Death was no longer its objective.

Yet death threatened all the same.  The threat was underscored by the frantic hyperventilation that had begun with the removal of the helmet, though the droid was uncertain if this was due to physical stimuli or due to emotional agitation.  It ran a standard analysis on the Mandalorian’s expressions to determine the answer.

[Fear is detected in the shifts of the eyebrows and widening of the palpebral fissures.  Distress and anxiety are exhibited in the frozen gaze and half-open mouth, a common response to threat in this species. Pain is seen in persistent shivering and recoiling.]

IG-11 activated the bacta unit the Ugnaught had installed on its arm, propelling a standard dose of 2.8mg/m2 onto the injured region.  The Mandalorian stared at the droid, gaze still frozen, either confused or obtunded.  The blaster wavered in his hand, then slowly lowered.

“This is a bacta spray.  It will heal you in a matter of hours,” said IG-11.  It attempted a joke; the jokes had always worked on the Ugnaught.  “You have damaged your central processing unit.”  Surely the Mandalorian would see the humor in the reversal of their situations.

The Mandalorian stared dazedly, eyes struggling to focus as the bacta spray took hold.  The lines that creased his face, indicating pain, began to ease slightly.  He raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping further open.  “You mean my brain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“That was a joke,” said IG-11 warmly.  “It is meant to put you at ease.”

The Mandalorian attempted a noise that with further analysis IG-11 determined to be a laugh.

“You are beginning to feel a reduction in pain and impairment,” said IG-11.  “You are recognizing humor.”

The Mandalorian grimaced.  “If you say so,” he said, closing his eyes.  His mouth made a thin, hard line, but his breathing eased, beginning to settle into a pattern more consistent with normal health.  He breathed deeply, but then coughed, a loud rattling sound caused by the smoke.  Perhaps the Mandalorian’s helmet contained filters that would reduce the effects of smoke inhalation.

As IG-11 identified the problem, it felt the Mandalorian’s hand brush against its arm.  “Please,” the man muttered.  “My helmet -- You did what you needed, right?  I -- I need it -- the Imps are still out there --”

“Of course,” said IG-11.  Swiftly it raised its arm, carefully lowering the helmet back over the man’s head and face.  The Mandalorian reached up clumsily with both hands, fingertips slipping and scrabbling on the smooth beskar as he tried to pull the helmet down.  IG-11 aided him, guiding the helmet over his face until it felt the click of the seal reconnecting.  

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian exhaled, his breathing pattern finally reverting to normal.

“Can you stand?” IG-11 queried.  “The Imperial forces will likely investigate this area soon.  The bacta should continue to work as more time elapses.”

The man gave a weak nod.  “I think I can stand.”  He gripped IG-11’s hand and was pulled to his feet, where he wavered.  IG-11 draped the Mandalorian’s arm over its shoulders.

“I will assist you,” said IG-11.  

“Why?” the Mandalorian asked, leaning heavily against it as they carefully descended into the sewer after the others.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are a protector, as I am,” said IG-11, leading the injured man through the darkened tunnels.  “Kuiil taught me to nurse and protect those that cannot defend themselves.  You have done the same for the Child, though you faced far superior forces and the threat of death.  Working together, we have a greater chance to fulfill our directive.  To protect the Child.  Do you understand?”

The man was quiet, and for a moment, IG-11 only heard the man’s breaths, sharp and full of effort as they made their way forward into the depths. At last the Mandalorian spoke, and when he did, the voice was heavy, shaded with many human emotions.

[Relief, surprise, gratitude.  Understanding.]

“This is the Way,” he said softly, and the words echoed, ringing, in the dark.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia drabble:

author’s note: so! this is based on a theory from @bbygirljuvi !!! it’s essentially predicting what would happen in chap 58 of 100 yq! so if u dont read 100 yq and have no idea what im talking ab, give chap 57 a read lmaooo. remember when i JUST said i didnt like writing fics of me predicting what would happen in canon in the future? well, fuck it ig!!!

ALSO i wanna point out that i LOVEEEE ur guys’ feedback and love sooossososo much!!! the only reason i dont reply to comments is bc this isnt my main blog so if i reply it will only reply from my main that i dont even use anymore:/ so i dont want u guys to think im ignoring u!!!:) just know that i do read ur comments and i love ur support! if u message me or leave me an ask i will 100% respond!:) thank u ALL ilysm!!! enjoy!:)

*

“She’s my power to live.”

White.

Everything after that was just white. All she could see, all she could hear. The world around her completely stopped at that point in time.

Words like these were the exact words Juvia had dreamt of hearing for what felt like an eternity at that point. She knew her face was beaming red, and her mouth was agape.

After the short period of nothingness, the words repeated in her head over and over again. Did she hear him right? Did she mix up the words in her head? No. No, she was sure that she didn’t. “She’s my power to live.” played on loop. The more the words swirled in her head, the more she felt her heart burn. It was all too much for her, but in the best possible way. She completely forgot where she even was for a moment— that she was in the middle of a battle, having the life drained from by the second.

Juvia’s body shook as her head bobbed up and down, trying to catch her breath in that moment. Her skin was so hot she thought she might melt. She was his power to live. She knew that meant a lot, because that was exactly how she felt about Gray. All the emotions in her were rising to a boil, and it wasn’t until she heard her darling call her name that she was finally being pulled back to reality.

“Calm down, Juvia!” She heard his voice call to her. She then remembered just where she was and what she was doing.

“Gah!” Metro called out in sheer pain. “So hot!”

As Juvia reached her arms out to run and embrace her beloved, her arms didn’t listen. They were stuck to the tree. However, the grip did waiver. Juvia’s hot water was causing him to slip. Then, in that moment, her annoyance took priority above all her other emotions, and she let it out where she knew it would be useful.

“Let Juvia go!” Her voice was brash, and her body began to boil even more, doubling the steam that was already coming off of her and Metro.

“Stop it! Ah!” Metro’s body thrashed with discomfort, but Juvia wasn’t letting up— not until she was in Gray’s arms.

“Ergh!” Juvia practically growled. She mustered up all that emotion and got ready for one final blow of hot water.

Metro let out a scream of pain before losing consciousness and collapsing to the ground into a pile of steaming wood. Gray stood in awe as he watched it all happen, and once he realized Metro was about to go down, he took started to lunge forward to catch Juvia who would fall. Before he could get there, Juvia fell to the ground and stuck the landing. Gray didn’t even have a chance to ask if Juvia was ok before she herself lunged at him.

“Gray-sama!~” She sang as she threw herself onto Gray, wrapping around his torso.

“Whoa!” Gray grunted on impact. His eyes were still wide as he was still attempting to process everything that just happened.

“Oh, Gray-sama! Did you really mean what you said?!” She nuzzled her giddy face into his chest.

Gray was still dumbfounded at the pile of defeated wood that laid in front of him. He couldn’t process what Juvia was even saying. Just a second ago she was struggling to stay conscious, stuck on the enemy, and now she was completely fine and safe with Gray.

“Uh— What exactly— just happened?” Gray stammered. He finally began to reciprocate the hug by resting a hand on the top of Juvia’s back as his other hand ruffled through his hair.

“Hm?” Juvia pulled herself out of Gray’s chest and rose a curious eyebrow. She noticed he still had his eyes locked onto what used to be the great and powerful Metro and turned her head to match his gaze, and then quickly turned back to Gray. “Oh! That! Juvia can get pretty—erm—- crazy when her emotions get a little out of control.” She chuckled nervously, realizing that what she did was a bit much.

“Yeah... you don’t say.” Gray huffed.

“But Juvia couldn’t help it!” She threw herself right back onto him. “Gray-sama just said the best and most romantic words ever! Juvia had to give you a great big hug as soon as possible!” She giggled and snuggled back up all over again.

Gray snorted. “Wow.” He wiped his hair out of his eyes. It all happened so fast. Gray’s mind was running a mile of minute just a second ago thinking how he would rescue Juvia, but she went and rescued herself.

“You are... You’re incredible, you know that?” His breath was still stolen, but gave a chuckle at the end.

“Me?!” Juvia pulled away with wide eyes.

“Yes, you!” He finally looked down at her.

“Here I was so worried about protecting you and keeping you safe, but... you don’t really need me to do that, do you?”

“Well, of course Juvia wants Gray-sama to protect her! That is music to Juvia’s ears!” She swooned for a moment. “But don’t forget, Juvia is a Fairy Tail wizard. I know how to hold my own.” She smiled surely.

There he had it. Gray just got that closure he’d been searching for all this time, but Juvia took his closure and flipped it upside down. She gave him closure, but even better, she proved to him that he didn’t need to keep waiting to be “strong enough” or “confident enough”. He was confident enough and felt so strongly, that he didn’t need any of the validation that he thought he needed. All he needed was her, and he didn’t have to keep pushing off his feelings anymore.

Tears rushed to his eyes as he swfitly brought Juvia back into his embrace. “Thank you.” He said softly, tightening his arms.

“Thank you, Gray-sama.” Juvia wrapped her arms further.

They stood there for a while, just in each other’s hold.

After some time, Juvia’s legs began to wobble a bit as she felt light headed, and her stance struggled, causing her to take a step to the side and lose her grip.

“Juvia!” Gray exclaimed, concerned. “Are you alright?” He pulled her away.

“Well,” She chuckled. “Juvia did just exert a lot of magic energy back there, and while I can take care if myself, Juvia’s not invincible either.”

Gray matched Juvia’s grin. “Alright, let’s get you somewhere to rest. Can you walk?”

“Yes.” Juvia nodded. She took a few steps forward perfectly fine, and then she paused. A light bulb went off in her head.

“Well-“ Her voice pitch rose. “Actually, Juvia is feeling sooo weak! Juvia doesn’t think she can walk! Gray-sama will have to carry her!” She dramatically wailed, but as usual, Gray saw right through her antics.

“Yeah, nice try.” He scoffed.

“Aww...” Juvia’s shoulders sunk. It was worth a shot.

Gray smirked and rolled his eyes. “Here, just in case, wrap your arm around me.”

Juvia lit up all over again. “Ok! That’ll work.” Gray squatted a bit so Juvia could wrap her arm around his shoulders. Gray’s one hand held onto Juvia’s while the other wrapped around her waist for stability.

“Oh, and by the way,” Gray blushed. “I did mean what I said.”

Juvia was a bit confused, and she raised a brow.

Gray grumbled. “Ya’ know, about you being my power to live, or whatever.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I really did mean it.” He looked back at Juvia who had the same expression she had on her face the first time he said it. He quickly averted his gaze again.

“And, actually, you’re not just my power to live. You’re a whole bunch of other stuff too. You’re—well— my world, honestly.” He finally finished, and he felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders when he finally said it.

Juvia gasped with delight, and she tilted her head into Gray. She giggled as they continued walking, and she tightened her grip on Gray’s hand.

“Well, that makes Juvia very happy. Juvia feels the exact same.”

[seekmywayout]

read you like a book

Koi wo Shiranai Bokutachi wa Ikezawa Mizuho/Aihara Eiji

Word Count: 1,579

-

He’s late again, she thinks to herself as her gaze unconsciously moves towards the library door. She’s lost count of how many times her eyes have flitted away from her responsibilities and towards the entrance instead; half expecting, half hoping to see a familiar face.

She doesn’t want to say, but she wants to see him.

Even if it’s for only a short while, she wants to see him.

As if on cue, the door slides open.

She tries to look nonchalant.

“You’re late,” she says matter-of-factly as he strides across the room, his backpack casually slung over his shoulder. He sets it on the ground in the corner of the room before approaching her. She continues, “And I was thinking you were getting better at being more punctual.”

“Oh, but I am getting better,” he replies. “I hate to admit it, but ‘library duty’ is getting ingrained in my mind now.”

She raises a single brow. “Yet you were still late.”

“Okay, I was already on my way home but something felt a little off, like I was forgetting something,” he explains to her. He stops himself for a second.

“Thought I left something behind for a moment, but then I remembered the library committee. And then I remembered you were also glaring at me earlier today.” He fakes a shudder. “So it must’ve been library duty.”

She feels her cheeks flush. “I was not glaring.”

But she can’t deny that maybe she did steal a glance or two at him during class.

“Well, even if I’m a little late, at least I’m here now,” he proclaims. “So, what’re we doing today?”

“I’ve been working on putting away the shipment of new books,” she states, pointing at her cart of books. She gestures towards another cart next to hers. “This is the ‘Return’ pile. Would you?”

He rolls up his sleeves and starts thumbing over book spines. “Sure, sure.”

They fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as they begin their work. She puts away several non-fiction books, making a mental note in her mind of the ones that seemed useful. A first peek into new arrivals was the primary benefit of library duty, really. She suspects he may feel similarly.

It’s a comfortable silence, yet she unabashedly wants more.

“I was reading Duma Key the other day,” she brings herself to say, gaze moving towards him. 

He looks up at her, prompted by the sound of her voice, and she sees his eyes light up. “For real? You? The one by Stephen King?”

She lets out a quiet huff in response. “Yes, the one by Stephen King. I thought I would give it a try. It is… different from a lot of the other novels I’ve read, but it’s good. Terrifying, yet gripping.”

“Right? He really is the king of suspense,” he concurs. “So hard to put one of his books down once you start.”

She finds herself nodding in agreement. “I stayed up longer than I was planning to last night because of it.”

He laughs then, and she tries not to let the sound distract her too much from their conversation. “His writing does that to you. Ah, yeah, Ikezawa—kind of related, I mentioned to you before that I read A Tale of Two Cities recently, right?”

Suddenly, she feels warm. “Yes, you did.”

“Uh, since classic literature is more your thing, I was wondering if you had any recommendations for something similar?” he asks. His right hand moves to scratch the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s usually not what I read but A Tale of Two Cities was actually pretty good. Maybe there’s more out there that I’m missing.”

She doesn’t disagree with that sentiment—it’s part of the reason why she chose to read Duma Key herself. She doesn’t necessarily want to say the other part.

With his request in mind, she brings a hand to her chin and takes a moment to ponder. 

“Maybe Great Expectations or Bleak House. They are both also written by Charles Dickens. Crime and Punishment might be another one you’ll like. The author is…” She pauses. “I’ve forgotten his name; it was something Russian.”

“Oh,” he hums. “Crime and Punishment sounds interesting.”

“Ah, it’s a really fascinating character study that pulls you deep into the mind of the main character. I actually saw it earlier in the ‘Return’ pile if you’re interested in it.” She points towards his trolley of books.

“Yeah, it sounds like it’d be a good read,” he readily agrees, his attention turning to the stack of books.

As he says those words, she reaches forwards, trying to help him find the novel. She notices his own hands moving through the pile, so close to hers.

What if, she thinks, our hands touched?

It will be something straight out of a shoujo manga, she supposes. Not that she’s read many, but the few she’s flipped through at the recommendation of her classmates had similar such scenes.

Fingers touching, cheeks flushed, stolen glances…

Then they would sneak a whispered kiss, hidden away behind bookshelves, away from the prying eyes of fellow library committee members.

It would be their secret—soft and sweet and heart-wrenching.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks suddenly, face turned towards her.

His voice breaks her out of her thoughts and she’s nothing short of scandalized at how overactive her imagination has become.

She clears her throat and attempts to sound unperturbed as she answers, “Yes, I’m fine.”

I’m not fine.

He cocks an eyebrow at her and she tries not to think too much about the genuine concern that crosses his features, or how their fingers never actually touched. She quietly wishes they had. “You sure? You just kinda froze for a bit; had a funny look on your face, to be honest.”

“That’s just my face,” she instinctively snaps. He startles slightly and she bites her tongue. He has no ill intent, she knows.

“Yes, I’m sure; I’m fine,” she says again, consciously changing her tone. “But thank you for your concern, Aihara.”

I’m not fine, not normal. Not when he looks at her like that. Not when her heart beats so fast there’s no way that it’s natural. Not when her mind drifts so easily towards thoughts of him, of him and her.

“Well, anyway, I found the book.” He holds it up to show her and starts leafing through the pages. “Thanks for the recommendation!”

She watches as he flips to the beginning of the novel and skims through the text. He mouths the words to himself silently as he reads; she especially likes the way his teeth catch on his lower lip as he does so. 

“Solid start,” he says eventually, before closing the book and setting it aside. “Thanks a ton, Ikezawa.”

He looks up then, and their eyes meet. She abruptly turns her head away.

I was staring at him again, she realizes. But it’s hard not to.

“... I hope you’ll enjoy it,” she responds, her voice softer than she intended it to be. He gives her a crooked smile in return and looks back towards the mountain of books that still need to be sorted. Quietly, she follows suit.

It’s hard not to stare when he gives her those smiles.

It’s hard not to stare when she doesn’t know what to do with the rapid beating of her heart.

It’s hard not to stare when she wants him to look at her too.

And maybe he’s not suited for love after all, as he says, but she’ll wait. She’ll wait because not too long ago, she wasn’t either. Now, she lets the feeling slowly bloom in her chest, cherishes the warmth that spreads throughout her body at the sight of him, and the bursts of happiness that erupt whenever he smiles in her direction.

But, she doesn’t know what to do or how to act around him.

She hasn’t felt this confused about something since she first read Ulysses and found herself grappling against the literary behemoth.

If only she could read him like a book, she thinks. Sometimes, she feels like she still hasn’t got past the cover.

She wonders instead if she is easy to read—if her face betrays every emotion, spoils every hidden plot twist within her heart.

She wonders how her story will unfold.

“You know, Aihara,” she speaks up, “there’s another story that I’m interested in.”

They both look up at each other while their hands continue to fumble through their book sorting duty.

“Oh yeah? What is it?” he asks, sincerely.

It’s cute. She finds herself inwardly cursing her small crush on Hugh Jackman. 

“Is it another Charles Dickens?” he guesses.

She shakes her head. “No, this story hasn’t started yet.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” he questions with a slight tilt of his head.

She feels an uncharacteristically soft, girlish giggle bubble to her lips. “I’ll tell you, but not today. Some other day.”

He crosses his arms to his chest and a contemplative frown forms on his lips. It’s quiet for a moment as she watches him, wondering what he’ll say to her, then he flashes her a lopsided grin. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that, Ikezawa.”

“And I’ll let you,” she says without missing a beat.

He blinks.

Then, he beams, “I’m looking forward to it!”

She finds herself smiling back naturally, because—

It will be the beginning of their story.

-

a/n:

set in an AU where I can be happy. I didn’t think too much about timelines but it’d probably fit somewhere before her confession ig

this fic is for all the Ikezawa fans out there, all 5 of us. Also I wish I could’ve written them in like… an actual relationship but that’s legitimately not my writing style for the most part lol. Maybe I could try again another time. 

...I actually have not read a single book I mentioned in this story LOL

also I may end up posting this to ao3 later and de-anon myself but w/e, it’s nothing i haven’t done before tbh.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Nickovich (pt.3)

By the time Nicky gets back to the van, stolen vodka in one pocket, stolen cookies and bananas in another and a tray of fully-paid-for-including-tip coffees in another, Mickey has a plan.

“Will you fuckin …”

Mickey glowers at the doors as Nicky hoots and does an elaborate triple knuckle-rap on the metal.

“That doesn’t sound anything like a fuckin’ owl.”

“Oh really? City boy like you heard a lot of owls in your time?”

Nicky laughs, clambering into the van and handing Mickey his cup. He looks at it and raises his eyebrows, lips pressed tightly together.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Coffee. You know? Wake up juice? Java? Old Joe?”

“I know what coffee is, this ain’t coffee.”

“What? Why?”

Nicky sips her own happily, but her eyes are dancing with mischief and Mickey is almost certain that she is being a dick.

“It looks like a fuckin’ kids toy.”

“But tastes like heaven. Oh! Open the lid! You’ll love it!”

Mickey pulls off the elaborate little white lid, embossed with shooting stars, and pulls a disgusted face at the sparkling contents.

“Whaaaat the ...”

“Unicorn cafe – all the cool kids hang out there. They have these adorable little cups with the pictures on them and even the black coffee is served with edible glitter. Neat, huh?”

Mickey shakes his head, sniffing the cup cautiously.

“No. Not neat. What sort of fuckin’ numbskull wants … forget it.”

He puts the cup down disdainfully and Nicky tips her head back and laughs loudly

“You are such a grump! Jesus! I literally bought you magic unicorn coffee and you’re still mad.”

“You …? Ok, one: I bought these and I bet there is no fuckin’ change if it’s all glittery and shit. Two: this shit ain’t magic, it’s stupid crappy coffee with stupid crappy glitter in it and ...”

Nicky is wheezing with laughter and Mickey gives up, shooting her a dirty look.

“Whatever.”

He picks up his cup and cautiously takes a sip. It’s strong and dark and deceptively good. He hasn’t had decent coffee in … well. Over a year.

“You like?”

“No.”

Mickey lies, but sips it again and Nicky smirks happily at him. They drink in companionable silence for a while, their earlier scuffle all but forgotten.

“Hey, you’re gonna have to get lost for a while. I got shit to do.”

Mickey says at last and Nicky nods amiably – getting lost for a while suggests having another night of shelter. She can make that work.

“Sure. What’s the plan then?”

“Huh?”

“To woo your man! Make him swoon into those muscular arms and run off into the sunset with you!”

Mickey’s lip quirks but he shrugs a little cagily

“Come on. Tell me. I have literally nothing else to do but listen to you. There is no better sounding board than that for ideas.”

Mickey hesitates and then shrugs again. The woman is clearly bat-shit crazy but she knows something is up with him and if she wanted, she could have had cops crawling all over him by now, instead she’s bought him coffee and is waving a packet of cookies in his direction. She’s not exactly a friend but she’s something.

“Okay, well I know where he lives, my brother Ig… my brother, checked that out when he got me my stuff.”

Mickey breaks off, kicking the bag by his foot which contains Ian’s photo. He would have trusted no one but Mandy or Iggy to retrieve that and was surprised and touched by the care which Iggy had packed it, tucking it neatly inside a lesbian porno DVD case.

“Right, knowing where to find him. Good start.”

Nicky nods

“Yeah, so I’m gonna swing by and wait for him to come out, then I think probably me and my brothers are gonna grab him, stick him in the back of the van and drive somewhere we can talk.”

Nicky scrunches her nose and looks at Mickey like a disappointed teacher with a student who just peed in the paint pots.

“Kidnap. You’re gonna kidnap him?”

“No … Yeah a little but it’s fine.”

Mickey rubs the back of his neck self-consciously

“He kidnapped my kid once so it’ll be like we’re even.”

“He … what? I … It doesn’t matter. OK, kidnap is not the same of borrowing sweaters, you can’t take his cause he took yours.”

Nicky says gently, handing Mickey a cookie and curling his fingers around it when he hesitates.

“I know that, but I … well I can’t just take him for a beer, can I?”

He bites into the cookie and sighs through his nose, chewing thoughtfully

“True. Yeah you are in a bit of a limited dating sphere right now but how about inviting him?”

“How?”

“A text? A call?”

Mickey shakes his head and takes another gulp of glittery coffee

“No, I can’t. I got a burner but if the … well if it was found out that he was in contact with me, it could cause some issues for him, you know?”

Mickey winces realising he is giving far too much away but Nicky was right, having a someone who actually wants to listen to what he is saying is pretty good.

“OK, so how many burners do you have? Could we get him one?”

Mickey nibbles along the length of his bottom lip, thinking. He has four, he could definitely give Ian one if he can find a way to get it to him.

“Can your brother’s give it to him?”

“Maybe. I dunno. They’re good at the heavy stuff but even … even the one who helped me scope him out just ain’t great at keeping things calm. I don’t wanna freak him out.”

Nicky opens her mouth to say something about kidnap being a little freaky for most people but stops herself. The kid is clearly batshit crazy but he’s becoming sort of a friend and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Besides he is probably only crazy when it comes to this redheaded guy and Nicky knows that feeling well.

“I could help? Take me with you, I’ll give him the burner, tell him Possum says hi and to pick up if he wants to say hi back.”

Mickey frowns but doesn’t immediately dismiss it. Nicky’s point about kidnapping is probably valid and Mickey has enough issues with how this whole thing is going without adding guilt over terrifying Ian or worse, pissing him off and making him go all stubborn-chin douchebag about it ...

“Yeah … yeah OK.”

He drains the cup, tilting it upside down to get the sludgy dregs and grins at Nicky with a mouthful of golden edged teeth. She grins back a little anxiously and hands him a bottle of water, hoping he’ll swish it around a bit before looking in the mirror.

*

They pull up outside the Gallagher house a little while later. Mickey has fussed about his hair so much that Nicky has finally given him her beanie to wear. They still can’t find the scissors but Nicky has promised to lift some from a drug store while he’s with Ian and sort it out later.

“Which house is it?”

“That one.”

Mickey points and there is a wistful quality to his voice that makes Nicky want to pull him into a tight hug but she narrowly resists the urge.

“Okay. So what now?”

“Put your hood up, sunglasses on and get ready to move.”

“Seriously, I think it would be better for me to hand it to him. I am not a pickpocket and I will probably drop the fuckin’ thing.”

Nicky looks at the little cell in her hand. He wants her to plant it on his ex-lover but she has no idea how to go about doing that and his detailed explanation – whilst vivid and very expressive – does little to encourage her confidence.

“Just fuckin’ slip it in his pocket. He’s a big fucker and you’re tiny, you can’t miss.”

“I’m gonna miss. Like, can we just get that clear right now?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette, ignoring her nervousness as a lifetime of experience has taught him that it is the best way to make nerves go away.

The Gallagher front door opens and Ian appears, glorious in a … a fuckin’ EMT uniform? Mickey beams and thumps the steering wheel in sudden, all encompassing joy. Gallagher made something of himself! Holy fuck! Pride forms a solid, painful lump in Mickey’s throat and he blinks a few times not wanting to miss a second.

“Is that him? Shit. He’s pretty!”

“Yeah he is.”

Mickey nods watching Ian turn to lock the front door, his eyes inadvertently following the long, straight line of his back and the sweet round swell of his ass in the fitted navy pants.

Mickey looks down at his lap, there is the beginnings of an erection straining against dirty jeans and his hands gripping the wheel are grimy too.

The last visitation Ian saw him at, Mickey had bribed and intimidated his way into an extra shower and a decent razor to shave with, he’d even managed to get some hair wax for a couple of cigarettes and a jello-pot. Not the good kind he liked but still, he looked presentable even in the jumpsuit. He doesn’t look presentable now.

“Okay I’m ready ...”

Nicky has her hood up and shades on and looks like a damn human fly but Mickey is suddenly paralysed with fear. He can’t see Ian like this. Not with him looking so … and Mickey looking SO …

“No … wait ...”

Mickey watches with rising panic as Ian skips down the steps, pausing to check his cell phone. He is so achingly beautiful that Mickey can hardly stand it. He has filled out, looks older and more mature … he looks like a fucking man. When did that happen? When did he lose those last traces of that freckled, teenage kid who Mickey fell so damn hard for?

“Dude! He’s going! Possum! Shit!”

Nicky is tugging his arm and Mickey scrubs his hands over his face hard

“Okay … yeah okay .. fuckin’ go! GO!”

Mickey all but shoves her from the van and Nicky stumbles across the road, almost dropping the phone as he fingers slick with sweat.

“Come on, Nichols, don’t be a douche. Just … fuck … he’s big… okay. Stop talking to yourself just focus.”

Nicky bobs awkwardly left, then right looking for an opening. The red headed EMT Adonis is watching her suspiciously and in the van, it is Mickey’s turn to sigh like a disappointed teacher.

Nicky feigns right as Ian feigns left and in a panic of missing him completely she veers wildly and they slam together in a brief tussle.

The phone slips from her fingers and lands at his feet.

Shit.

Nicky has literally never been so embarrassed in front of two people who’s names she doesn’t even know and she tries to claw back a little dignity by following the plan and keeping her chin up as she walks away.

*

Mickey watches intently as Ian glances down and then at the retreating back of the hooded person. Mickey takes a deep breath, presses a button and lifts his phone to his ear. The cell beside Ian’s left foot starts ringing and he cautiously stoops to pick it up. He hesitates for a moment and then flips the lid.

Mickey feels like he is going to faint but when he speaks, his tone is nonchalant

“Miss me?”

“Mickey!”

Ian breathes the word and Mickey isn’t sure if it is a curse or a prayer. It almost doesn’t matter.    

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Miley Cyrus Known as Out For 'Direct Theft' Over Abortion Cake Put up!

http://tinyurl.com/y6qwwttf Miley Cyrus tried to make a feminist assertion on Instagram Tuesday, and her greatest opposition is… one other feminist. In case you missed it, the She Is Coming singer introduced a collab with Marc Jacobs and Deliberate Parenthood — a trendy hoodie to lift cash for the ladies’s well being group. Related: Miley Breaks Silence After Being Groped By Fan She made the announcement — in typical Miley style — together with her tongue. Um, we guess most individuals use their tongues to make bulletins… You realize what we imply! She Miley’ed it! Right here’s the publish she placed on her IG Tuesday morning: Simply an hour later the cake pic was panned not by proper wing pro-lifers or delusional males’s rights activists, however by a feminist baker named Becca Rea-Holloway. Becca posts on IG beneath the title TheSweetFeminist — utilizing Mary Poppins’ spoonful of sugar technique to ship statements about girls’s healthcare and different struggles. Right here’s a scrumptious sampling of her work: Oh, and this one… View this post on Instagram Last night, HB314 passed Alabama’s Senate. It is now the most restrictive anti-abortion law in the country – it makes abortion a felony at conception, punishable by up to 99 years imprisonment (note: the governor has not signed this law yet. *Abortion is still legal in Alabama*, and this law will be challenged). One thing that’s been bothering me a lot lately (other than the systematic degradation of our collective right to bodily autonomy) is the willingness of some to write off the states where these laws are passing. If you’re writing off these states as “backwards”, or calling for a general boycott (which organizers on the ground are saying is not a good idea) you are also saying that you are willing to abandon the residents of those states who do and will need access to abortion. Abandoning Alabama, or Georgia, or Ohio will not save you. It just feeds into the false narrative that abortion access is only for some. Abortion access should not depend on geography. If you buy into the idea that Alabama and other states like it are “backwards”, you erase all the factors that shape lawmaking there (like: disenfranchisement and voter suppression, racism), as well as the people who are on the ground working towards reproductive justice. If we are willing to abandon the residents of Alabama, or Georgia, or Ohio, we are complicit. It’s not enough for abortion to still be accessible for some. It must be safe, legal, and accessible for everyone. Today is a good day to donate to @yellowfund, @sistersong_woc @ppse_advocates #thesweetfeminist #sweetfeminism A publish shared by Becca Rea-Holloway (@thesweetfeminist) on Could 15, 2019 at 5:28am PDT Yep, that one proper there’s the problem. Becca reposted Miley’s picture, evaluating the cake Miley is tasting to her personal work — accusing Miley in no unsure phrases of “direct theft”: “@mileycyrus simply introduced a collaboration with @marcjacobs @plannedparenthood @happyhippiefdn utilizing this picture. It’s a direct theft of my very own unique artwork work from Could 2018, with no credit score. It’s actually my actual handwriting, message, and idea. Swipe for comparability! Cake artwork is for everybody, however that is inexcusable.” It’s positively the identical idea, although not so certain about that handwriting half. Miley and her crew responded to the baker instantly, saying it was an sincere mistake and making it clear they have been NOT placing the cake on the hoodie they have been promoting, simply making a picture for the ‘gram. So, you realize, in a roundabout way earning profits off of Becca’s work. Related: That Time Miley Accused Urban Outfitters Of Stealing Ideas They wrote: “Hello, we noticed the picture on-line and didn’t notice it was yours. We’ll completely tag you to your work. This picture will not be on the Marc Jacobs x Deliberate Parenthood hoodie we made to lift cash and consciousness for Deliberate Parenthood which I do know can be near your coronary heart. It’s simply on the publish and never on the merchandise however we are going to completely tag you and provide the credit score to your artwork. If you happen to may please appropriate your publish, as we’re going to be sure you have all of the credit score you deserve… thanks for sharing your artwork and provoking us. 🎂” Was it actually that onerous to trace again? We imply, the picture did go viral, particularly amongst incensed pro-life teams for whom frosting can be apparently sacrosanct. Simply take our phrase for it; we don’t suggest googling “abortion cake”. So it’s doable Miley and her crew noticed the image and couldn’t discover the originator… nevertheless it makes ya marvel how exhausting they tried, proper? What they did do was tag @TheSweetFeminist within the picture. So all good, proper? No. Not all good. Becca shot again: “Hello there, I admire your fast response and I’m thrilled that Miley is working with Deliberate Parenthood to assist their unbelievable work. Whereas I acknowledge your tag (though it also needs to be within the caption itself), it doesn’t change the truth that my work was used with out compensation and with out my consent and it’s not adequate. My unique picture was shared extensively, nevertheless it definitely wouldn’t have been tough for somebody in your crew to hint it again to the supply (that is clear from the quantity of people that instantly acknowledged it as my work). This was not an oversight, it was blatantly and willfully neglectful and deceitful. I’d have been very happy to work with you on a collaboration for this venture, however as a substitute my work was simply copied with out compensation. Somebody obtained paid to make, model, and {photograph} this cake, and it wasn’t me. It’s additionally completely unacceptable that you just deleted my touch upon the publish.” However that was simply the preheating. She continued: “This has additionally opened me as much as unbelievable vitriol out of your followers – I’ve gotten lots of of threatening, horrible feedback and messages up to now couple of hours for merely declaring that my work had been stolen. I hope you perceive that this kind of mistake has critical, tangible penalties for artists like myself. Truthfully I discover it laughable that you just assume you’re able to ask me to edit the language on a publish by myself feed advocating for myself in a manner that has no incorrect info.” Yeah, this feud doesn’t present any indicators of cooling off any time quickly. We wish to know what YOU assume, Perezcious readers??   [Image via Joe Pepler/PinPep/Dave Starbuck/Future Image/WENN.] Source link