#the only way life is better when you have no problems is that you have more time to help others with their problems.

[randum-famdoms]

Something I have seen people complain about is when the story “stops” for a character to mentally think about their feelings regarding something.

I think that’s bullshit.

Like, okay. Think about it. How fast is your train of thought? Faster than your reading speed, right? Do your thoughts all happen in neat little sentences, or as more of a nebulous and/or choppy half-formed thing that *you* understand, but would sound like nonsense on a page?

Also, the character probably isn’t actually taking as long to think these things as you are reading it. “Character A feels xyz about this” isn’t taking ten seconds to actually happen, feelings coexist with action!

Now, there is a time and place for introspection. It is my personal philosophy to have the amount of introspection reflect the pacing of a scene. Fast battle scenes will be far more action-heavy and introspection-light compared to, say, a calm breakfast.

I think it balances the annoyance over pages of introspection completely breaking the flow of an intense section of the story (at least, from the perspective of the reader), while still maintaining some of that wonderful interiority (which is actually a new word for me, and I adore it).

I’m the first to admit that I am far from an experienced or professional author. I don’t have a professional editor, and my only education is via Highschool and middle school classes (and while I was always in the advanced classes, a few even college level, they were still restricted by being part of the American education system). I definitely can think of times where my grasp on the interiority slipped. Especially when it comes to describing things that wouldn’t necessarily be noticed by the pov character, simply because I as the author do know about it and think it’s funny or important.

I’d imagine a good rule of thumb regarding this would be to treat it like dialogue. People always say to read your dialogue out loud to notice any problems. Well, just act out the scene as though you are the pov character. Not necessarily irl, but in your head. (And maybe even irl if you can manage it, it can’t hurt!) What way are you facing? Would you be able to see that annoying dog? Would you focus on the person you are talking to’s face, or their hands? Is this activity one that you would space out during, or does it require laser focus?

Basically, all the things you would not think about if you imagine the scene like a movie as you are writing.

Picturing the scene as a movie can be helpful, particularly for things like imagery. But it does have its shortcomings, as op said.

It can work thematically for some stories, but when it comes to most writing that is not third person omniscient, it’s definitely something that can cause the reader to feel… distant, I guess. Less immersed.

It’s also something that, sadly, many writers will have to teach themselves and seek out to learn, because, as OP said, it’s becoming harder to find in modern works. This is doubly so do people who mainly read non-published works. I will sing the praises of fanfiction until the day that I die, and maybe even after, but the fact of the matter is that 99% of fanfiction authors are self taught. They may not know how to incorporate interiority. They may not even have ever read a work that had it.

I know a lot of people say that you should read the “classics”, and you may be thinking that could help here, but I for one am a fierce defender of not putting up requirements to be considered a writer, and that includes required reading. Yes it can help you learn skills, but so can more modern works. I learned a lot from reading Percy Jackson, and other lesser known books, and none of them are considered classics on par with The Great Gatsby or Shakespeare.

Instead, I propose this: if you want to get a better grasp on writing with interiority, try actually consciously focusing on your day to day life for a little while every day. Focus on your train of thought, on the things you focus on, on the things you see.

If you want to read something, great! Ask for recommendations, go to your local library and flip through books until you find one you think you will both enjoy and which has a good grasp of the concept.

First and foremost, however, in any writing, is to remember how we as humans actually live and interact with the world, and you’ve got a primary source of research at all times: yourself. Exclusively using other texts as sources will only ever end in a very broken game of telephone.

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

[muletia]

Thinking about Rachet on Synth-En and how openly off the wall insane he'd be about you.

Rather or not this is a timeline where he knows Optimus has eyes for you, I imagine Rachet keeps his more troubling cravings on the down-low. Which all goes out the window as soon as he gets the unstable substance in his system.

You WILL know how attractive he finds you (i can see him practically cat-calling you like a fratboy), and he WILL start fights to both impress you and get the others to leave you alone. He acts like a buck in that way, incredibly eager to butt heads with everyone especially when you're around to see.

For his own sake he better hope you were already publicly together at that point, cause after it wears off there's only so much he can hand wave as being the Synth-En's fault.

Obsessed!synth-en!Ratchet goes so hard, but enduring more than five minutes with him is practically impossible. Not to mention how unbearable, clingy, and horny he becomes when you're alone with him. Every dirty, hidden secret he’s been keeping, every ugly and impure need he has for you, all come spilling out. No filter, and zero intention of hiding them.

Imagine hearing, "How’s it hummin’?" every single time you walk past him (as he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, giving you the most bedroom optics you’ve ever seen from him).

The drawn-out whistles every time you have to bend down for something, or worse, just stretch casually.

Or him throwing the most diabolical, unexpected, and vile line you've ever heard in your life, like: "Hey, sugar tits," and doing it in front of all the bots because synth-en!Ratchet has no concept of shame or subtlety.

And those constant fights, damn You can’t even talk to Optimus about the weather without Ratchet butting in, convinced Optimus is trying to flirt with you. The same goes for everyone else. Bulkhead interacts with you? Ratchet is ready to rip his spark out of his chest. Bumblebee glances your way? Ratchet's already calling him out for a one-on-one in the middle of the base, and you better be there to witness him kicking the young scout’s aft. And yes, after his victory, he’ll demand a reward. And don’t make him laugh with some meek, innocent kiss on the cheek... bro is after that humanussy.

I also think synth-en!Ratchet would have absolutely no problem with PDA and becomes much more impulsive with touch. If he suddenly decides he wants to kiss you, you’re about to have the sloppiest make-out session in history. If he concludes that you’re not giving him enough attention (you just looked somewhere else for like one second) he will immediately scoop you and sit you on his shoulder so you don't have a choice but to interact with him.

You can’t even find a quiet corner to rest, because Ratchet will definitely find you. Anywhere. Don’t even think you can hide from him (a.k.a. function for a moment without being scooped up without warning). He has to be with you 24/7.

Which is why he becomes unbelievably problematic once you leave the base. Just mentioning that you have to go home makes him go feral. The entire team will have to pin him down just to open a ground bridge to your home, though Ratchet will still find a way to slip out. Before you’ve had a moment to relax, you’ll be calling Optimus, because there’s a very sus ambulance parked outside your house. And then that same ambulance will snatch the phone from your hand before you can make the call because Ratchet is feeling romantical...

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART ELEVEN

paige x azzi

word count: 5.5k

A/N: I don’t know how I feel about this chapter, today felt fake and life can’t be real😭. I just need to have a lil crash out and I’ll work on making the next chapter better lol. Let me know what you think please and I hope everyone has/had a great day :)

—————————————————————————

January 2023

The library wasn’t their usual hangout spot, and for good reason. The last time they’d been here, a fan had spilled Paige’s Shirley Temple all over her book in an overly enthusiastic attempt to get a picture Paige had agreed to. But Paige and Azzi had no other choice today. They’ve been “catching up” with each other quite often— in Paige’s room, in Azzi’s, and even the living room a few times—and they realized they weren’t getting anything productive done and they had a lot to do. So the library was their last resort: a public space where they really had no choice but to not touch each other.

Azzi sat across from Paige, grumbling at her math homework. "Why do I need to do math for a communications degree?" she muttered, glaring at the numbers on her paper as if they’d personally wronged her.

Paige laughed softly, reaching over to take the paper from her. “Lemme see baby.” She skimmed it, already recognizing the concepts—it was the same class she’d taken last semester. Without a word, Paige grabbed her pencil and jotted down some notes in the margins, showing Azzi an easier way to solve the problems.

Handing the paper back, Paige teased, “You’re lucky I love you or I’d charge a pretty penny.”

Azzi grinned, a soft "Thank you, baby," slipping out as she leaned back in her chair. Paige just winked, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk before returning her focus to her paper.

The two worked in silence, the scratch of Azzi’s pen and Paige’s typing mixed with the distant hum of whispered conversations were the only sounds between them. Azzi, always needing some kind of contact, lightly tapped her foot against Paige’s under the table. Paige didn’t look up, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she nudged Azzi’s foot back, indulging her.

They were so engrossed in their work that neither noticed someone approaching until a voice broke the quiet.

“Hi, Azzi!”

Paige looked up, her brows knitting in mild confusion at the sight of a girl she didn’t recognize. Azzi, however, smiled in recognition.

“Oh my God, hey! It’s nice to see you outside of class,” Azzi said warmly. She gestured between them. “Paige, this is Elle—she’s in a couple of my classes. Elle, this is Paige.”

Before Paige could say a polite “Nice to meet you,” Elle let out a laugh, shaking her head. “I know who she is, Az. It’s kind of hard not to know who Paige Bueckers is on this campus.”

Paige chuckled, though the comment made her cringe a little inside. She always hated when people did that. Meeting someone and knowing of them were completely different in her mind. Still, she managed a smile, keeping it light. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

Azzi quickly looked between them, having heard Paige ramble about people doing that to her more than once before. Once she realized Paige was fine she turned her attention back to Elle who was chatting about their class. Paige shifted her focus back to her paper, letting Azzi carry the conversation, her foot still brushing against Paige’s under the table as she worked.

At some point, Elle had slid into the seat next to Azzi, the two of them catching up on class and tossing around ideas for a project they had agreed to work on together after Elle asked. Paige stayed quiet, her focus seemingly glued to her laptop as she worked on her paper. But she couldn’t help noticing the way Elle leaned in a little too much, her gaze lingering on Azzi when she thought no one was looking.

Paige didn’t say anything—she wasn’t worried in the slightest. Azzi was hers, and she knew it. Still, she made a mental note of Elle’s overly enthusiastic demeanor, keeping it there for later just in case.

Eventually, their conversation faded, and the table fell into a quiet rhythm. Elle was scribbling in a notebook, Azzi flipping through her math notes, and Paige’s fingers tapped steadily on her keyboard. The library’s soft hum of whispers filled the silence between them, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.

It wasn’t until Paige felt a familiar brush of Azzi’s leg against hers under the table that she glanced up. Azzi was already looking at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Paige couldn’t help but grin back, warmth spreading through her chest.

Lifting her hand from the keyboard, Paige tapped her finger on the table three times—a silent “I love you.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes darting back down to her notes as she quickly gathered herself. She stole a glance at Elle, who seemed oblivious to the exchange, and let out a quiet breath.

Paige, clearly amused, went back to her paper, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips at getting the reaction from Azzi.

…

As the clock crept closer to the library’s closing time, Paige closed her laptop with a soft thud, stretching her arms over her head. “Alright,” she said, glancing at Azzi. “Az you almost ready, I’m done for the night.”

Azzi nodded, letting out a quiet sigh as she began organizing her notes. “Yeah, same. My brain’s fried.”

Elle looked up from her notebook, her gaze flicking between them. “Heading out already?” she asked, her tone light but with a hint of disappointment.

“Yeah,” Paige replied, sliding her notebooks into her bag. “We have an early morning practice tomorrow.”

Azzi added, “And I’m pretty sure I’ve maxed out my tolerance for math tonight.” She gestured to her notes with a dramatic groan.

Elle chuckled. “If you ever need help with it, Azzi, let me know. I know he can be tough—I’d be happy to go over things with you so we can figure it out together. Maybe make it less painful.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing softly. “Thanks, but I’m good for now. Paige already helped me out. She’s like my personal mini Isaac Newton.”

Paige laughed at the comparison, adjusting the strap of her bag. Elle’s eyes flicked toward her, curious. “Wait, you understand this professor? How?”

Paige gave a polite smile. “I took him last semester. He’s not as bad once you figure out his style.”

Elle tilted her head, intrigued. “Ah ok. Are you in communications too?”

Paige shook her head. “Nah, human development and family sciences.”

Elle blinked, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Oh wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that. I mean… you’re so busy with basketball, I didn’t think you’d have time for something so... strenuous.”

There was a pause at her tone, but Paige’s smile didn’t drop. “I make it work,” she said simply, her tone even but firm.

Azzi, noticing the subtle tension, broke in with a grin. “She’s being modest.”

Paige gave her a look, but her lips twitched with amusement. “Don’t start big head.”

Elle laughed lightly, though her attention lingered on Paige a moment longer. “Well, that’s impressive,” she said, her tone softer now. “Good for you.”

Paige nodded. “Thanks.”

As the conversation ebbed, Elle turned her attention back to Azzi, her tone a little more animated. “By the way, I meant to tell you—your presentation last week? It was really good. Like, you made everything sound so clear and relatable. I was kind of jealous.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I stumbled through half of it.”

“No way,” Elle insisted. “You were amazing. Honestly, I wish I had even half your confidence when I’m up there.”

Paige watched the exchange quietly, her expression unreadable as she scrolled on her phone waiting for Azzi.

Azzi shrugged modestly. “Appreciate it, but it’s all practice. I’m a little lucky with getting the extra practice from interviews. You’ll get there though.”

As they gathered the last of their things, Elle leaned slightly toward Azzi, her voice dropping just enough to seem more personal. “Seriously, though, if you ever want to practice a presentation or go over the project, just text me. I’d love to help out—or just hang out, you know.”

Paige’s brow twitched, but she remained silent, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Azzi smiled, brushing it off with her usual ease. “Will do. Thanks, Elle.”

As they started walking toward the exit, Elle called after them with a warm smile, her gaze lingering on Azzi. “Goodnight! Azzi, don’t forget—I’m just a text away.”

Azzi turned, waving casually. “Got it. See you in class.”

…

About a week later they found themselves back in the library. This time because Azzi needed to work on her project with Elle and the team made it a point to not have people they didn’t know that well know where their rooms were. Paige had begrudgingly agreed to tag along after Azzi made her turn off the game. Ice, who had been playing the game with Paige and someone who was always up for people-watching and a chance to bother Paige, came along too, settling next to Paige at the table.

Azzi and Elle sat on the opposite side, laptops open and papers spread out between them as they hashed out the finer details of their project. Paige had her own laptop propped up, supposedly working on a presentation, but her focus wavered as her attention drifted to the other pair.

It didn’t escape Paige how Elle seemed to hang on to every word Azzi said, nodding eagerly, her expression animated. And while Paige tried to ignore it, she couldn’t help but notice how Elle’s chair seemed to have mysteriously scooted a couple of inches closer to Azzi since they’d sat down.

A buzz from her phone interrupted her thoughts. Picking it up, Paige saw a text from Ice, who was smirking faintly next to her.

Icy ❄️: She’s eager.

Paige but back a laugh as she typed a reply.

P Boogers ⛹🏼‍♀️: So I’m not crazy?

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

Icy ❄️: If she leans in any closer, she’s falling in Azzi’s lap

Paige let out a quiet snort, her shoulders shaking slightly as she glanced up at Ice. The two exchanged amused looks before Ice added another text.

Icy ❄️: Lowkey feel like we intruding on her plans

That one made Paige laugh under her breath, though she quickly covered it with a cough, glancing down at her screen to hide her amusement.

Azzi, picking up on the movement and muffled sounds, glanced up from her notes. Her brow furrowed in curiosity as she looked between Paige and Ice. “What’s so funny?” she asked, tilting her head.

Paige gave her an innocent look, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, but the slight twitch of her lips betrayed her.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm. Sure.”

Paige just shot her a knowing look that said, I’ll tell you later, before going back to typing on her laptop.

Meanwhile, Elle, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, leaned a little closer to Azzi, pointing at something on the screen. “So, for this part, we could either expand on the point or keep it short. What do you think?”

Azzi considered it for a moment before responding, her tone thoughtful. “I think we should keep it short. Too much detail might make it confusing.”

Elle nodded enthusiastically. “That makes sense. You’re really good at simplifying things. Honestly, I’d be lost without you right now.”

Ice and Paige exchanged another glance, Ice raising an eyebrow as if to say, See what I mean? Paige’s lips twitched in amusement, but she said nothing, focusing instead on her work.

As the day wore on, the dynamic remained the same—Elle constantly seeking Azzi’s input, Paige silently observing, and Ice sneaking occasional texts that kept Paige entertained.

The library was quieter than usual today. Paige had her glasses, that Azzi thankfully grabbed for her, perched on her nose as she typed away on her laptop with her iPad propped up silently playing an NBA game. Next to her Ice scrolled through her phone, occasionally tapping away at her own work. Azzi and Elle, were still engrossed in their project, their heads bent close together over Azzi’s laptop.

The steady rhythm of their work was interrupted when a young woman approached the table nervously. “I’m so sorry to bother you while you’re working,” she said timidly, her eyes flicking to Paige. “But could I get a picture with you?”

Paige looked up, blinking behind her glasses before offering a warm smile. “No, it’s okay. Of course.” She took off her glasses, setting them on the table, and pushed her chair back slightly to make room.

The girl quickly leaned in, snapping a selfie with Paige, her excitement clear. “Thank you so much,” she said breathlessly, clutching her phone like a treasure. “And I’m sorry for bothering you!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Paige replied easily, giving her a quick smile. “Have a good day.”

As the girl walked away, Paige casually slipped her glasses back on and resumed typing as if nothing had happened. Ice didn’t look up from her phone, and Azzi returned her attention to her laptop. Elle, however, was looking at Paige with thinly veiled curiosity.

“Isn’t that a little weird?” Elle finally asked, breaking the silence.

Paige raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “What’s weird?”

“People just… walking up to you like that,” Elle said, gesturing vaguely. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Paige shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not really. I’ll always make time for people who support me.”

Elle tilted her head, her curiosity not quite satisfied. “Your girlfriend doesn’t get jealous?”

At this, Paige froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Ice’s head snapped up, and Azzi’s shoulders stiffened slightly. A brief silence fell over the table as Paige stared at Elle, confused.

“What?” Paige asked, her tone guarded.

Elle pointed at Paige’s neck, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “Your neck. There’s, um… a lot going on there.”

Realization dawned on Paige, and hand’s moving to adjust her hoodie to cover the faint marks Azzi had left a little too high this time around. Her cheeks tinged pink, but she quickly covered it with a chuckle. “Oh. Guess she got a little overzealous,” as she shoots a brief glare at Azzi.

Azzi’s lips twitched, clearly amused, while Ice smirked knowingly, leaning back in her chair to watch the interaction unfold.

Paige cleared her throat, still adjusting her hoodie. “Why’d you assume it’s a girl?” she asked, glancing at Elle with a curious expression.

Elle shrugged, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. You just… give off those vibes.”

Ice snickered at this, covering her mouth with her hand as Paige shot her a quick glare. Azzi raised an eyebrow, looking more entertained than anything.

Paige chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. “Uh, thanks, I guess?” she muttered before clearing her throat. “But, um, no, to answer your question... she doesn’t mind.”

Elle looked surprised at Paige’s admission, but her curiosity only deepened. “Really? She’s cool with random people coming up to you all the time? A lot of them probably have crushes.”

Paige’s expression softened slightly, a small smile playing at her lips. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quieter now. “She understands what it’s like.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, carrying a weight that Elle didn’t fully grasp. Azzi glanced at Paige, her features relaxing into a fond smile that she quickly masked by looking down at her notebook.

Ice, however, noticed and smirked again, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, I bet she really understands,” Ice muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Paige to hear.

Paige shot her another quick glare but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at her lips. “Mind your business,” she mumbled, turning her focus back to her laptop.

Elle smirked slightly but didn’t press further, turning her attention to Azzi instead. “So, Azzi, are you single?”

Azzi, caught off guard, coughed slightly, shifting in her seat and simultaneously adjusting her hoodie just in case. “No, I’m not,” she said, her voice calm.

Elle blinked, visibly surprised. “Oh, wow. Really? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

Azzi’s lips quirked in a subtle smile as she corrected, “Her.” She glanced at Paige briefly before adding, “And we’re just private people.”

Paige couldn’t stop the small snicker that escaped her lips, amused by Azzi’s excuse. Without missing a beat, Azzi’s foot shot out under the table, connecting lightly with Paige’s shin. Paige bit the inside of her cheek to keep her reaction in check, keeping her gaze fixed on her laptop as if nothing had happened.

Elle tilted her head, her surprise growing at Azzi’s correction. “Oh, I didn’t know you were gay.”

Paige’s jaw immediately tightened at the comment, her fingers pausing over her keyboard. She glanced at Elle, a faint glare flickering in her eyes, but she bit her tongue, waiting to see how Azzi would respond considering Elle was her friend.

Azzi, however, remained composed, her expression calm. “Yeah, I am,” she replied simply, the edge of a confident smile playing on her lips.

Paige’s tension eased slightly at Azzi’s response, but she couldn’t resist shooting Elle one more look before returning her attention to her laptop. Under the table, Azzi’s foot lightly nudged Paige’s again, softer this time, a silent reminder to let it go. Paige exhaled, her irritation fading as she refocused on her screen knowing Azzi was fine.

Elle hesitated, clearly trying to mask her disappointment at Azzi having a girlfriend before nodding. “Oh, that’s cool. But yeah private is good. I totally get it.”

Ice barely suppressed a grin as she glanced between them, but Paige remained focused on her work, her expression unreadable. Azzi, meanwhile, busied herself with her screen, though Paige caught the faint pink tint on her ears, a detail that made her smile to herself.

The group settled back into a rhythm of quiet productivity, but Paige couldn’t help stealing occasional glances at Azzi and Elle. Azzi seemed fully absorbed in her project, her brow furrowed in that cute way Paige loves, as she scrolled through a document while Elle leaned closer than necessary, pointing something out on the screen.

She stole another glance at Azzi, who was now leaning back in her chair, looking at Elle with a little bewilderment.

“You’re sure this part makes sense?” Elle asked, her tone unusually sweet. “I feel like I’m overthinking it.”

Azzi shrugged. “It looks fine to me.”

“But what if—”

“It’s fine, Elle,” Azzi cut her off with a light laugh, leaning forward to tap the screen. “Seriously, stop stressing. This part’s solid.”

Elle relaxed a little, her shoulders dropping as she smiled back. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Paige’s grip on her pen tightened slightly now, growing a little tired of Elle throwing herself at her girlfriend. She exchanged another look with Ice, who snorted quietly at Paige’s irritation.

Before the tension could linger, Ice leaned forward, tapping the table with her knuckle. “Hey, Azzi, you about done? Paige and I were thinking of grabbing food after this.”

Azzi glanced at Paige, who was still focused on her laptop. “Yeah, I’m almost ready. Give me a sec.”

Elle looked between them, her smile faltering slightly. “Oh, you’re all going together?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. we probably don’t have an ounce of food in our rooms right now.”

“Sounds fun,” Elle said, her tone light but her eyes lingering on Azzi a moment too long.

About five minutes later Azzi zipped up her bag, organizing the last of her notes as Paige stood up from her seat. Paige’s eyes landed on Azzi’s phone sitting on the table. Remembering something the younger girl was hiding, she reached for it, her fingers unlocking it with practiced ease.

Elle looked up from her own computer, eyebrows raising slightly. She expected some sort of protest from Azzi, but none came. Azzi didn’t even glance up, completely unfazed as Paige casually scrolled through her phone.

“Hmm,” Paige muttered to herself, tilting the phone slightly away from wandering eyes before walking around the table to Azzi’s side. She stopped just behind her, holding the screen in front of Azzi. “What’s this for?”

Azzi glanced at the phone, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

Paige leaned down slightly, her voice dropping into a soft whisper, just low enough that Elle couldn’t hear. “Too late now. I like it a lot, though.”

Azzi’s body instinctively leaned back into Paige as she whispered something back to her. Her movement wasn’t much—just the smallest shift—but it was enough to make her posture relax, as if her body naturally sought Paige’s presence.

Elle’s eyes flicked between the two of them watching the subtle exchange, her brows furrowing slightly. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but the way her jaw tightened didn’t go unnoticed by Ice, who stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Paige chuckled softly, straightening up and handing the phone back to Azzi. “I look forward to it.”

Azzi tilted her head, giving Paige a small smile. “Mm I’m sure you do.”

Elle cleared her throat, the sound making both Paige and Azzi glance her way.

“You guys are close,” Elle said, her tone light but tinged with something else.

Ice coughed, failing to hide her snicker.

Paige smiled politely, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Yeah, she’s like my best friend.”

Azzi didn’t add anything, instead focusing on grabbing her bag.

After bidding goodbye, the three of them headed toward the door, leaving Elle at the table as she worked on something else.

…

Later that night, Paige and Azzi were tangled together on Paige’s bed, the room dimly lit by her led lights. Paige hovered over Azzi, her lips brushing against hers before she nipped playfully at Azzi’s bottom lip.

“Ow,” Azzi laughed softly, pulling back just enough to pout at her. “That one actually hurt.”

Paige smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, come on, you’re fine.” She leaned down to kiss her softly, the pout on Azzi’s face melting away almost immediately.

Azzi deepened the kiss, her hands sliding up Paige’s sides, drawing a quiet sigh from her. Paige pulled away slightly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she murmured with a chuckle, “You’re such a hornball.”

Azzi grinned, her fingers tugging lightly at the hem of Paige’s shirt. “Can you blame me?”

Paige laughed, sitting back and pulling her shirt off in one smooth motion. Azzi’s eyes immediately landed on the marks she’d left across Paige’s collarbone and shoulders earlier.

“You got me caught up earlier” Paige teased, leaning back down to kiss Azzi again.

Azzi didn’t respond with words, just a satisfied hum as her hands slid into Paige’s hair, undoing her bun.

The soft buzz of Azzi’s phone on the nightstand interrupted them. Azzi ignored it, her focus entirely on Paige, until the buzzing sounded again, twice in quick succession.

“Popular tonight,” Paige muttered against her lips, but Azzi just shook her head, pulling her closer.

Then the phone started ringing.

Paige sighed and pulled back, reaching over to grab the phone from the nightstand. Azzi groaned, her head falling back against the pillow.

“What?” she grumbled, not even bothering to look as Paige’s fingers swiped across the screen looking at the three messages prior to the call .

Paige raised an eyebrow at all the messages and the call. “Elle,” she said, turning the screen toward Azzi.

Azzi’s eyes opened, her brows furrowing slightly. “Seriously?” she muttered, reaching out for the phone, but Paige pulled it back out of her reach.

“Should I answer it?” Paige asked, a teasing smile on her face, already knowing the answer.

“No, give it to me,” Azzi said, sitting up slightly and reaching for it again, but Paige held firm, her grin widening.

Without waiting for a response, Paige answered the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Elle’s voice came through, hesitant but upbeat. “Um… Azzi?”

Paige smirked, holding the phone just out of Azzi’s reach for a moment. “Yeah she’s right here one sec,” she said into the receiver, handing it off to Azzi with an innocent smile that Azzi didn’t trust for a second.

Azzi sighed, taking the phone and pressing it to her ear. “Hey, Elle. What’s up?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound casual.

“Oh hey! I just wanted to check if you’ve had a chance to go over the notes I sent over after you left,” Elle said brightly.

“Uh… not yet,” Azzi replied, her voice steady, though her gaze flickered to Paige, who was leaning closer with a grin. “I’ve been… busy.”

Paige leaned back on her elbow for a moment, watching her, but then she leaned forward again, her lips brushing softly against the curve of Azzi’s neck. Azzi’s shoulders tensed as she sent Paige a sharp look, mouthing, Don’t start.

“Oh, no worries,” Elle said cheerfully. “I just thought it might help if we went through them together? Maybe tomorrow after class?”

“Yeah, um… that could work,” Azzi said, her voice faltering slightly as Paige pressed a kiss to her neck, this time lingering. Azzi’s free hand pushed weakly at her shoulder, but Paige didn’t budge, her lips curling into a smirk against Azzi’s skin.

“Great!” Elle continued, completely unaware. “Do you want to meet at the library again? Or maybe somewhere quieter where we won’t get distracted? There’s this pretty private coffee shop I know about.”

Azzi’s grip tightened on the phone as Paige began trailing kisses down her neck, her warm breath sending shivers down Azzi’s spine. “Uh… the library’s fine,” Azzi managed to get out, her voice strained.

“Okay, cool that’s fine! Oh, and by the way,” Elle added, her tone turning slightly sheepish, “I actually wanted to ask you about that third slide. I’m not sure I totally understood the point you were making.”

Azzi groaned softly—not at Elle’s question, but at Paige’s lips finding a particularly sensitive spot. She tried to compose herself. “The third slide?” she repeated, her voice higher than normal.

“Yeah, the one about media convergence. Like, how does that tie back to our overall thesis?” Elle asked, her enthusiasm completely at odds with Azzi’s internal panic.

“Um… well,” Azzi started, her words fumbling as Paige smiled against her skin at her struggling. Paige leaned back just enough to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before moving to another spot, this time lightly nipping. Azzi let out a sharp breath and had to clamp her mouth shut to stop any further noise from slipping out.

“I, uh…” Azzi struggled to focus. “It’s about… the integration of different media platforms. Like—um—it shows how, uh, traditional and digital media can…”

Paige’s quiet laugh at Azzi’s stumbling didn’t help. Azzi sent her a pleading look, but Paige just raised her eyebrows as if to say, Don’t mind me.

“That makes sense!” Elle said, completely oblivious. “But do you think we should include more recent examples, like TikTok trends or streaming platforms? Or is that too specific?”

“Sure,” Azzi said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut as Paige sucked hard above her collarbone, barely registering the question. “Whatever you think works is fine.”

“Okay, cool! I’ll jot that down,” Elle replied. “So, do you think we could finalize that section tomorrow? I feel like if we can tighten it up, the rest of the presentation will fall into place.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi said, nodding absentmindedly, her resolve crumbling as Paige continued to suck gently on her neck, making her breath hitch time and time again. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep her composure as Paige started trailing further down her chest.

“Oh! And about the intro slide—” Elle started, but Azzi couldn’t take it anymore as Paige tilted her head to the side for more access.

“Elle,” she interrupted, her tone a little sharper than intended. “Let’s… uh… finalize everything tomorrow, okay? I’ll take a look at the notes before we meet, I promise.”

There was a brief pause. “Oh, yeah, of course! Sorry if I’m keeping you from something you sound busy,” Elle said, her tone apologetic now.

Azzi huffed softly, glancing at Paige, who was smirking triumphantly. “It’s fine,” Azzi said quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, sounds good! Have a good night!” Elle chirped.

“You too,” Azzi replied before ending the call and tossing the phone onto the bed.

Azzi turned to Paige, her cheeks flushed. “You’re on timeout,” she said firmly, though the hint of her smile betrayed her.

Paige leaned back on her elbows, completely unrepentant. “What? I was just keeping myself entertained while my girl was busy,” she said, her grin widening.

Azzi groaned, running a hand through her hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Elle seems to think you are too.”

Azzi’s head snapped toward Paige, frowning. “What? No, she doesn’t,” she said, crossing her arms defensively.

Paige snorted, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, okay. She’s just super friendly, right? Sure.”

“She is just friendly,” Azzi said, rolling her eyes. “That’s just her personality.”

Paige tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Mmm. I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure she has a little crush on you.”

Azzi huffed, but the faintest hint of pink crept up her neck at herself, possibly being oblivious. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, I’m imagining things?” Paige asked. “She doesn’t light up every time you talk? Or scoot her chair closer? Practically trip over herself to help you?”

Azzi hesitated, and Paige continued. “See? You know I’m right.”

“She’s just… enthusiastic,” Azzi muttered, though her tone wasn’t as confident as before.

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, how about this then? Let’s make a bet.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “A bet? About what?”

Paige leaned back against the headboard, her smirk growing. “Simple. I bet Elle tries something tomorrow when you meet up.”

Azzi groaned, grabbing a pillow. “Paige, she’s not going to try anything. I told her I have a girlfriend.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “Yeah, because that always stops people who are already crushing hard.”

Azzi let out a laugh, tossing the pillow at Paige. “You’re so full of it. Fine. What are we betting?”

Paige smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, if I’m right, you gotta let me put her in her place.”

Azzi groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Paige, no.”

“What?” Paige said, laughing. “I’m not saying I’ll be mean. Just, you know, a little something to make it clear who you belong to.”

Azzi shook her head, though she couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m hilarious,” Paige corrected, leaning back smugly. “Come on, it’ll be harmless. I swear I won’t be over the top.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous. Fine. But what happens if I win?”

Paige shrugged casually. “I don’t know. You can pick.”

Azzi’s gaze shifted toward the closet, her expression turning mischievous.

Paige immediately sat up, narrowing her eyes. “Hell no.”

Azzi pouted dramatically, clasping her hands together like she was begging. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s never happening Az and you know it,” Paige said firmly, crossing her arms.

“Fine,” Azzi said, sighing as though greatly inconvenienced. “If I win, you’re doing the dishes for a week. And laundry.”

Paige groaned, throwing herself back onto the bed. “Why do your bets always come with chores?”

“Because I’m practical,” Azzi said, grinning as she lay down beside her. “And because I know you’ll lose.”

Paige turned her head, giving Azzi a playful glare. “We’ll see about that.”

Azzi laughed softly, shaking her head. “Alright, deal.”

Paige held out her pinky. “Pinky swear?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but hooked her pinky with Paige’s anyway. “You’re so weird.”

“I love you too,” Paige said, her grin widening.

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the fond smile on her lips betrayed her. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” she said, her voice softening as she moved to climb onto Paige’s lap, straddling her with ease.

Paige’s breath hitched slightly, her hands instinctively finding Azzi’s hips. She tilted her head back, her lips curving into a smirk. “Mmm,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing lightly over Azzi’s sides. “What do you wanna talk about then?”

Azzi leaned down, her hands bracing on either side of Paige’s head as her lips hovered just above hers. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she whispered, “I don’t really want to talk.”

Paige’s smirk deepened, her grip on Azzi’s hips tightening slightly. “Good,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Talking’s overrated.”

Azzi chuckled softly before closing the gap between them, her lips pressing against Paige’s with a slow, deliberate intensity. Paige responded immediately, her hands sliding up Azzi’s sides and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

[burningembers91]

Help Wanted - Seong Gi-Hun x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Back Alley Bar

Synopsis: When Seong Gi-Hun sees you struggling, he decides to step in

A/N: this storyline is becoming more angsty than I originally thought it would! A lot of my MC’s are happy go lucky people though, so it’s fun creating someone’s who’s just as flawed as the other characters.

You were late, so incredibly late. Between your full time day job, shifts at the bar, and your online university classes, you were burning the candle at both ends. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had more than 4 hours of sleep, and it was starting to catch up to you. Your shirt was inside out, a problem you’d only realised as you left the subway. You’d have to quickly change it in the bathroom before class, and hope your students and fellow teachers didn’t notice your absence.

You glanced down at your watch: only 6 minutes to make a 10 minute journey. You’d have to run to the school, which meant you’d turn up to work both sweaty and dressed incorrectly. Groaning internally, you picked up the pace, setting out into a steady jog. You hated running, it made you feel like your lungs were about to burst out of your chest. You were so busy mentally timing your journey that you didn’t notice the figure in front of you. Not until you collided full force with them, knocking you and the contents of your bag onto the pavement.

“Oh, fuck!” You hissed, your hands going straight to your throbbing nose. You looked up, ready to curse whoever it was that hadn’t moved out of your way, only to see Seong Gi-Hun standing over you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, bending forward to help you up. You nodded, checking there was no blood before scrambling to pick up your papers that were blowing lazily down the road.

Gi-Hun had always thought you’d been beautiful, but even he had to admit that you looked exhausted beyond measure. There was deep bags under your eyes, toothpaste in the corner of your mouth, and was your shirt inside out?

“Your shirt-“ he began, before you cut him off, your tone harsh.

“Yes,” you snapped, “my shirt is inside out.”You took the remaining papers from his hands, sighing as you rubbed your tired eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I’m just really tired and really, really late for work.”

Gi-Hun held his hands up, stepping aside to let you rush past him. “I hope you have a good day!” He called after you, smiling as he watched your incorrectly worn shirt billow in the warm spring breeze.

He hadn’t been to the bar for a few weeks. Your words had really gotten to him, had made him stop and think. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life wallowing in his own pity? Drinking himself to death wouldn’t change what he’d done, nothing would take back the mistakes he’d made, nothing would bring back the people he’d lost. But if he didn’t do something soon, he’d waste away into nothingness. The morning after the conversation in your car, Gi-Hun threw away the bottle of whiskey he usually kept by his bed. He went out and looked for places advertising employment, willing to take on whatever work he could get. He missed seeing you though, missed listening to you talk when you thought he wasn’t listening. He’d never seen you in the daylight before, and you looked even more beautiful than you did in the dimly lit bar. But you looked so tired, so stressed. You’d done so much for Gi-Hun over the last few months; now it was time for him to return the favour.

That night, Gi-Hun returned to the bar. He didn’t drink, though he desperately wanted to. He just sat with you, keeping you company as you had done for him so many times. You looked exhausted, your eyes red rimmed and puffy. You didn’t talk much that night, too tired to form words. But Gi-Hun didn’t mind; he knew better than anyone that sometimes all you needed was a persons presence to stop you from going completely insane.

“Let me drive you home,” he said to you at the end of your shift.

“I’m fine, honestly,” you mumbled, fumbling with the keys as you locked the bar down for the night.

“Please,” he insisted. “It’s not safe for you to drive.”

You looked at him, closing your eyes as they burned with tiredness, before sighing.

“Fine.” Tossing him the keys, you slumped into the passenger side, secretly grateful for the help. If you’d had to drive home, you weren’t sure you’d have made it back in one piece.

You were both silent as the car wound through the city streets, lost in your own thoughts. Gi-Hun helped you upstairs with your bags, ladened down with student essays you needed to mark, and your own uni work that you hadn’t had time to complete. He wasn’t sure if he should stay for a while, to make sure you got in ok.

“Have you eaten?” He asked, desperate to prolong his time with you, even for a brief moment. Your stomach growled loudly in response, and you clutched at it.

“I guess I forgot to,” you mumbled, throwing yourself down on the couch which was littered with yet more paperwork.

“You need to eat,” he said, “let me make you something.” He dug around in the cupboards, finding a couple of packs of instant ramen to make while you got changed out of your work clothes. You returned a few moments later, makeup free and wearing a tiny pair of pyjama shorts. They accentuated the curves of your thighs and hips so perfectly, and Gi-Hun found himself unable to tear his eyes away. You looked so beautiful, but so fragile and broken.

Handing you the bowl of food, he turned to go. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, didn’t want to encroach on you when you clearly needed rest.

“Please don’t go.” Your voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear you. You looked so small sitting on your sofa, the bowl of steaming ramen in your hands. “Please, can you just stay a while?”

You were so lonely at the minute, so utterly drained and exhausted. You just needed some company, needed someone to sit with you. And so Gi-Hun stayed. He sat with you while you ate, neither of you talking, but both of you having so much you wanted to say.

“Why do you do all this?” He asked eventually, looking at the mountains of paperwork all over your tiny living room.

“I made some bad choices when I was younger,” you sighed. “I met someone when I was really young. I thought he was a nice guy; he wasn’t. I took a job as a teacher because it was easy and brought money in. But as soon as I put money in the account, he would spend it.”

Your ex sounded like Gi-Hun, and it filled him with shame.

“Did he gamble?” He asked, wondering just alike the two of them were.

You shook your head. “Drugs and prostitutes, mostly,” you laughed bitterly. “It took me years to get the courage up to leave. And when I finally did I realised I’d wasted my life being with a man I hated, in a job I can’t stand. I thought by going back to university I could make myself better somehow. But I’m just really tired and I have nothing to show for it.”

A single, fat tear dropped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. You talked long into the night, fighting sleep so you could spend more time with the man who had shown you such kindness. When your eyes could no longer stay open, you crashed hard on the sofa, your head slumped on Gi-Hun’s shoulder.

He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare wake you from the sleep you desperately needed. So he stayed there all night, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. His hand tentatively stroked your back, soothing the troubled mumbles you uttered every now and again.

You’d been there for him when he needed someone, and now he’d be there for you. Life was tough for both of you, but you could help each other. Maybe together you could come out the other side. Maybe together you’d be ok.

[goddamnitmahtin]

This is too good… I must add because what if…

During one of their meetups

Tim, sleep deprived and desperate for coffee, “Robu…. I need you.” He slumped onto Danny’s couch

Now normally, Danny wouldn’t prefer to be referred to as a coffee brand all the time but… this was Tim. And it was Tim’s favorite coffee… so in a way… it was like he was Tim’s favorite coffee? It was hard to explain but Danny knew that he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have.

He placed the cup of coffee into his fake boyfriend’s hands. His very big hands. Course from working so hard being all heroic in the field of duty. Calloused and bruised, no doubt broken and reset dozens of times. The hands of a vigilante who was fully and utterly alive.

Danny was never jealous of Tim for that. Infact… he was very happy for Tim that he was so alive. Heartbeats are a good thing of course. And his was very nice. Steady and always going 100 miles a minute from the amount of caffeine he consumed. He supposed he should stop providing said caffeine but he spent his whole life being selfless. He was going to let himself be selfish this one time. He didn’t want to stop seeing his fake boyfriend.

“How long has it been this time?” Danny asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, “Since you’ve slept?”

He watched as the adorable mess of a man slumped over his couch sighed, “Um- 6- no- 8? Um- 74 hours or so?”

Well it wasn’t as bad as sometimes at least. He knew that it was bad for him to be awake so long. Sometimes on their “fake dates” Danny suggested movie nights just so he would take a nap. He wanted Tim’s heart to keep beating so he could keep listening to the sound.

Danny nodded, “Busy man you are.” He made sure his body blocked the coffee table from Tim’s view. He hadn’t properly put his mail out of sight before his vigilante had come to see him and he knew that Tim was nothing if not a detective.

Tim noticed the awkwardness coming from him immediatly, “Hey why are you hiding your mail from me?”

Dammit Tim why do you have to be so smart and perfect all the fucking time-

Danny laughed nervously, “I’m not- doing that…”

Tim sat up and gently adjusted Danny out of the way to look at the papers, grabbing him by the waist to do so.

Danny swooned only a little when he felt those big hands on his hips. Momentarily, he very much forgot why he was hiding his mail from Tim. But not long enough for the distraction to stop him from trying to grab the papers before Tim could reach them.

He failed.

Tim looked at the eviction notice in his hand, “Danny you never told me- I could have given you more money?!” He looked bewildered and confused. And more than that. Danny could tell there was a bit of fear in his eyes. He understood. He felt it too.

“Money isn’t the problem Tim, you give me more than enough,” Danny said fidgeting with the tracker fashionably dangling from his ear, “Everyone in the building got one. Ms. Abernathy sold it under the table to some shady company.”

Tim looked outright pissed, “What company is it?”

“I don’t remember but I remember hearing the name of it and thinking it sounded fake as hell. Probably why we are all getting kicked out instead of our leases transferring to the new owner. Ms. Abernathy doesn’t want her tenants in a bad situation,” Danny explained. He may not have been a vigilante anymore but hey, he still knew shady shit when he saw it.

Then a ding from Tim’s Nightwing tracker. And then immediately after, he feels another presence outside the window. The other birds were spying again.

“Move in with me,” Tim blurted out.

Danny… well Danny…. Danny fucking short circuited.

“Wha-?” was all he could get out. Normally he was better at improvising but ancients be damned, the cutest man ever just asked him to move in with him.

“Look I know I said we should wait since I didn’t want you in harms way if any rogues found my apartment but…” Tim wrapped his arms around Danny’s waist AGAIN, “I trust you to be able to defend yourself (after Danny broke into the Batcave as Phantom, Danny told him everything because why wouldn’t he) and honestly… I’de love having you around more often Robu.”

Danny’s breath caught as he felt those callouses on his hips again. He watched Tim stand to look him eye to eye and felt his entire core purr as one of those calloused hands moved to his cheek. Tim was really playing it up.

Danny could play it up too, “Aw is the tracker not enough anymore Timothy?” He wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck, bringing his face closer, “Of course I’ll move in with you. But don’t think I’ll be taking it off.” (Danny was referring to the tracker)

Tim smiled, “Don’t you dare.”

Then they kissed. Like on the lips. Cuz they were acting. Yeah, that. It didn’t stop Danny from adoring how Tim tasted of coffee though.

The next minute they were packing a few bags of Danny’s things and heading off to the new apartment.

While his core buzzed excitedly about the future of much more close proximity, Danny’s mind couldn’t help but wander off a little. They had gone this far. And Tim had a nickname for him. Maybe he should come up with one for Tim? He called him Tim or Timothy mostly, sometimes throwing other names in there to see if they stuck but nothing ever did. He called him Birdie once and the man gave him the biggest glare he had ever seen. It was attractive but not the response he was hoping for.

Danny knew a lot about death. Obviously. He also knew the irony of Tim’s vigilante persona Red Robin. The most alive man he had ever met used the name of a bird of death. Most people only know about the associations from cardinals, many stating that the dead send the bird to their loved ones as reminders of them.

What not as many people knew was that this was also extended to red robins. Red robins also had a double meaning when it came to the dead as they represented rebirth and starting anew. The same meaning as an upright death card in the tarot deck.

If anything… of the two of them Danny was the red robin. Tim was more of a…. swan. Yeah a swan. Loyalty, fidelity, and grace. Swans also mate for life but Danny wasn’t going to think about that. He knew Tim probably didn’t do that kind of thing like ghosts did. But it was a nice thought that he wasn’t going think about at all.

He set down the box with his clothes in it. He didn’t have very many. Most of the clothes he had were from before he moved here and most of that was destroyed in Amity Park when his parents found out what he was. It was… a lot of fire.

The rest of the clothes he had… well he kinda slowly stole them from Tim whenever he finally decided to shower and crash out whenever he stayed the night.

It wasn’t weird. He trusted Danny to wake him up before he had to leave for work. It wasn’t weird at all. Infact… Danny’s core quite liked it whenever he would stay.

“Well that’s all of my stuff,” he said.

Tim nodded, looking at all 4 boxes and 1 backpack, “Well it’s a good thing you pack so light. Too bad that couch wasn’t yours. It was comfy as fuck.”

Danny chuckled, “The bed wasn’t mine either.”

At that Tim laughed as well, “I know Robu. It was far too comfortable for you to afford.”

Danny scoffed, though the thoughts of his hometown that were brought up by how little stuff he had didn’t leave completely, “Wow thanks.”

Tim’s posture straitened. Dammit. Tim always fucking knew.

“What are you thinking about,” he asked, getting close. He always did that. Got close. He knew Danny sought comfort in physical contact. He could hear a difference in Tim’s heartbeat from the genuine concern.

Danny looked up at him, “Amity… my parents…”

Tim nodded, “Do you want to talk about it or a distraction?”

Ancients, this man was so fucking perfect.

“Distraction please,” Danny sighed, letting his head fall against Tim’s chest. He wanted to listen to his heartbeat. It was nice. And Tim held him for a while just like that. Talking about how he was going to buy a brand new bed for Danny and that after that, he was going to make 3 new tracker earrings all in different colors so that he could always have one on him no matter the outfit (As if Danny didn’t wear the silver one he already had everywhere).

One day… one day maybe it could be real. But until then… having Tim like this was going to have to be enough. It was better than having never met him at all. He couldn’t let go of his swan.

Extra:

*a few days into them living together*

Danny on the phone: So yeah I’m living with Tim now.

Jazz on the other line: So he’s your boyfriend? You could have just said that Danny.

Danny blushing furiously: N-no!

Jazz: Danny… from what you’ve told me, you live together, you eat together, you do laundry together, he knows your past, you know his…. you sleep in the same bed!

Danny: I- well- the new one hasn’t come in yet and before that it was only sometimes!

Jazz: Uhuh. And denial is a river in Egypt.

Danny: Jazz….

Jazz: Daniel the man has a tracker in your ear! So, what did you decide to call him?

Danny: *blushing profusely* I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jazz: You can’t hide from me. I know your brain Daniel Fenton! He has a nickname for you so obviously you came up with one for him.

Danny: Fine… he’s… my Swan.

Jazz: ….. (processing) …. (Google searching the meaning)…. (Reading) …. Danny you are so insufferably corny. I hope you know that.

Danny smiling: He reminds me all the time.

Jazz smiling wider: Uhuh.

Danny, working as a cashier: Can I help you?

Tim half-deranged: Please I just want a cup of coffee

Danny squinted, then pulled out a binder: I'm sorry, sir, but you are on the Don't Serve Coffee list. I can offer you some tea instead-

Tim: NO. THIS IS THE FIFTH PLACE. BRUCE CAN'T OWN YOU ALL!

Danny leaning in to whisper: Look, man, I can't give you coffee under the cameras. Meet me in the back alley in twenty minutes and I'll get you a coffee. Bring Cash.

Tim: how much? Five hundred, six hundred or hell even a thousand? I'll bring whatever you want.

Danny: Chill dude, it's a cup of coffee. Three dollars is fine.

Tim: It's not just any coffee! It's my favorite brand and Bruce bought them out just to make sure they wouldn't sell to me anymore!

Danny: okay okay, this coffee means a lot to you. I get it. Twenty minutes alright?

Jason three weeks later in Bat cave: Tim's on drugs! I've caught him trading cash for small containers in a shady alley six times. We need an intervention.

Dick: What?! I thought that was his boyfriend!

Bruce: I also thought that was Tim boyfriend but if it's a drug dealer we have to help him.

Tim hiding in the shadows: shit.

Tim texting Danny: If anyone asks your my secret boyfriend who been making me teas in allies

Danny: who the hell would believe that? But I've had a boring week, so yeah, I'm down to be a pretend boyfriend.

[sophieinwonderland]

Important note for minors about coming out as plural: do not trust conservative parents or caregivers

With the Trump administration returning has come a renewed surge of bigotry around the country. Right wing media is being used to indoctrinate people into a fascist hate cult.

If you are a plural minor considering coming out to parents, think long and hard about if it's safe to do so. As a minor, much of your life is going to be controlled by your parents. If they want to, they can limit social media access and take away your ability to communicate with other systems. They can force you into therapy against your will with the express goal of getting rid of your headmates. Parents even have the right to physically assault you as punishment.

While plurality is not part of the mainstream conversation yet, there is a chance that it will be soon with so much ongoing research into it. Some of which is likely to make mainstream news at some point. And there is a real possibility that when this happens, conservatives who don't know plurality exists today will flip on a dime the moment their media sources decide it's a problem.

Even if plurality doesn't become visible to mainstream conservatives, their minds have been poisoned against enough related phenomena that it can still be extremely dangerous to come out to them. Most conservative Christians believe in a real spiritual warfare, seeing conservative Christians like themselves as warriors against the forces of the devil. If you experience any sort of spiritual plurality, it is very likely that they will see you as being demonically possessed.

And with the rampant transphobia, even if you don't identify as transgender, systems with headmates with different genders from the body's AGAB are likely going to face the same discrimination from them.

You obviously know your parents better than I do. So if you're confident that you'll be safe coming out to them, then go for it!

But otherwise, I think it may be wise to wait a few years until they no longer have power over you. When the worst they could do is cut you out of their lives.

Additionally, it may be wise to take steps to prevent your parents from finding out.

If you think that your parents may look at your social media accounts, have accounts that are only for plural stuff that you only log into in private browsing modes, and don't share these accounts or their passwords with anyone.

Additionally, don't share too much personal information on the internet. Don't give people your real name or your address or anything they can use to find you and out you to your parents.

It has happened in the past that pluralphobic groups have tracked down and contacted the parents of minor systems, whose parents subsequently took away the system's social media access.

Above everything else, be safe!

I believe that the future is plural, but that future is still a ways off. And I want to make sure that young systems growing up today can live to reach that future.

[simmplerussiangirl]

Her princess.

part two

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis : The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 2.2k

cw: selfharm, hatred, aggression, death, defiant behavior, Ambressa is a sweet bun.

A/N: I wrote the second part in five thousand words, but decided it would be better to divide it into two anyway. I doubt that people will read such a large amount of text.

Walking down the stairs, I yank my arm out with force. I wish I could say I succeeded with ease, but alas, I didn't. I only succeeded because she let me.

 Ambressa Medard was difficult to be around. She literally pressured you with her status and authority. What to say that any average person would feel like a bug comparing their bodies and accomplishments. Inwardly, I chuckled at the thought that she had put thousands of men into complexes with her mere appearance.

  Here I was, standing in front of her and feeling like a little girl. Even in my high heels I could only reach her nose. So I had to raise my head to look her in the eye.

 But there was a huge problem. She was scanning you like she was reading you. And her gaze was heavy. The kind of look that makes you want to hide or at least put your eyes to the floor to get away from it.

 And I was no exception; I wanted to stop feeling it, badly enough. But my pride choked me. So I stood in front of the girl towering over me, breathing heavily, my eyebrows pulled down to the bridge of my nose.

 I saw a faint smile of approval run across her face, but unfortunately I didn't have time to see it. The girl turned around and walked toward the ship. I followed, still not saying a word.

 It took us about ten minutes to get to the dock, and when we finally stopped, I was overjoyed. My heels were insanely beautiful, but they were uncomfortable. They also made my feet bleed. The last few steps to the ship were the most painful, and I limped along, trying not to lose my face in any way; Ambressa could turn around at any moment. My shoulders were still squared, my head proudly up, and my face calm, as if I were not going into slavery, but on vacation in a neighboring country.

  Ambressa stopped near the stairs to the ship and let me pass through. I only arched an eyebrow in surprise and rolled my eyes.

-Are you afraid I'm going to kill you from behind? - I smirked wickedly.

-No, I just don't want my soldiers looking at your scuffed skirt. - She nodded toward the stairs - The stairs are high, and your dress is already moving in the breeze. But if you want to...-  she took a step toward the stairs, and I just put my hand out in front of her, blocking the way.

 I rolled my eyes again, and started to climb up the stairs, holding the dress on both sides so it wouldn't ride up. Since I was now the first to walk, I could take a little break and squint endlessly, biting my lips and cheeks in pain. The pain in my heart and the pain in my legs, which already had a trickle of blood running down my ankles.

 I climbed up onto the deck, and stepping slightly away from the stairs, turned to face the girl who was also standing on the ship.

- Don't expect me not to make life hell. Don't think I'll die so easily as a slave,” I adjusted my dress and looked into her face.

 Under other circumstances, I would have said her beauty was captivating. Her features were enchanting, mesmerizing, and even somewhat intimidating. The scars did not mar her face, only added to her charm and memorability.

- Who told you that you are my slave? You will not be a slave in my house, nor in my state as a whole.

 The woman turned and pushed me toward some kind of door. I reflexively took a step and nearly hissed at the flaring pain in my legs. Miraculously, I managed to pull myself together in time. But the girl seemed to have noticed something strange, either in my movements or in the sound I made.

- What is it? - She grabbed my chin, but I couldn't break free this time, so I just looked her in the eyes with distaste. - You look like a drowning cat. . They reach out and rescue you while you hiss and bite.

 She let go of my chin and put her palm on my shoulder blades this time, not pushing. She was just laying down to guide me in the direction she wanted me to go.

 We walked in silence for a long time as I ran her phrase “You won't be a slave” through my head. Thoughts were literally boiling in my head. Why am I there then? Does she really think that I would willingly agree to fight under her leadership using my magic? She can't be that naive, can she? No, absolutely not. Then maybe she thinks she can find something to blackmail me with. But I have no weaknesses; after all, I killed my father with my own hands. Only if it's through my country.,,

-Your pretty little head is about to boil. Ask me if you have any questions, child.

 I snorted loudly and rolled my eyes. Is she trying to gain my trust? Does she want to make the right first impression? Why the hell is she talking to me like that? Why worry about me and my condition?

-Whatever you want, sweetheart. - Ambressa stopped in front of some door -Your room for the next few days.

 The woman turned and walked back down the hallway, I watched the muscles of her exposed back roll over as she walked, as she moved further away from me. It was quite a breathtaking sight....

- No one will lock the door until the first time you make a mistake. Oh, and your maid Maria will be assigned to you tonight. Change before she comes; don't scare the poor girl with blood on your dress. There are a couple of outfits in the closet.

- You wouldn't dare lock me in!

 Ambressa never once looked at me, but I bet she smiled. Because she knew she'd do it if she had to.

 After waiting until I was completely alone in the hallway I opened the door and took an unsure step inside. I looked around the room. It wasn't luxurious, but it wasn't horrible either.

 There was a wooden bed pinned to the floor. It was already tucked into fresh linens in scarlet and gold. And near the wall were many different burgundy-colored pillows. By the small porthole was a desk, on which were sheets of paper and a couple of pens. Also in the cabin was an elongated wooden cabinet. When I opened it, I saw dresses of extraordinary beauty. There were three of them, all lavish, in the colors of the Medard clan and richly studded with jewels. The jewels sprawled along the bodice, along the translucent sleeves and hem of the dresses. This jewelry looked very much like splashes of bright scarlet blood.

- So he wants me to be a toy... A piece of jewelry... A trophy... Fuck that. - I laughed, and my laughter echoed off the walls and rang through my quarters.

I was angry. The last few days had been stressful enough as it was. And today was the last straw of my patience. Tears of anger, resentment, and hopelessness rolled down my cheeks.  I threw my dresses into the far corner of the room, threw everything off the table, and exhaled a sigh of relief. I turned to face the door with my eyes closed and breathed heavily, tears still streaming down my cheeks. As I opened my eyes, I saw the maroon pillows with the edge of my gaze and my eyes turned scarlet. Slowly limping, still standing on my heels, I walked over to the bed and used my magic to burn the pillows one by one.

 When I use my magic when my emotions are strong, it turns into a truly breathtaking sight. My eyes take on a blood red hue, my hair seems to lose its gravitational force and dangles quietly in the air. It is something like a strong wind blowing on me, but my hair is not tangled in any way, but goes behind my back, where it swirls up and down in a smooth wave. On my hands at this time you can see the glow, the color depends on the degree of complexity of the spell, as well as on the strength of my emotions.  The color changes from light red to coal black, as my grandmother told me while she was still alive. My glow once turned bright scarlet, and after that I was unconscious for over two weeks. I've never gone further than that, and I can't imagine what I'd have to do to turn my hands black.

 Hearing someone's quick footsteps outside the door, I braided weeds around the door, making a kind of barricade. I couldn't let anyone see the state I was in, and fuck it; some of the warriors probably heard me scream.

-Princess Ros, are you all right? - A man's voice called out, but my plants were untouched.

-Yes,” I hummed and sat down on the bed, finally taking off my shoes. I saw they were drenched in my own blood - Fuck.

 Footsteps were heard behind the wall again, it looked like the warrior had moved away from the door. I leaned back on the bed; arms spread, and stared up at the ceiling, digesting everything that had happened today. A tear rolled down my cheek again, and I lay in the fetal position, grabbed the white pillow I had left, and put it to my mouth and screamed.

 I screamed long and hard, feeling something inside me break. I don't know how long my next scream was stuck in my throat, all the time crammed into one big pile. It might have been ten minutes it might have been three hours. It didn't matter. Even with my voice broken, I wheezed into the pillow until I was completely exhausted.

My heart was beating at an incredibly fast pace, and my throat ached unbearably, as did my head. I finally got out of bed and went to the window. The sun was already setting over the horizon, which meant I'd cried all day.

 I started rummaging through my desk drawers to find something where I could look at my reflection. To my great delight, I found a large gilded mirror in one of them that was studded with red stones. It looked like this clan had plenty of money.

 I looked into my reflection and was horrified. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen and red, and so was my nose.

 - Horrible... - I put the mirror back down - And my dress is also bloody.... I look like a ragamuffin....

“A ragamuffin...” - I echoed in my mind.

 A plan instantly formed in my head. I grabbed one of the pens and used it to make a bundle on my head.  With a sigh of encouragement, I wiped the remnants of tears from my cheeks, grabbed the first dress I could find, and began to create.

 I finished when it was well past midnight. Placing the mirror on the table, I stepped away and admired my dress that I had altered to spite Ambressa. I knew it was unimaginably expensive, but it made me feel a little better about what I'd done to it.

I left the corset almost untouched, but I cut off the sleeves, leaving only the wide shoulder straps. I cut the jewels off the fabric and used the vine to attach them to the corset, in the form of blood splatters.

 The most interesting thing I did was with the layers of the skirt. Most of them, of course, I just cut off, and the rest I cut into scraps of different lengths. It looked very beautiful, though quite inappropriate for a girl of my level and status.

 I twirled around the mirror and fixed my hair, which had already been styled by magic. I smiled at my reflection. My mood had lifted after my recent tantrum.

 I was good for letting those emotions out, but I shouldn't cry anymore, it wouldn't help my grief.

 Removing the vine from the door, I walked out into the hallway. There I saw a young boy standing by my door. He didn't react to my appearance.

-Good evening- -I put my hand over my heart and nodded my head slightly, saying hello out of the politeness that had been instilled in me. - Can you tell me where the exit to the deck is?

 The warrior answered me nothing, didn't even look at me. I furrowed my eyebrows and, squaring my shoulders, walked in the direction from which I had come here.

- If you make any movement on the ship, it is your responsibility to alert Mistress Medarda and get her permission.

- I thought you were dumb-I continued to walk quietly down the corridor, feeling the damp boards beneath my bare feet. - I don't owe anyone anything, boy.

I looked over my shoulder and saw him striding in the opposite direction from me. It looked like he was going to report back. Chuckling to myself, I kept walking.

[goodlucktai]

one of the rotten ones

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: don & leo, don & OC title borrowed from anthems for a seventeen year old by yeule part of the archer au :) read on ao3

x

“I don’t think Gio likes me,” Donnie blurts. 

He’d feel self-conscious if he was pressed to admit it anywhere else, but he’s in the infirmary, and the only one around to hear him say so is his twin. 

They’re moving into hour two of Leo’s “faves” playlist and the fourth consecutive Taylor Swift song even though he swore he put it on shuffle. Leo is going through cabinets and shelves systematically, updating inventory on his phone, while Donnie infodumps about energy storage and projectile dynamics and the breaking strength of crossbow string. 

Donatello’s base knowledge of this particular ranged weapon is severely lacking, which is a significant personal problem for him now that he has a sibling with a preference for archery. He needs to be the world’s leading expert on the subject yesterday. He has half a dozen half-formed plans for things like sonar bolts for 3-D mapping, which may or may not have been inspired by the Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation run.   

Only every glance at the project folder simply labeled ‘G-01’ causes an uncomfortable feeling to squirm to life in his stomach, not unlike the Krang tentacles that had attached themselves to his carapace on the day the world didn’t end. 

Donnie isn’t good at people. He doesn’t know how they tick, and there are no reliable lines of code or handy user manuals that he can fall back on when he’s mystified by human behavior. 

His siblings don’t have the same problem. Leo is perceptive to a degree that borders upon clairvoyance, Mikey is the single-most emotionally intelligent member of their family, Raph is more charming than he gets credit for, and April can talk her way through any closed door, police tape or VIP-only entrance. None of them fumble the way Donnie does when a social interaction goes off-script, like it’s a volleyball that got served his way without the ample warning he needs to be anything approaching passable at the sport. 

But he knows he’s not imagining it—the way Gio seems to brace himself when Donnie comes into the room, like he’s expecting a confrontation every time. Like the last thing Donatello could want with him is something good. 

Donnie can be a lot. They all can. They come by it honestly, equal parts chaotic lab experiments and their father’s sons. And not every structure is built to withstand hurricane winds. Not every person is equipped to deal with a Hamato level weather event. 

But he has never seen Gio flinch away from anyone else. 

So he did what he always did when confronted by something outside his formidable repertoire—he took it to Leo. 

There had never in Donnie’s life been a problem that couldn’t be made into their problem. It came with twin territory. 

And Donnie’s twin in particular is good at translating Donatello and translating other people for Donatello, and jumps on any chance to be helpful and feel wanted, and absolutely loves problems. It’s one of the most annoying and endearing things about him. If there is any trouble within a hundred miles, Leo will find it. He will worm his way into the center of it and then puzzle his way out from the inside. Most other clever and curious people were satisfied by the daily Wordle; Leo would chew through a wall unless he had something more hands-on to occupy his mind with. As polar-opposite as the two of them could be in, in that regard, they were one and the same. 

It’s somewhat reassuring to Donnie that Leo’s immediate reaction is plain incredulity. He looks baffled, like Donnie has just started throwing stuff around the room for no reason. 

(He knows better. In the medbay, of all places, that would be a death wish. Leo runs a tight ship here and only here.)

“Sorry, you don’t think Gio likes you?” Leo says slowly. “Our Gio? The guy who let you infodump about the mycelial networks of fungi to him for almost two hours, all because Mikey mentioned he was making mushroom stir-fry for dinner?” 

Donnie scoffs, but he can’t help but feel warmed by the reminder. Gio had settled right in, the way he always did once he was sure of his welcome, and watched Donnie talk like nothing more interesting existed on this side of the equator.

“His eyes didn’t even glaze over,” Leo goes on, doing what he always does and pressing the advantage. “That’s a new personal best in this family. Even April started looking for a window to climb out of at the thirty minute mark.”

“There was bound to be at least one other mutant turtle in the New York metropolitan area with an appreciation for botany,” Donnie says imperiously, tilting his chin up. 

But the worry is still there, firmly rooted, trying to flower. Leo must be able to tell because his frown deepens, playfulness evaporating by the second. He pauses the music and sets his phone down. The room rings in the sudden silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, because it’s a room Donnie exists in with his twin. 

“I just want him to like me,” Donnie says. It’s a childish want, it makes him feel half his age, but it’s true. 

He was never one of those human kids lingering near the playground, on the edge of the classroom, desperate to fit in. He was never on the outs because he never had the chance to be. But this is probably what that would have felt like. 

Giorgio is quiet by default, absorbing everything with dark brown eyes, always pausing to think before speaking in a low, flat register that is becoming as familiar to Donnie as Raph’s comforting rumbles and Mikey’s energetic shrieks and Leo’s sweet or sly laughter. 

He hasn’t been anything but kind since he got here. He saved Leo, brought him home from a place it should have been impossible to come home from, so Donatello would put up with any manner of assholery from that quarter in exchange—but it’s not that at all. 

Once Gio’s initial guard goes up and then comes down, once they outlive that moment of consideration that verges upon scrutiny without ever crossing the line, the eldest turtle softens for any younger one like clockwork. He indulges whatever noise or nonsense they’ve brought with them like there is no better use of his time. 

It doesn’t seem like a lie. But Donnie is the least qualified person he knows to make that judgement call. 

There’s a lot at stake if he’s wrong, is all. 

Leo looks like Donnie has taken a melon baller to his insides just for fun. 

“I’d know if he didn’t like you,” Leo says with absolute certainty. And he probably would. And he would take it so personally. He wouldn’t let Gio know a single moment’s rest until the spotted turtle had a coming-to-Jesus moment and acknowledged his wrongdoings in canceled Youtuber apology video format. 

Since that isn’t the reality they live in—and Leo’s daily relentless pestering of Gio is harmless and little-sibling-shaped and decidedly not mean-spirited by any stretch of the imagination—some small part of the tight, unhappy feeling in Donnie’s heart has no choice but to accept that as the compelling argument it is. 

“He probably misses you, Tello,” Leo adds, something softening in his face that it hurts to look directly at. “His you, I mean. I know I would be a train wreck cosplaying as a person if I had to go someplace I’d never see you again. Can you imagine how screwed-up I’d be?”

Donnie’s whole soul shudders at the idea, at the nightmare that almost came true when the portal closed around the Technodrome and as good as severed Donnie clean down the middle. At the glimpse of a life he’d be forced to live with one leg, one lung, one arm, one eye, half a heart. 

“That’ll never happen,” he says, a little too loud. 

“You’re stuck with me,” Leo agrees. He means it, Donnie can tell—even after that almost-nightmare he put his family through, he means it. It’s one thing to take the nuclear option at the actual on-paper end of the world, it’s another to sit in a safe, warmly-lit room with his twin brother and try to conceive of an existence in which their dynamic duo was whittled down to a solo act. 

When they were little, Donnie once tried to explain how big the unobservable universe was. He told Leo that light from the big bang hadn’t reached Earth from all the way over there yet. It was a concept he struggled with as a child, that something could be so unknowable and immeasurable.

“That’s how big my ‘I love you’ is,” he said, all of seven years old and putting it into words the best way he knew how.

“I love you bigger than that,” Leo said promptly. 

“Ugh, you can’t,” Donnie said, frustrated at his twin for always trying to one-up him, for not understanding the huge thing Donnie was trying to compress and fit into his hands. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Leo said firmly, eyes gold to match Donnie’s, warm and shining in a way that was all his own. “I do.”

And then Leo went on to prove it. In a way Donnie never would have wanted him to—in an explosion that split the sky and left flash burns in their eyes, and the hollow pain of a surgical removal as the still-beating heart of their family was cut away, and the discordant electronic fuzz where a beloved voice had been rushing through last words, replaced by the sound of a radio without a signal, a device unpaired—but he proved it in a thousand other ways, too. 

He was even proving it now, this afternoon he spent leaning on a forearm crutch and ambling around to various shelves and cabinets to keep up with his stock of medical supplies that had been severely depleted in the weeks after the invasion. Leo had carried bandaids and lidocaine spray in a tiny tote bag since he was two feet tall. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening but he could try to make the bad things better. 

He’s looking at Donnie like he would right every wrong for him if he knew where to start. Like the unobservable universe was small enough to fit in his pocket compared to the lengths Leonardo would go for Donatello. 

Leo is the younger twin, but sometimes the only thing there is for Donnie to do is shuffle over and bonk their foreheads together and believe him. 

“If Gigi hated you, he wouldn’t be a Hamato,” Leo announces, muffled and silly and entirely correct. “It’s a required qualification. You must have missed that meeting with HR.” And then, because it’s important, he whispers, “I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispers back. 

At about that moment, TSwift’s I Think He Knows comes on, proving once and for all that there is actually no way Leo’s playlist is on shuffle. The weighted moment they’re holding on tight to transitions into a lighter one that gets flung haphazardly around as an immediate life-or-death struggle for the phone ensues. 

Stalemate is only reached when Splinter barges in to read them the riot act for daring to roughhouse while they had a non-zero number of broken bones between the two of them. Leo is bright-eyed with mischief and already fast-talking their way out of trouble the same effortless way April can rattle off her brothers’ favorite coffee orders, and Donnie’s worry has been soundly evicted, all its belongings in boxes in the yard. 

Sitting around has never been his style. He’s a turtle of discovery and invention. And now that he’s been reassured that the absolute worst-case scenario is not on the table—that it, in fact, was never on the table to begin with—curiosity rears its head and snaps up the dregs of anxiety like a hungry wolfhound who mistook it for an unattended rack of lamb. 

Hypothesis: Georgie isn’t being weird out of dislike of Donatello. Leo’s certain he’s not, so certain that he was willing to promise, point-blank and absolute, instead of being tricky and sly in the name of cheering Donnie up instead. Leo even offered a much more palatable alternative, but further evidentiary support is required. 

So after dinner a week later, as the whole family crowds comfortably around the banana split bar spilling across the entire kitchen island and argues over which toppings Gio and Casey should stack their bowls with first, Donnie blurts, “Can I see your crossbow?”

Giorgio really is one of the clowns in this circus. He proves it by putting his ice cream down, and picking the bow up from where it was relegated to the bench seat where everyone tosses their coats and shoes when they get home, and passing it right over. No normal person would put a loaded weapon in Donnie’s hands just because he asked nicely. 

As if in tacit agreement, both of Casey’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and Raph makes incredulous scoffing noises. April says, “You did not just—” at the same time Splinter blusters, “Purple, you fire that thing off in this house even once and I am grounding you from everything you know and love, including Orange!” and Donnie screeches, over Mikey and Leo’s hysterical laughter, “I can be trusted with projectile weaponry!”

The crossbow has been carefully maintained, but it hasn’t been used in weeks that Donnie is aware of. They’ve all stuck pretty close to home since the invasion, and it’s not like Gio knows anyone but them—it’s not like they need firepower for grocery hauls or pizza runs, though, knowing their luck, that could change any given day. 

But Gio still cleans it regularly, and he’s become a familiar sight at the kitchen table; parts spread out on an oil-stained rag, meticulous and methodical with the one belonging he brought here with him from the future other than the clothes on his back and the colorful friendship bracelet on his right wrist. 

It’s important to him, clearly, but he’s letting Donnie handle it with an indulgent look on his face. Like there are no better hands to leave it in than his little brother’s. 

Because he’s at risk of having a whole emotion about that out loud, where his entire family is assembled to witness it, Donnie quickly turns his mind onto the much safer road of gadgetry.  

He has never actually held a crossbow before, has never built or used one, but he’s been doing a lot of research. He has a lot of ideas. He wants to print mechanical broadhead arrows with explosive tips, or tear gas canisters, or EMP charges. It’s a brand new world of creative chaos and that’s not even touching all the build customizations Donnie has in mind. His fingers are already itching to dismantle and reassemble the machine into something better, something that won’t ever fail, something his big brother will love. 

Only—huh. What feels like a low-level electric current thrums to quiet life like it was waiting to be noticed by the right pair of eyes, just enough of a static shock to get his attention and guide his hand to the rail. Glowing purple does the work of an allen wrench in seconds and a handful of screws clatter to the table. Donnie removes the scope in one sure motion, and moves on to snap the rail from the stock. 

Raph says, low and warning, “Donnie,” intimately familiar with gremlin gadget mode and all the kitchen appliances and shared toys destroyed in Donnie’s early years in the name of science. But he’s not breaking this time, he’s just looking. 

He flips the rail over in his hands and finds the source of that odd electricity-conductive feeling. Hidden on the underside is a small embossed logo that Donnie would recognize anywhere, because it’s his.

“A-ha!” he says, absurdly pleased with the discovery. “A Genius Built mod.” 

The rail was one of the first things he’d had in mind to upgrade, but it looks like he’d beaten himself to the punch. 

“With a custom rail, we can add whatever attachments we want to the stock, way beyond just an average scope or a rangefinder,” Donnie says eagerly, his mind darting ahead in three different directions at once. “The world is our oyster, Georgie!” 

He can’t help grinning. His logo on Gio’s prized possession is that last little bit of evidence he needed. He’s never been happier to be wrong, and will endure Leo’s smugness for an unheard of two entire business days before initiating retaliation. 

No version of Donatello would put that mark on anything unless he really cared about it. 

And Gio wouldn’t lift the rail from Donnie’s hands, and touch his thumb to that stylized “D” as if to prove to himself that it was real, an expression of painful wistful longing on his face, unless he really cared, too. 

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTail

#TomcatTuesday

That Time at Top Gun I Got Jumped by an F-5

Disclaimer: This #TomcatTail occurred almost 30 years ago and while I’ve got the lion’s share of the details correct, there may be a few errors but not in anything substantive to the story. Sorry, I’m old.

Getting selected to attend Top Gun in March of 1995 was pretty cool. Back in those days, TG was still at NAS Miramar so a good bit of training occurred in the Top Gun hangar and out over the water off San Diego. Other elements of training involved training ranges near El Centro/Yuma, Fallon, Nevada and China Lake, CA (emitter hop). All in all it was a great experience but it did have a couple “others”.

First, both the selected pilot and RIO are supposed to be cruise qualified, having done a deployment as they would likely become Pilot and RIO training officers after they graduated. Unfortunately, the luck of the draw had it that a non-cruise-experienced RIO got the nod to attend with me which made it just a bit more challenging. No dig on my RIO, it’s a really hard thing for anyone to do, but it made for some extra work on me in a learning environment.

The second “other” – and I know you aviators out there will be shaking your head in recognition – was that when I went through there was a HUGE budget problem in the flying hour program: not enough money for gas (when is there, right??). My CO’s solution was to only partially fill all the jets for each flight (internal fuel only) and NOT fill the drop tanks. Your normal fuel load of 20,000 pounds was reduced to 16,000 pounds (yes, 20% reduction). Not my favorite CO, BTW. I asked “can I at least take the drop tanks off so I don’t have the drag penalty?”, his answer was, in a word, “no.” D*ck. Any other classmates have this problem? Nope. Double D*ck.

That was my challenge all the way through Top Gun; an inexperienced RIO (still love him like a brother) and a 20% fuel penalty for every flight. My RIO got better pretty quickly and generally rose to the occasion, and for my part (having always been a Friend of Maintenance or FOM) I managed to often times sweet talk the Sailors fueling the jet to “accidentally” fill up the drops. I always had a great relationship with Sailors (my Dad was Enlisted before he became a Naval Aviator), so it wasn’t that hard to get ‘em to help me out on occasion.

It was a pretty lengthy syllabus (I counted 28 hops in my logbook just now) with your standard “small to big” training focus. 1v1s, 2v2s, 4v4s, the infamous “Flanker Hop” against high alt/high speed Vipers, threat emitters at China Lake, and Strike missions around Fallon, Nevada. The instructors were absolutely top notch and literally everything you did (from brief, to flight, to fight, to debrief) was critiqued. It’s like applying Blue Angel precision to the fighter environment.

With that, we come to the story of getting jumped by an F-5. As I recall, the hop was a four plane Self Escort Strike (Fighter/Bomber configuration) at the training range around Fallon, Nevada carrying two each inert Mk 82s (cement 500lb bombs). We’d fight our way in from the east on the north side of the range, hang a left at the right time to attack the Bravo 19 target complex to the south, and egress/hook out to the west after that (picture counter-clockwise flow). We were in a four plane and the section of F-14Bs were in the lead, and I was Dash-2 in the section of F-14As.

Side note – one crew per squadron was selected per class so they generally ran 2 sections of Tomcats and two sections of Hornets (maybe a few more). At the time, I was in VF-24 in the F-14A so I got crewed up with another Pilot/RIO [admission – for the LIFE of me I can’t remember their squadron……VF-213?.....31?... ...dunno….it was 1995 and they were flying A’s out of Miramar] and we’d swap leads every other mission/syllabus hop. Today “Stinky” was in the lead (not his real callsign).

We started the run from the east headed west along the northern boundary of the working area. We were one mile combat spread (each jet 1 mile apart) in a line abreast and I was on the far right (northernmost fighter); lead fighter in the B was on the far left and Stinky was 1 mile to my left. Break those hands out again if it helps. Looks about like this:

◄ - Dash 4 (me)

◄ - Dash 3 (Stinky)

◄ - Dash 2 (F-14B)

◄ - Dash 1 (Lead F-14B)

The expectation is that we’d see some long-range contacts (we did) and fire some BVR weapons (we did) and then make our way to the target area and get jumped either in the middle during our turn south (we did) or immediately off the target after we released (we did).

So we’re “haulin’ the chili” as we used to say, ingressing at 480kts and nearing the swing south. Parenthetically, we liked to travel at speeds in multiples of 60 because that made the time/distance calculation easier…..480kts = 8 miles a minute means 16 miles away = 2 minutes. We hit the turn point and start this sweeping gentle “wheel” to the left and steady up on a southerly heading as I get back in position having been on the outside of the turn. Right when we settle back in and we’re all 1-mile line abreast, my RIO shouts out on the tactical frequency “BOGEY RIGHT THREE O’CLOCK ONE MILE!!!” I look over and sure enough there’s an F-5 at one mile away on my altitude pointing right at me. Dang it.

Here’s where it gets funny. Stinky calls out on the radio “We’re clear!”, meaning he thinks we don’t need to engage and can blow through. Well yes, Stinky, YOU are clear because the F-5 is TWO miles from YOU and has no chance of catching YOU, but I’VE got him in my knickers and I HAVE to honor his presence and engage. So I do.

INTERMISSION – I will say that Stinky was a resoundingly gifted Tomcat pilot and was as good at ACM as anyone, but this was NOT the first time he’d left me to engage as he blew through. It happened on a previous 2 plane ingress; I got jumped and he kept going. Not the coolest move, naturally, and the Instructors were savage in their critique but honestly I didn’t have to worry about it after Top Gun because he wasn’t in my squadron. We now return you to your previously schedule dogfight.

So bam, max performance turn to the right to take the F-5 down my right side close aboard to try and neutralize the threat and then figure out what’s next. I figure that if I want to have a snowballs chance in hell to get back to my division, I had to steer the fight properly. So he goes down my right side and I take the fight two circle (continue the right turn, but mostly in the vertical), come out of blower to get the speed down and turn rate to increase quickly and pull hard to get nose on. It works pretty well because the F-5 turns about like a Phantom (meaning: it doesn’t). I get the nose to rate around quickly and pull down to get nose on the F-5 and call a quick “Fox 2” on him. Fortunately for me, we’re kind of pointing the way we were going originally, so it’s blowers to Zone 5 and try and find our buddies. Honestly, I think that was a gift from the Instructor to configure it so I’d bag him and be able to continue. They were always good like that.

My RIO finds them on the pulse scope pretty quickly; they’re a number of miles ahead but we’re heading down hill toward them in full grunt, haulin’ and extra helping of chili. I get a visual and aim for the Dash-4 position to the right of Stinky where I was previously. By this time we’re getting close to the roll in point on the Bravo 19 target. The plan is to do a “John Wayne Left”, where – just like in the movies – we all roll in on the target leftward, one after another. We’ll likely even mentally make that noise from those movies…..”Brrrrr…..Brrrrrr…..Brrrrrr”. The timing works out absolutely perfectly (rather be lucky than good). I’m sliding up into position when Dash 1 rolls left….Dash 2 goes……my RIO gets Air-to-Ground read into the system, good symbology…..Stinky goes….then I go.

Master Arm on, roll left, pull nose to the target, 45° dive set, symbology tracking (a vertical line through the target with a que marker marching down to a release marker), que marker hits release marker, press the bomb button (“pickle”), thump-thump, and we’re off target. I pull out hard, roll wings left to look back briefly at the target (a hit, or at least close enough) and find and join on Stinky in spread again.

The B guys get jumped from the north now and me and Stinky have a couple bogies on our nose to the west. We’ve split into roughly separate sections so now it’s time to fight our way out. Fortunately for us, the bogies are right on our nose, so discretion being the better part of valor we blow through as we accelerate through the number at about 5,000 feet off the deck. Not a good idea to hang out over simulated bad guy country after you just bombed the shit out of ‘em. “Evaluate the bug” says Stinky…..”good bug” says the Instructor. Success.

We come back for the debrief and it goes fairly well. For those that haven’t been through, “fairly well” means you get talked to about each and every point of the flight for about 3 hours. Stinky got savaged for not honoring the threat to his wingman but again, no big deal to me. And then we go to the tapes to evaluate our strike run. It comes to my turn and we roll tape. The vertical line (Bomb Fall Line, I think) tracks over the target, que hits, bombs come off, and the instructor hits pause.

“So how fast were you going at release?” Uh oh. I had no idea. So you know, there are actually limits to how fast you can drop ordnance based on how much testing had been done on the airframe. At that point the Tomcat wasn’t cleared for supersonic release. Conjecture was that depending on speed and airflow that a released bomb may get “stuck” in the air around the jet and clatter around in the tunnel between the engines. On the “good/bad scale”, that’s clearly on “bad.”

“I’m not sure, Sir. I was trying to get into position on time to roll in with the division and I didn’t check.”

“Well, based on what we could see on radar, you joined your division nearly supersonic, right around 600 knots. Then you rolled in, so I figure you may have dropped past the number. Congratulations, you’re a test pilot.”

Oops. “Uhhh…..thank you Sir.” What a time to be alive!

@RSE_vb via X

[writing-whenever-whatever]

We’ll be ok sweetheart- this can’t be real 

Eddie Munson x reader 

Part 1 

Summary: after Eddie brings back chrissy to the trailer the event end up traumatising you for life escaping the blame for her death you both run only to sucked into a bigger problem 

Warning : mdni, death , graphic imagery, use of y/n, pet names (sweet heart, darling), Eddie is referred to as sir, vomiting, comfort, drugs, violence, no smut in this part, not proof read

———————————————————————

It’s late in the evening when Eddie is busy with his final hell fire campaign and I’m sat at in the trailer, dressed comfortably in my pjs a blue raspberry lollipop pressed between my lips, waiting from him to come home. We’ve been dating for a few months now it’s been a hit since the start, it’s gotten to the point I’m already practically living with him and his uncle Wayne  as it’s known my home life isn’t the best. 

Im settled on the couch watching some late night horror film a blanket wrapped around me as I hear his van pull up blaring music, I get up a smile landing on my face as I open the door shocked to see Eddie getting out the car with him no other than my old best friend blond bimbo cheerleader Chrissy Cunningham ,our friendship fell apart the moment she started to date Jason, my face turns to a grimace as he walks to me “ sorry I’m late sweetheart “ he looks at me running his hand over my cheek “ had a client to pick up on the way back” he tilts his head towards chrissy. I nod still in slight shock as I move to let them in. Her voice bakes me out of this daze “ thank you ” she mutters perching on the edge of the couch watching me as I stare at her. the screams from the small tv speakers blaring as Eddie russels through the trailer in search for something “ can you turn it down “ she fidgets nervously her eyes never really meeting mine as I turn the tv off “ that better for you” i scoff rolling my eyes as she nods. 

“ what are you even here for aren’t you a bit to Prissy and perfect for this shit” I raise my eyebrow looking down at her taking in the fact she’s still dressed in her cheerleading uniform “ I-i” she stutters looking up at me “ we do not judge darling, remember that” Eddie yells from the other room “ yes sir” I sigh looking back at Chrissy a smug look on my face “  I’m sorry I didn’t want to intrude but Eddie said I could come get some stuff by the end of the day” she sniffles feeling intimidated “ of course he did” I look over my shoulder to see Eddie emptying out the contents of a cookie jar “ what are you even looking for Eds” I sigh looking back at him as he stands up straight  looking at me “ anything, I can’t find anything in this place” he groans impatient throwing the jar back down on the side making me giggle.

 I turn to chrissy giggling “ don’t be nervous, Eddie is a great supplier when he can find his shit ” he walks up behind me a grunt escaping him as he rests his head on my shoulder “ you haven’t taken  it all have you” his voice is low vibrating against my neck “ no sir “ I look back at him “ I haven’t smoked or snorted anything today” i kiss his cheek before I move away from him making him nearly fall forward his hair landing in front of his face as I move into his bedroom looking around for him “ just make yourself comfortable “ he notes to Chrissy as he notices her fidgety nature. 

I continue to look around eddie and Chrissy nattering in the back ground as I finally find a small bag of the stronger stuff “ found it” I call out to him holding it in my hand shaking it slightly a smirk on my face “ this the stuff for you princess “ I look down at Chrissy, my smirk drops noticing her eyes flickering like she’s having some sort of fit “ what’s wrong with her” I ask moving in front of her tap her cheek trying to snap her out of it as Eddie stares in horror “ I don’t know one second she was fine talking but then she went quiet” he looks at me as I check her pulse “ fuck” I mutter trying to lay her down into the recovery position 

“ Chrissy wake up “ Eddie says his voice becoming panicked as the lights start to flicker in the trailer I look around “ what the fuck “ I gasp as she starts to float upwards I fall back onto the floor hitting my head on the coffee table behind me making my brain fog over, as she flys up hitting the ceiling causing both me and Eddie to scream my hands shaking as I reach out for him as he falls backwards watching her bones snap and contort till she’s completely disfigured then she falls back to the floor her eyes bleeding, body completely lifeless causing me to let out a broken sob

“ I’m gonna be sick” I stutter rushing to the bathroom to puke tears streaming down my face when I pull myself together slightly I pick up the phone calling 911 “ hello 911 what’s your emergency “ the operator asks from the other side of the phone “ h-hello we need help at Forest Hill’s trailer park our friend had some sort of fit I think she’s dead” I gag against the words making vomit rise to my throat “ can you explain what happened “ they ask my hands shaking as fresh tears “ she started s-shaking her eye-eyes flickering then her bo-bones all broke and she’s bleeding from the eyes “ I sob more “ please just send help” eddies hand clutches my shoulder his face as pale as a ghost eyes filled with horror “ an ambulance is on the way you just need to stay calm “ they explain “ is anyone with you “ I look at Eddie “ my boyfriend Eddie Munson we tried to help her, but we don’t know what the hell happened one sec she was fine the next she’s dead“ I pass the phone to Eddie running back to the bathroom to throw up again. 

Hours pass and an ambulance arrives the paramedics are shocked by the situation staring at Chrissy’s body on the floor as I clutch onto Eddie to keep my balance we explained what happened to Chrissy ,leaving out the fact she levitated to make it sound less like a bunch of doped up junkies gone wrong, my hands shake as I talk to the paramedics seeing them bring out the body in a body bag my face turning paler than before “ can we stop talking about this now it’s messing her up” Eddie says looking at the paramedics “ of course but we may inform you that police may be in contact “ I shake my head tears dripping down my face as I rest my head into Eddies chest his arms wrap around me holding me his hair tickling my face as cry into him. 

As the ambulance drives away I sob into Eddie as he holds me close we get into the van not wanting to go back into the trailer after what just happened “ they’re gonna find away to blame us” Eddie mutters to me under his breath thinking to himself in the rear view mirror his face twisting with emotion as he tries to burry it deep inside of him.  I rest my hand on his gently “ where are we gonna go” I look at him my eyes red from crying “ into hiding, where no one will find us” I nod sniffling as he places his hand on my cheek “ hey, we’ll be ok sweetheart. go in grab some stuff then we’ll go” I instantly get up rushing back into the trailer getting some clothes drugs and food anything we deem essential but the least amount of stuff to make it the least noticeable. As I go back into the living room I stare at chrissy’s blood on the carpet my hands shaking as the events happen again and again I’m quickly brought out of it by Eddie grabbing my shoulder making me jump “ you ready to go” he asks quickly he sound slightly out of breath as I nod. 

I get into the car as Eddie starts the engine the music jittering to a start as he starts moving as we turn towards the exit I see max mayfield one of his neighbours staring at us through the window I give her a brief timid wave as we leave the trailer park not knowing when or if we’ll ever come back. 

———————————————————————

We’ve been driving for hours the sun is rising as we pull up in a sheltered woodland area the car barely visible to the road side “ where are we” I look at him my eyes hooded with exhaustion “ we’re gonna have to walk a little while “ he rests his hand on my thigh “ can you do that for me sweetheart “ his eyes full of nerves as I nod opening the car door picking up our bags of stuff, I step out my legs wobbling slightly as we begin to walk. Eddie keeps me close to him as we walk towards a boat house in silence listening to any signs of trouble “ this is ricks house you remember him don’t you sweetheart “ I nod looking up at him “ this is where we’ll stay for now” he fumbles in his pockets looking for something when he pulls out a key “ found it” he smiles slightly bring me a sense of relief as he focuses on opening the door. 

As the door opens the smell of old weed and musk wafts over us as we walk in “ home sweet home” he sighs as I instantly rush round the house closing all the curtains “ Eds are you sure it’s a good idea us staying here” I put our stuff down slumping down on the couch “ this is the safest place for now “ he rests his hand on my cheek “ no matter what we stick together “ he pulls me into his lap cuddling me close “ I don’t know what the hell we saw back their but all I know is that’s it’s not good news” I nod as he runs his hand through my long hair “ Chrissy didn’t deserve that” I mumble burying myself into his lap “ i know “ he strokes my head more “ you should rest” he looks at me taking the bag grabbing a bottle of sleeping pills taking one out putting it into my mouth “ swallow “ I nod following his order doing as I’m told snuggling more into his lap letting the drowsiness take over I lay in his arms his gentle hand running up and down my back till I’m asleep.

———————————————————————

When I wake up Eddie is sat with the radio on listening to the broadcast announcing Chrissy’s death under strange circumstances and that further investigation is to happen, sit up rubbing my eyes feeling groggy as Eddie looks at me “ good you’re awake” he sighs a slight relieved look coming over me “ what’s going on” my voice is deep with sleep as Eddie moves next to me “ they’re looking more into her death, they’re looking for us” I sigh looking at him “ but we didn’t do anything “ I tear up slightly taking a deep breath “ i know “ he looks at me “ you need to calm down “ I make eye contact with him standing up abruptly “ calm down, calm down!? How the hell can I calm down I saw a girl levitate and die last night Eddie” I snap pacing the room “ so did I y/n you’re not the only one who saw it” he stands up grabbing my hand pulling me to a halt as we hear muffled voices from outside startling up we quickly move to the boat house. 

Eddie pulls me with him holding up the tarp across the boat, “ get in” he whispers his voice hushed as I climb in my breath shaking he quickly climbs in behind me cuddling me, holding me as close to him as possible I can feel his breath on my neck causing goose bumps to form as I look back at him holding his hand gently in mine as the voices get closer “ stay close, still and quiet “ he whispers in my ear his voice barely audible as the door to the boat house opens I close my eyes shut holding my breath as foot steps get closer. 

The voices get louder “ hello is any one home” they get closer “ what a dump” mote noises happen there are so many people both female and male as they shuffle around the boat house I can’t help but notice eddies hand move to my back pocket where I keep my switch blade suddenly the tarp starts getting jabbed at by something hitting all around us causing me to panic more. 

“ what are you doing “ one of them ask his voice rushed “ they might be in here” the other response still jabbing at did tarp they start arguing back and forth interrupted by the female “ hey look over here” she says her voice oddly familiar also “ some one was here” they say sounding certain looking through the trash scattered along the side “ maybe they ran” another suggests “ don’t worry Steve will get them with his ore” the male jokes suddenly eddie glances at me counting to three on his fingers then gestures to get up I nod watching as he counts down finally hitting one as we both jump up Eddie attacking the man with the ore holding my blade to his throat as I stand there holding a lit lighter and a bottle spray paint that was left in the bottom of the boat pointing it at the first person I see. 

Both of us appearing on edge and aggressive our actions shaky and unplanned as the voice of Dustin Henderson breaks through to Eddie “ Eddie stop it’s me Dustin” he shouts voice shocked “ Eddie it’s me this is Steve he’s not gonna hurt you” he insists stepping slowly towards Eddie as I point the lighter towards him “ y/n” max steps towards me her voice calming as I look at her my eyes frantic as my hands shake “ everything is gonna be ok just drop the lighter “ she steps towards me taking to out of my hand. 

I fall to the floor in tears Eddie instantly puts the knife down rushing to my side holding me into his arms “ what are you doing here” he asks his voice shaky “ to help you” Dustin answers looking directly at us “ you know us, that’s robin from band and my friend Max she’s always refusing to play d n d “ he adds “ who’s that” Dustin gestures towards me “ y/n” Eddie stutters keeping a tight hold on me as my body trembles “ my girlfriend “ Dustin nods coming down to my level “ we’re on your side, there’s no need to worry” 

I stand back up not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes as“ you bastards really shook me up not that fucking needed to be any more shook up” I start ranting talking really fast starting to pace “ y/n sweetheart “ Eddie looks at me I pause looking at him with watery eyes “ breathe” I take a deep breath hesitating for a second “ fuck i need a smoke” I search my pockets for the stash I usually keep on me but finding my search unsuccessful 

“ fuck” I grumble looking towards Eddie to ask him but as he’s busy talking to Dustin I  don’t wanting to interrupt them, I go into my inside pocket finding my lollipop from the other day wrapped up and placed in there I resort to sucking on that trying to sooth my nerves, watching as everyone turns to look at me “ what” I look confused turning to them then back to Eddie “ they want to hear what happened “ his voice sounds gruff as I move back to him sitting down against the wall “ you won’t believe us” my voice quivers slightly as I look at them pulling the lolly from my lips and passing it to Eddie who gladly takes it into his mouth “ try us” max response causing me to feel slightly confused. 

“ one minute she was fine, the next she wasn’t, I was helping Eddie look for some special k cause he couldn’t find it, when I came back in the room she was having some sort of fit. her e-eyes were flickering, body twitching. i-I tried to help her by putting her in the recovery position. B-but that’s when she started levitating her b-bones brea-breaking and sn-snapping “ I gulp for a second trying to compose myself as bile rises up my throat “ that’s when she hit the ceiling her eyes looked like they were being sucked out her head or something blood dripping everywhere ” Eddie adds resting his hand on my thigh grounding both of us as tears fall down my cheeks “ she didn’t deserve it, what ever the fuck it was yeah she was a bitch for dating that prick and ditching me as a friend but no one deserves that” I look down zoning out slightly not anything but  Eddie hushing me as I close my eyes the images repeating over and over in my head “ we really tried to wake her man” Eddie looks at Dustin “ it’s like she could move it’s like she was in a trance or something “ I nod agreeing with him taking my lolly back from him and sucking on it again “ under a spell “ Dustin looks a realisation coming to both him and Eddie “ a curse” 

“ vecna’s curse” Dustin says eying up Eddie with a shocked expression on his face 

I get back up walking back towards the house “ where are you going “ Steve asks me looking over his shoulder his voice stern but understanding as I push past him. “ this can’t be real” I mumble looking at them my face paler than usual “ how am I expected to believe in all these monsters and curses, like what the actual fuck is going on” i look at Eddie as he sighs “ be open minded, think of what we saw last night” he insists looking at me as I shake my head “ no I don’t want to, I can’t Eds” he walks towards me and rests his hand on my shoulder “ it’s hard to believe I know “ Dustin looks at me with sympathy walking towards me, his expression as if I’m a confused child his voice melting like butter “ but it’s true” he takes his time to explain everything to both me and Eddie trying to keep things simple dumbing everything down. 

After hearing everything I’m sat on the floor again resting my head on my knees “ so what can we do” my voice sounding like a faint whisper as it comes out  I hear Steve turn away talking to Robin “ poor girl must feel like she’s taken a bad batch of something with all this strange shit going on” she nods giggling slightly my head snapping towards them “ I’m more than just a junky asshole” I snap at them my eyes holding coldness “ i actually want to help people I wanted to help Chrissy” they look down at me as Eddie nods “ I know baby and you will” he rests his hand on my knees gently stroking up and down my leg.

Steve turns to us his “ listen you two need to stay low for now the police are looking for you they think Chrissy’s death was suspicious “ i nod “ ok what should we do “ i look up at him my hair messily moving into my face “ stay here keep in touch with us and if anything happens let us know “ Dustin insists passing a walkie talkie to Eddie before turning to the door “ we’ll get you supplies and what ever you need just stay safe both of you” i look at him watching as he walks out, leaving me and Eddie alone together for the rest of the night. 

[mangled-by-disuse]

One of the things I have struggled with since I first got sick (ME/CFS followed by a shittonne of other joint, neurological, hormonal, and musculoskeletal problems, if you don't know) is that, like... I had Done The Things? I did exercise, I ate kale (perhaps excessively I love fresh kale), I had tried mediation (...I mean, I sucked at it, but whatever) and yoga and so on, I tried to have a positive attitude, I generally had a pretty good diet... I wasn't a health freak or anything but I DID do all The Things.

And I still got sick in a way that absolutely destroyed the life I had at the time, and it wasn't even an infection or something else obviously external. I did the Things and my body still gave up on me.

That was around 15-16 years ago, and, like, health-wise I am so much better, but I'm thinking about it again because a similar thing is happening in my career progression. I did the Things for that, too: I pushed through my health issues to get good grades, I studied a STEM field at a well-regarded university, I've been continuously in work since I was 12 years old, I do all my work conscientiously, I humble myself and don't refuse work because I'm "too good for it", and I have always been one of the hardest workers in any job I'm at.

And I'm still unemployed at 31, having been unhappy in a series of jobs where I don't think management particularly liked me either, and with no real career direction? I've never had a performance raise or a promotion, and I've never managed to stay in a job more than the 3.5 years in my last one. And it feels so unfair, because, like. I Did The Things!

POINT BEING

the Things are a lie. There isn't a checklist of Things You Should Do that will ensure that you are happy, or healthy, or make a good career, or attract the person you want to attract. It's important to try, obviously, and some of the Things will make you feel better regardless - but there's not a roadmap to health or to success.

And I don't think people tell you there is, or convince themselves there is, out of malice or stupidity or anything like that. I think it's just really scary to face how much of life is luck and chance and the way existing systems interact with them, and how much we simply have no control over.

We want to believe life is fair, that success or failure are the result (if only in part) of one's own actions and choices. One of the first concepts that toddlers learn is "it's not FAIR!" - because even then, they know it should be.

But it's not fair, maybe especially when it comes to disability and illness. There's no secret trick to get you out of it, or to stop you falling in. There are no Things.

It doesn't mean stop trying, because there will be things you can do to make yourself feel better. But they might not be the things you expect, or the Things you expect. Those are only ever a suggestion, not a roadmap.

"here's what you have to do to stay healthy!" no it's not. and there is no guarantee that anyone will stay healthy for any length of time. it must be so scary believing that you are in control of this and then being proven wrong. I can't remember ever believing this, I can only remember having it used as a bludgeon to punish me for not being healthy. lol

[jamorbital]

What other hobbies do you have in life besides BDSM Art, Anime and Videogames?

I really like music! I've been doing music-related stuff since I was in elementary school. I can play a couple of instruments, I like to sing, I know my way around a DAW and I've produced some stuff of my own under a different name.

I also like to dance. For the past couple of years I've been secretly teaching myself stuff from YouTube tutorials. I'm way too shy to do it in front of anyone else though. I literally only do it in my basement with cardboard duct taped over the windows lol. When my wife saw the cardboard she got scared because she thought someone had broken into our house or something.

This one is really weird and nerdy, but I used to mess around with prediction markets a lot and consistently made money on PredictIt back when it was more active. It was very stressful and distracting. Now I just buy index funds and sleep much better at night.

I like to program. Sometimes I do problems on leetcode just for fun. For a while I've also been working on making my own (not-kink-related) game off-and-on. It's a total mess but maybe someday I'll throw it up on Steam. 🤷‍♀️

I actually don't watch very much anime. The last series I got really into was Cyberpunk and that was already a couple of months ago for me!

[goosewithtwoos]

OIL AND WATER

pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: Your days at the Naval Academy were stressful. You needed some stress relief

"Floyd." You groan as he pushes his thigh between yours.

The two of you had been studying for your midterms in the library, numbers slowly blurring together as your eyes began to close.

Mathematics had never been your strong suit. You had enlisted in the Marines after highschool, did two years and then transferred to the Academy. It had been too long since you'd looked at a math problem and it was biting you in the ass.

Floyd, on the other hand, was a genius when it came to arithmetic. He had offered to tutor you and you had graciously accepted.

That was also how you found yourself in this current predicament.

Putting the textbooks back on the shelf had led to Floyd's arm accidentally trapping you in. Which led to you looking up at him, batting your lashes, and the rest was history.

You were both hungry and tired and stressed. Your life was dedicated to studying and preparing to commission, you didn't have time to do much else. But now, you were taking all the time you wanted.

Floyd's thigh was pressed right between your legs, giving you something to rock your hips against.

The friction felt like heaven. Living with two other girls meant you didn't have much time to get off. He tenses his thigh, giving you something even better to grind on.

Strong arms wrap around you, one pressing against the small of your back while the other gripped the back of your neck. It was so possessive, so needy, so unlike him. It drove you wild.

He presses you higher up against his thigh, his lips never leaving yours.

At a particularly good movement of your hips and his thigh, you gasp, eyes flying open, bodying slumping.

"Shh," He coos. "Can't get caught." He presses a kiss against the side of your mouth. The cool metal of his glasses felt nice against your flushed face.

"Floyd," You mutter. He presses another kiss against your cheek while you try to compose yourself. "Feels so good."

He hums, the hand on your back beginning to rub soothing patterns that you would later think about and think as sweet. But right now, his hands on you, your heart felt like it was going to explode in your chest.

You raised yourself onto your tip toes and he took the opportunity at your new height to lift you more, pressing your back against the shelves. You could feel the shelf beneath your ass, almost like you were sitting on it. Thank God they were bolted to the wall otherwise you were sure you'd knock them over.

It was impossible to stop your hips from moving. You had been so pent up, so long since you'd last felt someone against you.

"Fuh-Floyd." You whisper as your mind short circuts. The friction against your clit was addictive. The hand from your neck came forward to your chest, grabbing your breasts and massaging them through the fabric.

You had never been into that before but the way they fit into his hands felt so right. He moans into your mouth and the sound gave you the encouragement to get more handsy yourself.

Your hands grab his wasit, thumbs running across his abdominals. In this position, it was easier to move his hips on your own accord.

You were never one to act out on emotions like this, but with Floyd, it was easy to drop your resolve. You didn't have to be the hard ass everyone knew you as. You didn't have to hold your bearing as he kissed you like the world was soon ending.

Floyd kept you moving against him until the feeling bubbled up into your throat. Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You groan, head rolling back. The books behind you softened the blow ever so slightly. No amount of pain could take you away from this moment.

"That's it, that's a good girl." Bob was saying. "Come on, get yourself off on me. Good girl." He stretched out the 'o' in the final good, western accent slowly making its appearance. Your hooded eyes found his face only to realize he wasn't even looking at you, he was looking at your hips. Why not give him a show?

Your hips swivel, spelling out your name, first and last, before it became too much.

"Come on, good girl." His accent was in full swing and you felt more like he was taming a horse than talking to you.

"Floy-" You weren't able to even get his name out before his hand slapped over your mouth. It was a good thing he did because you came with a moan only a few moments after and he was able to muffle the sound.

Your eyes closed, head falling forwards this time onto his shoulder.

You felt his chest shudder as his hands gripped your ass like a vice. He pulled you up against him one last time and before you could cry out about the overstimulization, he came into his trousers.

He slowly let you down, hands moving to your waist. His glasses went askew as he placed his forehead against yours. You both were panting but it was the best feeling you've had in a while.

"Good job being quiet." He chuckles.

"Good job keeping me quiet." You reply, looping your arms around his shoulders and around his neck.

"There's uh...there's a 96 coming up soon. Want to do something?" His voice was small, like he was almost expecting rejection.

You press a small kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"As long as I don't have to be quiet."

[fromtherift]

(Puts on my communism goggles) I think staunchly pro-anders fans are fascinating because to me at least it shows how to most people revenge is more important than actual progress. People will always want to do what feels good over what is right, because progress often is slow and unsatisfying in the moment.

My main issue with Anders’ action isn’t that he did something extreme, it’s that he did in the wrong place. Why the chantry over the gallows, where the actual templars were and there would be less civilians to hurt? He had Hawke on his side, he could have planned to evacuate people or put some safeguard in place to minimize civilian damages in the gallows, since most of the people in the gallows are not civilians. Blowing up property - especially if the property houses information and shelter for the oppressing party- is good. It’s a great plan. It would have made a much bigger impact and put a lot less mages across Thedas in direct danger if it was the gallows that were destroyed and not a chantry.

But Anders was wrapped up in vengeance (and we can have a whole discussion about how responsible Anders is for the actions of Justice). The point wasn’t to make the world better for mages at that point- the mage-Templar war that ensued did not ensure any kind of rights for mages depending on what you did in inquisition, and many had to die for being made automatically complicit in crimes against Andraste (even if they were believers themselves, that’s just the consequence of BLOWING UP THE CHANTRY), it was to do something extreme to feel like he was doing something just for the mages. Blowing up the chantry made this a statement on religion. It distracted from the actual grievances about the abuse taking place in mage circles.

There is no justice when collateral damage in the form of life is acceptable. That is no way forward, and it will create a lot more problems in the long run than it solves. It creates Martyrs, people who won’t rest until their own versions of feel good revenge is satisfied.

But it did feel real good to see the chantry- at that point housing people sheltering from danger- blow up as a symbol of your hate to the Templar order. It felt real good and that’s all that mattered.

This is great commentary on real world situations where good people - and Anders was a good person, dedicated his whole life to doing right by others and the world around him- get corrupted and twisted and pushed to do things that a younger version of them might never condone. When things get bad enough and no one wants to listen these kinds of actions seem to be the only way forward. The issue, ultimately, is not Anders. It’s not even Kirkwall. It’s fear against magic and a distrust of strangers, both issues that would never be solved or even addressed with terrorism. Anyway. He’s a fascinating character and his writing is really interesting to me

[thisuserisgonesorry]

1,, im not a teenager . might be young but i have a pretty good grasp on adulthood atp , and i’m not the only person that thinks this specific take; ive asked a lot of mutuals/friends who are (young,,) adults and agree w/ me and many people in rbs agree so like .. bringing my age into this is so left field cos . idk . weird thing 2 say

2 in my experience from living in a very “redneck” (lack of a better term) area (though not america, so there could be a difference), ive met 20-25 year olds who look and act exactly like daryl in s1 because teenagers in redneck areas just look like that. thats where my estimate came from, due to my own experiences

3,, norman reedus literally just looks young in everything he plays . you cant deny that he has a bit of a baby face and doesnt ALWAYS look his age . (but also celebrity men do look like that cos they dont just start rotting away the second they hit 23 because blue collar / minimum wage jobs suck) and never did i say there was a problem w/ him being 40 , just that it didnt make sense in my mind,,, nd actors can play characters that are a different age than them. norman being 40 ≠ daryl having to be 40

4,, he wasnt embarrassed until around season 3-4 iirc , closer to when he was around more people and less isolated , closer to merles death , more so around when he found out carol would go to that community home to get away from ed and then more around beths whole arc (iirc? im a bit aways from s3 rn,,)

nd considering 25+ is around when the frontal lobe developed. yeah. he would act like an idiot in s1. like all young adults do. and he would helplessly follow his brother around for validation considering his childhood, and he’d do whatever he wanted. he would be a terrible drunk, with no job. young adults do that. especially ones w/ mental health / bad childhood

then he develops into a person who was willing to learn to deal with his trauma when around season 4 when (in hc) he’d be like 27 at the earliest (?) because we have to remember that we skip all of loris pregnancy and then the first year (?) of judiths life. making him on the closer side to 30 around the time the prison, when his character starts developing.

(and i never said 25 was the solid age, just that hes “like 25”, meaning im happy to account s1 daryl as 26,27,28, whatever, just that hes under 30 in s1 in my mind)

5 i agree that him being older plays a part in his story but i dont think being 25 suddenly makes him a little baby that makes his development void. his frontal lobe developed. that is a valid subtextual reason for him to mature. but that isnt the only thing that made him reflect and want to cope with his trauma. merles frontal lobe developed and he never tried to do what daryl did - therefor the age thing doesn’t exactly diminish his story or else merle wouldve changed before the outbreak, but he didnt, because some people dont. some people reach frontal lobe age and stay the same. its not “he just grew up” because then merle would have too, but he did grow up, and realised following merle was stupid. but he wouldnt have reached that outcome if there werent other factors so it can easily be both

6 i never said 40 looks old or that theres a problem w it, but how is he older than rick? than most of the other people there? being older than rick feels like it makes no sense (although rick didnt grow up like daryl did and they had carl young so blab yeah theres reasons) and merle being 35+ does make some sense though id somewhat agree 35 is young for merle. m not saying that ppl start decomposing when they hit 30 but god forbid i hc someone as not 40

+ trauma physically ages people so even if daryl did look the same age or older than rick, then it would still be plausible that hes younger. we see trauma age characters in this show. its not hard to assume it happened to him outside of the outbreak too

prob formatted this like a mess but ,, m tired

n e way other people in the rb say that they think daryl is different ages to all of them (varying from 20-40) and as i said in those rbs its interesting that no one can really “agree” on what age he should be cos hes an enigma like that and i think it suits him,, like we all can agree on certain things about certain character cos its a unanimous vibe but then his unanimous vibe is that no one truly knows him??? subtext of it all .

anyway /nm for all of this . im just a little guy . i respect ur opinion cos i love my pookie and i really do love that everyone interprets his story so differently ,,,, i just like talking about it

idgaf im sick of not saying it. s1 daryl dixon is not fucking 40 bro. hes like 25. there is no way in fucking hell.

[eva-does-its-best]

can you shut the fuck up youre making all trans guys look bad so fucking annoying. insane that u cant handle any fucking criticism whatsoever lol holy shit. whole ass fucking paragraph. gotta put that evil mean trans woman in her place right. god forbid someone gets frustrated at being consistently shit on by people in her community. im gonna be so real rn and say that as trans guys / tme people we have it so much easier its actually insane (coming from someone whos been thru corrective rape when i was 12 after i came out as a trans guy btw! theres my fucking pound of flesh. jesus.) not even rly trying to convince u but u just piss me the fuck off annoying as fuck

First off: So sorry about what happened to you, my most sincere condolences. It's the only thing I can really give, hope your life gives you enough peace and happyness to allow you to live with such an event.

Second:

You're making all trans guys look bad

I'm not a trans guy, I'm a transmasc, very different, a difference you should if not care about at least keep in mind if you want to respect less binary forms of masculinity. I don't speak as nor speak for trans guys, because I am not one, maybe if you actually read what I write you would know.

Insane that you can't handle any fucking criticism

Criticism where? Let me be absolutely blunt and sincere: All I see in the posts I replied to is tired, scared and hurt people who cope with said feelings by turning their vents into everyone else's problems.

I vent a fucking lot, everyone can see that, but when I vent I am sincere and point the source of my pain, how I feel, why I feel that way, and which people I believe reinforce it. What I don't do is go out of my way to involve people who have nothing to do with it or with how I feel.

Trust me I know how they feel, and the way they are dealing with it is incredibly self-destructive and I want nothing more than for them to get out of that shitty mental state that hurts them so they can feel better and have a slightly better life and emotional responses to the world.

Whole ass fucking paragraph

Yeah, that is how one transmits ideas. Shocking.

Gotta put that evil mean trans woman in her place right

I've replied to a couple posts so I don't know which one you're talking about, but I've no clue about the gender of the people who I replied to, I simply replied to shitty ideas, don't care who's behind them.

Pretty lame that you try to make this a gender war, don't you think?

God forbid someone gets frustrated at being consistently shit on by people in her community

"her" ok so this is you personally defending someone you know, I can tell.

Statement goes both ways don't you think? You think this is just for fun?? Yeah let's start a conflict that is affecting the lives of real people for fun!

We are fucking tired of the mockery, the disrespect, and the extreme policing of transmasc and trans men's language and experiences by people who have no say in them.

Do you care about that too or are you a hypocrite? Because when I reply to people's shit-ass posts I do in fact care about them otherwise I'd ignore em and let em keep hurting themselves.

"Oh but these ones attacked this person" I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck. There are shitheads everywhere, in every opinion and side of any conflict. There are gonna be shitheads who use this as an excuse to attack people of a certain particular gender they already had something against, it is irrelevant to the ideas exposed. Let's not act like there isn't a whole plethora of posts about killing transmasc please, you SHOULD care avout that too.

As transmascs/tme people we have it so much easier

You're free to have an opinion about your own experiences and I have no horse in that race. HOWEVER:

•You're not the only transmasc in the world and your opinion is very clearly not a universal truth, so don't you dare spit on everyone else's experiences by deciding what's true and what's not without counting with them.

• In your dumbass dychotomy of "tma/tme" transmasc are not the only ones put on the "tme" label and the same way I cannot talk about YOUR experiences you have no fucking right to talk about everyone else's experiences specially the ones from other identities and lives that you did not get to be or experience.

•Without dipping my toes in your opinion or your experiences I profoundly disagree with you.

• Lastly, WHO THE FUCK CARES WHO HAS IT WORSE?! WE'RE ALL FUCKING HURT AND BROKEN WE'RE LITERALLY KILLED IN THIS WORLD FOR JUST EXISTING, YOU WANT A COMPETITION??? GO FIGHT FOR TRANS PEOPLE'S RIGHTS TO COMPETE IN SPORTS INSTEAD OF CREATING OPRESSION OLYMPICS. GET YOUR COMFY ASS OUT OF YOUR INTERNET ARMCHAIR AND GO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON IN THE WORLD FFS.

There's my fucking pound of flesh. jesus.

Again so sorry you had to go through that, but you realize the whole point of this is to be able to have words for those specific forms of opression and awful events right?? To have experiences like that respected and treated with the seriousness they deserve right??? That is what we want.

You experienced transandrophobia, and the people you're defending right now don't want you to have a word for it, or allow only words picked by them as if they had any right to speak for you. Respect yourself more, man.

Not even rly trying to convince u but u just piss me the fuck off annoying as fuck

Hey at least you're honest, good. I don't give a fuck though, if you wanna keep hating me I have good news for you: I don't plan to ever shut the fuck up, enjoy.

The one person you hate is not me anyway, that is plain obvious... but that's a you thing to try and work on.

Sayonara dude👋🏻