#ok tagging things now additional thoughts OVER

[biasomnia]

Ignore me if I am getting stuff wrong but I’ve recently begun to think of Viktor’s journey throughout Arcane in the context of the classic gothic sci-fi novel Frankenstein (I specify novel due to not watching any of the movies). It’s fascinating how Viktor is both the creature (“Adam”) and, uhm, Victor Frankenstein himself.

~Essay below the cut for your scrolling ease~

Firstly, it’s clear in season 1 how Viktor = Victor. Both are bright eyed students yearning for knowledge and to make change with professors warning them to not get lost within the ideals to the post they lose their morals. Unlike Victor Frankenstein, Viktor sees the horrors of the Hexcore only after it as killed, yet like the tale of yore he has no strength to beat his creature alone. So Viktor asks Jayce for help.

Now, Jayce is our Frankenstein. Another bright eyed inventor, doomed to create. He brings the dead to life with an unexplained science. Yet unlike Victor, Jayce sees his resuscitated creature with awe at first when it awakens. All his theories are true. Yet it, Viktor, languishes. An unnatural life, an unnatural body, fused with his creature into something new. Like the creature, he flees, desperate to find out who he, who it is.

I would consider Viktor in act 2 of season 2 a continuation of him as the creature, if the creature was seen as a messenger of god. As the creature once said, “.. I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..” (Chapter 10). Viktor is if the creature were truly allowed to be Adam, to be the first of the new mankind. The next step of Evolution. One could argue he still represent Victor within his scientific pursuits, but I’d retort the creature has as much of a smart mind as his creator, willing to push himself.

Sadly for Viktor, Jayce has no awe left. He has fully embraced being Frankenstein, seeing his choice after the bombing as an inhumane mistake. Jayce declares his goal: to right his wrongs. Unlike both Viktor and Victor, Jayce has the strength to do so. He brings himself infront of his creature. Something made with his friend’s body, wearing his friend’s face, his friend’s memories recognizing Jayce and feeling safe. So Jayce must tighten his grip on the hammer kill it.

When act 3 begins, Viktor is now an amalgamation of both the creature and Frankenstein. He is something new and feared, something that wants and begs for its creator’s love and acknowledgement. He is someone exploring a new field, seeking praise as he delves into waters too deep for people to handle, not noticing the air leaving his lungs as he drowns in the knowledge around him. He creates many a creature, each a cherished doll.

I’d say that Jayce is also a similar amalgamation, something touched and formed by something, someone, higher than him. Someone else’s creature, a horrid reminder of everything that world lost nestled within his hands. He is still Frankenstein, as seen with “My partner died in this room.” (S2, Act III). I think there is more to be said on Jayce’s journey in the context of Frankenstein but it’s 1am and I could make a more official essay later. I felt it important to include this short paragraph, however, before we delve into our conclusion.

The two finally stand face to face once more, the lines are blurred on who is the creature and the creator, but that does not matter now. No matter which of the two they are, they want the other dead. So they fight and the lines blur further and further till the two have to look at eachother, at their human faces in the cosmic plane. The line is gone. Both Viktor and Jayce are the creators of Hextech, the new science that was a piece of ever tragedy. Both are creatures made by Hextech, unable to live without it. So like Victor and the creature, Jayce and Viktor realize they have no place left in the world. So they leave it, letting the world distort and contort their story as time passes by.

[cookies-after-dark]

ok but imagine pv smilk and reader having something going, relationship going steady, freak is on™, people kinda get the hint that this is a committed poly relationship

but! some poor soul makes a pass on the reader (thinking that the relationship is open and they're up for grabs)

you cannot tell me these two mfkers aren't the most possessive ass bitches (pv undercover) when it comes to each other and their partner (i'm hinting at possessive sex bro it would be so good)

pv 🤝 smilk

"that's my boyfriend and my partner and if u look too much im gonna bite."

they live in my mind rent free i need to write an eviction notice- i am so so sorry if this is nonsensical

(additional tags: possessiveness, unhealthy dynamics, beast x ancient

ships: Pure Vanilla Cookie x gender neutral!reader x Shadow Milk Cookie)

Okay so this ask resonated within my soul. I've wanted to write about just how willing Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk are willing to share the one that holds their affections, across many different dynamics (yandere suitors sharing vs. normal poly relationship between three mostly stable individuals, etc.)

But I really, really like the thought of the two of them just closing the relationship after they include you in it. Because I love to see Shadow Milk when he's a snarling, spitting animal and PV needs to be possessive over his belongings friends and family more because I said so and it brings me joy.

I think they both would handle it quite differently, their jealousy. Shadow Milk Cookie is all external force, his hackles raise when he sees another cookie rub their hands over your back when they hug you. Shadow Milk Cookie is insecure desperate and clingy enough to shoot first ask questions later if he feels you're drifting away from him.

You're not, you tell him that when he's curled around you like some type of hissing weasel.

He believes you, but he just wouldn't feel better if he didn't teach that other cookie a little lesson! One should know better than to enroach on his territory.

Shadow Milk Cookie feels nonthreatened only when it's Pure Vanilla Cookie (and his other Beast friends, as he has expressed to the two of you eagerly). He doesn't mind it, loves it even when he finds their scent on you as he wraps himself around you. It's quite comforting.

But a stranger's touch on you feels wrong, like a sin. Shadow Milk Cookie actually gets very antsy until he's at least sniffed out this foolish doughbrain and assure himself that this won't happen twice.

You and Pure Vanilla Cookie have helped a lot on this regard; Shadow Milk's wrath used to mean something serious. Well, relentlessly stalking a cookie and pulling meanspirited "pranks" on them still is quite serious. Baby steps, everyone!

Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not nearly as unhinged and unstable as his Beast partner is. In fact, I think it would take a much bigger push to feel like Pure Vanilla had to step in. He's patient, kind, and understanding.

But Pure Vanilla also feels jealousy, like any other cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't puff out his chest and start strutting around like a peacock when someone flirts with you. Actually, he thinks it's quite flattering that his partner is attractive enough for such a positive response!

(But if I just left it at that and didn't find some way to make Pure Vanilla Cookie's hackles rise then we wouldn't be here right now.)

I think the thing that gets Pure Vanilla's eyes to snap open is when someone persists with you. Fair enough, anyone with a partner would feel the need to smile a bit more tightly and wander over to put a comforting hand on yltheir shoulder while making subtle eye contact with the pursuer, it's totally normal!

Just a little sign, y'know? A quick nuzzle to your cheek will do the trick.

Unbeknownst to you - there's the faintest reflection of alitted pupils in Pure Vanilla's eyes when his gaze flits towards your increasingly unwelcome guest. Shadow Milk Cookie has been a really good influence, huh?

I think PV would process this internally, more than anything else. You notice he kind of anxiously prowls around you a little bit more, but he goes back to acting like his merry self a day or two later.

Although, his insecurities ring like a bell through his souljam, which Shadow Milk Cookie can feel. They're both watching you much more often than you would think.

And isn't that so sweet? So romantic? You have not one, but two ultra powerful cookies with stable emotions watching your every move, making extra sure that you're safe and sound in their arms, and their arms only! You're in good hands, here.

[im-so-tired-sorry]

The Yellow Blanket

fantasy!kiribaku x pregnant!reader

a/n: this was an inbox ask/request but it was anonymous so idk who to tag ;-; but ik @ashthesalamipiece wanted to be tagged too so here that is lmao also lowkey inspired by the kiribaku fantasy series by Yuzuya on yt also also didnt really know how to end it so its a little rushed sorry

cw: pregnancy, lowkey dont know who the father is woops

--------

Your feet were killing you. You had been walking and standing at this new market that had been touring the village for a good couple hours. With your need to see what vendors and good were available in the town for such a limited time, you gained the motivation to leave the house, even if the rounded weight that centered in your lower abdomen compelled you into a waddle type of walk.

You knew you were due in a couple of weeks, at most a month. And as much as you loved your child more than anyone in the world and as much as you prayed for the healthiest birth, you needed to push this baby out now. The constant aches, pain and general discomfort had you begging your baby to come out already. But as much as you cringed at the sting from your heels and ankles as you took each step, you were beyond excited to meet your addition to your family.

Well, maybe not as excited as your husbands were.

Bakugo and Kirishima and been preparing for the last nine months to be the best dads in the world. Bakugo, learning safety precautions for you and the baby for the birth and the first couple weeks post partum. Kirishima, on the other hand, looked into proper care methods for him and Bakugo to learn in case you weren't around/out of the house. Both of them spent their time building furniture, baby proofing the house, and most importantly, pampering you for the past couple months to make sure you were in the most comfortable state of mind. You were the one carrying their child after all.

If we're being completely honest... none of you knew whose baby it was. The little kicks you endured starting your second trimester had Bakugo's passion and intensity, but the constant hunger and cravings indicated that Kirishima's endless stomach was inherited. Not to mention that no matter whose it was, it was a dragon soul and you had researched that regular humans have experienced more intense births when it was to a dragon soul. Did that freak you out? Maybe. But you knew it would be worth it and that you would take any type of pain as long as your child came out beyond healthy and happy.

"Jewel!" You heard your nickname being shouted across the market by the only dragon shifter, the only man, who would call you that. You turn to see Kirishima making his way through the crowd towards you, and you noticed Bakugo closely behind him.

"Hey, what are you doing here love? Are you ok? We thought you were going to be home by now." Kirishima instinctively scanned his eyes over you to make sure you weren't injured in any way. When his scan came out clean, he placed his hand on your stomach, almost as if to check the baby's vitals as well.

"I'm fine Ei," you placed your hand over his, "just saw there was a market in town on my way home and I wanted to check it out is all."

"Not in this weather. It's a million degrees out." Bakugo scolded as he fanned you. Your husbands were obviously protective of you and the baby, and they always meant well, but sometimes it seemed to sprout an idea of paranoia. Like now, they want to make sure the weather doesn't bother you and they know that the weight has been causing a pain on your feet recently. But it probably has devolved into the idea that any bead of sweat is the last before a heat stroke and that your legs will crumble if you take another step.

But he did have a point; the summer season was coming around and living in the warmer region has slowly been bringing an intense heat. Reluctantly, you agreed it was hot and allowed your husbands to carry your things as you three walked home.

Before reaching the end of the market however, you noticed a particular stand. There were various types of clothes, fabrics, handkerchiefs, and blankets. Out of the selection of blankets, one had caught your eye. You walked towards the stall, leaving your husbands behind, and you grabbed the blanket. It was a small, yellow one, made of soft cotton with a satin lining. The feeling of the cloth was perfect; as soon as you had grabbed it, you couldn't do anything but imagine your baby swaddled up in it.

"When is the little one due?" The merchant lady had asked. She was an older woman, her white hair wrapped in an updo as she fanned herself under the shade of her stall's tent. "Within the next month." You answered, a gleam of excitment hitting your voice as you answered.

Kirishima and Bakugo walked back towards you at the tent and examined what you were holding.

"Do you want it?" Bakugo asked, easily prepared to spoil you. All you had to do was look up at him and nod with a smile on your face before turning to the vendor. "How much for it?"

The old woman looked at you three for a moment. She noticed how Bakugo had placed his hand on the small of your back as he had approached you; how Kirishima held your hand while examining the softness of the blanket with sparkling eyes as you showed it off to him. She knew that this baby was going to be loved by three people who would pour thier hearts and souls for this child.

"Consider it a gift." She answered.

All three of you gave the old woman shocked looks.

"Oh... no ma'am. Thank you but this material and quality is way too valuable to give up without a price. Just let us know-" You were cut off by the woman enveloping her two hands into yours.

"My price is that you swaddle this baby up every night, not only with this, but with all the love and care it deserves. That is all I ask of you." Your eyes began to water; you coudn't tell if it was the genuine kindness or the hormones that were making you so emotional. Either way, you thanked the merchant profusely, and your husbands guided you away before you started crying in front of the stranger.

You held the blanket in your hands all the way home, thinking of how long the blanket could last; you thought of how long it would stay ith your child. A year? Five? Could this blanket possibly be passed down generations? In any way, you vowed to keep the old merchant's wish. Of loving and caring for your baby every night, and to keep them warm and safe and happy, with or without the blanket.

[always-just-red]

Please make a story that zayne is very clingy, sweet , romantic

For Mc

Pretty please

Make it long

Please

Please

Need a food 🥺

Food is served!! (One of these days you guys are gonna see an 'only accepting requests for Rafayel now' post and it'll be Raf hijacking my computer because WHY WAS I CATCHING FEELINGS FOR ZAYNE WHILE WRITING THIS??)

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: Zayne has suggested you skip work today, which isn't suspicious at all...

Genre: Fluff (with a *pinch* of angst)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, some kisses, some mentions of death (just a real mixed bag, you know?)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Do you really have to go?”

Zayne was a lot of things: caring, even doting, but never normally this… clingy.

You pretend not to hear the question, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you get ready to leave. You will answer it— you’re not ignoring him— but you have so much to do, and you’ve answered it three times already. Yes, Zayne. It’s work. You finish lacing your boots. And no, Zayne, I can’t get out of it.

And since when was he an advocate for skipping a shift, anyway? Like blood from a stone, he’d calmly pleaded with you to come up with some sort of excuse and you’d stared back, eyes wide, because you didn’t know stones could bleed.

An excuse? You’d repeated in disbelief.

Yes. You could… tell them you’re sick? I could write you a note.

You’d thought it a joke until he drew out a pen and started scrawling something on the nearest scrap of paper. He’d pushed it into your hands, his gaze earnest, as though he were trusting a co-conspirator. Here, he’d said matter-of-factly, you can give it to your captain tomorrow.

The writing was barely legible.

It’s still crinkling in your pocket now: your little ‘get-out-of-your-Sunday-shift-free’ card, courtesy of Doctor Zayne, and yes, you are going to hold onto it, but it’s not for Jenna. It’s for your apartment wall, where you’ll be mounting it in a golden frame, because absolutely no-one is going to believe you when you tell this story.

You collect your guns from a nearby drawer, checking the sights and the safety on each before holstering them at your sides. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get back,” you shrug.

A nice sentiment— not entirely true. “Or you could stay.” Zayne is looking at your weapons, not you.

He’s sat at the kitchen table, watching you over an untouched breakfast. Yours also sits around him: plates upon plates of every food you could imagine, warm and cold, savoury and sweet. You’d suffered a brief heart attack when you’d first laid eyes on it, presuming you’d forgotten some occasion or another.

There’s even a vase of fresh flowers, flourishing at the centre of it all.

It’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever seen, but you’re starting to think that’s the point. Like a hand on your heart, squeezing; it’s urging you to sit back down, to relax, to surrender and let him take care of you. Are you the worst person in the world? It feels like you are.

Ready to take on anything but more of his gaze, you return to the table, fully-armed, and pluck a strawberry from the edge of a plate. You pop it into your mouth, savouring its sweetness as you stroll behind Zayne’s chair. “Try not to worry,” you mumble, resting your hand on his shoulder while you lean in to kiss his cheek. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

You go to pull away, but his hand lands on your hand, anchoring you to him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting, guiding your fingers in front of his mouth so he can press a few, brisk kisses to each. Your heart is in a vice again— tightening with every brush of his lips. You can’t take it. You can’t.

He knows, and he’s turning in the chair, slipping his free hand around your waist and tugging until you’re crushed up against him. “Stay. Please?” his voice entreats. You can barely hear it from where his face is nestled into you.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and you sigh as your hands move to cradle his head and run your fingers through his hair. You want to enjoy this. Why can’t you enjoy this?

His breath is fanning against you and all you can think about is the fact that he’s making you late.

…

You’re marching to headquarters twice as quickly as usual, and you’ve crashed into three people already. Every time there’s been an impulse to scream “get out of the way!” but you’re wearing your uniform, so you have to apologise, smile sweetly, and pretend you’re not one incident away from turning in your badge and leaving them all to fend for themselves.

Someone steps out in front of you and you have to swerve to miss them, almost dropping your phone in the process. It had just started ringing, and the noise persists as you fumble with it.

“Hello?” you answer, putting it to one ear as you plug the other with a finger.

“Hi!” It’s Greyson, finally, and he’s surprisingly chipper for someone you know is just coming off of his graveyard shift. “I saw your texts. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Thanks for calling. It’s just…”  Everything’s too noisy for you to concentrate, and you’re still essentially running an obstacle course. You peel away from the crowd, ducking into the quiet of an alley. “I’m a little worried about Zayne. He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since—”

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” That couldn’t mean anything good. Your brow furrows. “Did something happen?” 

A drawn-out sigh makes it through the phone, and you know Greyson well enough to know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering just how much he should tell you. “We had a patient transferred to us on Friday,” he caves, “a young woman— a hunter, injured— she was… not in a good way. Recovery odds next to zero, but Zayne? You know Zayne. He had to try.”

You nod, even though Greyson can’t see it. There’s dread in the pit of your stomach; you can tell where this is going.

“She didn’t make it,” he states with the rehearsed evenness of someone who’s spoken the words too many times before. There’s another sigh, then he hastens to add: “Zayne was incredible, though— he did everything he could, really. He was her best chance, he just… wasn’t enough. You can’t save everyone, you know?” He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, you know.”

And you do: you’re just as haunted by that truth and all of its ghosts. “Yeah,” you speak at last, seeing their faces. Your throat hurts. “Thanks, Greyson. Really.”

“That’s ok,” he yawns. “If Zayne asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“You think he’s gonna believe that?”

“No.” He’s smiling, now— you can tell. “But it’s worth a try! You take care of yourself, ok?”

“You too. Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

…

You’ve only been gone for half an hour, but Zayne is fast asleep. Though you’d practically burst through the front door, his head is still lowered— dipping over an open medical journal— and his dark hair has fallen over his eyes. You can’t help but smile. This wasn’t the nervous, pacing-the-apartment man you’d expected to find, but it eases the guilt in your chest for the first time all morning.

You sling your bag from your shoulder and set it gently down on the floor, all the while easing the door closed behind you. You unfasten your holsters. Shrug yourself free of all their straps. You don’t make a sound; you’re being very careful.

Slowly, you make your way over to where Zayne’s lying on the sofa. You lower yourself to his level, reaching to pry his book from his fingers. His glasses are next: you ease them from his face like you’re handling a volatile protocore. Your breath is baited. Your hands almost shake, but you’re an expert at this sort of extraction: you’ve done it a hundred times before.

With your mission accomplished, you allow yourself one small reward. You want to see his face— all of his face— so you card your fingers through his fallen hair, smoothing it back into place. He looks like a dream: the kind you’re glad to carry through daylight, long after you wake. The kind you write down for fear of forgetting a single detail.

You want this, this, this. Every morning. For the rest of your life.

And maybe even the next life. Is that possible?

(You hope it’s possible.)

Standing softly, you smile again— a smile between you and the universe, the gods, and the night sky, in all its infinity. There are things you cannot know and even more things you cannot have, but you are more than content with your consolation prize. This:

One minute of peace, for you and your doctor.

You have a funny feeling this is more than you were ever meant to have.

When your minute is through, you watch as Zayne’s face changes, and he is no longer at peace. He frowns, his whole body suddenly tense. There’s a murmur of… pain? It sounds like pain— he winces like it’s pain. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, but you wish you could hold his hand and make a breakfast big enough to keep him from going there.

“Zayne,” you whisper, resting a warm palm on his cheek. A little louder: “Zayne.”

He stirs in his sleep as your voice brings him back to reality. He’s yours— yours— and the inevitable can have him later. Sure enough, his eyes flutter open, lost for a moment, but then? Home. Safe. With you.

“Hey,” you grin.

He squints against the daylight. “Hmm? Oh. What are you doing back so soon?”

You scoff. “Some doctor you are! I’m at death’s door— can’t you tell?” Your hand leaves his cheek, indicating your not-pallid skin, not-flushed cheeks, and not-sunken eyes with a wave. Then you find his hand, pressing his fingers to your forehead.

There’s a second of hesitation. “Ah,” he says warily, “yes, you’re… burning up.”

“Right?!” 

Despite the severity of your condition, you find the strength to clamber on top of him. It’s anything but graceful, and he groans as you shift and fidget, taking your time getting comfortable. Eventually you settle, your head resting against his chest and his arms holding you close. You’re not tired, but you close your eyes, and this is so much better than patrolling for Wanderers.

He draws you higher so his chin can rest on the top of your head. “Greyson told you, didn’t he?” he ventures aloud, because he’s awake, now, so he’s connecting dots.

“Yeah,” you nod against him. “But if he asks, I said it was Yvonne, ok?”

There’s a hum of agreement, then he’s silent. Thinking again. “I’m sorry,” he finally speaks.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s sweet that you worry. You don’t need to—”

“No,” he stops you. “I care about you a lot, and I’ll never apologise for that. What I am sorry for, however, is that a romantic gesture from me is so unusual that you feel you have to call my colleagues. I know I’m not always outwardly affectionate, but—”

“No.” It’s your turn now, and you twist, angling yourself so you can look up into his eyes. “You always make me feel loved, Zayne. Everything you do, everything you say… it’s for me, and no-one has ever cared about me like that. No-one has ever showed me they care like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because you get it, Zayne— the importance of what I do, because it’s what you do, even if it’s different. We’re both saving the world a little, right?”

“Right.”

You draw out his doctor’s note and shimmy it in front of his eyes. “So what the hell is this?”

He admits guilt with a chuckle, his hand moving to catch the evidence, but you’re one step ahead, stashing it back into the sanctity of your pocket. He issues a short hmph, defeated.

“Come on,” you prompt, escaping his arms. “Let’s not let all that food go to waste. You kept it, yeah? I’ve been dreaming about those chocolate-chip pancakes since I left.”

Zayne had been helping you up, but he slumps back as you finish your sentence. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” he confirms with the trademark nod of a doctor, and it can only mean one thing:

You’re about to receive some very, very bad news.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#376

“Hey Caleb.  You were in that bathroom for a while.  Big shit or were you giving it a tug?  Considering your swim trunks is showing no bulge whatsoever, I doubt you were enjoying your right hand.  Or do you use the left?  Me personally, I’m a lefty….

“Your dad and I were just talking by the pool.  I asked him how long he knew you were gay….  Oh I wish you could see the shocked look on your face.  So you haven’t told him.  He was shocked too.  He said you weren’t.  I told him that I’ve been around sperm burpers all my life and you were a classic pole rider.

“You haven’t said much.  Not one word of protest.  You are just trying to figure out what your next step is going to be.  Don’t worry, I love fucking with your dad.  He’s worked for me for ten years now.  He knows my sense of humor and just brush it off.  Besides he’s been drinking.  But I got enough out of him to convince me that you definitely gob the knob.

“You wanna swing on my dick, or not?  Here let me take it out for ya.  I can see by the lump forming in your shorts that you want it.  Am I right?...  Your dad likes to say that you are quiet and keep to yourself.  I can see that.  Just nod then.

“Ok, let’s do this then.  This guest room’s toilet serves as the overflow bathroom.  Someone will interrupt us.  Come with me.  My bedroom will offer us some more privacy.  Your dad already thinks you are off reading a book on your phone.  Nobody is going to miss me for a while….  It’s a large house.  When I bought it, I had an addition put on for my master suite….  When you enter my bedroom, lose the swim trunks.  Boys are to be naked at all times in my bedroom.

“Damn boy, you are rock hard.  So, were you jerking off or taking a dump in the toilet?...  Look, when it comes to sex, I cut to the point.  There’s no need to be coy.  I’m going to be fucking that pussy of yours, and I want to know if you are empty first.  Good.  Did you also give it a tug?...  Of course, you did. 

“Come here.  Point to the guy you were jerking off to….  You are at a construction company pool party where 80% of the men here work for me.  There are more muscles out there from hard work than a fag like you can take in.  Which one?...

“…Of course, you would go for Stan.  So you like big guys?  He’s six four and built like a brick shit house.  Have you talked to him?...  He can be a bit of an gruff asshole.  The guys call him Ox.  He has a dick to match.  Not the brightest guy, but damn he’s a hard worker and a brutal fucker.  Yeah, he’s tag teamed with me a couple of times.  He can fuck for hours.

“Come with me.  This closet door leads downstairs to my hidden playroom.  I had it specifically designed and loaded up for just about every kink my dick was interested in.  You’re what 20?  You probably don’t know about all these things.  I do know this: you are leaking up a storm. 

“Don’t touch yourself.  Let the leak flow.  Why don’t you have a look around?  I need to text a few of my guests to let them know that I had to step away for a bit.

“That’s a St. Andrew’s cross.  If you have an interest in being whipped, I’d be happy to oblige….  Didn’t think so. 

“Those are my four rim seats.  They are for eating ass.  Depending on my mood, they vary based on how secure the boy is underneath.  That last one secures the boy’s legs up so he can get fucked while he’s eating my shithole. 

“No. No.  Leave your dick alone.  I want you to leak….

“There.  All the appropriate texts have been sent.  Now, we’ll have some time to really have fun.  Come over there.  This is a fuck bench.  Simple.  Easy access both holes.  Climb up.  Knees go here; elbows here.

“Oh, you have a pretty cunt.  Nice….  Oh, you are not as tight as I thought you would be; my finger just slid in.  I take it you are not a virgin.  That’s fine.  I get it, a cunt needs to be fed.  You get fucked at college?...  Kinda figured. 

“Ever been tied up?...  No?  There’s always a first time. 

“Ok, so here’s the situation.  I’ve applied a small amount of lube to your cunt lips.  Your mouth, or rather your throat needs to put some slime on me.  I will probably go between your holes.

“I put a sludge plate under your dick to collect your pre-cum and when I eventually allow you, your cum.

“Open wide…. Oh fuck.  Your mouth feels good.  Oh shit, you know how to work your tongue.  You little faggot whore.  Oh man.  Fuck.

“I gotta try that cunt.  If it’s as good as your throat, boy…

“…Right to the root.  Right to the fucking root.  Wait.  What the fuck?...  Do that again….  Boy you are something.  I could just stand here, and you can squeeze my cock like that all day.  It feels like you are jerking me off with your hole.

“Where the fuck did you learn all this?  No twenty-year-old stumbles on how to treat a cock like you.  Who taught you?

“…Your math professor?  Damn, I never would have thought a math professor would have been so twisted. 

“Say faggot, you have a job?...  Living off your dad, hunh?  You probably go out looking for dick when he’s at work.  You fucking faggot whore.  How would you like to come work for me?  It’ll be in my main office.  It’s a tiny office, just me and my manager Dwight.  You’ll actually have office responsibilities in addition to servicing me and Dwight.  Yeah, he’s another guy that I work with that I play around with.  I employ four or five guys that also enjoy using faggots like you, although Dwight also uses bitches too.

“This is a serious offer.  Your dad doesn’t need to know anything other than you are working in my office.  I need to have these holes accessible.  You want to do that?...

“…Fuck yeah!  I’m getting close faggot.  Keep doing what you are doing.  Oh shit.  Oh shit!  Here it cums!  Shit yeah!

“You keep performing like this, and I’ll pay you what I do your dad.

“So, did the math professor teach you other kinks?…  Eating ass and piss drinking!  Hell yeah!  So you have been under a rim seat?...  No, he just sat on your face.  Did he tie you up, or get rough?...  He wanted to?  Boy, when a man wants to use you the way he wants you need to let him.

“Oh fuck, climb down.  And keep my load in you.  Here hop up on this fuck table.  I want to sample that tongue.  Legs go in the stirrups.  I will be securing your legs in them….  Wrists will be secure at your sides in these cuffs.

“You still in contact with the professor?...  Good.  I want to invite him over some weekend so we can use you all weekend long. 

“This table was designed for butt play as well as eating ass.  Your head goes here onto the head rest off the end.  I can lower the head rest and your head back so that opens your throat to a deep straight throat fuck, but I primarily use it by lifting it up like this to support your head when I straddle it like this.  Now your face is wedged in my ass, with me just standing here.  Get that tongue going.

“Oh fuck.  Fag, this will definitely be part of your office responsibilities.  Dwight will love it too.  As will Ox….

“Hey Ox….

“Faggot, I took the liberty of telling Ox to join us when I sent out those texts.

“Holy shit Ox, this is Murphy’s boy.  He’s a total cunt pig.  I just hired him to work for me in the main office.  Wait until you try his holes. 

“Shut up faggot!  This doesn’t concern you….  Get back to sticking your tongue into my shitter.

“He does this pulse thing with his cunt muscles.  You have to try it.  My load is still inside.

“Hey fagboy, you ever have a baseball bat in your cunt?...  No?...  Well it would have been practice for what’s about to be shoved into you.  You know that bulge you jerked off to is going in your twat.

“Scream in my ass.  Keep that tongue going in deep.  Oh fuck! 

“Look at how much he’s leaking.  Give it to him.  Hard.  He’s shaking.  Keep plowing….  Oh shit!  He’s fucking cumming.  Without his hands, that’s fucking amazing.

“Fag, I don’t care that you shot a huge load.  Ox takes a while to get going.  I’ll be right back.  Ron Owens needs to try you out. 

“Fag, while I’m gone, I want you to focus on the man you jerked off to—the man that is tearing up your cunt.  Here, let me undo your hands.  Run them over his chest.  Feel those muscles and that chest hair.

“Ox, don’t you dare cum before we get back.  Keep pile driving into him, and don’t let up, even if he begs.”

“Faggot, this is only the beginning….”

[noroi1000]

Hi! It's me ...again hahaha.

I hope you're ok, I'm really glad see your updates again.

I see you have open request and I want to try it. I'm in love with werewolf Suguru...what about a mating and heat cycle with his lovely mate? And jelousy scene because other werewolf it's just nice with Y/N, not in romantic way, just being nice.

Basically shameless smut. Hahaha I'm really sorry if it's uncomfortable for you, my apologies. But I'm in ovulation week so... I'm just hot v: and I love Suguru so much.

Really my apologies if it's make you uncomfortable.

Please stay healthy and have a lovely week!!good luck in school!!

I'm in heat

•°-Shameless smut-°• +18

Werewolf Geto in heat cycle x mate reader

NSFW: breeding, rut, pussy eating, possessive sex, knot fucking, marking

Words:3k

His body was sweaty when you touched him. And he just woke up. Was he too hot at night?

Maybe werewolves have different temperature needs?

After all, werewolves stand out even in appearance from other people.

For example, your partner and his best friend. And others too.

If he has any other temperature needs, why aren't you informed? You are his mate!

"Suguru? Are you too hot?" you asked, rubbing his bare back gently.

He was sweating.

"Hot..." he muttered as he sat on the bed with his back to you. "I'm going to take a cold shower."

"Are you okay?” you asked, placing your hand on his muscles. You ran your fingers over his skin, gently scratching his back because he liked it.

His low ponytail lay loose on his back.

He turned his head to the side to look at you.

You smiled slightly at him. Your hair in a mess as your soft thighs were clearly accentuated by the fact that the sleeping shorts he bought you were really short.

A camisole hugged your breasts and one strap fell off your shoulder.

He forgot he started the heat cycle today...

Why did he forget again...

Last time he lied to you that he was going to another city for a few days. And at the time he was in his apartment trying to survive his heat.

Since he's with you, his heat comes on so intensely. That's what happens when you have a partner.

You have been his mate for two months, but the first month you managed to avoid his several-day rut.

Last month, because he didn't want to hurt you, he went on a trip to wait it out.

And this month? He can't... He can't come up with an excuse to go anywhere.

In addition, your smell intensifies what is happening in his body.

Your neck looks so pretty and appetizing. Bite that spot and tag you again. Just like he did for the first time during sex. However, he didn't have a heat cycle back then. So he could control himself.

And now he knew it wouldn't work.

Your appearance was so striking to his eyes. His pupils dilated so much, swallowing the violet in his eyes.

My heart sped up. His body was so eager to pounce on you, and mark his mate again. To cover you with its scent. To mark yourself as his.

Your scent entered his nostrils, and he thought he was drooling.

Your scent so intense and sweet.

He failed to calculate everything correctly.

Because you also ovulated.

His body reacted to his partner's body.

That's why his heat kicked off very intensely because your heats were in sync.

Damn werewolf body...

His body lines up with your cycle only to impregnate you at your most fertile time.

And since your cycles were close in time, his body aligned itself with yours.

Your scent signaled it to him.

Because every werewolf in heat would like to have a sweet and fertile mate under him that he can breed so much.

That's why werewolves are so flexible about this sort of thing.

And since you are his mate, his body has become so used to you. Now his heat will always be when you ovulate.

A partner for life...

However, your rut synchronized very quickly.

And because he lives with you, and is beside you daily, he will no longer escape your cycles.

Although werewolf cycles run much more intensely than human ones.

Because if you were a werewolf too, and you were in heat, you'd be jumping on him to breed you by now. Especially if you felt he was in heat too.

The longer you've been with a werewolf as a human, the more you'll get used to the pheromones he gives off.

And as your body gets used to it, your body will respond.

You will be like his little partner.

You may not react as much to the smell, but it will be stronger for you than it is now.

His mind veered very quickly to think about how you'd be moaning when you asked him to come inside you.

„My Alpha... Please..."

"I want you now... Please... Breed me..."

He would love to hear his mate beg him for it.

If so, he'll probably jump on you in a few days anyway and fuck you into oblivion when your smell becomes unbearable to him.

As his hormones take possession of his body.

When all he has in mind is how soft your thighs look. Same with breasts.

He will only think about stroking that soft pussy and listening to you purr for him.

To put his cock in your tiny tight hole and stretch his shape inside you.

Because there is no werewolf who does not think about having sex with a partner during the heat as if the world was about to end.

He thought of it at first as something that's probably not pleasant, because you only think about sex and you only want sex.

But when he experiences it, he feels how pleasant it is. So very pleasant.

Even though he feels an irresistible urge to strip you now and fuck you until you're dripping with his scent. His body tells him to put his puppies inside you.

"Are you okay?" You asked him, hugging him lightly.

Your slightest touch made him feel like you were only touching his cock.

He was more sensitive. Your tiny touch was so pleasant to him.

It made him want more of that touch.

The lower your hands were, the more he felt pleasant shivers as your scent also reached his nose stronger.

You may not notice that right now his pheromones are attacking your body to show you that your alpha wants you now, but you clearly felt something between your legs. Your neck was a little irritating where he last bit you.

Your cute body, even if you're a human, next to him, which is a powerful alpha, you too can very easily start to act like a little omega.

Werewolves are not much different from humans.

Its pheromones act as an aphrodisiac for you.

A few more months or a year and you will be like his little omega when his pheromones get you.

"Sugu... Don't ignore me... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine..." He replied with a small smile.

His hand reached for his erection that had formed in his sweatpants.

It was so hot... Outside and inside.

He wanted your warmth to soothe his warmth.

Do what his body wants.

Mark you and breed you.

"Really? You're sweating." You said.

"I'm just in heat." He laughed as if it was something to joke about.

The heat cycle has never been something to laugh at, especially between partners.

Because heat for partners is endless sex for almost several days.

"Heat?" you murmured. "Oh, rut yes?"

"Yep." he laughed.

He really wanted to laugh about it, because maybe you will laugh about it too?

"Are you... are you..." you pulled away from him blushing.

Everyone had biology in school.

Everyone knows that rut is the period when creatures reproduce.

You sat behind him with your knees bent on one side of your body.

You felt warmth between your legs and also on your cheeks.

You feel the sexy heat emanating from his. His scent is so erotic.

Well, you ovulated. Maybe that's why you found it sexy that he was sitting next to you shirtless...

But you felt something pulling you towards Him.

Is it because he's in heat as a werewolf?

"Do I what?" he asked with a smile. Roses on his cheeks.

Not because he was ashamed.

Only his blood flow is so fast that his skin is pink.

Blood flowing to his crotch.

The veins on his body are starting to become more visible.

"Do you want to... you know..." You muttered rubbing your hand over your thigh.

"Haha... I look like I don't want to?"

Suddenly, he turned completely sideways to you, and showed you the taut muscles of his torso, as well as his taut pants underneath which his hard erection stands, waiting for his partner's touch.

Your face was red when you saw it.

But you couldn't help the fact that the sight of him so lecherously made you feel wet between your legs.

"So I'm going to take a shower. I need to get some rest." He said as he stood up.

"Suguru." you called him.

Your finger between your teeth as you briefly wonder if this is a good idea.

He told you that werewolf heat is no small thing. Because it lasts almost up to one week, and it's an intense period, both for the body and for the emotions. Because it's thinking about your partner and about sex all the time. Taking care of your partner and sex. And then there are the periods of possessiveness. The alpha partner does everything to keep the omega partner with him. In your case, you are the omega partner and Suguru the alpha. And that means he'll be jealous of everything for a few days, he'll be so needy of touch, he'll drive any other "alpha" away from his mate, and will always be somewhere with you to take care of you. And every day he'll think about pinning you under him and fucking you.

What will your few days look like?

You've been his girlfriend for a long time, but you've been his "mate" for over two months.

Which means he just tagged you as his lifelong partner recently. Even though he already felt you as a potential mate he would love to have. But he preferred to wait for your permission so he could mark you as his.

Since you've agreed to be the alpha werewolf's mate, you must attend to his needs.

Besides, if his estrus affects you like that when you're ovulating, you can't ignore it.

He was looking at you, waiting for what you would say.

He was so hard to control himself not to throw himself at you now. You were so lovely.

So fertile~.

He could very easily keep you in bed and mean so much. Shove his cum inside you.

However, this will be your first time together when his heat reacts to his partner. This will be your first time with him so wild.

Even more than it was every time you had sex.

There's also a chance you'll say no and he'll spend a few days fucking his hand...

The heat cycle activates when the werewolf gets a mate.

There is always rut.

But the heat comes when you have a partner.

Once a month.

His heat is here because you are in heat.

So he's in heat, his heat, because he's feeling your body.

Theoretically, alphas don't have the same as omegas that get heat and wait for their partner.

Alphas have an estrus once a month, which is simply associated with a great desire for sex.

But when the alpha heat synchronizes with the heat omega, then it's like heat. That's why he is like this now.

Alphas go crazy when they feel their partner is fertile and willing.

Just as internally there is a war within him. Control yourself and also pounce on you.

His body wants to pounce on you, but his wits stop him because this would be your first time he's like this.

During estrus, alphas are more brutal, but not so much as to hurt their partner.

He's more like a hungry animal.

You let him once, and he'll be like this for a month.

When he knows your body can handle it.

And he knows your body will last forever.

"Come, if you want..." you said spreading your arms. By inviting him to you.

Your face was red as you looked to the side.

You still knew his dick was stuck in his pants so tight.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "Once you agree, there's no going back."

"I'm your mate... right?"

"Are you not afraid?" He asked smiling as he knelt in front of you on the bed.

"Why should I be afraid of you?"

"I'm unpredictable at a time like this. You don't know what I would love to do right now."

"My partner won't hurt me. After all, a partner never wants to do anything bad for a mate, right?"

His body suddenly towered over you, his fingers digging into the softness of your thighs.

His lips were immediately pressed against your throat.

He ripped your shorts off your legs, doing it with your panties. They landed in tatters on the floor.

As his fingers dug into your pussy without warning, stretching you.

A sweet scent reached his nose, and he felt his cock throbbing in his pants.

Keeping his fingers inside you in one place, he felt your soft, hot walls tighten around his fingers.

Moisture trickled down his palm as he pressed the palm of his hand against your clit.

Your body really reacts so sweetly to his estrus. And your rut is so beautiful. That nice smell.

He moved his mouth to the side of your neck and sank his teeth in.

He groaned at the sweet scent that enveloped his sense of smell.

He unconsciously moved his fingers inside you lightly, massaging your g-spot. Listening to your sweet moans as he didn't stop.

He felt like he could come just by listening to your noises.

His mind was clouded by his instincts, so he was surprised when more of your juices spilled onto his hand moments later. And your walls squeezed his fingers.

With a wet sound, he pulled his fingers out of you, feeling the one thigh he was holding shake.

He put his wet fingers to his lips and licked everything clean, savoring the taste of his mate.

He wanted more.

Without warning, he dived between your legs and began to lap up your folds aggressively.

Your legs jumped in susceptibility to the sudden attack.

"S-Suguru...!" You groaned as you grabbed his hair.

Causing a pleasant burning sensation in his head.

It was so good.

His hand reached for his cock, stroking it, keeping his hand under his pants.

His hips moved on their own, swaying his length in between his fingers.

You saw the very lascivious sight of his tongue leaving your pussy, with a thin line of sticky fluid connecting your sensitive body to his wet muscle.

His fingers tightened around its broad base.

His long fangs began to bite your thigh, savoring the softness of his mouth.

"I can't hold back anymore." He said in an intense voice.

The purple of his eyes was completely devoured by his dilated pupil.

You didn't want him to hold back.

Since you were his mate, you had to do everything for him to help him with his rut.

He's so crazy about how cute you are. How much you got his attention with your body and smell. Because your ovulation was showing him how willing and tasty you are.

Your short shorts digging into the fat of your soft thighs. Ah... That was all that made him go crazy right away.

He stood up, hastily lowering his pants.

If he took it off, it would take too long. He wanted to be in his tight mate right now. Feel yourself sucking it inside. Feel how nicely you take all of him, trying to contain every inch of him.

To watch later as his wick spreads inside you, ensuring not a drop of his cum comes out of you.

You saw a furious red tip that cried a lot of precum. Pulsating thick shaft. Certainly long and thick enough to destroy your pussy.

Especially since you know who that heavy dick belongs to.

As he quickly moved closer to you, he tore off your shirt with his hand. You felt him pull on the fabric and then suddenly your chest was exposed to him. Your nipples are stiff from everything he does to you.

With a sigh, he immediately placed his mouth on your tit, biting your nipple lightly with his sharper teeth.

His hips thrust blindly into yours and your wetness running down your skin very quickly led him to your willing hole, which greeted him with a very pleasant hug.

He didn't even have to enter you slowly because your walls offered no resistance whatsoever. Letting him find the bottom right away. His balls pressed tightly against you.

Its tip was releasing precum inside you to facilitate the breeding process, but that wasn't necessary at all because you were dripping.

His hips quickly settled into the rhythm of hitting you. His pubic bone was pressed against your clit, and his pubic hair gave an extra prickly and soft touching sensation as he thrust into you.

He was in a hurry, chasing to fill you up.

He didn't try to make you moan the loudest, he didn't change the rhythm. Because he just wanted to fill you up.

Every move he made made your body squirm. Waves of quivering pleasure ran down your spine.

His lips reached for yours, catching your tongue to kiss you deeply.

He caught all your moans that came out of your mouth like music.

As he felt your moans increase, he didn't slow down. You felt his knot slowly forming, a sign of his forming orgasm.

Your pussy was getting more and more stretched. But the pinching disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Particularly when his knot brushed against your g-spot, pressing it hard you clenched his entire cock. Feeling that way, his body squeezes your clit between your bodies.

Your head throbbed as he bit your neck, inhaling the ethereal scent.

Sucking your pussy as well as the feeling of you stretching around his knot made him shoot copious amounts of cum into you.

Your legs trembled around his hips as his dick extension ensured nothing would leak out of you.

But at some point he pulled out of you and your pussy spat out a wider chunk of his flesh with a loud sound.

But what is it supposed to be? Why isn't he soft?

Is that how his rut ​​works?

Why did you have to be in the heat?

"S-Sugu... How long is your rut...?" You asked quietly, breathing to calm yourself down.

He chuckled briefly with a heavy breath before thrusting into you again.

"Five days." He whispered against your lips before kissing you.

____

"Wow, Suguru, I know you can have rut or whatever now, but don't be so aggressive towards me. I'm not going to take your mate." Laughed the White-haired man with whom you were talking a moment ago.

Your alpha wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him.

His nose rested on your shoulder, inhaling your scent, mixed with his.

"I'm not taking your partner. Even though she smells pretty sweet. She's not an omega, is she? Is she human?" he asked with a smile. "(y/n), how long will he keep doing this?"

"A bit more. Sugu, do you want to go home?" You asked, stroking his head.

You moaned as he squeezed you tighter.

"Fine... Sorry (y/n), we'll talk when his rut ​​is over, okay?" Your friend waved to you.

"Bye." You waved at him. "Suguru what's up?"

"He's a werewolf too..." he said kissing your neck.

"But we are friends."

"He is the alpha. And you are my omega."

"I guess you're too used to be a werewolf." You laughed quietly. "I'm a human, not an omega werewolf."

Suddenly his tongue licked your ear.

"But you are my omega partner~. And as an alpha partner, I want my mate for me. That's why I will mark you."

[writtenontheport]

Just a Night at Portland Row

(pt.1) (pt.2)

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader

Warnings/Tags: Literal romcom, These people are silly, Everyone’s so sillycore here, teary confessions, someone accidentally confesses, nothing dramatic happens he’s just silly, Childhood friends to lovers, Lockwood is kinda stupid (affectionate), no smut or suggestive content, Lockwood and co and reader friendship, whether or not what Lockwood says at the end actually happens is up to you!!

Notes: I have quite a few issues with this one, and I’m not entirely satisfied with it, but I think it’s one of the better ways I could go about it. I also put all the flowers meanings at the bottom, so if you were curious I did in fact plan the flower meanings (I am a nerd). This finale has gone through about 20 revisions on the first day alone, so if anything seems jarringly out of place, I am so sorry 😭 I was all over the place with my ideas.

Summary: Just before supper time, you and Lockwood have a heart to heart, and it starts as it always has: with flowers, with tears, and a little funny thing called love.

word count: 2.4k+

“George,” Lockwood says seriously. It’s the first time George has ever seen him so serious about something that isn’t Lucy or him dying and it shocks him how quick he is to steel himself for whatever it is. “I need you to get Lucy to bring them down here, if you can, please.”

Now, ‘them’ is obviously referring to you, who’s laughing away upstairs with Lucy so loud they can hear it ring through the vents. If this wasn’t something George has genuinely been excited for, he would have smacked Lockwood upside the head for using that terrifying tone. “Don’t say it like that, prick. Thought someone was dying there.”

Lockwood grins at him from where he’s messing with the bouquet stood up on the table. The paper wrapping hasn’t been removed, courtesy of the empty vase and that water would most likely melt it; ribbon still intact. They stand, not quite fully in bloom (which is the best way to buy flowers, because otherwise they wilt right away) but just on the precipice of it. It’s packed with other, smaller additions, but at the heart of it, well. Maybe Lockwood did know something about the language of flowers.

“How’d you even pick them out?” George asks instead, watching Lockwood’s grin wobble.

“I made friends with the shopkeeper. He wouldn’t tell me what any of them meant, but he said they were good flowers— like the carnations. One of them though… these white ones here, just felt familiar somehow.” He kept messing about with the bouquet, meddling with any loose leaf or bud. “Can you please go get them? I want them to be able to see the flowers before they wilt.”

George does swat Lockwood for that, but he goes upstairs to get you. You and Lucy have moved to her room on George’s urging (he made Lockwood wait outside before coming in to make sure you didn’t know) and were lying in her bed on your stomachs, reading and sharing books. Lucy’s the first to look up at him, raising a brow as she nudges you.

“George? Everything ok?” You ask, propping yourself up to sit criss cross on the mattress. “Has Anthony come back yet?”

“He has,” he says simply, “He says he needs you in the kitchen. Lucy should stay since she must be tired from the case yesterday.”

From behind you, Lucy has a moment of realization that has her tucking her lips to hide a smile. Quietly, she puts a hand up to her forehead in a salute to George.

“You should go check,” she says, “Who knows what kind of trouble he might be in.”

“A lot of trouble,” George adds, nodding slightly along. You narrow your eyes in suspicion, but you get up off the bed.

“I’ll save your place!” She calls just as you’re headed down. George walks 2 steps behind you to hide his expression before he can school it, feeling giddy with nerves that aren’t even his to have. He wonders how Lockwood’s doing, stopping just at his bedroom door.

You turn back, asking “You aren’t coming?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He rocks gently on his feet and pulls his hands behind his back, reassuring you with a calm nod. “Off you go, Lockwood’s probably burnt himself making tea by now or something.”

“I’d hope not…” you mumble, each step down like a crescendo in the world’s most suspenseful piece of music— every floorboard creak like the lead instrument and your heartbeat acting a steady base. On a sheet you’re sure it looks hideous, but it levels out when you open the door and Lockwood’s waiting there by the counter, looking like he’s straight off a magazine. The silence creeps in, but the piece rises to new heights as the sound of everything— the floorboards, the vents— suddenly dulls out.

You step into the kitchen, and let the door shut behind you.

There is your Anthony, standing there in the middle of the kitchen with a bouquet full of dazzling pink tulips, red roses, and spots of white jasmine flowers. There is Anthony, the boy you’ve known and loved for years— looking at you like he always does: like you’re the whole world and sky and everything he wakes up for.

Neither of you speak for a good minute, but it’s not without trying. Lockwood spends that pregnant pause fumbling for words, before—

“I love you,” He says.

The words come rushing out his lips, hurried and desperate. It shocks you how simply he puts it, like a sudden rest in the notes that takes you by surprise. He looks surprised too; horrified, really, that he’s just blurted that out. He swallows thickly, steeling his expression into something determined.

“I—“ you pause, the words caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears. You think you tear up, but you can’t really tell when the whole world narrows down to Anthony Lockwood across from you in the kitchen of Portland Row, professing his love in the spur of the moment. You grow warm with affection, taking a step closer to him as the music of your singing heart drowns out everything but his words.

He takes a deep breath, his face pale with fear as he swallows and says quietly,, “Today, when I went down to the shops to get you these flowers, I met the really old man tending to them. Don’t look at me like that, he was really old, alright?”

“Anthony,” you scold quietly, tutting at him as you wrap your hands around his.

He bites the inside of his cheek before he keeps going. “Anyways he isn’t the point— I brought him up because he made me realise that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never gave telling you a shot. He lived loving someone else until they died— even after they did, and if… if there was a chance I could have that with you, I wanted to take it. I can’t promise you that I’ll be alive for as long as you will be, but I can promise you that I will love you for everyday I live and breathe if you let me.”

“Anthony,” you start, breathlessly. You take his face in your hands and he puts the bouquet down to cover your hands with his. He looks so scared like this, fragile like glass in your hands and pale with nerves.

“I can’t promise you forever,” He says solemnly, “But I can promise you my heart for as long as it beats.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, and will yourself not to kiss him. Years down to minutes— minutes to seconds. The silence hangs like a winding note. You glance back quickly at the bouquet, picking out one of the jasmine flowers before sliding it behind his ear and resting your hands on his face.

“Do you remember the first flower I gave you?” You ask just as quietly. He shakes his head, cheeks rubbing against the skin of your palms. “We were… quite young at the time, and I must have been mad, because I stole it from the neighbour’s garden. Yes, the grumpy one, you remember her. Well, I ran straight over from all the way from home with this crumpled little thing in hand— stop giggling. I’m telling you an important story— and you lit up like a light. Cheeky little thing you were, finding a way to give it back to me when I got scolded the same day for stealing and I was awful sore about the whole thing.”

“You looked all sad,” He cut in, voice hoarse in a mumble, “It made me happy, so I wanted it to make you happy too.”

You laugh, just as breathless, “And it worked, Anthony. It’s still one of my favourite flowers. Did you know that? They were the first flowers I read up on when I learned flowers could have meanings.”

“What’d you find?” He asks, the nerves fading into a hopefulness that fills his eyes with stars. It’s helplessly endearing where you see them shine, nearly nose to nose with how close you’re holding him.

You hum and close your eyes, pushing your forehead against his. “We gave each other white jasmine flowers, that day. A lot of people say they mean purity or innocence, but the one that stuck out to me was that people say it meant “everlasting love” too. When I look back on it now, it must’ve been fate.”

“Cause I always loved you and you probably realised that with how stupid I get about you?”He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

You chuckle quietly, just as helplessly lost, “Not quite. I didn’t even think there was a chance you could love me back, though that does make everything a bit easier… because I’ve always loved you, Anthony.”

Like a child on Christmas day, Lockwood’s eyes grow wide; he’s helpless to the grin that splits his face. “Really?”

“I’m no liar, Anthony, and certainly not about this,” you laugh, unable to help yourself as you tip back and rest your nose lightly against his.

“No like— you mean it?” He asks, voice cracking with hope as he searches your face, “You love me? You love me?”

You’re helplessly endeared, helplessly in love and helplessly lost to it, so you just whisper back with a grin as wide, “Yes, Anthony. I love you.”

What little space between you both is gone in a second when he pushes his lips against yours. It’s a desperate thing, all relief and comfort and love pouring out. At some point, you’re both smiling too wide and too much for it to be anything more than just pushing your lips against each other’s and you pull away with a wet laugh.

He grins wider, and you didn’t think it was possible but he manages it. “I’m so glad, because if I had to go back to the shopkeeper with a terrible story about how I got rejected by the love of my life—“

You giggle and swat at his arm, wrapping your arms around him, “Of course that’s what you worry about. This is all a publicity stunt, yeah? To boost your ego.”

“Of course,” he says, with no weight to the words as he sniffs and blinks away the last of his tears, “Though that just means we should make it a bigger stunt and get married. I’ll even invite Kipps just to rub it in his face.”

You hum, helplessly amused, when the door slams open and George shamelessly walks in with at first his usual deadpan, then a pleased expression. From behind George, Lucy is brimming with happiness, smiling cheek to cheek.

“Gross,” George says, simply and without malice. He steps around you and Lockwood, patting you both on the back sincerely and pulling out pots and pans. It occurs to you a little late that he’s starting on supper. “Took you both a while to actually confess. Mental, the two of you.”

“It was cute,” Lucy says kindly, taking you from Lockwood (he does pout lightly, but she just sticks her tongue out at him) hugging you dear. “George just means that we’re both very happy you two finally got together. He was starting to go bald actually from pulling his hair out too much, look at his hairline—“

“You can’t even pretend like you weren’t too, Lucy.” George sends her a glare as she separates from you. Lockwood quickly fills the space at your side again and all but wraps himself around you. Lucy pats him on the back with a congratulatory smile.

“You can’t go bald before my wedding, George, that’d just ruin it,” you say, clicking your tongue as you reach over (not without struggling over Lockwood) and pat his curls into place. The pot nearly slips out of his hands while Lucy’s eyes grow big as saucers.

“Wedding?!?” They ask simultaneously. Lockwood giggles into your neck, the cheeky bastard.

“This one here,” you gesture at Lockwood with a look, “said we should get married since this whole thing is a publicity stunt or whatnot. Said he might even invite that Kipps bloke he hates.”

“That is the lamest proposal I have ever heard,” Lucy immediately cuts in, the most disappointed scowl pointed at Lockwood’s head.

“I’ve got to agree. You could absolutely do better than that, Lockwood. Also, Quill Kipps? Do you want to have start a fight at your wedding?” George asks, his back turned to everyone. You pull away from Lockwood to pick up the flowers, but not without him frowning as you do. He stops frowning as soon as you smile at him, though, before he turns his attention to Lucy and George when they both pretend to gag.

“I gave them flowers, a really sentimental bunch I think, then I had a good speech,” He says to Lucy first, who raises a brow at him.

He turns to George next. “I need to rub it in his face that he’s probably miserable and forever alone.”

“I thought it was gonna be a publicity stunt, not a revenge plot,” You mutter, clicking your tongue.

“I’m not letting you have a lame wedding, Lockwood, because that means they—“ she points to you “— will have a lame wedding and I will not let that happen.”

“But you’d let me have a lame wedding if it was just mine?” His face is scrunched in offence as he ‘discreetly’ wraps himself around you again.

“Yes,” Lucy and George say simultaneously.

“I’d marry you at a lame wedding.” You play with his hair where you can reach it, pressing a kiss to his forehead where he’s dumped it again on your shoulder. Lucy and George gag, Lockwood beams so bright you’d think he won the lottery that night.

They manage to convince you that it’s too dark out to leave (it was past curfew, the sun had set already) so you spend the night recounting everything you can with them until the stars had gone to sleep and the sun started rising.

The next day, he brings down the bouquet of carnations you’d first given him, and you mix both the bouquets into one. A year later, Portland Row becomes home to not only to the people living in it, but a garden full of flowers blooming with love, laughter, and a lot of hard work. White Jasmine flowers bloom on the veranda and a house of three becomes home to four.

A/N: Finally finished this series!! Whew, that was… hmm!! And just because I couldn’t add it to the story without it getting clunky, have these idk, headcanons? fun facts?:

Reader tells Lockwood all about the flowers after, and informs him about why the Jasmine flowers were so familiar

The grumpy neighbour reader stole the white jasmine flowers from was actually the old man gardener’s wife

Lockwood goes back to tell the old man, and they have a laugh about the whole thing

It is so hard to get one straight meaning for a flower, but if you dig enough you can find flowers that mean so many cute things:

Red carnations mean deep love and affection

Pink tulips mean caring and affection

White Jasmine flowers can mean many things but for this story I went with: Eternal love, persevering love, and new beginnings

Everyone knows red roses, but I also like to think Lockwood’s bouquet had thornless red roses because they mean love at first sight

Yes he one upped the reader even without knowing what all the flowers mean because he’s a competitive little freak (affectionate) and I love him

This series has been very dear to me, and I am especially thankful to @tangledinlove <3 Thank you for your kind reblogs, I hope you know I read them and always look forward to seeing how you find each part in the series even if I don’t respond to them <33333

Also @milesmorals asked me to tag her too!!

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

(Semi) Wholesome moment between Logan and Mateo was not on my bingo sheet. Under cut and @fruity-legos look i’ve got more food

Summary:

The world was tough sometimes but good thing Mateo had friends to help him along, to remind and tell him things, or to just be there when he needs them

Or

Five plus one times Mateo accidentally got good advice from his friends/had wholesome chats with them

Additional Tags:

Wholesome. Just Mateo talking to his friends and seeing parts of what make them tick. Logan Chan has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder. These chats will come back later in the series. ambiguous time periods, idk when these would fall on the timeline. DID terminology used so feel free to ask if your curious about some of the terms. No Beta we technically die as symbolism for death and rebirth. Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Chapter One: Logan—

It was raining. 

Gross, was his first thought, and usually Mateo was a big rain lover, but that was of course on the days when he was inside and hadn’t forgotten his rain jacket at home. 

Groaning, Mateo looked out as the rain beat down on Brooklyn from his spot under the covered entrance to the school. 

Most of the other kids and teachers had left already, including Izzie, Cooper, and Zoey, as school had ended almost two hours ago. Mateo had stayed late though to finish up one of his art projects that was due soon and surprisingly his art teacher was kind enough to let him stay late. 

Really late, to the point where Mateo felt himself growing weirdly sad at how quiet the school campus had become.  

Mateo pulled out his phone and brought up his dad’s contact, he probably wasn’t off work yet but it wouldn’t hurt to give a quick call just to see if he could get a ride. 

His phone vibrated as it rang but eventually it clicked off. His dad hadn’t picked up so he must’ve still been busy. 

Disappointing. 

Ok then, all he had to do was run and hopefully he’d get home before the rain soaked through his backpack and wetted all his supplies. 

Mateo inhaled deeply and steeled himself. He was just about to run when he heard a click. 

With a hum of confusion Mateo turned to his side and saw Logan standing there, a closed umbrella in hand.  

Logan looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and let a, “Sup Matty?” Slip from his lips. 

Mateo glanced Logan over, he was dressed the same as always but Mateo could see sweat stains growing in Logan’s armpit areas. 

Ew. 

Apparently Mateo accidentally let that thought slip however as Logan scoffed at him. 

“You try not working up a sweat during basketball tryouts weirdo,” 

Well that explained everything. 

Logan rolled his eyes and popped open his umbrella, moving it to hold it above his head before walking out into the rain. He only got a few feet away when he suddenly stopped, grumbled to himself angrily, and turned back around with a loud sigh. 

He came back over to Mateo and held out the umbrella slightly like he was offering it to Mateo to take. 

Mateo took a hesitant step forward, “What are you doing?” 

Logan grumbled something that sounded like Mandarin under his breath and forced a small smile, “Do you want to walk home and get soaking wet?” 

Mateo paused and then responded, glancing down to watch himself kick at the pavement, “No,” 

“Good, now come on, my mom is making spring rolls and I don’t wanna be late,” 

Mateo glanced back up just in time to watch Logan turn and begin to walk off again. A small surge of panic darted through Mateo and he bolted over to join Logan under the umbrella. 

Instantly Mateo felt an uneasiness settle over them. Being this close to a sweaty Logan under a small-ish umbrella made him definitely feel a little uncomfortable and it wasn’t unlikely Logan was feeling the same. They weren’t exactly the best of friends. 

They walked in silence for a while, with Mateo deciding to keep his attention on his sleeve where he watched it grow slightly damp from the rain. 

Logan spoke first. 

“Why do you look so depressed?” 

Mateo shot a quick glance at him, “I’m not depressed,” 

“Sure you are,” Logan insisted, “I mean just look at your face bro,” 

“Very funny,” 

Though he wasn’t facing Logan, Mateo swore he felt Logan’s eyes on him, “I’se serious though, if you need to talk about shit I’m here. I might tease you for it if it’s lame but hey, still good to get it out.” 

“Thanks Logan,” Mateo muttered as sarcastically as he could. 

Logan snorted, “No problem bro,” 

Mateo couldn’t help the sigh and eye roll that came from him at Logan’s response. 

A second awkward silence was just starting to crop up as the boys came within sight of Mrs. Castillo’s food truck, which surprisingly still seemed to have life going on inside, when Logan exclaimed, “Oh I know what it is!” 

This time Mateo turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing in confusion, “What?” 

“Why you look all poopy,” Logan said back, jerking a finger towards the other boy’s face, “you still don’t like me,” 

Mateo frowned and in an act of protest argued, “Well you still do call me Lunchbox,” 

As much as he still felt a little irked by Logan it felt wrong to agree to full on dislike. They weren’t… enemies anymore. 

“Ha! Yeah ain’t ditching the nicknames any time soon,” Logan admitted but he still did look a little guilty, “but I get it you know. I’ve been told I’m not exactly easy to get along with,” 

“No crap,” Mateo grumbled, turning away and missing as Logan tilted his head to the side as if he was listening to something Mateo couldn’t hear. 

Logan let out a low whistle, “Alright fine, I’ll ask. Luka’s wondering if it is us though, he doesn’t like when people are mad at us,” 

“I…” Mateo trailed off for a moment, glancing at Logan quickly as his brain reminded him that Logan had other people in his head, “it’s not really you. I know we don’t exactly get along but, well, after everything we’ve been through. We’re cool.” 

“For reals,” 

They continued on for a few more steps, words on the tip of Mateo’s tongue that he felt like he had to get out, “I’m just… sad? I suppose. I’ve just been feeling really alone lately.” 

He wasn’t really. He knew that he had his family, his friends, Z-Blob, teachers too if he really felt like stretching it but he couldn’t help the feeling that had persisted for most of the week. The weird feeling that left him feeling empty, a bit alone. Yet with how everyone had been that week, doing their own things and relaxing in the face of a peaceful dream world, he guessed that made sense. People were allowed to have moments of space away from each other and while feeling alone wasn’t particularly fun it existed as a part of human nature. 

“Alone eh?” Logan hummed, “Well you ain’t,” 

“I know it’s just this feeling, you know?” 

Logan nodded, “Yeah, I get that. Sorta,” he added. 

“Sorta?” Mateo wondered, noting how his house was suddenly in sight. Talking really did pass the time, didn’t it? 

“It’s hard to feel truly alone when you’ve got … people,” Logan explained, pointing a finger at his head. 

“ Oh ,” 

Mateo really had to stop letting that slip his mind. 

“But, hey listen Matty…” Logan started, only to shake his head and start again, “Mateo, if I’ve learned anything from having headmates my whole life it’s that you’re never alone. Even when you’re at your lowest and think that there’s no one else out there… there are. There are people out there that will have your back, and that will come for you when you're hurt. Sometimes you may feel like you’re alone but you’re not. Not forever at least,” 

Mateo squinted, he was talking to Logan right? He didn’t just switch on him did he? He turned and looked long and hard until Logan turned and stared back. Logan then reached his hand up and flicked Mateo on the forehead. 

Yep, that was Logan alright. 

Mateo let out a small groan and rubbed at his forehead while grumbling, “That was… really profound for you Logan,” 

Logan snickered and grinned, his weirdly sharp canine teeth on full display, “Thanks, I have a gift,” 

After a few more steps the duo reached the front steps of Mateo’s house and Logan proclaimed loudly, “Welp, welcome home poop face!” 

Mateo grimaced and glanced around to look for other people who could’ve overheard. When he found no one he reached over and punched Logan in the arm. 

“Oh shut up,” Mateo huffed, only semi-annoyed, “you just had to ruin the moment didn’t you?” 

“Yep!” Logan agreed, stepping away and letting the rain hit Mateo full on. Mateo pouted as he began to get pelted and scrambled up the steps to hide from the rain in the doorframe of his house where he was offered little relief. 

“Ok byeeeeeeee,” Mateo heard Logan call. 

Mateo turned to wave the other boy off only to find him stopped a few feet away. Logan turned slightly and added, “Also if anyone asks I didn’t walk you home!” 

Mateo snorted, “Oh definitely, never admitting to that,” 

Logan threw back his head as he barked out a laugh, “Ha!” And with that Logan grinned before running off towards his own home. 

[verbforverb]

Book Thoughts 2024

Tagged by @docholligay, everything in italics one hundred percent stolen from her. Anyone else who sees this can do this if they're interested, but maybe @sinni-ok-sessi if you feel like it? (challenge mode: only one patrick o'brien, super challenge mode: only one with a nautical theme.)

Best three books i read this year, that are new to me. In no real order. In so far as I think they have craft, in addition to me enjoying them.

Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier

Orlando, Virginia Woolf (don't look at me)

A State of Freedom, Neel Mukherjee / Forest Dark, Nicole Krauss, tying because I couldn't choose between them, and they occupy a very similar space in my reading. I would probably say the Mukherjee is better done from a craft sense, but I felt more of a connection and also a greater ratio of enjoyment to intense bleakness from the Krauss.

Book I expected to love and hated: Hyperion, Dan Simmons. I don't think it's a bad book, but I did not enjoy it at all.

Book I expected to hate and loved: The Diamond Age, Neal Stephenson, although "expected to hate" is a bit of an exaggeration - if I read something I usually expect to get something out of it. Expected to be far more annoyed by and less interested in than I was, maybe. And "loved" is also a bit of an exaggeration for 'had a pretty fun time, far more thought provoking than expected, still said "Neal what the fuck" intermittently.'

Three recommendations for when you're drinking on a plane:

Moonraker, Ian Fleming (surprisingly fun romp, brought the Tranby Croft affair to my notice where it now haunts every piece of britlit I read, probably improved because my expectations were very low after Live and Let Die)

Spectacles, Sue Perkins (just a fun time, and very touching in places)

1Q84, Haruki Murakami, because you can let the plot do what it does without caring how much sense it makes, and no-one will care if you sometimes have to close the book to stare into space and mutter under your breath such things as "what the fuck, dude, why" or "please stop" or "you've met women before, right? or like, people?" (I read this on an international train journey and I wasn't drinking but wish I had been. but I'll tell you what, I wasn't bored.)

Book I will absolutely reread: I did already reread both Gaudy Night and Busman's Honeymoon, but maybe The Hunter, Tana French.

Book I found overhyped: The Goblin Emperor, Katherine Addison - I didn't hate it, I thought it was ok. Everyone else seems to absolutely love it. Maybe because I saw it billed as court intrigue, for which I need a book to have much more court and much, MUCH more intrigue.

Author I read the most this year: Dorothy Sayers

Favorite author I discovered: If this is "favorite author whose work I hadn't read before", Dorothy Sayers and Virginia Woolf, but it feels a little weird to talk about "discovering" them. If we're meaning "favorite author I'd never heard of before", probably Nicole Krauss, though I've only read the one of hers so who knows.

Reread that was better than I remembered: I don't track rereads, and also don't think I did much rereading this year, aside from some Dorothy Sayers and a couple of poetry collections, and those not with enough of a gap to forget anything about them. So not sure of an answer for this. I'll come back to this if I remember something.

Reread that was worse than I remembered: As above.

Book I would have bled for and died over if the cast had been all/mostly women: His Majesty's Dragon, Naomi Novik. Now, I enjoyed it reasonably well as is. But I think I could have gotten properly deranged about it if, as well as a universe where the Napoleonic wars are fought with dragons, we suspend our disbelief one step further and also have there be lesbians instead of institutional misogyny.

Favorite nonfiction: Portrait of a Marriage, Nigel Nicolson (don't look at me!!!!)

The worst three books I read this year, in that I think they utterly lacked craft, in addition to me not enjoying them:

Elephants Can Remember, Agatha Christie

On Basilisk Station, David Weber, which I'm being extra harsh on because I think I could have really enjoyed it in a trashy scifi way had it been maybe 20% better written.

Live and Let Die, Ian Fleming, although it did bring us the immortal line, "According to the CIA she's a corker."

[always-just-red]

Super self-indulgent addition to the poly series for my birthday!!! (Works as a standalone fic!) If you see this today you have to reblog, as a gift to me! And this fandom 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ *gets struck by lightning for my hubris*

Breaking Point

L&DS Boys X Reader

(No Caleb yet! I'm not confident in writing him and I wanna make sure I do it right! He'll be joining this series later though, for sure for sure...)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 / ?

Summary: I can't spoil the plot because it's a surprise but just trust me, ok? Look into my eyes! Right here! 👁️👁️ You want to read this. You really do.

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, platonic-ish! poly, some flirting, swearing, all the guys come with health warnings in this because like I said, it's self-indulgent! (I'm giving me everything I want 😌)

| Word count: 4.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You only have one life, and it’s Sylus’s to take.

He’s stalled. Denied himself the pleasure of snuffing it out, like he was always supposed to. You thought it was sentiment: a fondness that saw him shoot you with nothing more deadly than a wink or a smile, not that those weren’t their own, trivial little murder attempts. Now, he wants something permanent. Something that’ll stick.

His gun is pressed into your back, but you can’t resent him for it. If your gun was at his back, you would have already pulled the trigger.

“It isn’t too late to stop this, Sylus,” you mutter quietly, because the sentiment is there— no matter how deep he’s buried it. You’ll show it to him, even with raw hands and dirt under your nails.

You try to turn but the gun presses harder, urging you forwards like every other time you’ve attempted to slow or reason with him. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetie,” he says with a smile in his voice, and you wonder which one it is: that slow, nostalgic one, or the one he saves for his enemies. All teeth. All sharp. “You understand, don’t you?”

This is all your fault.

The dark, narrow corridor you’re being paraded down is coming to an end. It opens up into a larger room with abstract furnishings: block-like pillars and walls, lined with spidery strips of neon lights. They glow a weak purple, some flickering eerily. It’s still dark, and there are shadows everywhere.

Sylus swings you under a faint spotlight in the centre of the space. “I know you’re there,” he announces to the darkness, one hand on your shoulder, possessive.

There’s no response from the void. Can he hear something? A baited breath, somewhere out in the shadows, or a heartbeat, tripping over itself on adrenaline? You can’t hear a thing; the silence is too thick. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps—

“What do you want, Sylus?” a voice calls out from behind a pillar— Zayne. By the time you look over, he’s pressed himself back against cover, out of sight, out of range.

“Let’s talk about this, yeah?” Rafayel, from behind a low wall.

Sylus tugs you closer: wraps you in a heavy arm so his gun is in front of you, angled inwards at your heart. He’s always loved a dramatic irony, even if it’s private— just for the two of you. “A Deepspace Hunter for a Deepspace Hunter,” he bargains. “More than fair, wouldn’t you say?”                                                                      

“You don’t have to do this, Xavier!” you shout.

“Ah, ah,” Sylus tuts, his warm breath tickling your ear: “Don’t be a hero, sweetie.”

More silence follows, but you know your fate is being decided in the dark. Amethyst eyes are pleading with peridot. Fire is trying to thaw ice. You can imagine the artist gesturing wildly, mouthing arguments, and the doctor solemnly shaking his head— ever trying to solve an unsolvable problem.

None of it matters, because Xavier is already stepping into the light. Hands up in surrender, weapon stowed at his side. His face is a storm and the flickering neon betrays it like lightning. Look— it warns. Divine violence.

Sylus’s hand tenses, ever so slightly, on your shoulder. You look at Xavier. He looks back at you.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he says softly, and you’re in the centre of the storm, where it’s safe and it’s quiet and nothing outside can reach you, let alone hurt you. It won’t last, but it exists. You’re glad it exists.

“It’s okay,” you speak on a whisper.

You know how this has to end. Sylus can’t see it. Rafayel and Zayne— both peeking their heads out of cover— can’t see it either, but you? Of course you do. It’s an instinct: Deepspace Hunter to Deepspace Hunter, like Sylus said. Two edges of the same sword.

When Xavier draws his gun at light speed and shoots you with it, you’re the only one not surprised.

“What?” Sylus gasps as red spills over you.

But Xavier doesn’t stop. An onslaught: he fires relentlessly, aim not letting up for a second. His gun flashes over and over again and the sound is harsh on your ears as he closes in, indifferent.

“Sorry, sweetie,” you hear Sylus murmur, and then you’re shoved forwards— limp and useless— into the arms of your attacker.

Xavier catches you, his gun finally falling silent. The air had gone thick for a moment. Time had slowed. Space had twisted. A few, glistening crow feathers waltz around you, and you glance down at your vest. The lights on it have stayed red.

That was your last, stupid life. The digital counter on your gun is stuck at: ‘000’.

“Thanks,” you say to Xavier anyway, because you wouldn’t have struck the floor quite so gracefully as the feathers.

He’s frowning— staring after Sylus— but your voice brings him back to you. He looks down with a devastatingly handsome smile. “You’re welcome.” Then it’s gone. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Wha—?” is all you manage to get out before you’re flung into another pair of arms. Xavier is running away; you can hear him. You can see him, in the corner of your eye: a pale shadow, giving chase after Sylus. Slipping into the labyrinth of spaceship-like corridors.

“Cutie?” Rafayel’s calling, and it must be his arms around you, squeezing you.

You want to answer— you’re going to answer— but then he drops to his knees, the fall making your head spin. You feel sick. “Cutie?” he tries again, and oh, him shaking you really isn’t helping.

“Raf, please— please stop.”

He doesn’t. “Stay with me, okay?” he urges, the red lights on your gear reflecting in his desperate eyes. He looks up at an encroaching figure. “Zayne! Do something!”

The doctor strides towards you, casting a nonchalant gaze over your body. When he speaks, it’s a bleak prognosis: “Last life?”

“Yep! Sylus already got me once. And before that, Raf—”

“Shhhh shh shh,” the man cradling you hushes, “don’t speak, cutie. Save your strength.”

“Shot me. He was pretending to be a spy,” you finish.

“I wasn’t!”

You huff. “Really? So I was just imagining you posing every time you rounded a corner? The forward rolls, all the spinning around and stuff— that was all in my head?”

“Guess so,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault you fantasise about me being some kinda action hero, you freak.”

Your face is dark. “Zayne?”

An electronic gunshot rings out, and the lights on Rafayel’s vest flash red. He gapes down at himself, then glowers at Zayne as they return to their normal, lives-to-spare blue. The doctor shrugs guiltlessly, a slight tug at the corner of his lips.

Footsteps approach and your allies react: Rafayel cradling you tighter (definitely not using you as a human shield) and Zayne levelling his gun at a pitch-black corridor. The weapon drops as Xavier stalks out of it, his pace brisk and his presence commanding. “Status?” he asks, checking his Hunter’s Watch pointlessly. It’s a force of habit. You do it, too.

“We’re one hunter down,” says Zayne, his tone equally pragmatic. “Sylus?”

“Could be anywhere.” Xavier toes a crow feather with what you can only describe as disgust.

Okay… Rafayel’s grip is getting a little much, now. You feebly tap at his hand, but he’s too busy glaring up at your team leader to notice. “How could you?” he mutters under his breath, deliberately loud.

Xavier spares him a glance. Then you, finally. “I did what I had to.”

“What you had to?” Rafayel’s voice is dangerous. “What you had to?”

Just as you’re thinking about how touching his loyalty is, he drops you the rest of the way to the floor. You lie there, stunned, staring up at the ceiling. The artist stands, then— yep! Steps over you completely. “You’ve gone too far this time, Xavier! You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”

He’s thrashing about in an uncaring ocean. Xavier’s eyes are calm. “Don’t I?”

You didn’t know challenges could be issued so softly. Rafayel stares in disbelief, then looks to Zayne for back-up: are you seeing this?

The doctor is quiet as he diagnoses the situation, trying to find the path of least resistance. There has to be a middle ground. A way to appease fire without burning his hands.

His hazel eyes fall on you, and you get the feeling you’re the answer. He comes to stand over you. Crouches down beside you, head low in respect as he takes your hand and squeezes it gently, like he’s savouring a warmth that’s ebbing away.

“Zayne…?” you breathe. You don’t quite know what’s happening.

He releases a breath too, for your voice is a memory and he’ll treasure it, always. His spare hand lifts to cup your cheek, and he meets your eyes with unequivocal devotion. It isn’t innocent. It’s dark.

“We will avenge you,” he vows.

…

It’s nice, being dead.

You can meander aimlessly. You can hum to yourself recklessly.

You don’t have to poke your head around each corner, giving signals that the coast is clear or unclear because Xavier decided— worryingly early in the game— that it was you who should always go first. Step into the open, maybe even a firing line. Sylus will hesitate, he’d insisted, his hands on your shoulders and his eyes boring into yours intensely. You’re his weakness. Exploit it.

You’d nodded, wide-eyed, unsure of what else to do with someone gripping you like that.

What would Xavier say now, you wonder, if he saw you— Sylus’s infamous weakness— watching the man with a tender smile? His scarlet gaze is distracted. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Well, he has, but he’s pretending he hasn’t. He’s busy: crouched behind a wall, peering over it cautiously.

You saunter over. “What’s the plan here, Mr Lone Wolf?”

“Quiet.”

“Mr One Man Army. Mr ‘I don’t need a team, sweetie, I could beat you all with my hands tied.’”

Sylus gifts you a sideways smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Come on, Sy—” you perch back on the wall he’s using for cover— “death can’t keep us apart. Y’know what that makes me?”  

“Insufferable.”

“Nope. A ghost,” you correct, and the man smiles more widely. It’s still nowhere near enough attention, so you wiggle your arms at him, adding an “ooooooooh!” for good measure.

“You don’t scare me, sweetie.”

Oh really? You study your nails. “You ever think about how if you’d died before you met me, Luke and Kieran would’ve had full creative control of your funeral?”

Sylus’s smile fades the more that image sinks in. “Fine,” he shrugs, “you scare me a little. Now—” he stands to his full height, giving your head a pat— “off to heaven with you, ghost.”

You’re interfering with his mission, you know.

He strides away purposefully, and you can tell he’s enjoying this. The unfair odds. The chance to show off. At last, some enrichment for the wanted criminal who holds your bags while you’re shopping. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy that, too.)

He’s checking over his gun with a customary glance, and the way he moves is addictive; what he’s wearing doesn’t help. A black compression shirt stresses each muscle of his arms and back— the fabric fighting for its life. If you could buy it a drink for its service, you would. You’d buy it ten.

“Yeah…” you exhale, head sideways, gaze low. “I don’t think heaven’s quite where I’m headed.”

Sylus stops.

He turns with a follow-up question, but it never needs to be asked. You’re still shamelessly staring— explaining yourself with faraway eyes and a bottom lip that’s trapped by your teeth. It’s deliberate, of course. Just like you know that shirt was deliberate.

The man’s head tilts in warning. “Careful, sweetie.”

Were his tone a blade he could pin to your throat, he’d know just the right pressure to make your heart stutter. Not too much. Not too little. But he needs to push harder, these days; you’re awfully comfortable at the edge of that knife, and there’s sin in the way you watch him, like you don’t care if you’ll bleed for it.

It pulls him back to you, tantalisingly slowly. A finger lifts your chin, forcing your gaze back to his eyes. “I said, careful,” he repeats, making every word drag.

That gaze sinks low again. An act of defiance; it doesn’t quite reach his body. It stops at his lips.

He leans in closer.

There’s a sound somewhere down the corridor, and a gunshot rings out. Sylus’s arms are around you— a swirl of his Evol stealing you both from reality. You rejoin the world a loud heartbeat later, in a different room, far away from the last. Crow feathers tumble. The scarlet mist dissipates.

Sylus’s vest is flashing red, and he looks at you, betrayed, as it turns back to cobalt.

That’s two lives down, one to go; you’d stolen the first when he’d taken you hostage. “All’s fair in love and war, Sylus,” you smile, untangling yourself from his grasp. “You understand, don’t you?”

You go to leave, but his hand is on your wrist. He pulls you back, and it would be much more threatening if he wasn’t chuckling so fondly. “My team next time?” he asks, kissing the very top of your head.

You sidle away, his hand forced to surrender you. “Maybe,” you grin at him over your shoulder. “I’m in pretty high demand.”

…

“Raf, Raf, Raf!” you chirp, skipping over to the lilac-haired artist.

“Cutie, cutie, cutie!” he chirps back. “Afterlife’s fun, huh?”

“Even more fun now you’re here.” He’s sat on a fallen pillar, arms by his side, legs stretched out. His face is lit by the glow of his vest: a faint but vivid red. Like an ember. “My condolences, fishie.”

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

Rafayel rolls his head back— a listless sort of stretch. “Xavier shot me. Said I’m a ‘liability’,” he shrugs.  “That I ‘compromised the integrity of the mission.’”

That was a lot of air quotes. “Pretending to be a spy again?” you hazard.

“Nah.”

Ooh! “A gunslinger!”

He’s still staring at the ceiling, but he sighs dreamily, eyes closing. “You know me so well.”

You take a seat next to him, trying not to giggle at the thought of him strutting about in front of Xavier, tipping an invisible hat while the Hunter slowly raised his gun. Gods, how brutal; you hope it was quick. A tiny laugh breaches your lips, and Rafayel opens an eye in suspicion.

You smile innocently. The eye closes again, satisfied. “You’d make a hot cowboy. Or spy.”

“I know,” he breathes out. That was never up for debate. “Which is hotter, though?”

Hmm… You scooch away from him, making a viewfinder with your fingers so you can squint at him through it. His eyes flicker open and he catches on, flashing a smile as he shoots you with a finger gun. “Spy,” you conclude.

“Noted.” His chuckle is warm and wistful.

“So… got any good intel for me, super spy?”

He hums like he has to think about it. “Xavier’s got some big plan to beat Sylus. Wouldn’t tell me what it was, on account of the whole ‘liability’ thing? But yeah, it’s big.”

“How big can it be? It’s laser tag.”

“I think I can shed some light on that matter.”  

It’s a third voice, and the intrusion makes you jump. Rafayel, too, but he’d never admit it. You both glance outwards, to where Zayne is wandering over to you. His walk is relaxed. His gear is red.  

“That line would’ve been way cooler from Xavier,” Rafayel whispers.

“So cool!” you whisper back. Zayne can clearly hear every word, so you’re quick to deflect with a: “Hey, Zayne! What happened to you?”

You know what happened— there’s an obvious, kinda horrifying pattern emerging— but you still need to hear it. Zayne shifts on his feet, looking down at the ground as he finds the right words. “I… was a liability,” he says at last.

“Oh, nice!” Rafayel’s hand shoots out. “Join the club!”

Zayne stares at it blankly, but gives in eventually. His hand meets the artist’s in the least inspiring high-five you’ve ever seen.

“How were you a liability?” you chase up, because it’s harder to picture your stoic doctor prancing around like a secret agent.

Zayne rests his gun back on his shoulder. “I was trying to be a voice of reason.”

There’s a low, sympathetic whistle from Rafayel. “That’ll do it! There’s no reasoning with those levels of crazy.” He looks at you. Interrupts before you can leap to your partner’s defence: “Like, how invested are you in Sylus?”

What the hell’s that supposed to mean? “… A lot?”

Rafayel winces, drawing air through gritted teeth. “Yikes.”

He’s messing with you. He’s messing with you, right? You look up at Zayne— calm, cool, collected Zayne— your anchor in all this insanity. He meets your gaze, and you wait for that smile of reassurance: the one he always manages, even when you’re bleeding out before him, courtesy of a Wanderer you underestimated. Everything will be fine.

He shakes his head discreetly.  

Everything won’t be fine? Oh.

…

“Sylus!”

You sprint down a corridor, your teammates hot at your heels and your breath ragged from running. This place really is a maze, and it’s not like Sylus wants to be found. No— your red-eyed damsel-in-imminent-distress is still marching around out there, oblivious. Avoiding you? Probably.

That’s when you see it. You skid to a stop, Rafayel almost crashing into you.

Perched on a nearby ledge, Mephisto is watching you, head cocked. His mechanical eyes narrow, and there’s no usual caw of greeting. You’re witnessing a professional at work. A crow on a mission, just like his master. You wander over, looking up at him. Then you snatch him down from his pedestal.  

“Listen to me, Mephie,” you conspire as he squawks and wriggles. “Get Sylus, okay? It’s urgent. We have to speak to him.”

You set the bird free, launching him up into the air so he can take forth your message, but he nosedives to the ground, landing in a sorry-looking heap, instead. The little pile of feathers moves. Seems to find its feet, then… keels over sideways with a final squawk. Huh.

“You killed it,” Rafayel observes from behind you.

“I did not!” You crouch down, giving the frozen crow a poke. “C’mon, stop being dramatic! Get up.”

No reaction. Rafayel sings eerily: “Deaaad…”

You scoop Mephisto into your hands and he melts into them. A wing hangs down, and his head hangs backwards, too. You give him a shake. Nothing happens. Standing up, you turn, “Zay—?”

“I’m not a mechanic.” The doctor’s arms are folded.

But you’re looking at him, hope in your eyes and a faint— absolutely not fake— wobble to your lips, so he takes the crow reluctantly. He lifts the fallen wing. Examines the sharp black feathers and plates of metal. “Is there an off switch you might have pressed?” he ponders aloud. “Or…?”

“It’s at the back of his neck,” a voice that isn’t yours answers.

You’re suddenly clutching feathers; Zayne has shoved Mephisto back into your hands. “I don’t—” you try to resist— “no, don’t give him to—!” You try to hand him back, but Zayne is stepping away.

There’s a presence, looming. “Hey, Sy!” You spin around with a smile.

The man you’ve been searching for stares at you, an eyebrow raised. “Killed Mephisto, did you?”

“Uhhhh, no? It was Rafayel.”

A squeak from behind you: “What!?”

Mercifully, Mephisto springs to life— fluttering away so he can perch on Sylus’s shoulder. He coos, leaning in to nuzzle the finger that lifts to stroke at his beak. Then he caws at you, over and over, like a manic sort of laughter. That stupid bird’s been spending too much time with the twins.

Sylus looks between the three of you, his eyes falling on each red vest in turn. He smiles languidly. “Been playing spy again, little artist?”

“Nope.”

“Cowboy,” the older man guesses again.

Rafayel is silent, his arms crossing defensively. Sylus chuckles, and just as you’re about to scold him, he holsters his weapon with… flair? And tips an invisible hat in the artist’s direction. Rafayel smiles. “How might I be of service?” Sylus asks you, still roleplaying.

Adorable. Focus! “We came to warn you, Sy. Xavier’s—”

“Totally lost it,” Rafayel cuts in. You glare at him and his eyes protest: What!? It’s true!

“We should stick together,” Zayne says. “At least until we can figure out what he’s—”

The lights around you go dead.

No more spotlights, no more stripes of neon; you’re submerged into darkness. The only remaining glow is your vests— three red, one blue— all ominously still. Afraid to move. As your eyes adjust, you can just about make out the others’ faces. Rafayel and Sylus are glancing around, wary, but Zayne’s uneasiness is different.

“Phase one,” he mutters gravely.

You don’t like that. “What’s phase two?”

Please know. Please know. He looks at you. Gives another one of those little head shakes.

At the far end of the corridor, a spotlight flickers to life. You all watch, caught in a spell of suspense as it illuminates nothing— an empty space where you half expect some spectre to be. It goes dark a second later. Then the next spotlight lights up, closer. It goes out. The next one lights. Goes out. Lights.

Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

“What the fuck?” Rafayel murmurs, standing closer than before. His hand finds yours, and you’re actually grateful. You hold it, tight.

“Stay behind us,” Zayne directs at Sylus.

A much, much closer spotlight turns on.

Xavier stands beneath it, deathly still. Every bit the spectre you’d imagined: you can’t quite tell if he’s of heaven or hell. He might have walked out of either. He might drag you to either. It’s that look again: the one he wore before he killed you. Inevitability. It lives in his gaze. There’s no running from it. No pleading with or changing it.

“Enough,” Sylus growls, pushing past you, raising his gun. He pulls the trigger, and the sound of the shot rings out. Nothing comes of it, though. The weapon doesn’t flash. Xavier’s vest doesn’t flash.

The Hunter tilts his head— another challenge, soft as sleep.

Sylus presses the trigger a second time, then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Though his weapon looks like a gun— pierces the silence like a gun— it isn’t one, is it? It’s a vessel. For infrared light.

Now you think of it, this game was rigged from the start. It must dawn on Sylus, because he stops. He tears the gun from its cord and lets it skitter across the floor, no more useless there than it was in his hands. Energy crackles around his fingers, thick like sticky, red blood.

“Sylus,” Zayne warns, but there are tentative snowflakes at his fingertips, too.

Xavier steps closer, mirroring Sylus— throwing his gun aside with a crash. A delicate twist of his hands and a blade is unsheathed from the darkness. Pure light, holy and sharp. He spins the sword with a practiced elegance and it’s admittedly mesmerising. You can’t not watch.

Rafayel wriggles his fingers free of yours, then steps in front of you. You’d never tell him, but his hand had started to burn.

You hadn’t missed this— this tension. So full of tempered things, meant to hurt.

White light floods everything, everywhere, and you have to shield your face with your hands. The others are doing the same, groaning, hissing curses; even Xavier is wincing as he stares at the ceiling.

This isn’t his doing. Isn’t his light.

…

“Who needs that place?” Rafayel grumbles, plucking a fry up from Xavier’s plate and poking it past his lips so he can chew on it with his thoughts. “I mean, I’ve got a private island!”

“And I’ve got guns,” Sylus smiles.

You look up. “Laser tag guns?”

He blinks at you. Nods agreeably: “Sure, sweetie.”

“I’m sure we can buy some.” Zayne is stirring a chocolate milkshake, and he stoops to take a sip.

The four of you are huddled around a table outside a fast-food place, conveniently next door to the laser tag place you’ve just been kicked out of. There’s a board in there, now graced with colourful mugshots of you all, and not everyone looks miserable in them. Sylus is smirking in his, an old hand at notoriety. Rafayel is winking, making finger hearts.

Xavier is still inside, arguing your case with the manager— appealing the whole ‘lifetime bans’ thing— and his food is getting cold. You slap away Rafayel’s hand as it goes in for another fry.

“You’ve got your own, Raf!”

“So?” His hand is quicker this time, dodging yours and whisking three fries away from their friends before you can stop him. “They taste better stolen. Everyone knows that.”

Sylus hums in accordance as he steals a fry for himself. Vultures.

They all nibble away at their food— sometimes Xavier’s food— and you know you’re all thinking about the same thing. That corridor, those flickering spotlights, and the Hunter commanding them. You’ve not really talked about it, yet.

“Y’know,” you muse, “I’ve never seen Xavier like that before. Don’t you think it was kinda…?”

Rafayel bonks your head with a rolled-up menu. “Stop.”

Zayne snatches it from him gently. Flattens it out again and sets it neatly down on the table. “He is right though,” he sighs. “Stop.”

You giggle. “Hear me out, though—”

“Ah! There you are!”

Two figures approach your table, and the voice is very familiar. Twenty minutes ago, it was yelling at you.

It’s the manager of the laser tag place, and he stands before you, hands on his hips and a smile on his wizened face. “I’m glad I found you,” he continues, “your friend and I have just been talking. He explained everything. Who’d have thought, huh? An invisible Wanderer, messing with the lights like that! Destroying my equipment! Anyway, it was so kind of you to get rid of it.”

He pats Xavier’s shoulder, praises: “What a nice young man!”

“It was our pleasure, sir.” Xavier tips his head in respect as Sylus sniggers.

The manager’s too enamoured to notice. “Anyway,” he turns to the rest of you, “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. It goes without saying that you are welcome back, anytime! My treat, of course!”

You all glance between each-other as Xavier thanks the man for his kindness, then waves him goodbye with a genuine warmth. The manager trundles away, leaving your little banquet in peace.

Xavier smiles so fondly, his gaze an azure sky. There’s not a cloud in it, just a bright, radiant sun.

Your budding support group is speechless.

“So,” Xavier beams at you all, “who wants to go again?”

[petite-guignol]

hoo boy OK

didn't want to dump this in the fan week tag because it's TECHNICALLY not FFIV but "crossover" did make me think of it.

this also isn't technically a "crossover" given that its entirely in-universe and just happens to be directly RELATED to FFIV but i wanted to talk about it and i figured out how to use my 6yo chromebook as a drawing tablet last night so here goes

i have this FFXIV OC who is quite literally "Edward but an evil bug demon" and i got so attached to him i'm making a whole-ass doll, with some help from my friend for some of the more complex engineering parts. here's some of my design sketches and color tests and what will eventually be his torso (he's being made out of a kind of butterfly-skeleton lookin BJD). It's mostly head shots because i was clearly struggling a lot with how to do the hair and the placement of the eyes, though i think i've sorta figured it out. the final outfit will have a diadem that kind of incorporates the eyes and antennae.

the strings-between-arms idea was from before i was offered the doll with the hollow torso, and i ended up abandoning it for structural reasons anyway. he still has four arms, though, two with human hands and two that are more mantis adjacent, which will have those white-and-blue stripes found on the Antlion's mandibles in Amano's concept art. It will be a bit difficult to rig on the torso, given it's just a ribcage held up by a spine, but i think it's doable as long as the additional arms are smaller

i'm not sure on the actual SHAPE of the antennae -- was kind of thinking something feather-like, but that might be too far into moth territory.

i was like "oh i definitely need the hairstyle to resemble Edward's so it's obvious who he's supposed to be riffing off of!" but as it turns out: Edward does not have an "iconic" haircut. Most every image of him has something different.

the character's name is Prince Orfeo of the Heartless Harp, once the sovereign of the Golden Principate of Damcyan before the world fell into darkness, now a voidsent whose beautiful face and enchanting voice mask the rapaciousness of a predatory insect.

He has a heart of gold, they say, but when has gold ever loved anyone back?

FFXIV lore and how it relates to FFIV lore under the cut but the short version is: i saw the words "damcyan antlion" in a dungeon and went fully insane

OK SO the 13th/the Void ended up with a lot of FFIV inspiration. That's perfect for me as the Void has been kind of my Thing since i started playing

the basic concept of the Void is kind of like, it's a world where the heroes failed -- one way or another, by deception or hubris or simply dying and being reborn as twisted monsters, they all became the villains. to this end we get the hero version of Golbez, of course, but like...

in the Lunar Subterrane dungeon, you delve into the hero Golbez's memories of his final moments, in which he and Durante are struggling to repel an invasion of Baron. the environment is a little...desert-y to be a one-to-one match for the FFIV Baron, which i already thought was interesting, but then Durante laments "nothing is exempt from their avarice" right before we get to the second boss fight of the dungeon: Damcyan Antlion

i thought it was really interesting that it was specifically a DAMCYAN antlion, because that immediately made me think -- wait, if this is effectively the "opposite" of FFIV, is Damcyan the invading force here? the antlion's boss mechanics involve dragging you into sand pits and crashing into pillars to bring them down, so it sure does make an effective siege weapon... hey, didn't they mention "avarice"? Some supplemental FFIV stuff mentions that Damcyan is extremely wealthy, to the extent that money is literally named after their ruling dynasty...

oh my god is there an evil version of Edward on the 13th

given the lack of permanent death once the laws of physics were broken enough over there, does that mean there's specifically a DEMON version of Edward that exists in the Void right now

so i immediately mapped out a basic concept for Bugward, gave him an Italian mythological name to go with all the Dante's Inferno stuff, and somehow got so fixated on it that now i'm balls deep in an expensive doll project.

transcription of the COOL BUG FACTS i scribbled on one of the earlier sketches

That is not his face

palace full of shed skins [was imagining like a cicada here]

don't listen to his words, he is incapable of love

not because he's a voidsent though, he was like that before

originally prince of the world's wealthiest nation

corrupted by Durante after his invasion of Baron, an act which fused Golbez's armor to Durante's body permanently [direct revenge for the death of Golbez obviously]

favorite methods of execution: quicksand, carnivorous worm pit

known to disguise himself as a commoner, seduce peasant girls, then feed them to his pet antlion when he gets bored of them

"i'd die for you" "then perish"

summoning method -- murder your lover and allow the corpse to be consumed by blowflies

[dreamscaperover]

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard Characters: Tommy Kinard Evan "Buck" Buckley Christopher Diaz Eddie Diaz Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

a little tie-in to season 7 finale Buck says Cap is going to be alright, but Tommy senses that something else has happened in these two days that's bothering Buck. He hates seeing Buck like this and wants to help, so he presses for answers. Buck says it's about Eddie.

or read here:

- So maybe we both have daddy issues.

- I don't.

- But you think I do.

- God, I hope so.

The moment words left his mouth Tommy regretted it.

"God, why did I just say that? He's gonna think it's weird, or gross, or... He's barely gay, he's innocent, he's nowhere near ready for that kind of..."

- So, is the food OK?

- What? Oh, yeah, no, it's great. Everything is delicious, Evan, thank you.

Buck is smiling, but it's doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Great! Now he's uncomfortable, and it's all your fault, you idiot!" For the rest of the dinner it's awkward, Buck is being hospitable but something is off and it's palatable.

They finish eating, clean up and move to living area. Once they land on the couch, Tommy decides that it's pointless to pretend and it will be better to just bite the bullet.

- Evan, look, about my remark earlier... the whole "daddy issues" innuendo... I shouldn't have done that, it's clearly made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. I get that it's all still very new to you and I sometimes do or say things that make you feel...

- What? What are you talking about? Innuendo... I don't... Tommy, no. You didn't make me uncomfortable, why would you think that?

- If it's not that, then what? I can see you're clearly bothered by something. I mean, Bobby is fine, he's going to be OK, you got nothing to worry about. Unless... is there something else you're not telling me?

There it is - that deer-in the-headlight look. Tommy's insides make a flip, and Evan not saying anything for a few minutes doesn't help matters at all. Finally, Buck speaks.

- Look, I can't tell you everything... It's about Eddie, and it will be best if you talk about it with him.

"Eddie? What's he talking about? Did Eddie say something to Evan about me? I though he was OK with us dating. What's happening?"

- Evan, please... You're starting to really make me worry here. Did Eddie say something about us?...

- What? No, no, Tommy, no, it's not that! It's... I know you have more questions, but I don't think it's my place to tell you... Unless Eddie gives me permission.

- OK, I hear you. I don't like it, but I get it. We'll talk about it when we can.

~~~~~~~

Next time they see each other is when Buck shows up at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

He looks awful. He mumbles something about being in the area, and Tommy just pulls Buck inside and beelines them both for the couch.

- OK, Evan, spill. I can clearly see that something big is going on with you. Talk to me, baby, please.

- Look, all I can say is that something happened and as a result Christopher is very angry with Eddie. He asked Eddie's parents to take him to live with them in Texas.

"What the hell?! How, why... Christopher loves his dad, and that boy is Eddie's whole world, his heart... What could possibly have happened that Chris would run away like that? I mean, it's gotta be something really, really bad..."

Tommy's frantic train of thought is interrupted the moment he looks up at Buck. Shoulders slumped, hanged head, wriggling hands... When Evan speaks again, it's fast, words tripping over each other, voice trembling.

- Look, I know he's not my kid, not really... Still, I hate this! I hate that he's a thousand miles away, that he's hurting, and I can't be there and I can't hold him and I can't... I know I'm not his dad, but every cell in my body is screaming that I gotta do something! That I shouldn't be away from him, that he needs me, that... that...

- Pretty sure that's how a dad feels. A good one, anyway. And you're a good one.

This sucks. Evan's heart is breaking right in front of him and so does his own, in tune. It's all Tommy can do to cover those wriggling hands with his own. And hope to god that feeling the strength of his grasp and hearing conviction in his voice will be enough to at least take the edge off the pain no parent should ever feel.

- Evan, look at me. Christopher is your kid. Nothing, and I mean nothing will ever change that. That boy loves you. Trust me, I've seen it. Hell, you'll need to bу blind deaf and dumb to not see how much the two of you love each other.

Buck is looking up at him, and it's almost overwhelming how much raw emotion is in those beautiful wide open eyes... how much pain, and fear, and anguish...

"It's not fair! Such a beautiful, loving, kind, amazing human doesn't deserve suffering. And there's was so, so much suffering in your life already... I wish I could stop it, I wish I could make it all go away! My job is to save people, but how do you save a person from this?"

- He left! He's gone, Tommy, he left..

"..you. People keep doing that - leave you."

- Christopher is not gone. You're a family. You'll always be a family. Miles or no miles. You'll see each other again, you'll get to hold him again. Hell, I'll fly you to him myself if I have to! He's not going anywhere.

"And neither am I. Ever. No way I'm adding my name to that too long of a list. I love you too much for that."

Tommy feels the body next to him starting to relax, face expression softened. He lets go of Buck's hands only to envelope him in a bear hug and squeeze as tight as he can. He might be hearing some muffled quiet sobs and his shirt might be getting a little dump where face is buried in the crook of his neck. Tommy doesn't mind. He'll sit here and hold this man as long as he needs him too. No place else he'd rather be.

He doesn't know how much time passes, doesn't really care. Having his man in his arms is definitely something he wouldn't mind doing for eternity. Because here in his arm Evan is safe. Here, the world can't touch him, can't hurt him. So when Buck finally stirs and gently pulls away, Tommy actually feels disappointed. This time when that beautiful face turns to look up at him, there's that little adorable smile and tiny sparkles in bright eyes that never fail to turn Tommy's insides into mush.

- Would you really fly me to Texas?

- Pick a day, Evan. Kinard airline is at your service.

When that tiny smile turns into wide bright happy grin it's all Tommy could do to lean down and drink in the joy by pressing those soft red lips to his own.

[how-to-humaning-401]

ok so im just gonna yap my incomprehensible thoughts here because theyve been festering in my brain for far too long and i need to say it SOMEWHERE or i. will explode.

and i dont exactly think someone in my friend group would appreciate this all in a dm or something /hj

my thoughts about the purple and yellow old man bisexuals (long read)

ok so way back when i joined the hat in time fandom (almost 2-ish years ago) i thoroughly enjoyed the game and found comfort in the characters (as ahit fans usually do /silly)

so lets go straight over to the completely unhinged way that i actually came to start shipping these two (i sometimes wish i was joking on how it started)

so i recently got tomodachi life on my ds at the time and decided to put a bunch of ahit characters there and just do stuff with them, probably relevant to mention that snatcher and conductor were both males at the time since i hadnt really thought about the ship yet

and then it got around to their miis being close buddies so i thought about how they would interact for a moment and i thought, "hey, you know, i think theyd actually get along pretty decently, i wanna see if i can get them to be best friends" and it wasnt until i thought about it more a little further down along the line and thought "hey actually i think theyd do well paired together, ill have a look around and see if people have thought of that pairing before…"

and so, on october 7th, at good old 4 in the morning, i shot a good buddy of mine a dm that, literally said, "dif yiu know that conductor x snatcher ia a tjibg", i was extremely tired at that point, after scouring around tumblr for every piece of them i could find at that moment, and it was highly important that i told him about it

and thats where it all started

and it has only gone way down hill from there

ever since that day that i thought theyd be a good pair, they have, quite literally, become my all time favourite ship in all of fiction. i dont know how i got to this point, these 2 old bisexual men that progressively become reluctant father figures to little alien girl, have become the most comforting ship to me

i have gone through their ship tag on tumblr several times trying to find any new content for them, and recently just went through both of their tags together (searching "#the snatcher, #the conductor", i found some additional ship art not under the ship tag :3c), and i have gone through all the fanfiction sites i know of to find fics of them (iirc, there are 7 fics in total), ive probably saved 99% of the images ive found into my special folder in my gallery for them, because im just. so. incredibly. normal about them.

it all started out as kind of a joke thing but its grown to be a big part of my brain that, even if my current interest moves on, i can no longer look at a pairing of anything purple and yellow and not think about them, they will now and forever reside in my head, and thEY WILL NEVER LEAVE. ive literally beem reffered to as "the snatchductor one" for first impressions multiple times (i consider that a win /silly)

THEY HAVE BECOME SUCH A BIG COMFORT TO ME AND FOR WHAT REASON. WHAT IS SO APPEALING ABOUT THEM THAT TRIGGERS THE HAPPY HORMONES BRAIN. COULDVE BEEN ANY OTHER PAIRING BUT ITS THEM.

its gotten to a point that my delusional brain will take any ounce of them interacting as something special, to me. i genuinely get so happy seeing them together, and i get even happier when i see a fanart i havent seen before, i feel so good inside when seeing other people that arent me making content about them, i still sometimes go back and look at older stuff i have saved bc i feel so much for it

they make me want to scream and rip my hair out /pos whenever get mentioned together, im so normal about them

my beloveds that are starting to creep their way back into my brain again while im in the middle of thinking about cookies and minecraft. theyre creeping their way back from the special corner they stay in my brain back to where im constantly thinking about them

i may not exactly have the motivation to make a lot of stuff about them right now, so im stuck living in a no new content hell until something happens /hj I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO SEE MY VISION PLEASE I NEED TO SEE MORE ABOUT THEM I NEED TO READ MORE ABOUT THEM I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THEM I NEED PEOPLE TO FOR ONCE NOT MENTION DJ GROOVES WHEN TALKING ABOUT CONDUCTOR /j /nsrs /nm

cough on another small note

shoutout to @/milk-box-16 for being the one i scream at in dms about them /silly

shoutout to @/pickled-fern (mostly on tiktok rather than here) for being the oomf at the start when this all started and making up stupid shit with me about them

ngl i think you guys both have prevented me from going utterly insane if i had no one to talk to about them /hj

i. might come back and edit this later if i think of more stuff but yeah for now uhhhh im completely normal about them not insane at all what are you talking about

[jerzwriter]

Tobias took his friend Casey to see his hometown of Washington, DC, all decked out for the holidays; then, she showed him how her hometown of Philadelphia did it. Now, they make one pitstop on the way back home and decide what city does it best... and wrestle with what they mean to each other.

Book: Open Heart Characters: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,400 (sorry) A/N: This series is a rewrite of a fic I originally wrote in 2022. But, as I fill in the gaps in my Tobias/Casey headcanon, I needed to make some adjustments - and wanted to make some improvements. I haven't tagged my full list for the other parts, but I'm going to do so here because this is the part that had the most alternation - and will lead us back to the question: "So how did they actually end up together?"

Thank you to anyone who has read this - it really means so much to me! :)

Series Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist Masterlist

“Last stop!” Tobias jumped out of his Jaguar, eagerly tossing the keys to the valet. There was no denying he was as excited about the last minute addition to their itinerary as Casey, perhaps even more so.

As she gingerly stepped out the passenger side, her enthusiasm was diminished, and concern was written all over her face. “Are you sure this is a good idea? The traffic was worse than we anticipated, and you have to be at work early tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Tobias chuckled. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Unamused, she stood her ground. “Well, I’d like to keep you around for a while, and you need your rest! So we’re not staying too long, all right?”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he nodded, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he animatedly gestured toward the street that would lead them to their next adventure.

The cold air and aroma of roasted chestnuts mingled with jingling bells and car horns blaring at tourists who blocked intersections made it clear... it was Christmastime in New York City. Casey was mesmerized, stopping at every store window to peruse the holiday displays. She was so enchanted that she didn’t notice the minor miracle that had taken place; Tobias Carrick was... quiet.

While his mouth had stopped moving, his mind was in overdrive. Amid the joyful chaos, he could focus on only one thing: fighting the visceral urge to take Casey’s hand in his, and not out of fear of becoming separated. His internal debate was relentless... would it be so wrong? Friends do hold hands sometimes, especially in crowds like this. It would make sense. Perfect sense. It wasn’t like he was leaning to kiss her. Not that they hadn’t done that recently. They had! Less than a month ago, they declared they’d be friends with kissing benefits. Of course, it hadn’t happened again, and if it did, Casey would have to initiate it, not him; fortunately, his rambling thoughts came to a halt along with the rest of him when he walked directly into a light post.

Casey turned around, startled, but began to laugh once she realized he was OK. “You OK there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he recovered. “Just a little... disorientated.”

In desperate need of a distraction and wishing to prevent further injury, Tobias started a conversation to occupy his mind for the rest of their walk.

“So tell me, how did you manage to attend NYU for four years, yet you never saw this tree?”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I had intended to but never made it. Christmastime is also final exam time, and you know me, I had to get straight A’s, so my mind wasn’t fully on the holidays until I finished the last exam... then I was usually on a train home to Philly.”

He shook his head with a chortle. “Didn’t anyone tell you all work and no play is bad for you? Man... you really needed an influence like me in your life  back then, kid.”

“Oh, that’s probably the last thing I needed,” she laughed. “And I managed to have a lot of fun in college. I saw the Bryant Park Tree. Of course the Washington Square Park tree and I were very well acquainted. I just never saw this tree.”

“Well, as much as I am surprised, I’m kind of glad you didn’t... this way, we get to see it for the first time together.”

Casey gave Tobias a side glance; it was now her turn to fight off visceral urges, but she merely gave him a tender smile. “I am, too.”

Then, with the turn of a corner, there it stood, towering above them in all its glory: the world-famous Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.

“Holy shit!” Tobias exclaimed as Casey gasped in awe. “That thing is huge! It’s twice as big as I thought it would be.”

Casey playfully nudged his side with a giggle. “That’s what she said.”

“Really, Casey?” He mocked. “Really? It’s Christmastime.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop being a smartass just because of that,” she winked. “That wouldn’t be fun at all.”

After a moment, it was Casey who made the final determination.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but that guy was right.  I think this Christmas tree is the winner. It beats Philly, and it definitely beats DC!”  

“I’m so glad you said it,” Tobias chuckled.  “I’m done conceding loss on this trip! I just wish we could see it at night.  Can you imagine how beautiful it must be then?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But we can’t stay that late today. Maybe we can come see it again next year.”

Next year.  Those words from her lips took his breath away. Mere months ago, they didn’t know if Casey would survive to see this Christmas, much less next. Yet here she was, full of vitality and right at his side... smiling. Next year. She was thinking ahead, and she was including him in her plans. He wasn’t one for Christmas lore; he sure felt like that red-suited, white-bearded old man had dropped a present right into his lap. But as he felt a swell of promise rising inside him, he also felt something else: fear.

He promised he wouldn’t let this happen. Yet here he was... the happily confirmed bachelor was smitten; he couldn’t even deny it anymore. So he made a new promise: to keep his feelings to himself. Casey had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t ready for any romantic entanglements, and even if she were, he didn’t know if she’d want those entanglements to include him. He had bungled their first chance together badly. He knew how much it had hurt to lose her and didn’t want to face that again. He was lucky to be in her life at all. Friendship was plenty, he convinced himself. Still, as he watched the tree lights flickering on her beaming face, his heart filled with a warmth previously unknown, and he had to wonder... if the time came, would he be able to watch her fall in love with someone else, knowing how much he already loved her so?

“Well, we’ve declared a winner,” Casey said. “We should start heading back to Boston.”

But Tobias had an impish glint in his eyes. “We could.... unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I have always wanted to take a carriage ride through Central Park... and how often will we be in New York. What do you say?”

Casey turned to him, and he could just see the little angel and devil battling over her shoulders. In the end, he was delighted that the devil won.

“You!” she said with a gentle shove. “Leave it to you to find something impossible to say no to!”

“Well,” he smirked, “that is kind of my specialty.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she laughed. “Now, let’s go!”

As much as Casey insisted they make haste, that didn’t prevent her from having a lengthy conversation with Joel, the carriage driver, and she refused to step foot inside until she was satisfied.

“No, Ma’am, I promise you, George here is very well cared for. It’s not like it used to be.  He only rides through a special route in Central Park. It’s perfectly safe.”

Petting George’s beautiful mane, Casey continued her cross-examination. “And what about at the end of the day?” She demanded. “How do you get him back to his stables?”

“In a trailer attached to my truck that I drive very carefully.  Would you like to run my license?”

“Please, don’t give her any ideas! She just might,” Tobias laughed.

“Ma’am,  George, here is family to me. I assure you, he’s the most spoiled horse in the City.  I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“OK,” she nodded. “Then we can take the ride, but can I feed him a carrot first?”  

“You sure can,” the driver smiled.

When she was done, Tobias helped Casey step into the carriage. “You’re incredible,” he smiled. “You know that, right?”

“Really? Incredible in a good way or a bad way?”

Tobias’s eyes crinkled as the driver gave them a blanket to help keep them warm.

“In the very best way.”

“Thank God for this blanket,” Casey said with a shiver. “I didn’t realize how cold it was until we sat down.”

“I did,” Tobias laughed. “In fact, I’m thinking about striking a deal with Joel so we can keep this thing for the walk back to the car.”

While they were seated closely together, Casey eyed the tiny gap between them with caution.

“Well, if you’re that cold, we could huddle together. You know... for warmth.”  

“We could,” he replied nonchalantly. “Anything to stave off frostbite, right?”

“Right,” she smiled, sliding closer to him.

Tobias cautiously lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pleading with the universe for the gesture not to upset her, and the universe delivered. Casey nuzzled her head into his shoulder.  He didn’t think this trip could get better, and just like that, it did. 

The clip-clopping of George’s hooves cut through the crisp air, providing the soundtrack as the carriage meandered gentle curves through the park. About halfway through, delicate snowflakes began to fall, and Tobias and Casey agreed this was better than anything they had ever seen on screen. They were approaching the end of the ride when Casey looked up and nervously giggled.

“Yes,” Tobias asked with a raised brow.

She pointed to a small sprig of mistletoe dangling between the red fringe that lined the carriage’s hood; it would have been easy to miss. Biting her lower lip, she turned away. The scene was too perfect, the moment was too ideal, but should she take the chance? Not allowing herself to give it further thought, she turned to Tobias with abandon.

“So... remember that day back in Cambridge? When I asked if we could kiss... you know... with no strings attached... and you said we could be friends with kissing benefits?”

“I do,” he smiled mischievously.

“Well, we are under the mistletoe, and this is such a special day.  Don’t feel obligated... you don’t have to... but if you want, I thought maybe we could.... mmmhhhh.”

Just like last time, she didn’t get to complete her sentence. Tobias’s soft lips were upon hers, his hand gently cupping her cheek as her arms wrapped around his neck. The kiss was sweet, warm, filled with a tenderness that each longed for but was afraid to claim as their own. This time, when the kiss broke, Casey was unwilling to let it end, pulling him back for one more.

When they silently parted, a blushing Casey diverted her eyes, and perhaps because he wasn’t ready to face the moment either, Tobias pulled her close against his chest, placing a loving kiss atop her head. They remained like that for the rest of the ride, each with a million thoughts swirling in their heads, but not a single word could make its way to their lips.

“Well, this is it, kids!” Joel yelled as he hopped off the carriage. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes,” Casey said almost too quickly. “It was... it was beautiful!”

Tobias shook Joel’s hand, slipping him a tip, before he and Casey began their trek back to the car. The usual easiness between them was replaced with an awkward silence punctuated by small talk about the frigid temperatures and how they could no longer feel their toes. But each attempt to quell the discomfort faded too quickly, and quiet was upon them again. Finally, Casey grabbed Tobias’s wrist.

“T, wait a second,” she insisted, tugging him to face her.

“Is everything OK?” he asked.

“Yes... It’s more than OK. This weekend was just magical. It was more than anything I could have imagined, and I will always treasure the memories I made with you.”

“I’m going to do the same,” he smiled.

“I just hope,” she nervously chewed at her lip. “I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

“Ruin things?” he asked, with a creased brow. “Casey, you couldn’t ruin things if you tried.”

Looking up from under her lashes, she gave a tantalizing little smirk. “Wanna bet? The kiss on the carriage... I... I just got overwhelmed; everything was so beautiful, it was so romantic, and then the mistletoe was there, and I...I....”

“Casey, Casey...” he said, taking her hands. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”  

“It... it is.”

“Sure,” he comforted. “Look, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He watched as the relief that just settled on her features turned into something different, something that looked like hurt, and he was quick to recover.

“Let me correct that. Of course, it means something. Everything with you is very special... because it’s with you. That was a beautiful moment, and I’m glad we got to share it together, but it doesn’t have to mean any more than you want it to. I know where you are right now, and I respect that. We can just leave that tender moment alone.”

“You know... I am feeling better every day,” she insisted. “On this trip, for the first time since the attack, I felt like my old self again. In fact, I went two whole days without even thinking about it.”

“I could tell,” he smiled. “And it was beautiful to see.”

“But, I’m still not... I’m just... still not...”

“Casey,” he whispered. “It’s OK. I promise you...it’s OK.”  

“Good,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“But maybe,” he stalled, already kicking himself for what he was about to say. “Maybe we should hold of on that friends with kissing benefits stuff. You know? I don’t want it to confuse you, and I really don’t want it to hurt what we’ve built between us.”

“Well, I don’t see how they could hurt,” she faltered. “But... but... maybe you’re right, at least for now. But hug... hugs are still allowed, right?”

“Oh, hugs are always allowed,” he grinned, pulling her into one of the tightest ones he could offer.  

“Good,” she sighed with relief. “Because I always need those.”

Then, the two friends stood in the middle of the busy street as the cold wind blew. The sounds that made up the City's symphony- laughter, arguments, honking horns, and sirens blaring in the distance surrounded them. But Casey and Tobias didn’t recall that they were on an island of nearly two million people, for there were only two who mattered, and right now, they were clinging to the moment for as long as time would allow.

“Come on,” Casey smiled, taking his hand. “We need to get you home to Boston.”

“You got it,” he nodded. “But I have a feeling we’ll be back to visit.”

“I think so, too. Oh, and Tobias?”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s early, but... Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Casey,” he smiled, tenderly bopping her nose. “Merry Christmas.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Will tag others in reblog.

[paranormal-taters]

Ok so, for reverse unpopular opinion, MAWS and Stranger Things :).

I genuinely laughed out loud when I saw the second thing in this ask. Evil evil evil 🤣

BUT FIRST WE START WITH MAWS

@dangerously-human BLESS YOU for also asking me about MAwS, I'm gonna do a two-for-one here and tag you in this one (and then answer your other one afterwards)

I'm gonna try to keep my thoughts brief because I'm gonna make an incredibly long post about it later but main points:

I absolutely adore the way MAwS portrays physical and emotional attraction between two adults while balancing both of those aspects of romantic attraction in a way that never makes the viewer feel it's unrealistic or uncomfortable, or like either party is objectifying the other. This is what my long post will largely be about because the way it's done in MAwS feels incredibly rare and valuable.

This has been said by so many other people but I also just adore Clark Kent's character in MAwS. Until now I have never once found myself significantly compelled by any mainstream superhero media besides Megamind. I tried with Marvel and it didn't take. I saw less of DC and didn't really see anything that drew me in, though to be fair I didn't really look. I didn't grow up reading comics and only knew the characters by their stereotypes or their gritty, subversive adaptations that no one likes.

And then I watched MAwS and it changed everything. XD I care about all of it now. I want to know so much more.

I also really really love this adaptation of Lois Lane. I'm really not familiar with the others, but she's such a fun and real-feeling character. She's larger than life and also so down-to-earth when she needs to be. She makes mistakes a lot and does her best to right them, and it's so comforting that she really feels like exactly what she is: a 23-year-old intern with the energy of a caged comet, trying her best to live up to extremely high expectations and her own aspirations. Sometimes that energy goes in the wrong direction, but she is well-intentioned and genuine and really a sweetheart. I love her to death.

I just. ugh. I love them so much. 😭

Okay. Now for part two.

Stranger Things. Can I talk specifically about the first and second seasons? Because those two seasons, for the most part, felt like such a beautiful embodiment of the "love conquers all" trope that we both love. The boys protecting Eleven at the start and doing everything they could to help her, Mike especially doing his best to communicate with her and be a source of safety and comfort for her, and at the end of the first season, her sacrifice to protect all of them. Good gosh. I still can't watch that scene without crying. AND THEN IN THE SECOND SEASON us finding out that Mike tried to reach out into the void for Eleven every single day for 353 days straight?? Destroys me. Utterly. I love Mike so much. (also fun fact, if you add up the digits in 353 it equals 11. i remember binging the second season on the night it came out and screaming to myself about that when it came up.)

I'm gonna throw this link in here because it's one of the best fan edits I've ever seen in my entire life and it encapsulates all of my feelings about Mike and Eleven in season one. I remember watching it over and over again seven years ago and it still brings back all of those emotions. It's so good.

Additional things I love about Stranger Things:

The music. Oh my gosh, the music. The soundtrack from season one is often on repeat in my car. It's freaking beautiful.

Steve. Best freaking redemptive character arc I've ever seen in anything ever. He goes from being perfectly hate-able to someone I would die for in the span of two seasons, and just continues to get better.

Steve's hair. It's great.

It being the reason that we have the infamous "category five woman moment" post about Joyce Byers. I think about it all the time. One of my top five favorite phrases ever.

There are more things but I think I've talked about Stranger Things more than I talked about MAwS at this point, ironically. XD

Thank you both so much for the asks!! These were so fun!! :DDD 💙

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices!Series Part Eleven: One Day At A - Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @camelia35 @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @gracerosaleigh @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @corruptedcoffin

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

Part Three: Fair Trade (Feat: Miguel Galindo) - Miguel puts you in a tough position.

Part Four: Slaughterhouse Rules - Miguel feeds you to the wolves.

Part Five: Stay With Me - Nestor deals with the aftermath.

Part 6: Run - Nestor can’t give you what you need.

Part Seven: Partners in Crime (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus asks Coco to reach out.

Part Eight: What Happens In Reno - What you got up to in Reno.

Part Nine: Don't Give Up (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus takes Nestor under his wing and Coco reaches out.

It’s 2am in the morning and you’re asleep on Nestor’s bed, back where you belong. His sheets tucked neatly around you, an additional fleece blanket laid carefully on top because the thing with blood loss is, it makes you feel cold. Nestor’s been there, he knows what he’s doing.

Nestor’s sitting beside you, his back against the headboard as he reads from one of the books you’d left on your nightstand. He’s tried to keep a respectable distance but as always you seek him out. You’re tucked up against his side in the foetal position, the low rhythmic sound of your breathing in his ears. He thinks about the nights the two of you had spent apart and how he craved this, you back with him, in his bed.

You moan, shifting slightly and Nestor puts the book down on his end table because he can see your eyes flicking awake. You’re groggy and disoriented, you passed out in a hotel room with a dragon water stain on the ceiling and now your somewhere else, somewhere that feel familiar but not at the same time.

“Hey.” Nestor’s voice rumbles through your consciousness as you struggle to comprehend your surroundings. “You’re safe, you’re at home with me. Coco and Stitches brought you back.”

The words penetrate through to your foggy brain as your hand reaches for his, fingers entwining. You need something to ground you right now, everything is fluid, your thoughts ebbing through your mind like fast moving river. They flow through your fingers like water, slipping away before you can grasp them.

“I’m sorry.” You croak, your eyes burning as he squeezes your fingers to reassure you. “Christ Nes, I’m sorry. I…”

He shushes you, his hand cupping your face, his thumb ghosting over the bruising that mars your cheek. You look like hell, and he knows it’s only going to get worse over the next few days as you start to heal. His lips brush over the tears leak from your eyes, he can taste the salt on his tongue before his forehead comes to rest gently on yours.

“It’s ok.” He whispers as he looks into your eyes. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

There’s an honesty in his words and it touches something deep down inside of you. You’re wild, and messy, borderline feral. Anyone else would have called it quits after you’d disappeared but not Nestor, when he says he loves you, he means it. To him that means showing up, sticking around. He’s loyal to a fault, this man, ride or die.

“I don’t deserve you.” You murmur as the tiredness overtakes you again. It’s heavy, like a wave cresting over your head, forcing you down, shoving you under. You’re eyes are fluttering closed, you try to fight it but the comfort of Nestor’s presence and the weight of the blankets are too much, you can feel yourself slipping away.

“Yes, you do.” Nestor whispers into your hairline. “You deserve me, the same way that I deserve you.”

******************************************************************

It’s late in the afternoon when you finally make it out of the bedroom, despite the hours you’ve slept you still feel exhausted. You feel weak, barely able to force yourself out of bed. Getting changed is something akin to agony, you manage to strip off and toss your clothes into the bin alongside the dresser before taking the time to examine yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, a patchwork of bruises from the body blows Eddie had rained on you. You’d thought your face was bad, but your torso is a hundred times worse. No wonder you’re stiff and sore as hell. You take a minute to examine the stab wound, you’re appreciative of Stitches work, she’s cleaned you up nicely. So long as you behave and don’t make any erratic movements you should heal up well. You manage to slip into one of Nestor’s t shirts, the scent of fresh laundry clings to it and soothes something deep inside of you. Being here, around his things, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, it feels like home.

You lean in the doorway watching as he moves through the kitchen with his headphones on, head bobbing to the music. He moves with the gracefulness of a large feline predator, his motions fluid and in sync with the rest of his body. His long dexterous fingers caress the handles of the knives in the chopping block before he selects one and oddly it does something to you. Everything he’s doing is innocuous. He’s simply chopping spinach and mixing eggs but there’s beauty in the domesticity, it makes your pulse quicken, which in turn makes you dizzy.

When you collapse into one of the chairs at the dining table, he catches the movement, turning to face you, removing his headphones and setting them down on the counter. You know you look like a horror show but Nestor doesn’t seem to see it, he looks at you the same way he always has, with reverence and tenderness. Your mouth goes dry as you drink him in. It’s been over three months since you actually laid eyes on him and it makes your heart hurt to actually be sitting here in his presence.

His hair is loose, untamed curls falling over his shoulders, he’s wearing the Method Man t-shirt that David bought for him. It had been the last gig they had attended together before the accident. He opens the fridge and pours you a glass of orange juice before setting it down on the table in front of you.

“It’ll help with the weakness.” He tells you before returning the carton to the fridge.

He knows, of course he knows. He’s been here at some point, banged up, bruised and bloody. You sip from it gratefully and he gives you a look as you set the glass back down on the table.

“All of it.”

You roll your eyes before picking up the glass again and gulping it down. Nestor watches with satisfaction before taking the glass and putting it into the sink.

“You can take your medication after you’ve finished this omelette I’m making.” He tells you, gesturing at the various pill bottles on top of the microwave. “Taking them on an empty stomach will make you sick.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You tell him. “You don’t need to look after me, give me the day I’ll find somewhere…”

Nestor freezes, you see the tension in his shoulders before he fixes you with his gaze, his voice firm as he speaks.

“Rosa, I need you to stop running.”

He calls you by your first name, something he never does and it hits you like a gut punch because it means that something has changed, and you know that’s on you. He exhales as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I just need you to stay in one place and let me take care of you.” he tells you. “You’re injured right now; it’s going to take some time to recover. You have a place here if you want it…” His palm rubs over the back of his neck as he regards you, because the truth is, he doesn’t know what you want anymore. “Whatever is going on with you, I want to help but you’ve got to stop shutting me out, this thing between us only works if we’re honest with each other. If you don’t want that, if it’s too intense, that’s fine but you still have this place as a sanctuary, a place you can come to when the world doesn’t make sense.  That is unconditional.”

There’s a ferocity in his words, you can sense the honesty in them. This is Nestor putting his cards on the table because you can’t go on the way you have been, you realised that in Reno. So, you decide to tell him the truth, because you can’t go on pretending that things are ok anymore.

“What happened in the slaughterhouse, it put me in a backslide. There were things about Afghanistan that I don’t remember, my memories of that day are hazy, there are fragments missing, I made peace with that, it’s part of the trauma.” You pause, remembering how your therapist explained it back when you were still attending counselling. “However since that day, I’ve been getting flashbacks, nightmares, things that don’t make sense to me and I drive myself crazy trying to fit them all together. Sometimes I feel like I’m back there, reliving what happened to me and…”

You trail off, pressing your fingers to your lips to hold back the rush of emotion you can feel threatening to overwhelm you.

“I blame Miguel for it, I was ok before that. Things were good, I was in the best place I had been in a long time and it feels like he took that from me… “

You look at Nestor because you want him to see the truth in your eyes when you tell him the next part.

“I wanted to kill him Nes, I planned it, I fantasied about it, but whenever I got to the point of putting it into practice I couldn’t do it because I knew what it would do to you and that tore me up inside. The man I love and the man I hate, so fucking intertwined.”

“So, you left.” He said softly.

“Yea.” You tell him, focusing on the colourful fridge magnets that weren’t there before you left. “And it didn’t help. Everything is still the same. I’m still broken, still a mess, I still can’t sleep, things that didn’t used to bother me still do. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, I don’t know how to live with this.”

Nestor sighed before stepping towards you and sinking to his knees on the linoleum, his fingertips grazed your chin lightly, tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

“One day at a time.” He tells you. “We deal with it, together. One day at a time.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee