#shit air and even shittier people

[cup-of-red-tea]

Ah so apparently we don't do deliveries and clinics cancel appointments during air alert, ok gotcha

[monzamash]

to be loved — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist

The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.

You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.

The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.

“That smells incredible.”

Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.

“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”

A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.

“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”

Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.

Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”

Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.

“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.

“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”

You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.

So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.

“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.” 

For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.

No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.

a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!

[seat-safety-switch]

A lot of people know that I can't weld. For instance, all of my neighbours with functional hearing or a sense of smell can tell that I did a shit job on my exhaust. Admitting it is freeing, liberating even. And yet I still feel a deep sense of shame.

Sure, I'd done all the usual things that people recommend, short of actually doing what they recommend. Buying the cheapest imaginable welder off of AliExpress and using the worst possible wire. Spinning the dials at random as I turn piles of rusty steel into piles of rusty steel with a bunch of angrily-broken-off wire attached to them. Wearing a welding hood that mostly consists of a goalie mask with shoplifted Ray-Bans® hot glued to the eye holes. Still: crap welds.

I just didn't do it often enough. Practice makes perfect, they say. For the three or four times a year that I had to tack weld a major structural component of my car back together, it was good enough for me to weld, grind, paint. Those folks doing it every single day? No wonder they can competently hot-glue metal together: their boss is forcing them to get good. Which is when the penny dropped.

A buying spree ensued, where I got even shittier cars than usual. DSMs with half the body missing. A low-mileage, air-cooled, pampered Volkswagen Beetle that you can hear rusting like a roaring fire. A bridge support that the city says needs to be repaired to a safe standard. With this pile of garbage that needs to be welded, surely I will become competent at basic fabrication skills well before they fall apart and turn into more iron-rich dirt in my yard (the weeds love it.)

Don't count on it, though. Home Depot keeps putting grinder discs on clearance in order to subsidize my incompetence, and their return policy on worn-out angle grinders is pretty decent, especially if you bring one in and use it to cut the anti-shoplifting cage to pick up four or five more (that's all I can carry while running.) Trust me, you need the extras. They don't build them like they used to, you know. You'd think those lazy assholes would know how to stick metal together.

[bubbipond]

OK but why am I seeing on Twitter and Tumblr people saying that Tonkla did not love Korn as much as Korn loved him?? Did we watch the same show? Let’s not act like Korn was boyfriend of the year. Tonkla didn’t just wake up one morning and decided to be a murderer. He also didn’t force Korn to also cheat on him??? Korn was choosing his family and the life he lived his whole life over love the entire time. You can argue that love wasn’t more important than revenge to Kla but you can’t argue that he didn’t love and care about Korn or vice versa.

He literally took a bullet for him. He did not have to do that. He knew his time was running out. You don’t do things that Tonkla did in this show and expect to live happily ever after. In my opinion, they had the most realistic end to a dark series. You can love someone and want to be with them, but fate not be in your corner. They were both in retrospect too deep into their individual lives to not die and I find that extremely heartbreaking. To be honest if two people deserve a happy ending it was probably them because their issues were not entirely made by them. Their situations were directly influenced by other people (technically so was Greats but he ended up happy so).

But I feel like deducing everything between Korn and Kla to just a revenge plot is a lack of critical thinking. I know that’s a buzz word and I’m not just saying that because throughout the airing of the series I have been like, “I support Kla’s wrongs and his rights”. But instead, I am saying this because he and Korn are not their actions. They are who they are because of other peoples actions. Kla couldn’t move on with his life after his brother died because there was no justice. He definitely needed therapy and he should not have been going around murdering people or attempting to. But that was a direct Issue stemming from his brother’s death. Korn didn’t want to be the head of the family. He didn’t want to be a crappy brother or a crappy boyfriend. He didn’t want to marry that girl whose name escapes me.

And at the end of it, they were both willing to look at each other and be like you know what!? We are Thelma and Louise, we are Bonnie and Clyde. In the most tragic ways possible. I think that’s the reason they kind of stole the last episode. All of their shit was out there. Neither one of them were cowards and neither one of them were good people. Maybe they were at one time but life and the choices they made changed that. I think their end was perfect because they both succeeded and failed at their motives at the end of the day. Neither one was where they were in the beginning at the end of it all.

Marrying that woman wasn’t going to miraculously make Korns life easier. In the end, she cut her losses anyway. The marriage didn’t help her at that point. So where did he have to go? The revelation that Kla was the one to shoot Great and that Great was part of his brother’s murder didn’t diminish how they felt about each other. It just complicated everything. Attempting to murder the people responsible for his brother’s death didn’t bring Kla solace. It didn’t bring his brother back and if anything it just made life shittier. At the end of the day, there was no out for either of them. They would both still have to pay for things they did and did not do. So even though their story ended, they still had a better ending. They still love each other despite the tough situation they were in.

My favorite part of that last scene is Bas’ facial expressions when he hears everything from Kla. He’s not heartbroken, or angry, he’s not bewildered, Or jealous. He’s all of the above and you can see it written on his face so perfectly. Bas really knows how to show emotion on his face and I love him for that; especially the mix of feelings between the revelation and him pointing that gun. He wasn’t questioning whether or not Kla loved him because what did Kla have to gain from keeping him around at the point of him running? This man was exhausted. He was tired of everything and everyone he was tired of the cards that they all have been dealt up until that point. He knew pointing that gun was a bad idea. But their backs were against the wall and there was nothing left to lose. Until there was. He had to watch the love of his life take a bullet for him. So I will not sit here and let people act like Kla was this master manipulator who only wanted revenge.

Because the saddest part about all of this is, it was just a very unfortunate circumstance that intertwined Great and Dome.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Hi? Gosh how do I even start with this :'D

I know it's been ages since I've last popped up on here. I've been debating when to post this for a while, but I kept adding to my draft more and more and now it's the end of JULY omgg I felt so guilty disappearing with zero updates but then thought my birthday would be the best day to finally address this considering it'll feel less random? idk but Ive always celebrated my bday with you guys and I'd feel so bad answering your kind asks without me at least explaining why I was gone for months.

Truth be told, I was dealing with a lot of stuff irl. health issues and sudden declining grades that left me stumped and drained for months now- along with technical issues like having to replace some parts of my computer that took a while for me to find to even draw digitally, which I didn't have the time for anyway with how tired and weary I felt every day.

I'm frankly shaken up by a lot of shit rn and I don't know how to be active online with this burden on my chest- Especially as it's been a while since I've even looked at utmv related content and my motivation dwindled. I swear I'd hype myself up to post or reblog something- but I'd see just how much I've missed or the overwhelming amount of posts I'd need to go through and I'd feel so swamped with exhaustion and most importantly guilt, for not clearing the air up sooner to reassure you guys that I'm, y'know, alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. And I'd procrastinate cause typing it all out is hard and I'd give up halfway every time and it's just not fair to you all!

I thought I was handling it well when I started going out and socializing more, instead of staying cooped up at home on my computer all day. and in the first draft of this post I made months ago I was gonna detail some of the fun plans I had, for my life and for this blog :D but relaxing my strict study schedule and letting go a bit of my tight routine, thinking it was better than wringing myself dry to keep it up, backfired horribly, to say the least.

I know right?? so silly to be hung up on stupid shit like studies of all things! but this is a very important thing for me considering my career plans and the competitivity encouraged by everyone I'm surrounded by, the pressure of keeping up adding to my already stressful days. I had to fix myself up first and I couldn't handle the strain nor interact with people and thinking of jobs and exams sapped my energy so much it's frankly embarrassing. writing this feels so cheesy too and it frustrates me to know I could've come back a month earlier if it weren't for that, but I also know putting all of this into words then would just sound like incoherent venting (not that this is very different tbf) and I wasn't in the right headspace to address my absence, or anything really- I didn't want everyone to see me return when I couldn't muster up a genuinely positive message, let alone talk to anyone with a shadow of my usual cheer

I feel like a complete mess and It drives me up the wall how depressed I've gotten. I debated deleting this blog so many times 'cause the fear of disappointing my audience and my friends, for lack of a more fitting sentiment, made me feel even shittier. I'm constantly thinking if this wall of text is worth posting, or if it's better not to burden you all with all my sappy troubles as if it's the end of the world. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'm not trying to dramatize this situation, but I don't think I'm up to pretending I'm all sunshine and enthusiasm you're all accustomed to.

So sorry for worrying you all! I'll try to catch up, deliver some missed birthday gifts, and answer some asks while I'm at it! Again, I can't state how much I appreciate your support throughout the years. It's frankly a miracle I kept any of you around with how much I keep popping and leaving at random with no warning. I definitely can't promise for my stay to be without a hitch, and if you don't mind an inconsistent schedule you're free to stay of course, but I'm afraid I can't sustain the pace I had when I first started this blog. I'll keep posting art, but lower my activity in the fandom sphere to reduce the strain on my mental health. so fewer rants and walls of text, more art, and less stress overall. Love you all and thanks for waiting for this long <3

[gourdyshome]

THAT EX PATRICK BLURB…….. you may have ATE i fear… bcs he IS self destruction. (there’s some references to casual by chappell roan i couldnt help myself hehe)

can’t let himself have true happiness bcs deep down he feels like he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. his corrupted parents could not give less of a shit abt him when he wasn’t winning tennis championships, so why are you, a perfect, untainted angel, worshipping him like a god no matter what he does?

he doesn’t want to fuck other girls, their pussy doesn’t even feel good, but he feels like he has to. so he does, but doesn’t tell anyone how he can only cum if he thinks about you. doesn’t tell anyone that if he gets too lost in the sex, he has to bite his tongue from letting your name slip from his lips. doesn’t tell anyone how after sex, he just leaves, because he can’t bring himself to hold the girl how he held you.

it hurts to live life without you, so he tries filling the void of you with more nameless girls and forgettable parties. which makes life feel shittier, the feeling of which he tries fixing with more parties and one night stands. it’s a vicious fucking cycle.

and you’re not doing any better, either. he’s heard from mutual friends that you’re confused and hurt, that they see you cry almost every time they visit you, and that, apart from going to class, you don’t go out anymore. not with friends, not to parties. patrick hates that he’s the reason for all this, he genuinely despises himself for hurting his girl. he wants to come see you, but he can’t.

after a month of so of wallowing in self pity, you decide to finally go out. fuck patrick, you think. you go to this party your friends were talking about, and how patrick was gonna be a think of the past after this. you enter, immediately grabbing a drink and mingling with people and finally smiling and enjoying yourself for the first time in a while. that is, until you notice a tall, blonde girl pinned against the wall, moaning as a guy shoves his tongue down her throat. ugh, thanks for the painfully brutal reminder that i’m single, you say to the universe.

you can’t see the guy because there’s people standing in front of you, but when they shuffle out of your eyeline, you catch a glimpse of those unmistakable curls. it… can’t be him, right? you watch them from afar for a while to accept that yes, that is patrick zweig. her hands run through his hair, and he grabs her ass. you feel sick to your stomach. he’s kissing her with the same lips he kissed you, touches her with the same hands he held you. you push through the sea of people to go outside, you can’t breathe. you cause a bit of a scene and eyes watch you as you leave in a hurry, including patrick’s. he had no idea you were gonna be here. tells the girl to fuck off, and follows you outside.

you’re standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to breathe in the chilly november air and calm down. he waits, a minute passes, then two, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say. or how to approach you. you feel his presence. you know it’s him. you’ve always been able to tell when he was around. soulmates, you used to say. sounds so naive in hindsight. he touches your shoulder, you break down. you turn around to face him. “god, patrick, i can’t get rid of you! you’re fucking everywhere! i-in the mattress, in my s-sheets, in m-my clothes, in my fucking textbooks… and now here? why won’t you just leave? i-i can’t breathe around you anymore!” smudged mascara runs down your face. patrick bites the inside of his cheek, he’s not gonna keep it together for very long if he sees you crying. he feels sick knowing he’s responsible. he tries to wipe your tears. you flinch away. “don’t fucking touch me! you lost that right a long time ago.”

in his head, he’s still just protecting you from himself. so he says something without thinking. in actuality, he’s also trying to protect himself from getting hurt, and his hands retreat into his pockets and he shrugs coldly. “i don’t know what to tell you… we were casual, sweetheart.” a beat passes. you look at him through hazy eyes, with heartbreak, confusion, a sense of betrayal and vitriolic rage. “c-casual? were we ‘casual’ when you were knee deep in the fucking passenger seat, and you were eating me out?? mumbling shit about ‘i can’t wait to keep doing this for the rest of my life?’ or were we casual when we had been dating for two weeks and your mom invited me to her house in long beach for the day? for fuck’s sake, you said you loved me while we were having sex!”

every word feels like a dagger to his heart, because he knows he can’t keep justifying his behaviour to himself. still, he keeps the act up. asks you, “why are you so bitter?” you are genuinely floored… was everything a lie? “you fucked me in the bathroom when we went to dinner while your parents were at the fucking table! …and you wonder why i’m bitter?! you said… you could never see yourself with another girl, and here you are, shoving your tongue down some blonde’s throat a month later. fuck you, patrick zweig.”

he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he needs you back. he can’t breathe when you’re not around.

(maybe that’s why that other girl’s mouth was on his… she was just giving him mouth to mouth CPR!! 😍😝)

ps: i did not proofread this, i’m rawdogging it… i hope it slays xx

oh girl ... patrick kissing a hundred girls in bars ... speak on it!!!

i feel like he's such a douche that he would decide to try and apologize in the cheesiest way possible. literally googles "movie apologies" to get ideas. picks a day when it's supposed to rain, buys your favorite flowers and the most overpriced chocolate he can find. and then he's at your door, like a kicked puppy, soaked to the bone and holding a bouquet of carnations in one hand, a package of fannie may mint meltaways in the other.

i'm sorry, he says. i was an asshole, i was wrong. i should've never broken it off with you, i was scared and a coward. i don't deserve a second chance, he tells you. and then he asks for one anyways.

and maybe it's the rain, but you let him in. you let him press you up against the wall, soggy and water-logged, dripping all over the hardwood floor of your apartment. fuck, that's gonna come out of your security deposit. but when he's kissing you like this, like he needs you more than anything else, like he's missed you with his heart and soul ... you can't bring yourself to give a fuck about that $200.

he fucks you slow and sweet that night. missionary, which is rare for patrick. he tells you i wanna see you, baby, missed you so much. missed your lips, your body, your perfect fuckin' tits. god, you're so wet. missed this little pussy, pulling me in like y'r made for me, god -

you fall asleep wondering if he'll leave before morning. he falls asleep wondering the same.

[aliveinacoffin]

Request

Hi I was thinking if you could do aizawa having a sibling or daughter. Like a younger sister or daughter who he teaches and do some type of angst with them. Like him not paying much attention to her or she’s caught doing something (like smoking,drugs). Something like that. Thank you☺️

Ofc! This seems so sad, idk if you wanted angst and comfort so I just made it angst/no comfort 😭

My Own Mirror

I don't know if you wanted this to be a reader insert so I decided to just make it third person and give the little guy a nickname. as always, should be around 1k words!

TW for w33d smoking, mention of eating problems, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of parent death, and suicidal ideations.

The cold bitter air was a grounding feeling on the young woman's flesh. Her fingers curled around the blunt she had, the smoke disappearing into the night air. The pleasant haze was soon to take over her mind, something to finally take the stress away from her life.

The headache she had from her too tight ponytail or from the lack of water and food or from her classes.

Her life was already shit enough, with shit parents and an even shittier school experience. Her quirk gave her no physical advantages at all. Her strength, smarts, and speeds were purely human. The only thing she could rely on was her absolutely atomic quirk.

When she makes skin-to-skin contact with a quirk user, she can paralyze them for up to twenty minutes if she really tried. For non-quirk users, it was up to ten. Which was great since the victim had no option but to stay frozen in that same exact spot, but horrid when you realize that most heroes and villains had some sort of superhuman ability.

The raven haired girls spiraling thoughts stopped when her mind fully succumbed to the familiar haze of her old friend. Sighing, she put out the rest of her blunt and flicked off the tiny piece that was left. She watched it fling across U.A grounds, landing on the perfectly manicured lawn. She turned back to her room, locking the door behind her.

___________________________________________

"Now, I will make this clear since there was evidence of smoking on school grounds. Smoking, of any kind, is absolutely prohibited. If you are caught even within 50 feet of a cigarette butt, it's automatic expulsion." Aizawa Shouta's voice was clear and stern.

His dark eyes scanned the room of young future heros, spending equal time looking at each one. When his black eyes matched with golden ones, he quickly looked away.

The young woman had to keep the hair on her body from becoming hard points that gravitated towards the ground.

"Now, on with the assignment for the day." The cold teacher turned towards the chalkboard and started to write whatever hero ethics problems they had.

___________________________________________

"Aizawa-sensei, I was wondering if you could help me with this problem." Her voice rang out, just as monotone as his.

Shouta sighed, looking up at the younger version of him through tired eyes. Even though Aizawa was a common last name, it was hard to deny the fact that the young girl wasn't related to him. They had the same dark hair, the same dry humor, their looks were almost identical, and their quirks were only offshoots of the other. Even their eyes were the same, both of them turning a beautiful golden hue when they used their quirks.

Though, of course, many people were wrong in their assumptions. Most people thought that she was the older man's child. Thus, many affectionately gave her the title 'Little 'zawa' truly, a creative breakthough.

In truth, she was his younger sister. Way, younger sister. Even though both of them had been accidents, something both their parents had constantly reminded both, she was even more of a mistake than Shouta.

Still, his mini me shuffled closer to his desk, awkwardness filling her entire body. He had been thirteen when she was born, already going through puberty, and was ready to get out of the house when she had been born. To say they never had a good relationship was an understatement. The loss of his friend only estranged the two of them more.

"Make this quick, I have lots of papers to grade." Aizawa was blunt and to the point. Barely giving her a second glance as he went back to scratching off red marks on poor students' hard work.

Resentment filled her once again, anger curling up fast and hot in her. He had always made it clear that the two of them weren't close, that they had no personal relationship except matching parentage and had the unfortunate to end up in the same class.

"I was just struggling to understand question nine, and I needed further clarifying-" She started, trying to keep her brows from furrowing.

"I explained that in class, weren't you paying attention? I don't have the time to explain myself twice for everything I say." He was exasperated, simply put off by the entire interaction.

"It's just one question. Would it kill you to just talk to me?" Anger got the better of her, and the assignment she had crinkled under her fist. She moved to try and put herself in his line of vision and slammed her hands on top of his desk. "Are you that ashamed of me?"

In a quick movement, Shouta stood up to his towering height over the girl, eyes dark and mouth set in a harsh frown. "That's no way to speak to your teacher. Now you should leave before I give you detention." He had one hand on the armrest of his rolly chair, clenching the poor handle with all his might.

She glared at him, mirroring his expression before she started to blink away the rapidly forming hot tears. She made a quick turn on her heel, wadding up the assignment before chucking it into the trash bin by the door. "Thanks for the help, sensei!" Her angry voice yelled out to him as she disappeared down the hallway.

Aizawa sighed deeply, collapsing onto the chair and holding his aching head in his hands.

___________________________________________

Just as always, the sunset makes way for the moon to rise. The stars were no longer covered in the bright light of the sun, constellations, and milky ways soon were revealed in the dark night sky.

And just as always, little 'zawa found herself back on her balcony. She had some comfort with the makeshift overhead and the sheen blanket she had set up around it.

The remnants of her current activity lay around, little flakes of her weed staying untouched on her metal tray, her grinder next to it. Little sheets for her blunts gently swaying in the light breeze.

The only thing that gave herself away to anyone else was the smoke that occasionally bloomed up in the air.

Playing on her phone, her blunt fingernails tap tap tapping in the quiet night, sporadically inhaling her cure-all. She failed to notice the dark figure standing on her balcony.

Someone loudly cleared their throat, loudly and obnoxiously.

The sounds startled the girl, and panic seized her so badly that she dropped her phone and her blunt. Her head snapped with wide eyes finding the source of her interruption.

"Shit."

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Aizawa said simply, face set in a disappointed scowl.

At those words, something in the girl's mind snapped, like a rubber band finally giving up after being stretched and forced too far.

"What else could I say? You won't listen to me either way, you hardly even spare a glance my way! When Mom died, you weren't even there. I had to sort her will all by myself, I had to plan her own funeral, and you left me to deal with Dad. You left me all alone, Shouta, do you even know who I am?" She sobbed, fat crocodile tears rolling down her face while her hands painfully clutched at her beating heart. Her hot face scrunched up at her older brother's form. "The only way I feel normal, where I don't want to just jump off a bridge is by getting fucked up."

There was a beat of silence, only the sounds of the youngest Aizawas crying could be heard.

"I'm sorry I was born and I'm sorry I ever came into your life." She said quietly, voice horse and barely above a whisper.

She looked up at her teacher, her older brother, a stranger through teary eyes.

The whole time Shouta had just been staring at her with an icy stare, "No, I have no idea who you are." He said, shoulders drooping, his eyes fluttering as he looked away.

Almost ashamed.

[schrijverr]

My Stab Wound, Not Our Stab Wound

When Ed gets stabbed on his way to work the rest of team Mustang realize just how high a pain tolerance he has.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: chronic pain, blood, injury, wound care

~~~~

Edward is having a Bad day. Yes, capital B bad. It just sucks from top to bottom from the second he wakes up.

It starts before he even opens his eyes, when the air has him groaning and 99% sure it’s going to rain later today, because there is an ache in his stumps that his automail keeps tugging at.

The groan alone would have been enough for Al to try to talk him out of going to report, but Al isn’t here right now and the sooner Ed goes to report to colonel bastard, the sooner he can go save Al from his own kindness.

The town they had followed yet another busted lead to the philosopher's stone in is in the middle of setting up for a festival and Al is very useful when it comes to lugging heavy pieces of stalls and a stage around. So, naturally the younger had stuck around.

If he’s honest, Ed would have loved to stick around as well, but alas he had been called back to eastern command instead.

Colonel bastard had kindly – read in his usual asshole-y manner – explained to Ed that he is behind on his reports and paper work. Until he is caught up, the colonel is not giving him another lead and he does have another lead. Ed can’t afford to waste those few days to catch up to help with the festival alongside Al, so he went to back to East City alone.

Of course, Al wanted to come with him. He was ready to go the second Ed told him he had to, but Ed couldn’t bring himself to ask Al to go, no matter how much he would have loved the company of his little brother.

Because the festival reminded both of them of the sheep festival back home. Of the good days of their childhood. And it was clear how badly Al wanted to stay. Ed couldn’t take that from him. Not after everything else he’d already taken.

So here he is, groaning in pain and all by himself in his dorm bed.

For a second he contemplates listening to the Al in his head and staying down for today. However, getting to command today is to save time, not add more to it. Besides, it isn’t raining right now and the pain is still manageable, who knows how bad it’ll get when the water does start to fall.

Still, he allows himself a moment of misery, before forcing himself out of bed, cursing his way through his morning routine.

He is still grumbling when he walks down the streets towards eastern command. His foul mood is radiating off him, so most people give him a wide berth, something Ed is grateful for. Because of this, it comes as a surprise as someone bumps into him harshly, sending him sprawling to the ground with a loud thud, pain radiating from his shoulder.

“Hey!” he exclaims, getting up and glaring at the guy that ran into him. “Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole.”

For some reason the guy gets very pale, looking almost stricken. And he doesn’t reply to Ed’s comment at all.

Ed follows his gaze, spotting his watch, which is now dangling from his belt instead of tucked into his pocket like normal. He shoves it back and rolls his eyes, sighing: “I’m not going to arrest you or some shit just because ran into me. I’m not a dick.”

The guy looks like he can’t believe it, but before Ed can say anything else, he has turned on his heel, running away as fast as he can.

“Weirdo,” Ed mumbles to himself, before continuing the journey.

There is still a pain in his shoulder – the left one this time – from where the guy bumped into him, which must have been harder than Ed thought. It’s another layer of shit on his already shit day, because he was planning on writing with that arm, shittier handwriting be damned. He still probably will, but it will suck ass.

Sour mood pertaining, he stomps the last leg of his journey, blessedly alone in the streets, since most are off at work at this point.

The command center itself also isn’t as busy as it usually is, most still catching up on yesterday’s work. Ed feels relieved that he doesn’t have to greet people as they pass. Al would call him rude, but sometimes he’s just not in the mood to be nice. That’s perfectly normal, in his opinion. Al can stuff his manners.

Angrily he kicks open the door the office, allowing a small sense of satisfaction at the loud bang it produces.

That satisfaction is immediately wiped away by Mustang’s smarmy voice as he says: “Ah, Fullmetal, how nice of you to ruin my door again. What did it do this time? Call you short?”

Ed glares at him, not sure if he’s even in the mood to snap back at him. He normally would be flying off the rails, but he’s sore and tired and he just wants to get today over with. It’s already shitty enough without having to deal with colonel bastard on top of it. He just wants to get through his paperwork in peace.

He knows it’s suspicious not to get mad at Mustang and he does feel annoyance coursing through his veins.

But the atmosphere looks peaceful, with most of them diligently working, except for Mustang and Havoc, since the colonel is leaning against the latter’s desk. They’d been likely chatting before Ed came in. However, maybe it was work related, since Hawkeye isn’t shooting at either of them.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, colonel bastard,” Ed settles on. “Just give me my damn paper work so I can get out of here as soon as I can.”

Now, Ed isn’t so stupid that he doesn’t see the rest of the team share a concerned look with each other at his lack of response. However, he’s also not admitting that he’s hurting because of the rain and missing his brother. That would be childish and he’s not childish. He’s not.

In his own way, it is kind of sweet that Mustang tries to get a rise out of him by saying: “Really, no more attitude? Who are you and what have you done with my subordinate? I mean, you’re shrimp-y enough, but I don’t know…”

“Like you’ve ever been thrilled to do paperwork,” Ed snaps, not in the mood for Mustang’s mind games and teases. “And I’m not shrimp-y!”

Mustang pulls a face that screams ‘fair enough’ – because it’s not like Ed is wrong – before he pushes himself of Havoc’s desk to go get his pile.

Ed goes to follow him. He doesn’t have his own desk, since he’s rarely there, so he’ll often catch up on paperwork at the colonel’s coffee table, spreading over his couch, which honestly sounds like a lovely space to drop down after the shitty morning he’s had.

However, the second he turns, Havoc lets out a loud: “Holy fucking shit, Chief!”

Immediately Ed whirls back around again, thinking it might be a cry for help. But nothing stands out, except for the white faces of the others. As if the blood as been drained out.

He is about to ask what’s wrong when Mustang exclaims: “What the fuck!” Before demanding: “You didn’t tell me you were injured, Fullmetal. What happened?”

“Injured?” Ed asks, confused, because, yeah, he’s hurting, but he’s not visibly injured as far as he’s aware. “I’m injured?”

For a moment, all he gets are shocked expressions, as if they can’t believe what he’s saying. But, luckily, there is Hawkeye, who says: “You have a knife sticking out of your shoulder, major. I believe it’s the flesh side.”

Ed has no memory of being stabbed this morning – and it must have been this morning, because he does distinctively remember laying on his back in bed and he’s sure he would have noticed a knife then.

Absentmindedly he reaches back to check as he goes through this morning, before he gasps: “That asshole!”

“What?” Mustang demands as he hovers around him, which is annoying and un-bastard-like.

“Some guy bumped into me this morning, I thought it must be a stupid accident, but he just failed to rob me or some shit. Probably stumbled instead of threateningly sliding up behind me,” Ed explains. “No wonder he was so nervous.”

“How did you not notice getting mugged?” Fuery explains, looking a little green around the gills.

“Not the point right now,” Havoc cuts in. “We need to get you to a hospital!”

Hospital seems to have been the magic word, because it seemingly catches up to all of them that Ed has a knife in his back. And that is not good.

However, the last thing Ed wants is to be stuck in a hospital, so he quickly says: “It’s not that bad you guys, no need for a hospital. I’m sure one of you knows how to stitch someone up. We can just patch me up right here.”

“You can’t seriously-” Mustang starts, before he is cut off by Hawkeye: “Havoc is the team medic, but I can do it too if you’d prefer.”

“Lieutenant!” Mustang exclaims, sounding appalled that she is even entertaining it.

“He is not going to the hospital unless it’s screaming and kicking, sir. Better to minimize the injury,” Hawkeye explains in her matter of fact tone.

“He needs to see a medical professional,” Mustang protests. “There’s a knife in his back.”

“Uhm, he is right here,” Ed pipes up with a scowl, annoyed that they’re all making a big deal out of it. “And I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Just stitch me up here and I’ll be fine. The longer you argue, the more I’m going to bleed.”

Ed isn’t sure which part of the comment wins Mustang over. He wants to claim it’s his stubbornness that colonel bastard knows he’s never going to win from, however, a small part of him can’t help but think it’s the bleeding part. That Mustang might be genuinely concerned about his well being and safety. Which is absurd and he won’t entertain the thought.

“Fine,” is what Mustang huffs in the end. “But Havoc is doing the stitching. He’s the trained professional here and we’re doing it by the book.”

Hawkeye seems to be fine with that decision and orders Ed to her chair, while she goes to get the med kit for Havoc, who is also getting his ass in gear to assess the wound.

“We don’t know how long it is, but based off the blood flow, it hasn’t hit anything vital. Just some stitches and taking it easy for a bit will probably be enough. But no cheering yet, if it’s really far, we might still take you to the hospital, chief,” Havoc says.

“I don’t wanna,” Ed whines, knowing it is a little childish, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t in the mood for a hospital – granted, he never is, but it’s worse without having Al there.

“Well, you might not get a say,” Havoc counters, luckily not sounding patronizing, but just realistic. “If it looks like it might have messed with your shoulder too much, we’ll have to. Or you’ll be out of commission for even longer.”

That gets Ed to quiet down about it and accept his fate. He can’t afford to waste time being out of commission. They have to get their bodies back. Al has to get his body back.

Hawkeye returns with the med kit and Havoc prepares the needle. Ed pointedly doesn’t look at said needle, trying not to think about it. Stitches are somehow better than shots, but they still suck and not having to see them helps.

Once that is done, Havoc gets in position, warning: “I’m about to get the knife out and your clothes off so I can see the wound. You ready? Need a count down?”

“I’m good, just pull it out,” Ed replies, bracing himself.

Havoc does just that, tugging the knife out of Ed’s body. Now, his pain receptors have admittedly been out of whack ever since he lost his limbs, so only a little stab of pain goes through Ed at the action. Not enough to flinch.

Ed helps Havoc in getting his layers off, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of warm, sticky blood sliding down his back. Ugh, it’s what he hates most about getting injured.

Under instruction of Havoc, Hawkeye puts pressure on the wound, while Havoc puts on some gloves and preps the stuff to clean the wound.

Meanwhile, Mustang is still hovering in a way that Ed isn’t thinking about. The colonel asks: “Are you doing okay? You sure you don’t need the hospital?”

“I’m fine, bastard,” Ed rolls his eyes. “Look, the knife wasn’t that big at all. Was an amateur mugging. I might even have been his first.”

“That’s not at all soothing, Fullmetal,” Mustang sighs, sounding exasperated, fond and exhausted at the same time.

“Who says I’m soothing you, asshole? I got stabbed, shouldn’t you be soothing me?” Ed shoots back.

“Do- do you want me to?” Mustang asks, sounding cautious and uncertain, but like he means it.

It makes something weird twist up inside Ed and he explodes: “Of course I don’t want that, you bastard. Don’t make it weird.”

“You came in with a knife in your back, kid. Pretty sure it’s already weird,” Breda pipes up.

“Oh shut up,” Ed says, though he’s calmed down a little again. “It was a minor stab wound.”

“How can a stab wound be minor?” Falman wonders out loud as Fuery besides him gets even paler as he watches Havoc clean Ed’s wound with alcohol, while the teen only hisses a little bit.

“Is Fuery okay?” Ed asks, once Havoc has put the wipe down again “He’s looking a little pale.”

“I’m good,” the young sargent squeaks, though he proceeds to pass out when Havoc first stabs the needle in Ed’s back.

Ed can relate, needles suck. He has seen too many in his lifetime already and he’s glad he’s not seeing this one. The sensations aren’t that bad and without the visual, it’s easier to ignore the fact that it is a needle.

Mustang watches on, looking a little horrified, but also impressed as he asks: “How are you not even responding right now?”

“It’s just a little prick,” Ed says, barely stopping himself from shrugging. “It’s not like you can really feel it.”

“Most definitely would feel this,” Havoc informs him. “I’ve seen grown men cry, because of stitches. You’re a real tough cookie, chief.”

Ed doesn’t really believe that and sends an incredulous look over his shoulder to Havoc. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not as bad as the stabbing and I thought that was either because the guy bumped into me or because it was my automail radiating through.”

“Your automail?” Hawkeye asks and if it was anyone other than her, Ed might have gotten defensive or avoidant, honestly.

Instead, he just says: “Yeah, it’s going to rain later, so my ports are reacting to the air pressure or some shit. It can radiate through from the port. Just thought it was that.”

“It gets that bad?” Mustang frowns.

“It’s not bad,” Ed snaps, defenses up again. “I can function just fine. It’s not even raining yet, so I am perfectly okay. I just gotta do my paperwork and then I’m gone again. No need to get all tied up, colonel bastard.”

Mustang doesn’t look like he believes Ed, but he also doesn’t push under the force of Ed’s glare (which pleases him intensely).

“Okay, all done,” Havoc announces from behind, applying a bandage while cutting through the tension.

“Great! Thank you, Havoc,” Ed says, getting up and putting his clothes on again. They’re a little crusty with blood, but a little alchemy fixes that right up. Then he gestures to Mustang: “You were getting my paperwork.”

“Are you sure you’re able to work?” Mustang asks.

“Yes! I am!” Ed explodes again. “It’s just a fucking stabwound, Mustang. It’s fucking nothing, you’re all being so dramatic about it. Just let me do my work so I can get the hell out of here. Not all of us have time to laze around.”

Ed can see in Mustang’s eyes that there’s a war waging inside him. He holds his breath as he waits to see how the colonel will react.

After a moment, Mustang dawns a smug look as he says: “Well, I guess it fits. A small stab wound for a small alchemist.”

That sets Ed off again, but this time, the explosion chafes less. Instead it feels familiar, a well worn melody they’ve played a hundred times. A nice way to be angry and frustrated without needing to be vulnerable. Just what Ed needs to feel like himself again after all the concern that had wafted off of the group.

He ignores how the colonel knows that about him as he follows him into his office, sprawling on the couch to catch up on paperwork.

Later, he’ll get berated by Al for not going to the hospital after he was stabbed and for not taking it easy when his ports hurt. But Ed doesn’t mind, he’ll listen to Al be worried a thousand times over as they ride off to a new lead. He really feels like this one might be it. And no time wasted in East City, the whole goal of the stunt.

And the rest of team Mustang, would never underestimate Ed after that day. They already knew the kid is a little insane, but holy shit, can Fullmetal take a hit. He probably has the highest pain tolerance in that office and all of them know and respect him for it.

Even if it hurts that Ed has already hurt so much that it doesn’t register anymore.

~~

A/N:

I can’t remember where I saw it, but Havoc as the team medic just rings so true for me, so I had to put it in here xp

Also, if you get stabbed, go to a hospital pls and let people with actual medical knowledge look at it

[wildpeachfarm]

From what little I remember, he did acknowledge some of his faults in the response, including the stuff where he allegedly said a lot of racist shit to her. The consensus I saw was that it was a very toxic relationship and neither came out of it looking good, but people (including people who were very much not on George's side at that point) thought the response was "ok" and it seemed like he might be able to weather through it

Then he made the fatal mistake of doubling down and airing even more dirty laundry

Yeah he treated it like an opportunity to shit on someone else which made him look even shittier

[cardiomyapathy]

the boys au.

typical kelly lore except he got a great placement at Vought after a few years as a successful surgeon. also has stocks with the company. worked at Vought and tested on himself with compound V to study the effects it had on the heart + lungs. nothing happened and he was pretty bummed until... he got into a heated fight with his wife and accidentally obliterated her by increasing the pressure in her body until she blew up. Vought covered it up in exchange for a bout of testing, which ended up with his resignment. He doesn't talk about that, and refuses to use his powers. long time frenemy of butcher. tired of his shit. more tired of supes and vought. nobody knew he even had powers until another accident, and since then butcher encouraged him to learn to use his powers (for his own gain, but yeah). maybe kelly got better, maybe he accidentally creates tiny air vacuums and chokes people out randomly. went back to work for Vought (testing on those kids?) to investigate for butcher *definitely would have wanted to join the seven if he were a slightly shittier person/didn't hate homelander so much * pretends to love firecracker and co because he seems like the type and it gets him in

POWERS (assuming he learned how to use them)

can create vacuums and mimic pressure conditions in space/deep sea without compressing himself.

in dire situations, he can suck people into a empty void like kirby through his eyes? mouth? if they don't go through, they get cut in half. wears a mask/sunglasses to avoid accidents? it happened maybe like twice and it was a terrible feeling.

uses vacuums to create basic air attacks

can remove the air from your lungs

very good with altitudes. tried climbing Everest a few years back

[gonegrove]

OKAY SO-- Heather/Steve:

they’re not childhood friends bc that implies they hung out. they’re like childhood coworkers. Their parents are friends and they’re part of the same country club etc so they tend to end up at the same events and dinner parties their whole life. they either get shunted together because they’re “The Children” or naturally gravitate to each other as the only/2 of the few kids there. So like, they don’t necessarily really hang out unless in those kinds of need-based situations. they’re summer camp friends at best. (they’ve also probably gone to summer camp together sooo)

eventually when it comes to things like boring dinner parties they go out of a sense of duty to each other because they know if they dip the one one will be left alone to the wolves. they try to avoid everyone as much as possible and anytime some middle aged weirdo starts cracking jokes about them dating/allusions to them having sex/her looks/his prowess bc of her looks and the assumption they’re dating they’re both like “this is disgusting and also i want to die”

steve noticing unconsciously or not her getting meaner and meaner as she gets older and also how her dad gets shittier and more domineering and is like “huh. don’t like any of THAT”. tries to call her out on being a bitch sometimes but she just targets him instead and it reminds him why they don’t hang out really outside of country club and group stuff. so he just lets it be.

steve at a party after breaking up with nancy trying to act like he’s Totally Fine. even though he’s completely miserable. eventually he can’t take it and steps outside for a bit of fresh air so he can get his shit together in peace. maybe think of some excuses and head out. he’s made an appearance so he doesn’t have to stay right?

then heather comes out for some air too and his stomach drops and this dread comes over him. heather can smell blood in the water better than a shark and her idea of a  “joke” can usually just be a flat out attack. he can’t take that right now. he’s got nothing in him to protect himself from heather’s cruelty anymore. he wants to escape but doesn’t know how without making it obvious he’s fleeing her presence. so they just stand there, both leaning on the railing looking out into a darkened backyard.

and heather never says a mean thing to him. she’s almost kind even. for her at least. she’s not pitying or anything but she’s earnest in her condolences. she talks about him being worthwhile with such certainty that he can almost convince himself he believes it -- is shocked to say that he actually believes she believes it. and then it’s done and she’s gone and he’s alone again. somehow feeling more bereft but in a whole new way.

it makes him rethink everything. he can’t help it. like worrying a tooth. heather wasn’t nice-- it was just one of those facts. tommy and carol were always together, nancy was smart, jason was religious. but she wasn’t not not-nice was she? she’d proven she could be something else. and if she was so shitty why did they all still gravitate to her?

because she was charismatic, because she was magnetic. she was loud and opinionated and when she decided on something it happened. she was funny even if it was kinda mean sometimes. out of all of them she was the most authoritative, the one who seemed to have her shit together, who was going to go places. it made you want to try and live in her jet stream, ride her coattails. you just had to convince heather to do something for you or join your team and she’d power through and get it done, you barely had to do anything yourself. he wondered if she got tired of having them all drag her down like that. he knew how it felt to have everyone hanging on you and he wasn’t a tenth of her competency. people just liked him because he was rich and good looking. he couldn’t imagine how draining it had to be to actually have actual things people wanted out of you and not just a rep boost.

he thinks about how awkward she’d been. how stilted. like she didn’t know how to be genuine and wonders if that’s what her problem really is. that she just doesn’t know how to be around people normally. at school he’s been mostly sitting alone or with the team if it’s not too awkward with tommy there too. he doesn’t really have anyone anymore. he can’t go back to tommy and carol -- that bridge is burned and it’s too pathetic anyway -- and now he doesn’t have nancy so... yeah. 

he didn’t realize how small his life really was.

so after the party he decides to give sitting with heather a whirl. it’s not like it’s totally insane. they have known each other since elementary school and it’s not like it’s the first time or anything. he figures she’ll give him some shit, make fun of him for trailing after her after getting one nice word out of her but then he’ll sit and that’ll be the end of it. only she never makes that joke/put down. she just makes the usual rib about him being mr popular with the good hair harrington like any other lunch. it’s the most magnanimous thing she’s ever done and it kind of makes him want to cry.

he’s never hung out with heather more in his entire life that he has in the months after his break up with nancy. it’s still kinda weird to think about but it’s really settling in to be his new normal. and he likes it. he’s noticed when they hang out it’s like she relaxes more, like their familiarity from years of being in the boring-adult-party trenches lets her instinctively put down some of her armor. when he sees her in the halls or with other friends she’s a full on bitch as usual. it’s nice to know he has a positive effect on someone. makes him feel less useless.

it’s heather who helps him with his applications and suggests he applies for vo-tech schools. who helps him feel like he’s not a failure for doing it and helps him work through the fall out of every rejection letter. she’s so sure and determined and confident something will work out for him and he clings to it. he’s turning into another person she’s carrying and he kinda hates it but he’s also just so thankful to have someone to lean on. someone who doesn’t move away when he tries. telling heather personal shit is dangerous, she’s likely to use it as ammo against you later-- but he does anyway. in fits and starts. she never does use it against him. she tells him even less about herself but he knows the jist anyway and he’s happy to get any details she’s willing to give to flesh it out.

even when he decides to get back out there and start dating again he determinedly does not consider asking out heather. he just wants one girl in his life -- one friendship -- that doesn’t get fucked up and isn’t with a literal child. it gets harder to not think about it when he starts working at scoops ahoy and robin keeps ribbing him about it. mainly using it as a method of ragging on him. saying his game’s so bad now he’s chickening out of even a pity date and shit like that. he hates it. regrets not just working at the pool again. sure billy’s there and he likes to keep their contact to a minimum but billy would be too busy hitting on girls to give a shit about tormenting him and heather would be there to have fun with like every other summer. and she seemed to be pretty good at keeping a leash on billy so it probably would’ve been okay in the long run. then he wouldn’t have a band geek putting ideas about him and heather in his head that he can’t get out.

heather comes in a lot too and holds court in a booth when she’s not working. it’s cool to have someone there who doesn’t make him feel like a loser. he bitches about the uniform to her once and she makes a crack about his ass looking good in the shorts and he thinks he might be actually going completely insane. he knows she’s just joking with him but somehow the concept that heather even acknowledges he has an ass make him feel like he’s in alternate dimension. the fact she thinks it’s worth a second look has him sitting in his car brain dead for a solid 20 minutes after work.

the thing is steve HAD asked her out before. years ago. like freshman year and she’d completely shot him down. so he just never did it again. figured she wasn’t interested. tried not to feel stung by it. he’d asked because they’d gone to the winter formal together in 5th grade and had fun. he’d thought in highschool that maybe-- you know? in the wreckage he’d just tried to tell himself he’d over thunk it. first dance and all. he’d been a kid and he was sappy. his sentimentality had made him see things that weren’t there.

but heather thinks he’s got a hot ass? the fuck? he’s obsessing and he knows it. it’s robin’s fault. he’d put this shit to bed when he was 14 and considered it over until she started putting it back in his head. he can’t just ask her out tho. he KNOWS she’ll say no and then the vibe will be weird and he’ll be friendless again. so he tries to play it cool. like he’s not slowly starting to seriously consider this and actively catalogue things that make her attractive and dateable. it’s kinda bullshit to be stuck in this place where he’s pining after his best friend but it’s where he is.

one time he’s hanging with her, chrissy and billy (and eddie since billy can’t seem to go anywhere without him)  and chrissy starts talking about how her and heather used to talk about him all the time in middle school and had “crushes” on him as like, a hobby because they figured that’s what girls did in middle school. but her amusement and voice die out as she realizes this isn’t something she was allowed to say. heather looks like she’s about to come over the table and fucking kill her. and she’s NEVER like that with chrissy. steve knows he should step in and try to defuse this but his brain is latching on to all the wrong things. in the end it’s billy and eddie who handle it while steve sits there trying to fucking comprehend what he just heard. billy drives heather home and steve drives chrissy. she’s apologizing profusely the whole time, so obviously upset about what she’s done. he spends the whole car ride consoling her, promises if she just gives heather some time she’ll cool down and thing’s will be okay again. chrissy looks at him like she knows he’s wrong but is trying not to make him feel bad about it.

when he’s home and laying in his bed he can’t focus on her distress though or how fucked their group is now from all this shit. he can only think about how he’d apparently been a huge part of heather’s life for years and never even known it.

heather ofc is not inclined to cool down at all and he knows she can keep this going for months if she really puts her back into it. so he decides to make up for fumbling it so bad when it went to shit and puts himself in the line of fire and try to get her to cool off a bit. she’s probably the tensest she’s ever been around him which makes sense. chrissy kind of publicly embarrassed her with something that involved him, in front of him. he’s not exactly a welcome reminder. but they’re friends, he’s confident he can sort this out.

he cannot sort this out. heather pretty much abandons everyone but billy as a friend. and viciously. scorched earth. he cries about it in his car more than once. he’s not proud of it.

it’s only after billy and heather almost die because of that monster in the mall that he starts to make progress with her. it’s probably telling and honestly kind of worrying that it takes this level of horror to get heather to open up even a little but he’s not a therapist so he’s not touching that with a 10ft pole. she’s totally alone in the world with her parents dead and no else can really help her recover since billy’s in the same boat. only billy has max and eddie. heather burnt every bridge she could find. but steve’s nothing if not a slow learner and thick skulled though so he’s going to pretend he never saw her light his and try again. he helps her get home from the hospital. just straight up moves in because she still needs a lot of care and help doing normal things. he’s never seen heather look ashamed before and he knows it’s not because of what that thing made her do. it’s because she feels like she shouldn’t need anyone there to look out for her.

she hasn’t put down the stuffed bunny chrissy gave her in the hospital for a second. he can’t get over how cute it is. it’s like she thinks if she puts it down chrissy will think she hates her again. he’s also now 1000000% sure he’s in love with her. got that wake up call when he thought he was going to see her be literally murdered right before his eyes right next to billy. he’s trying to act like a friend, like he’s not secretly in love with her but he knows it’s showing up in everything he does for her. he knows from the looks she’s given him that she’s spotting it too. she doesn’t say anything though. but he thinks he knows why now. remembers how awkward she was trying to console him months ago. sees how gentle she is with chrissy’s gift. it’s not something she can really react to with words unless in the negative. and she doesn’t want to be negative.

he kisses her head one night because he’s literally insane and cannot fucking help himself any longer. can’t hold back how much he loves her and wants to hold her and just be with her. she doesn’t get mad at him or push him away or insult him or anything. she lets him do it, and lets him wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. lets him plant more kisses on her. she curls up in his lap with her bunny and he just knows this is heather doing her best to say “i love you too” back in the only way she can and his heart just fucking explodes.

[femmeanonymelives]

Isn't it lovely? (Santiago Garcia x OC)

Santiago Garcia x Singer/Songwriter!OC

Mentioned platonic Frankie Morales x OC

(Santiago refers to her as the nickname "Songbird," but real name is Valerie) Inspired by the song "Lovely" by Billie Eilish (with Khalid)

Series Masterlist

Ari's note: This is pure angst and fluff. Some adult language, usage of alcohol and some spoilers for Triple Frontier. This song somehow keeps showing up on my Spotify rotation. It is very beautiful and heartbreaking. I wanted to write something that deals with this song and somehow it reminds me of Santi.

The rain putters on the window seal. 

Seattle.

 The warm air fills the room with comfort from the cold, rainy weather outside. Started playing with the keys of the keyboard that someone that I loved bought me for my birthday. Pulls out a small yellow notebook with song lyrics. A familiar tone that I used to play around with when we hang out together.

“Happy Birthday, songbird. You can finally become the real Piano Man,” he joked before taking another gulp of beer as he played with my then-shaggy, long black hair. It was my birthday a few years earlier. A few days before the boys went down to South America and fucked shit up there. Santi hosted the festivities at his house. The boys, their partners, and a few of our mutual friends met up and had dinner. Santi wanted to make his present special. 

“Honestly, Frankie could have made that joke, but you honestly made the joke somehow shittier,” laughs softly as I play my legs in his lap. He gives the classic “you know you love me” smirk as he gives me a soft kiss.

“Frankie would have requested Sweet Caroline, but knowing you,” he holds my chin in his hand as he makes look at him in his sweet brown eyes, “you would be performing in stadiums soon, not in a bar. I will be by your side when you headline your first show.”

I moved to Seattle a few years back after the guy I last loved left me for a trip that, according to him, “broke him from the inside out.” I did music before I met him. Choir and piano lessons since I was six. If you are talking to my mother about my musical talents, she blames my father who was a musician that performed at the family bar. Started writing some wanderlust type songs, but never really got anywhere in Florida.

Frankie was the one who introduced us. I am the girl “who can sing Taylor Swift better than Taylor Swift without making it annoying.” He was the pain in the ass that Frankie would constantly tell him to ask me out. He saw I brought out a softer side to Santi, even though Santi is a horrible singer.

When he broke it off with me, he blamed how the fucked the mission was from the beginning, how Tom fucking died, how he was worried what was going to happen to him and his squad, and he was worried how we was going to explain this to me. He wanted his share of the money to go to me so we could move and start my music career.

“Songbird, I fucking love you but I need you to understand that I am doing this to set you free. You don’t need me anymore. I am sorry.” He kissed me like this was the last kiss that he was going to ever take with me. Four years of passion, long-distance phone calls, and stale beer thrown away like Tom’s body near the Andes.

That was the last time I saw him. 

Three Years Later

I am back in humid Florida, visiting family and Frankie and performing at a local music venue. I step up on stage. Getting a warm welcome from my hometown crowd. Under the bright stage, I see Frankie and the boys… and then I see him.. Drinking a Bud Light in one hand, and wearing an old baseball cap. His hair and stubble is more gray. He looks tired, not wanting to be there. Worried that Frankie brought him to a trap. I move towards the piano and start playing the song that somehow people are recognizing themselves to. My soft, yet powerful alto voice sings the lyrics when I was alone by myself in Seattle.

“Thought I found a way

Thought I found a way out (found)

But you never go away (never go away)

So I guess I gotta stay now

Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely? All alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello, welcome home”

As I look up into the crowd, I stare into his eyes like I did years ago. Making me realizing that the song is hurting him the same way he hurt me all of those years prior. I tried to focus on anyone, but him. Tears swell up as I think of us at our happiest as I sing aloud.

“Walking out of time

Looking for a better place 

Something's on my mind

Always in my head space

But I know someday I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely? All alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello. Welcome home

Whoa, yeah

Yeah, ah

Whoa, whoa

Hello, welcome home”

I hear a mass applause from the crowd as I quickly wipe my tears as I look towards the crowd.

 I see Santi and Frankie gone. I focused on the rest of my set that focused on songs from my album and a few covers of Fleetwood Mac.

After the show, I head backstage towards my dressing room. I see Santi standing there, mad and regretful at what he did to me. His knuckles are bloody, which he fought with Frankie in the parking lot. 

“Songbird, listen to me-”

“Don’t… just don’t call me.. the bullshit you pulled forfeits the right to call me that.”

“Valerie, I am sorry. I fucked up. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”

“Santi, it is not that… you fucked up this relationship by using Tom’s fucking death for a reason to end it… That is not a good enough excuse for me. Why are you here?”

“When Frankie told me that you were coming into town, I was scared shitless. The money was for you.”

“Santiago Garcia, don’t be fucking with me about this. The one time I see you are telling more bullshit.”

“Val, that money for you and I to spend a life together.” He takes a deep sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “That money was for you to actually start your career.”

“Bullshit… absolute bullshit! Stop lying to me just to save your own ass.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back in my dressing room. He locked the door.

“That song.. You wrote that about us…”

“I was hurting. Frankie was the only of you assholes to reach out.” Santiago is shocked; he knew Frankie and I were close, but never knew the impact that our relationship had. “Ben couldn’t even look me in the face when I saw him in Seattle.”

“So you wrote a fucking break-up song, Val? I know I was a dick by how I treated you, but I am telling the truth” He sounds more hurt than angry. The song made him seem like the biggest asshole in the world.

“I wrote it because you left me the minute you came back. I was angry. I was in a town by myself, wishing you called and said that you made a fucking mistake, but you didn’t.” Santi grabs me by my now-long dyed red hair and kisses me like he did three years earlier.

“I love you, Val.. and I am sorry for what I did.” 

I walked out of the door; not being able to stay there another second without crying. As I head to my rental car after grabbing my stuff, tears stream down my eyes as I whisper to myself in the car, “I love you too.”

[steddieyes]

Chapter one - An opportunity

A continuation of my previous Bryce graduation post.

(uploading here before ao3 (@Arloooh), I suggest not looking at my other bryce graduation post if you don't want to be spoilt!!)

-

You see, it all happened almost ten years ago to the day. It was like any normal summers day in school, bright uniforms and freah air, until unique monique and her stupid boyfriend exchanged vows (a fart machine) and became official. Boyfriend and girlfriend. And boy was it a sight to see, no longer was Bryce the main act, but these two losers who hugged like they were happy. /happy/. Something Bryce hasn't felt in years, not since she ripped her own heart out for Bobby only for the boy to empty his lunch all over it. She stormed away that day, stabbing Bobby's dad and stomping on what was left of her now broken heart, in two with glitter spilling out like some stupid analogy she'll get later in life. 

But that was then, and now is now. And today's graduation day. 

God has she had waited years for this. Having her heart ripped out only to have a shittier one put back in by "Dr" Paul from down the street, the /mortician/. But looking across the crowd that was once her playing game, pawns to put into place, she can't help the inkling of pride she feels knowing she won't be just like her mom. That she isn't just anothet high school dropout who swindels cash for a living. She's a top grade student who may have finessed a thing or two to get here, but she's finally here and that's all that matters. Not caring for the people that are around her. Sure, Cindy's a nice girl, pretty hair and straight teeth, but she's just a freind. She's no Bobby. 

Fuck. Bobby. 

It's been almost ten years, and even without her own heart to feel, she still can't get over what she did. What she's done. To the boy who, for a short ammount of time, she truly loved. But she's not sure she can call it that anymore, not sure she deserves to yearn for him after doing something like that. No matter the sleepless nights she's had week after week, or the notebooks full of apologies and dreams she could have lived out with him. With bobby. With... her Bobby.

-

Putting on a practiced smile, she shakes her head and follows the crooked line of soon to be previous classmates. Not bothering to look out for dear ol ma'. She's probably off swindeling princaple Higgans for cash anyways, she can’t keep her eyes off a cash cow when she sees an opportunity like that appear dressed in tight suits. 

There's filtered out chatter and banter around her as she walks in line, the speakers going off shutting down her day dream real quick. "Five minutes till showtime everyone! I hope you've got your disposables ready! And no /flash/, thank you." God. As if that entitled old dustbag has even seen a camera, you can't turn off the flash, prick. Not even that fancy camera mom stole could turn off that damn flash. Whatever, I'm almost up anyways.

Just a couple more people and here I am, shit, that really is alot of people. 

Looking over the crowd of graduates and parents alike, Bryce smiles. Truly smiles. Shes proud of what shes done, dredging her way through school after falling off her high horse all those years ago, but still remaning the powerful women she is now. Scanning the crowd, she looks for her mom, for the sliver of hope that she'll find her looking up and smiling back at her, smiling back with pride. But as she looks across the vast crowd, she spots a fermilliar smile by the bleachers and oh my god- 

Who knew seeing him would cause this rickety old heart to finally fail, ten years did me good huh..

[runthepockets]

Someone reblogged a post on my dash a while ago that said "I don't listen to Ethel Cain's music cus I don't respect straight trans women" and it pissed me off so bad I blocked OP and it still bothers me every now and then. I'm not an Ethel Cain fan and I think anyone is entitled to dislike an artist for any reason (I don't like MCR cus white people talk about them too fucking much, for example), but remarks like that just feel so...visceral and targeted and cruel, often for no reason? You don't respect straight trans women specifically? Why? What is this attitude that straight women are any less at risk of violence or cruelty or vulnerability than any other demographic of women, especially other trans women? How is upholding this idea that a woman is a waste if she fucks dudes & blaming her for "putting herself in violent situations" because she made the "foolish" decision of trusting and loving men progressive in any capacity? It's crazy how much misogyny you can get away with as long as you slap "cis" or "straight" or "white" in front of "women".

Maybe this is bold and fringe to say, but I feel like a lot of hostility toward straight trans people can be boiled down to "cranky cus you can't fuck us, huh?", because why else would you be making weird, targeted remarks about trans women who write music about fucking dudes instead of other girls? People say it's cus we're entitled, self hating assimilationists, but ime this is far from the truth? Every straight trans person I've met has more or less kept to themselves, even the shittier ones. I've also known trans women irl who routinely shit on straight trans girls for no reason other than it's the easiest way to be mean to other women without getting called out, and had other trans guys be icey and cold and dismissive of me irl for being a straight trans dude, like once I was off the table for them as a potential date n fuck prospect suddenly I had nothing of value to say. Like why else are we living in your minds rent free like this, and why are you taking such extreme measures just to ensure we know you don't wanna be around us and don't like us? If it's not weird psychosexual stuff, it's some weird "I'm projecting my trauma with cishets onto you cus you don't have the same amount of patriarchal privilege to back you when I do it" shit, and that's equally as stupid and unproductive and shitty.

Sometimes I really think some trans people are under this idea that we're all supposed to exist for each other and exclusively each other 24/7, and idg how that mindset is any less harmful than cis people expecting us to exist solely for them. It's the same uncomfortable, cagey, judgy environment with the same air of entitlement and circumstantial acceptance either way.

[daryldixonsjizzrag]

Heartstrings - A WIP

[Summary]

Amidst the apocalypse, Ren Miles finds a point of near losing her mind. The smell that clung to the air, the walkers, the repetition, everything just drove her insane, and the mere thought of living like this day after day plagued her worse than the flu.

Somewhere along the road, she meets a group of survivors. Maybe she could try to fit in despite her flaws - though people tended to be cynics if not insane in these times.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

OKAY I AM ACTUALLY SO EXCITED TO START WRITING THIS. It will take a while, thanks to my plummeting mental health (🥲👍), but I'm sure it will add just a little more purpose to my life.

First batch of chapters will be based around season 1 of The Walking Dead. And because I can't help myself, Ren may have a love interest. I don't even have to say his name, I'm sure you already know who it is ;). Progressively, you'll see Ren's mental health fluctuate between shit and shittier, and that may cause issues with her and others.

Warnings (Will be updated): Arguments, Ren being a crazy bitch, Canon-typical violence and gore, referenced prior drug use (heroin)

[mr-downer-2024]

In hindsight my time as an enlisted retard was 50% high school level supervision to stop idiots from hurting themselves, and 50% basically working minimum wage at Walmart with even brighter lights and shittier fixtures except the angry guys screaming at us weren't customers but our bosses.

I used to think being an officer would be cool and prestigious but I realized it's glorified babysitting a bunch of bored young adult males with nothing to do but cause mayhem and somehow you have to stop them from blowing up the base.

this is what people don’t get about the military and this is why anyone who acts like they’re billy badass for joining is delusional. I had a guy who was my age under me but he practically acted like a stunted 15 year old who constantly needed to be directed. You couldn’t trust him to bring shit to the field on his own otherwise he’d show up with a shirt and two pairs of socks for a two week long op.

Like this is what I mean the military is just another job. I know I sound jaded and cynical but there’s really not much you can do in it unless you go into an mos like air wing or intelligence that you can’t do out in the real world. Most people in it are just that, people.

Seriously being told by my platoon commander in MCT, a gunnery sergeant (e-7) who was a vet of OIF that anyone who enlisted just to kill people was a psychopath was very memorable.