#the real hen shady

[herejusttosufferalong]

Ok so this might be a long rant, I just came across this account, after a lovely woman i follow on TT. She said in her live that a blog she likes one tumblr account, so I had a wee nosy. Well after watching Tifs live (our captain) the other night, my gut feeling about this whole situation with L, N and A:

I only started to ship L&N late April this year. I just was excited to see polin for their season after reading the book. Then I seen N and L interviews and saw their chemistry & connection I was hooked. I don’t ship people irl but I did always like Tom and Zendaya, I thought they would be cute together but nothing hardcore. Then L& N came into my life and now I can’t function properly without thinking about these two. I like the whole world has seen this two people that have captured our hearts, with their crazy chemistry. Which made a lot fans go crazy thinking they were a real couple and still want them to be.

As I said I newly lukola fan but after watching Tifs live and reading the info she had, also looking at other content and speaking to other fans. I believe my gut feeling is right, ( just my opinion) don’t come from me lol. 1: I believe L fell for N that first day they met at the dance rehearsal. I mean for someone who doesn’t have good memory, he remember everything that day. Like you said I believe he pushed those feelings down as he was in newly relationship. Also N was in a relationship, it wasn’t their time. They were great friends, laughed, joked and even flirted irl or SM but never crossed that boundary.

2: I believe the chemistry we were seeing in season 1 and 2 was them giving each other subtle hits, that they will have to finally give into repressed feelings once they become leads. L was still in a longtime relationship with his gf but N wasn’t in hers anymore, so she was having single girl era. Then bang they are told they are the leads the next season. Both gear up for it by L getting fit, healthy and trim down. N also got fit, healthy and went to the gym. They both threw everything into making this the best season(which I believe they did). Then started to film season3 when they can’t hide their feelings anymore. The gf caught on to this and that when things started to turn sour for L and gf, she got jealous and insecure about his feelings. She started getting hate from fans. Once she started doing shady things like copy N style and comment (WFT on camera) when the episode 2 season 2, when Colin’s comes back from his trip and sees Pen for the first time. Then J and L unliked N posts and didn’t interact with her as much. Also around that time N came out to defend J and stop the hate. (If I couldn’t love this woman anymore than I do. She is a incredible, kind and loyal friend to have in your life). Around this time L was on down low liking posts N friends posted about her, knowing that J wasn’t following them on SM to see. 3: As I said when season3 began all those feelings they both had came out and they couldn’t hide it anymore. You can see it by the reactions of the cast and crew saw, they slowly were letting us know that it was real what we saw and felt. I mean the fact that he wasn’t able to see her in certain dresses until the last minute to get his real reaction or that the director took all the dancers off the set, to only have N&S dance in front of L to get that pure jealousy and anger from him. (BTW that nearly broke that man) haha which I love, I know am evil 😏. Or the fact that N had a fake hen party with cast and crew. Do not get me started on the ‘sound proof’ carriage or the broken furniture. Around those scenes were being filmed the shit was hitting the fan with L&J, they believed to be broken up around the time of the mirror scene. We all know how relaxed they were with each other in those days, as N said “we were so relaxed, we spent the day under the covers naked not wanting to get up”. I mean come you two 🙈 So L was coming home after doing those intimate scenes and couldn’t detached from it. So it is believed around this time J cheated on L with a co star, of course this is all rumoured but Ls mum, aunt and grandma liked a lot of lukolas posts. That scene when he finds out about pen being LW, he was really crying and even catch’s on his words, it also makes N say his name because she can’t see him hurting. So that’s why she help him to heal after the break up, she wanted him not in pain anymore. That’s when everything changed.

4: N and L friendship grows stronger and stronger around part two they both were single and they give into their feelings. So when you watch the ally scene when he finds her out on the night before their wedding and they argue he push’s her up against the door. L uses his left hand to lift up her skirt, Colin is right handed but L is left handed. Also if you listen to that scene without the music, you can hear him saying N name. The last scene they filmed together was their last intimate scene and she slips the tongue in while he sucks on it. He also came to her last day of filming to support her AKA the pic of him seating on the floor while she hugging him 🫠So I believe that they both hooked up around this time and even went on secret dates. He was all in and was ready to go into the relationship with her. This is when it hits her, he needs to be single, she was going to be busy, he starting his new play… they had to put the breaks on it for awhile. That’s why she always says “what is meant for you, won’t pass you by”, something my mum says to me every day. N knows she be called to other women, that she is older, that her image would be damaged if they came out as a couple around that time. Because he loves her so much he couldn’t do that to her, so he agrees even though it is killing him. That’s when A appears. 5: He goes on to have his HBS with the lads and the rat 🐀 (Rory) I said what I said. He has fun and then meets A, she fun and exciting, just someone to have fun with, who also fits in his friends group. They date have fun, go on double dates, parties and events. They never put a label on it but she his gf in not so many words. Then they begin their six month press tour and all that pent up feelings come back out again. They were unhinged, flirty and their chemistry was through the roof. They couldn’t stop it if they tried. They have understanding like last year they couldn’t go public if they wanted to because of the image wouldn’t be right. That’s when A jealous streak came out, by slowly letting the fans know she was about and don’t get any ideas. She post videos of her of dancing in hotels were L was staying. That’s when she started to troll the fans and N too. I think the final nail that hit the coffin was the Ireland trip. We got the famous fixing the hair in middle of an interview(let’s be real L went to another world, he lean in and closed his eyes never wanting to open them up again). We also got him meeting her mum and went out with her family. A could see he was pulling back from her that’s why she invited herself to the NY premier were we got the awkward hug from A&N. So that’s why she called the paps and messed up the situation with L&N. I like a lot of people felt that pap walk was a slap to all our faces. I believe like you said she went rogue. All she had to do was wait a week and it wouldn’t have been as bad. The fandom would have been mad but would got over it. However she stole that limelight and you could see he annoyed by the pics. So HBS 2 happens, N starts working on her her new film. L has events, parties and holidays with A and the friend group. However he found ways to mention N in every interview or posts and she tells him in some ways that he is always with her by the pics she posts too. Like he said on JF they are on a break. Now they waiting for things to calm down and distance himself from A. But she doesn’t like and has now joined together with rat boy and his gf. They are trolling fans, N, leaking pics and videos of L when he just wants to be private. I also believe he has totally checked out with this relationship. You can see it in her eyes and body language, it doesn’t lie, he’s not happy. I also think his losing work opportunities with this bad pr at the minute. Unlike N who is booked and busy.

So to conclude this rant sorry btw I just had to get this all out of my head 🙈 it was doing my head in. I believe once season 4 begins and L&N have to be a married couple. They go back to their funny, flirty and unhinged. I then believe A bags will be packed because he will do all he can to protect N and her image. He also try to get new jobs as well. Were A might be on the next season of love island. I really hope not because I seen enough of that drama queen and I like to enjoy the show. I think next year we might get the confirmation of them both being an official couple. That’s when I be cracking up the Prosecco and champagne 🍾 😊🚢

No matter how many times I read things like this I always act surprised at every turn lmao

Love this anon, thx for sharing

[queerweewoo]

WIP WEDNESDAY (ON A THURSDAY)

tagged by @inell! thanks, lovely 🩷 my tags are beneath the cut at the bottom of the excerpt.

this is from one of my many wips—all of which i hope to see the light of day one day, but my currently unmedicated adhd arse is in charge at the moment so i guess we'll just have to see who makes it out alive lol

.

“It'll always be you, Eds.”

Buck beams across the table at him and Eddie thinks of Texas sunshine in late July and of violet fire and Supernovas.

He feels his best friend's words and that blinding smile in his gut like a constant, gnawing hunger, but Eddie's an old hand at starving himself of his desires and doesn't know how to answer anyway so just winks and smiles back, and it's a dim little effort peeking out from the cover of the shady place Eddie's been cowering in for a while—ever since the violent incandescence of the lightning strike, since Buck fucking died—while he tries his utmost not to freak out two-fold: 1) at the non-stop panic attack-inducing possibility of something as completely fucked-up as those three minutes and seventeen seconds happening al over again and 2) self-abasing distress over whether or not here is just where Eddie lives, now.     

In the shadows.

He breathes in deeply, yet silently and as motionless as he possibly can, and prays that his hopefully not too wild-eyed expression isn't giving away his hard-won hiding place.

Buck shouldn't be able to just say stuff like that to him. It's torture. And while Eddie may very well be a masochist, he does have his limits. Sure, right now his partner is actually only talking about them teaming up for Pictionary and whatever other games the group will undoubtedly end up threatening each other over this evening, but still. Eddie can't help hearing some things in the way he's desperate to hear them.

Those things he wishes Buck meant for real.

Whether Eddie is capable of admitting it or not (maybe he has some kind of defect when it comes to this shit?), he now knows inherently that it'll always be Buck for him from here on out.

Buck is then merciless, adding, “You're my ride or die, Diaz! It's you and me forever, right?” just to murder Eddie in cold blood right here in the middle of Hen and Karen's living room in front of all their friends.

And ¡Dios mio!, Eddie is so totally fucking fucked.

.

@woodchoc-magnum @sortasirius @angela-feelstoomuch @rosieposiepuddingnpie @colonoscopys

[thebestbooksaround]

Can you suggest some of your favourite buck breakdown fics?

Ooooo, yes of course!

Tick Tick Boom by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky (@chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky)

30k | Teen

“Did you know if you put a frog in water and slowly bring it to boiling, it won’t hop out?” Chris is chattering as Buck makes a quick dinner while Eddie argues with his gas company on the phone. He can hear the occasional swear word in Spanish as his voice raises. Eddie doesn’t like to raise his voice around Christopher – the very thought makes Buck want to kiss him full on the mouth – so he decided to take it to the living room while Chris sits with his homework in the kitchen and Buck cooks.

“Hmm?” Buck asks, unable to fully pull himself out of Bobby’s baked mac and cheese recipe. It took him years, but he finally convinced the man to write it down. Bobby’s handwriting was juvenile at best on a good day, but this was nearly unreadable. Buck wonders if he did that on purpose. “Frogs?”

“Yeah!” Chris states. “My teacher said that if you put a frog in a pot, you have to make sure it’s not immediately boiling. You put them in water and then slowly raise the temperature and they won’t realize what’s happening. Then once they realize, they have no place to go. They can’t jump out.”

*

S6 Spec: Buck decides he doesn’t need therapy, reverts to some bad habits, and explodes. Or, the Breakdown Fic

__

bro·ken by kristen999 (@thekristen999)

32k | Mature

bro·ken

adjective

1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order.

2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU

__

crashing, i'm crashing right into you by himbobuckley (@bumble-of-the-bee)

6k | Teen

Buck gets an unfortunate call while driving and spirals before getting hit by a drunk driver. Surprise, coma!buck is real and can hear the things people (Eddie and Maddie) say while he's unconscious. Follows the struggles Buck deals with while trying to come back and the ones he has to face if he does.

6.07 spec, so the sperm donor issue is a Thing.

__

shelter my eyes from the sun (and wait for the birds to fly by) by lizzybizzyzzz (@lizzybizzyzzz)

25k | Mature

There’s always been a lingering precedent- Buck was born to save, born to die trying to at the very least. Buck couldn’t save Daniel, could barely save Chris, dragged Eddie across hot pavement under a burning fire truck, couldn't save his sister or his parents from the lifelong heartbreak of losing a child.

Buck was born to save. He’s just not too good at much else.

__

blue skies by spaceprincessem (@spaceprincessem)

36k | Teen

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

__

a leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things

11k | Not Rated

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence

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this is me trying (at least i'm trying) by screaminghalfpastmidnight (@screaminghalfpastmidnight)

15k | Teen

Buck nods against his pillow, remaining silent before Eddie whispers, “Do I have to be worried about you?”

“No.” Buck mumbles. “I’ll be back at work on Thursday. I just needed a day.”

“Do you promise?” Eddie says, and Buck knows he’s not referring to his comment about work.

“Promise.” You don’t have to be worried about me.

__

burn the straw house down by rarakiplin (@hoediaz)

40k | Mature

“Why the fuck are you even in this loop? This day isn’t about you.”

“Well, I die,” Eddie comments idly, not sounding as offended as he maybe should be. “Haven’t you heard? I’m always dying.”

“That’s not funny.”

Eddie shrugs, not really agreeing or disagreeing. It’s a few seconds before he says, eyes still closed, “Maybe I’m here so you’re not alone.”

-

or, buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through

[handeaux]

Your Grandparents Canoodled In Passionate Petting Parties Along Cincinnati’s Country Lanes

Around one hundred years ago, a new theme was introduced to the long-established images decorating paper Valentines. While hearts and flowers, little birds and rosy-cheeked children still predominated, the Valentines of 1924 often featured something new – the motor car.

While innocent enough when surrounded by lace and flowers, the motor car had already begun to arouse the suspicions of Cincinnati parents. The old fogies suspected that automobiles represented much more than transportation to the kids. Those jalopies might be nefarious vehicles of illicit lust!

Well, the old folks were correct. Young people throughout Cincinnati were tootling out to the nearest country byway and canoodling in extended make-out sessions known as “petting parties.” The Cincinnati Business Women’s Club got together to grumble about “rolled stockings, petting parties and abbreviated bathing suits as they affect the adolescent girl.” The Cincinnati Post [4 April 1924] quoted Alma Hillhouse, educational director of Cincinnati’s Social Hygiene Society:

“The child gets its instinct for petting from the mother. When a babe she is held on the mother’s knee and fondled. When she grows up she seeks satisfaction in petting parties. It is the standards in the home that count. The daughter of the wise mother will come through petting parties unscathed; the uncontrolled girl comes to grief.”

You will notice that neither Dad nor any adolescent males are assigned any sort of accountability in this matter. Some things never change.

While the Business Women’s Club debated, the Indian Hill Rangers, organized, according to the Enquirer [3 June 1924], to “trail horse thieves, cattle rustlers and pillagers of hen roosts,” were confronted with a new threat to village security.

“Indian Hill Rangers are after motorists who have been using the shady lanes and sylvan retreats of that pretty hilltop east of the city and the adjoining countryside for ‘petting’ and gin parties.”

One evening, the Rangers encountered a limousine parked on Drake Road, its windows curtained with newspapers. While not disturbing the occupants, the Rangers copied the license number and mailed a letter to the owner, a woman living in Avondale. They never saw that particular vehicle again.

While Indian Hill was dealing with limousines, the real action was out in the Western Hills among the still-rural expanses of Delhi and Green townships. According to the Enquirer [14 October 1924]:

“For months residents have complained that autoists have forsaken the dim-lighted parlor and its sofa for the moonlit roadside and the cushioned seats of the automobile. Even private driveways and lawns have been converted into trysting bowers by these seekers for seclusion, who have openly defied property owners to the extent of drawing weapons on them, it has been stated.”

Alfred Bennett of Green Township blamed the recent crackdown on Cincinnati’s “red light” district in the West End for the flight of depraved and lustful characters into the hinterlands. He told the Enquirer [25 October 1924} that illicit smooching was just the beginning:

“‘Much of the objectionable practices in country districts is not entirely “petting parties,”’ Mr. Bennett stated, ‘but gross immoralities that shock the residents.’”

So gross were these alleged immoralities that they inspired a flurry of ecumenism between the Catholic and Protestant congregations of Bridgetown, with the Rev. Paul Schmidt of the Evangelical Protestant Church standing shoulder to shoulder with Father William Spickerman of Saint Aloysius Catholic Church in demanding more patrols by the county sheriff. The clergymen offered to recruit volunteer deputies from among their flocks. In neighboring Delhi Township, Justice of the Peace M.J. Roebling lumped petting party participants among nuisances such as “bootleggers, bandits and hold-up men.”

The Delhi magistrate wasn’t that far off, it seems. Widespread outrage about romantic parkers, combined with very public statements by the county sheriff that he did not have the budget nor the manpower to patrol the county’s lovers’ lanes, suggested a business opportunity for the local footpads. The Enquirer [28 July 1924] reported that outlaws impersonating county deputies were robbing couples caught on deserted roads:

“Two more hold-ups were committed late last night by a gang of five bandits who are blamed for a total of 17 known hold-ups and who, it is said, have collected hundreds of dollars by swooping down on ‘petting parties’ on county highways and extorting money under the guise of deputy officers.”

Many of the township roads favored by passionate petters led to roadhouses established outside city limits to avoid enforcement of Prohibition laws. Cincinnati’s Juvenile Protective Association claimed that the immoral environment promoted by these roadhouses spilled over into steamy backseats. And, of course, the media were blamed as well. A new film, “Daughters of Today,” written by a one-time Cincinnati newspaper reporter named Lucien Hubbard and starring Zazu Pitts, opened that year. According to the Enquirer [29 September 1924]:

“It is an ultra jazz production, with petting parties, cocktail shakers and syncopation distributed throughout the length of its half dozen or more reels.”

By October 1924, the scandal had reached such an extremity that the Cincinnati Automobile Club passed a strongly worded resolution condemning “petting parties” as a safety hazard and demanding more patrols by the sheriff. So vehement was the public condemnation of “petting parties” that the Enquirer actually editorialized in favor of passionate parking because a total crackdown would force hormonal youngsters into petting while driving and thereby endanger pedestrians!

Although it is unlikely the Automobile Club’s wrath had any effect, by the next year the Cincinnati Post [20 July 1925] reported that petting parties, the bane of 1924, seemed to be passé in 1925. Two deputy sheriffs spent a long and fruitless summer evening looking for lovers along the East Miami River in Anderson Township:

“In two hours, we found only one spooner. That was on Broadwell-rd, where a boy and his sweetie were spooning in the moonlight to the strains of a victrola on the back seat of their machine.”

[heywoodvirgin]

Sofia Aziz was born in the grimy, neon-soaked heart of Night City in 2045. Coming up on the fringes of the city, (Santo Domingo District) she got a front-row seat to the tough  reality of life in a world run by mega-corps, mob bosses, and a constant hustle for survival. Raised by a single mom who was turning wrenches as a mechanic, Sofia had to get savvy and self-reliant from the jump.

Her childhood was straight-up hood drama, where making it meant adapting to the cutthroat ways of the streets. Growing up amid turf wars and corporate power plays, she got the lowdown on navigating the twisted web of a city hanging by a thread. Sofia's life took a wild turn when she clocked her killer sharpshooting skills in a crazy showdown with scavs. Trying to shield her mom and their little crib from imminent trouble, Sofia snagged a discarded rifle and, with insane precision for her age and greenness, wiped the goons out from a distance.

As a teen, Sofia found her calling in marksmanship and cybernetic enhancements . Her knack for handling sniper rifles caught eyes in the down-low scenes of Night City. Living on the edge of society, she dove into gigs for all sorts of shady folks, slowly but surely carving out a name for herself as a top-notch, low-key operator.

Throughout her early career, Sofia hooked up with all kinds of crews, running with edgerunners, linking up with netrunners, even teaming up with corporate players itching to stick it to their competition. But in a city where loyalty's scarcer than a hen's teeth, Sofia figured out quick that the only one she could really count on was herself. Backstabs and double-crosses were practically the norm in her life, making her pivot and grow just to stay on top of the ever-changing game in Night City.

Sofia's life took a wild turn when her skills got on the radar of Rosalind Myers, the cunning influential President of the New United States of America. Right in the middle of one of her solo missions, she got hit up with an unexpected deal. A message blinked on her encrypted channel, straight from none other than Prez Myers herself. Sofia was curious, so she tuned in as the President's hologram unfolded, dropping a proposition that was gonna flip her life upside down.

Myers, known for her knack for putting together a crew of unconventional specialists, personally hit up Sofia. With rival factions and corporate sharks circling, Myers saw Sofia as a key player for NUSA's security. Now, Sofia had a choice: stick to her shadow game or jump on a new road, using her skills for something bigger than just herself. Intrigued by the challenge and feeling the pull of a new purpose, she said yes to Myers and became a key player in NUSA's hush-hush ops.

With Myers at the helm, Sofia went through  serious cybernetic upgrades and rigorous training in espionage tactics. She morphed into a top-tier sniper loaded with the latest tech. Her gigs? Everything from slamming terrorists to taking out big-shot targets messing with the nation's safety.

Behind the cold front of the sniper, Sofia's still holding onto a strong sense of what's right. Without Myers catching on, Sofia starts wrestling with the shady morality of her gigs, caught between staying true to her benefactor and wanting a world that's more fair. Before she knows it, she's deep in the twisted game of corporate tricks and political moves that make the world tick. The more her missions get morally messy, the more she's side-eyeing the real motives of those she serves.

Sofia used to roll solo, working the streets of Night City with just her sniper and instinct. But when the FIA dangled an offer too good to pass up, it meant ditching the lone wolf for a world of teamwork, alliances, and playing nice – not exactly her usual scene.

In walks Solomon Reed, seasoned FIA big shot, a master agent known for his tactical moves and kicking ass in combat. She could see it coming from a mile away: her, all about doing her own thing, and Solomon, Mr. Teamwork. They were like mixing oil and water, their vibes and ways of doing things just didn't seem to fit together.

Their debut mission was a baptism fire. They had to bust up a cybernetic smuggling ring that was playing with fire and messing with national security. Sofia, used to doing her own thing in the shadows, clashed hard with Solomon's disciplined, by-the-book style. She was all about the cloak-and-dagger, posted up on some skyscraper with her rifle aimed and ready. Meanwhile, Solomon was into getting his boots dirty on the pavement, digging through data, and orchestrating spot-on, coordinated hits.

Truth is, Reed wasn't exactly throwing a party for the new kid on the block. Sofia, the sneaky sniper, got the nod from President Rosalind Myers herself, and that ruffled Solomon's feathers big time. The FIA was his turf, and the thought of someone parachuting into his crew without his say-so? Yeah, that went down like a bitter pill. When Sofia strolled into FIA HQ, you could practically taste the awkward vibes. The Prez made it crystal clear – Sofia was ride-or-die with Solomon on the next mission. It was an order he couldn't wiggle out of, but it didn't mean he had to be cool with it.

Right out the gate, tension between them rised. Solomon, all about rules and careful planning, put real stock in the slow, methodical way of building a squad. The kicker? Sofia getting picked by the President herself, skipping Solomon's usual team-picking routine. That move only cranked up his suspicion meter.

Their first missions together were a test of patience and adaptability. Solomon observed Sofia from the shadows, his eyes narrowing as she effortlessly picked off targets with her sniper rifle. The precision was undeniable, but trust wasn't built on skill alone, and Solomon couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Convos between them were short and to the point, loaded with guarded exchanges and unspoken animosity. Sofia, used to doing her own thing, wasn't throwing shade to win Solomon over, and he, in return, was side-eyeing every move she pulled. Well, that’s what happened at first. But as missions unfolded, they kinda had to give props where it was due. Sofia's sharpshooting game was like a solid backup for Solomon's upfront moves, and Solomon's big-brain thinking was steering Sofia through the tricky parts of the ops. It took a minute, but they couldn't deny – they were starting to clock the real worth in each other's skills. 

This and there was that undeniable tension crackling between them.

Despite not exactly clicking or laying down trust at work, Sol couldn't help but feel the draw of Sofia's killer combo of independence and being a sharpshooting ace. It was like an allure that caught his eye amid all the uncertainty. On the flip side, Sofia couldn't shake the fascination with Reed’s big-brain moves and veteran skills, creating this enticing attraction bubbling just below the surface. They might not be on the same wavelength at work, but there was definitely something cooking between them when the mission lights were off.

Their weird alliance kept trucking, and sure, they were getting smoother in the field, but the trust issues? Still hanging around like a bad smell. President Myers' shadow was looming large, making every move and call a questionable one. As Sofia and Solomon waded through the sketchy world of high-level spying, they couldn't shake the vibe that the real game was going down way above their pay grade.

[druidx]

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday hen <3. Here's an ask for you since I have Fangthane's history on the mind; In any of your settings, have any of the leadership sought to cover up certain aspects of their history? This can be for either seemingly benevolent reasons, or for more sordid ones.

Happy WBW!

The History of MOW, from The MOW Files series, is something I've got a vague fix on, nothing too deep, but the short of it is: A big company (Amazon, Walmart, Kraft, Disney - take your pick) branch out from their origins to stabilize small governments (states in Africa, eastern EU, etc), and through bribes, lobbying etc start to run 'company countries' - al la the Company Towns that mining companies used to run - but better, because they have the cash to throw at infrastructure, education, housing etc and bring up the standard of living. Soon all countries are run like this, and that's when MOW start branching out into terraforming and colonisations of the other planets and moons of our system. Of course there's hold-outs, rebels etc (see: USA doom-preppers etc) which is where the Freelancers come from - a group who in MOW's ""benevolence"" have been allowed to exist outside of MOW's ideology/ confines, provided they don't interfere with MOW citizens.

Now, I haven't thought about about it too much, but I'm sure that MOW had plenty of shady dealings - the bribes, the lobbying, etc - which they wouldn't want anyone finding out about, so I would fully expect they'd write a revisionist history and throw around a tonne of propaganda about how awful Earth was before they took it over, and how Aren't They Truly The Best For This Job? Honest!

The few who know the truth are either higher-ups in MOW or Freelancers, who horde the 'real' history of how MOW came to be.

(To be clear though, MOW isn't intended to be some hated, evil regime which the plucky heros fight against, al la the Empire in Star Wars. Its intended to be morally grey, a thing that Just Is, and the every-man heros are instead navigating the border between MOW and Freelancers, and how far one can push into the other's world before it all goes to shit)

Thanks for the question!

🫖️🌿️

[pixelsmasher]

💖Mini-Hen💖

She’s only about an inch and a half tall but full of love :o

Mini  Hensa draw by @hensa Here

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter. 

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Anon said: I hope I'm not too late to slip in a request! I was actually hoping for a more platonic request with Miche? Just how he would help out a new cadet on his squad or something... Maybe there having a hard time fitting in now that there on a section commander squad or even worried about an upcoming expedition. Miche is one of my biggest comfort Characters and I'm such a shy person lol...I love you blog by the way, it's such a comforting place...🥺

Miche reassuring you that you're enough.

{Miche & reader | tw:none | platonic, comfort | canonverse}

{ "The Interior of the Palm House on the Pfaueninsel Near Potsdam" 1834 by Carl Blechen 1798 - 1840 }

No one can deny that the survey corps had a...certain reputation between the people, for being ruthless, unhinged and not a place for someone hoping for a future.

Their leader is known for gambling with human lives, their strongest has a criminal history record and their most intelligent, does experiments that would put medical student dropout Frankenstein himself to shame.

In short, you'd be crazy for walking there with your own two feet and expecting a crumb of compassion.

You don't go looking for fish in the desert.

You've heard it all, those sayings people keep reciting like a broken record whenever you'd bring up joining the survey corps.

"You'll just end up titan food"

"Why do you want to throw away your life?"

"God your poor family…"

And despite all of that, you still marched on, despite everyone who told you to quit.

Not only did you join and stayed alive for so long, you've even managed to climb the ranks in record time.

So fast in fact that you were assigned to join a section commander's squad after a very successful titan capture mission that earned you a pat on the back from Erwin.

Being pulled from your friends and moved to a new place where you were surrounded by veterans who've been in their positions for 10 years or more, was quite sudden and shocking.

One thing that should've eased your nerves, was the fact it was squad Miche you're being put into.

Anyone in the survey corps can tell you that in comparison to other squads, this was the most...friendly per say, since they prioritised teamwork and coming back alive over everything else, knowing together they're much stronger and willing to protect each other no matter what.

While yes they did have their quirks, it was almost nothing in comparison to Levi's strict hygiene rules and Hange's workaholic routine or Erwin's unreadable intentions.

And yet, you felt unease at the whole situation.

You were clearly "that new cadet" in this old group of close-knit people, almost standing out even.

You wanted to prove yourself, you've done it before to all those people so why is it any different now.

Maybe...because they are actually experienced soldiers this time, and not strangers living in blissful ignorance inside the walls.

Maybe because you feel the growing burden of expectations set on you for being the newest person in the squad, and being put there by none other than the commander himself which would raise some eyebrows if you couldn't deliver.

Uncertainty and doubt began pooling up inside your mind, making you second guess decisions and overthink actions.

And it's not like the squad members were leaving you out, no in fact they were doing their best to include you.

….maybe even too much actually, it didn't help that all of them were outgoing people, it was overwhelming.

Nanaba was an unofficial stand in caption when Miche wasn't around. Having a confident yet compassionate personality made her protective of her teammates, almost like a big sister, earning her a lot of respect.

So much in fact that it would unintentionally intimidate people out of approaching her

Gelgar was a strong believer in Miche, loyal to a fault almost. Yet he wouldn't say no for a chance to relax and grab a couple drinks, being friends with so many people came naturally to him with his mellow personality and overall friendliness.

Maybe a bit much too friendly? That personal boundaries were often crossed without him realising it. 

Lynne was a good balance between the two, she was considerate of others feelings...even so much in fact that she tended to sugar-coat almost everything.

Thomas and Henning were close with each other, both serious and determined. But maybe because they were so used to each other that dealing with new people became...strange, for conversations with them resembled an awkward dad attempting to check on you but not actually putting much effort to understand.

Meanwhile, you were a reserved and shy person.

It was a miracle that you managed to get a group of friends in cadet training that stayed with you throughout the years, but now after being transferred it was all turned to dust.

You have to start again, meet people again and talk to them while wondering if they actually like you or are pretending to be nice because they don't wanna come off as rude-

On top of that, Erwin seemed to keep an eye on you after your last mission, silently conveying the trust and expectations he's putting your way, to not fail him and show you're worthy of this special treatment.

It was too much, too overwhelming and draining.

Dread and uncertainty loomed in the corners of your mind, only metastating in size as the date for the new expedition was announced.

To add fuel to the fire, apparently everyone seemed almost...excited or nonchalant for going out there again, like this is a mere walk in the park as they began making preparations and training.

Were you the only one that felt nervous? Oh god.

Your legs felt like they were weighted down by stones as you stared at the large board in front of you, a white sheet signed by the commander announcing next week to be the date of the expedition, several names listed below for who'd be required for service.

Your name was at the top, even with a line underneath it. The fact it was in cursive didn't make it any less gut-wrenching.

The chatter of people around you, discussing the plans and joking with each other, began blurring out at the back of your mind.

The weather seemed colder as shivers ran down your neck. A rolling feeling in your stomach making your throat tighten, your own voice inside your head was the only noise you could hear.

All those thoughts and worries creeping from underneath the dark corners that you've been pushing them into all this time, like a swarm drowning you in their "what if" and skepticism, full of doubt and illogical pessimism for worst case scenarios.

Thoughts that aren't even your own joined them, ones you never had and knew weren't true and yet amidst the storm it was hard to tell the real from the ones passing through.

You know you're capable, so why…

Are you capable?

Yes…

but are you really?

...

And how are you even sure?

Before it could pull you deeper into that hole of despair, something snapped your attention back to reality, a hand nudging your shoulder. 

"You really didn't hear me huh." The voice came from behind you, a tall figure stepping closer till you were in his shadow.

Miche looked at you with a tilted head, his lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes bore into you like he's attempting to guess what's going inside your brain.

You've been too lost inside your mind you didn't notice that you were the only one left standing in front of the board.

From the way Miche's shoulders fell after reading your expression, eyes softening after glancing at your name on the sheet, he was quick to catch on.

Before you could say something to save your face after being caught in this state by none other than your new captain, Miche just told you to come with him, making sure to walk beside you، protectively staying close that no one on your way would interrupt.

Passing the corridor leading to his office, you gave him an uncertain glance as he simply gestured for you to continue walking for whatever unknown place you're headed to.

Soon enough the buildings and stone streets faded the further you went on, grass and dirt roads taking its place.

It wasn't a long walk per say, but more of a secluded area that took both of you some turns in seemingly shady alleyways to reach.

You couldn't hear the horses or soldiers walking anymore, only the soft flowing of the nearby river.

The tall grass barely reaching below your knees, some ladybugs crawling on top of the scattered daffodils in-between, the closer to the river cliff you got the taller it became.

The first thing Miche did, wasn't explaining to you why you're here, or what exactly he was after.

No, he barely said a word even, only taking in a deep breath as the wind had the courtesy of pushing his bangs back, eyes finally in clear view now.

Gaze meeting yours, he gave you a nod, a gesture to do the same thing.

You reluctantly took a deep breath.

He smiled.

Both of you sat by the river, he gave you his jacket to sit on.

As the silence grew between you, even while it wasn't the uncomfortable kind, it was clear he was struggling to phrase something, the right words just not coming to mind.

Turning his body towards you, he finally said, "how about i just..listen, let it out.".

It wasn't easy, you can't just pour out your heart to your superior.

Not to mention the military wasn't a place for weakness, could you really openly admit to your worries?

Well, yes you could, because it isn't weak, it takes great strength to face something scary and admit to it.

It's strength that got you this far.

How could you ever mistake vulnerability for weakness?

Keeping true to his words, Miche didn't interrupt you as you slowly opened up about what's been troubling you.

He patiently listened, occasionally humming for you to go on whenever you'd lose track.

And by the end of it, after you poured out all your frustration, sadness and worries, it felt...like a weight lifted off your shoulders.

Miche looked at you with understanding in his eyes, as if he himself has been in this exact same position years ago.

...and maybe he was, considering his behaviour wasn't what's socially common, he would've definitely stood out back before he had the respect of being a captain.

He isn't a man of words, for actions spoke much louder.

That's why he became more attentive from that day on, offering to help you train, giving you a smile whenever you passed by and sitting near you whenever his squad were gathered so he'd ask for your opinion on plans or simply share looks whenever they began joking with each other.

He didn't attempt to make you change, instead he made changes to accommodate you.

You're part of the team and he made it clear.

And while he couldn't give reassuring words, he certainly gave his time and energy, paying attention to you, reading your moods and listening whenever life becomes too much.

Maybe he saw his past self in you, and wanted to give you all the comfort, attention and care he wished for back then.

Even if it was mere hugs and shoulder pats that he could offer, he knew small things can make changes overtime.

For him, it's not getting rid of your stress that he was attempting to achieve, no, for life is full of stress.

Instead, he wanted to offer you ways to deal with the stress, to acknowledge it as it is and be heard, to be understood.

Because while stress will pass either way, it didn't mean it had to pass painfully.

You weren't alone, he made sure of that.

Maybe he got too attached, maybe someone might say he's giving you special treatment, maybe Erwin would give him a backhanded comment every now and then.

But since when did Miche pay attention to these things? 

Well...he can't deny he might be giving you more break days than the other Cadets, larger food portions and even most of his time.

But he won't justify himself to anyone either, he doesn't have to.

Because after all, there really isn't any ulterior motives behind his actions, they were as simple as they came.

It was pure genuine care, the type that makes someone want to protect a person and watch them grow healthy.

The type that made him offer you a thumbs up after each training session, a proud smile on his face for how much you're learning.

Maybe some slight teasing about how if you keep this up, you might even replace him as the second strongest one day.

And while he said it with a joking tone, the hopeful pride-filled look on his face told a whole nother story.

you're not sure if it was a joke or a promise.

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Thoughts on Ultimate note part 2:

Or, How I Learned to Stop Trying to Find Plot Cohesion and Love the Lost Tomb Series

There are so many vague, unexplained and/or moving parts to this series, and for personal reasons I will be heading each section with a popular reality show name twist. This is how I deal. Bon appetit.

Keeping Up with the Wu Clan, aka (Stolen)Property Brothers

Uncle San Xing. Oh, Uncle San Xing. The man, the myth, the plot device. Also, the habitually disappearing one who should never have been allowed to supervise his young nephew, good intentions aside. As an aunt and babysitter, I wouldn’t leave this man alone supervising a bubble-wrapped rock. I feel like Pangzi and Xiao Ge heard so many stories early on where Wu Xie was like, “and then my uncle left me by the side of the highway in a cardboard box and disappeared, but what adventures until then!” It gives some perspective to how these two get so protective so fast over this clueless kid whose biological family has questionable ideas, if loving intentions, of what’s “for Wu Xie’s own good.” Also with the hospital scene in episode 1, this dude has the strange effect of making Wu Xie the mature Wu adult in the room???

On the other hand, it’s thanks to Uncle Asshat that we get to have sweet Pan Zi, everyone’s favorite honorary Wu with bad taste in men, who is somehow both a badass fighter with a shady past and also a cinnamon roll mother hen/reliable adult who makes decisions to keep Wu Xie safe without steamrolling him *side-eyes Uncles 2 and 3*

Side note: shoutout to Wang Meng in all the series. A real one, forever loyal, ride or die friend/above-and-beyond employee. I would love a series where all the same kind of stuff happens but it’s Wang Meng’s perspective the whole time and each episode ends with him lying down in a quiet room with a cool cloth over his eyes.

Uncle Erbai—one of the most interesting characters in the Lost Tomb saga. A velvet-wrapped fist, constantly in control and hovering over loved ones as a way of expressing love. I like to think that Wu Xie’s worst traits developed throughout the various series are those he gets from his uncles: Uncle Erbai’s ruthlessness/stubborn belief in being right and Uncle San Xing’s skilled lying/manipulation. Wu Xie’s saving grace is in the love and loyalty he has for his family and friends and because he inspires loyalty in all of his people not through money or puppet-strings, but because at his increasingly guarded core he is still Tianzhen, trying to protect and rescue and do the right thing.

Say Yes To The Damsel-in-Distress

As we can see, it’s a day ending in y so right off the bat there’s a mystery to solve and bad life choices to make. Wu Xie, who was never off his bullshit to begin with, definitely gets back on it by way of a…VHS tape? With hidden items and a recording of some lady brushing her hair?

Sure. You have to love Wu Xie’s approach to handling the situation, it’s just…so him. That “I got this! There’s no history of expeditions going wrong for me! Nothing like a little solo night-time stroll through an abandoned building😌”

The Real Corpses of The Lost Tomb

I’ll be honest. This was meant to be a run-through of everyone who died in the series along with the tomb residents, but 19th century Russian novels had fewer minor characters than this show.

So I will focus on the death that I think was a low point in Ultimate Note’s general quality: Ning. I loved Ning in other series, even when I hated her. She’s clever, rocks leather, and is a natural leader. I get that they were setting up Tragic Wu Xie stuff but did they have to kill one of maybe three female characters, one who deserved better than a hasty death via opportunistic river snake? The show did a good job of showing that Ning has grown and developed some empathy during her adventures, and that should have continued.

The X(iao Ge) Factor

…listen. I came to the Lost Tomb determined to NOT get yanked into another ship between characters who aren’t even paired together by the show.

And yet. And yet here we are. Because they are ultimately (see how often I make that joke in my summaries) paired together. Because they (and Pangzi, I will talk more about him and Wu Xie/him and Xiao Ge in another post) are a chosen family. Because theirs is the story of a lost and lonely (sorta)immortal warrior and the person whose personality and kindness gave a restless wanderer a home.

Because Xiao Ge’s belief that he is so alone no one would notice if he disappeared is so painfully, fundamentally human, and Wu Xie’s response is pure love and assurance, two things Xiao Ge has been robbed of and fuck I’m tearing up. Because the relationship between Xiao Ge and Wu Xie is the catalyst for the biggest formative experience of Wu Xie’s life, the ten years obsessively spent finding more about Xiao Ge’s history and eradicating all potential threats so he won’t have to be without a past or future, years that transform Wu Xie into the nearly unrecognizable man who becomes a kidnapper/role model/parental figure for Li Cu (I saw a lot of things calling that Wu Xie a mob widow and it’s perfect.

And the main reason I got sucked in:

Because the sheer amount of devotion and care between the Iron Triangle, whether you consider it all or in part platonic or romantic (and don’t try tell me there isn’t homoeroticism for days in that show) is fundamentally an epic love story.

*heaving sigh* and then I’m expected to just go about my Friday night, like I’m *not* going to rewatch?

[archerincombat]

I'm writing you here since you seem to have switched off the comments on your posts (whatever the reason for that may be, I hope you're doing well)

I complete agree with you! Lucy starts to grow on me just like Ravi did. I do have an issue with accepting change which is why it took me a while to accept Lucy. It was easier with Ravi because he joined the team (like Eddie did) instead of replacing someone and I think Ravi would have grown on me much faster if he had as much screen time as Eddie had right from the beginning. When it comes to Lucy, it took me a while to get used to her but I've realised that she is the second woman that I wanted permanently on the firefighter team all along anyway. Although I suspect she may have been added to the mix because Hen switches from the firehouse to the hospital within this or the next season :(

Just one quick question though what's the whole Lucy/Jonah is an arsonist situation about? Is it about the dispatch fire from the promos? I haven't been in the loop for very long so this fandom keeps confusing me xD

there's not really much loop to be in but basically Jonah comes off shady as fuck (the victim in 5x13, the lunch scene in 5x14) and arsonist theory was always a little inside jokey speculation after the dispatch fire news but it kinda seems...real...now...

[oddsnendsfanfics]

The (Mis)Adventures of Kal and Moose - Puppy Love?

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader Warnings: Fluffy Summer Fun Rating: G Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Kal and Moose seem to be popular, what can I say? 

Henry Cavill Master List

“Oscar, can you not torment Kal?”

“I'm not tormenting him,” the boy pouted, attempting to push the dog away. “He keeps sitting on me, Uncle Henry.”

“Kal, stop sitting on Oscar.” Henry scolded the big black and white Akita.

Henry swore he could see Kal roll his eyes, but did as he was asked and climbed off of Henry's nephew. Kal yawned and laid on the bed in the corner, like a “good dog”, another eye roll. Please, this was his domain. Nobody moved him from his spot on the couch, except for maybe Moose. Even then, they would compromise and Moose would lie across the humans.

Closing his eyes, Kal sighed, listening to his human and the two tiny humans playing another video game. They had spent a part of the day outside in the garden yesterday. This morning they went for Kal's regulation walkie, and now they were in the house – again. Kal huffed and yawned. He wished Moose was there, they could bounce around the garden chasing squirrels, cats, and scare the tiny humans with their loud but harmless boofings.

Sprawled out on the “dog bed” Kal whimpered in his sleep. Oblivious to the fact he had company. Dancing around Kal with more energy than he knew what to do with, Moose nosed the big dog and yelped at him. Kal sniffled and boofed in his sleep. Henry laughed watching Kal completely ignore his best friend.

“He's pretty wrecked,” Henry explained with a casual shrug.

“Kids do that to ya.” You laugh, calling Moose back to you. “How was last night?”

“Good, they slept well. Aiden was up in the night, he crawled in with me, and went back to sleep. Thankfully.” A soft chuckle, Henry looked over his shoulder at his nephews playing the video game that he had set up. “They're glued to that thing.”

“Ah, like their uncle.” You tease, nudging him in the side. “Why don't we wake sleeping beauty and head for the park? Moose could use a nice, long run. He's been inside all day. I had Alfie this morning, he had an appointment so no dogs allowed.”

Henry snorted. “You're welcome to try and pry them away.”

His brother and sister in law had left the 10 and 6 years old with their uncle for the weekend, it was their anniversary and Henry wasn't doing anything. He had gallantly offered to take his nephews, they arrived Thursday morning and would be leaving around mid day Sunday. How hard could it be? His sister in law had told him not to let them spend the entire weekend in front of a screen.

Easier said than done. He'd had them for 24 hours and the majority of their time, they weren't happy unless they were stuck in front of a game. Henry couldn't blame them, it was an activity the three of them were equally matched at, and they all enjoyed.

“Hey guys,” You call cheerfully, walking into the room. “What's going on?”

You had met Oscar and Aiden before, although you weren't overly familiar with the two boys, you hoped they had remembered you.

At they very least, they would likely remember Moose. He had been the unexpected star of the show, stealing the tray of sausages from the grill allowing himself and Kal to a fine meal. He then proceeded to vomit on the lawn where one of the other nephews managed to step and slip in it. Henry had assured you that it wasn't a big deal. Right, because it wasn't him having to face the shame or clean vomit off of his dog.

“Playing a game,” Aiden answered dropping his controller and turning to you. “Would you like to play? Uncle Henry said it's okay for kids.”

“I'm sure it is, but I don't want to play. Thanks.” You smile, rubbing Moose's back. He stands beside you sniffing the small human.

Kal is awake, stretching and wagging his tail. Moose is here and the fun is never far.

“Okay.” Aiden shrugs turning back to the game.

“Oscar, don't be rude.” Henry scolds from his spot holding up the door frame with his body.

“Oh, hey.” Oscar turns briefly to greet you.

“So, how many more levels to this game?”

“Seven.” Oscar's eyes never leave the screen.

“Ah. Well, I guess you're probably going to play those then. Sorry, Hen, looks like you and Kal are here all day.” You begin to talk, making no sense whatsoever to Henry.

“Wh-I don't.” Henry begins, when you wink at him. Indicating for him to follow the lead. “I guess we are. Too bad.”

Aiden's attention was now piqued. Ah yes, the little ones always caved first. Standing up and walking to his uncle, Aiden hangs onto Henry's hand for a second before whispering to him.

“What were we going to do?” Henry asks out loud. Kal prances and Moose begins to wiggle around as well. Aiden nods.

“I came over to see if your Uncle Henry wanted to go to lunch,  or maybe we could go to the park, then get an ice cream. But since you guys have seven levels left.” You shrug as casually as you can. “Guess Moose and I are on our own.”

“I want ice cream!” Aiden cheers. “Oscar, turn off the game. Turn it off! We can go get ice cream! Oscar!” the small boy pesters his big brother.

A sight all too familiar for Henry. He was often the one pestering his brothers to do cool things, too.

“Go away.” Oscar pushes Aiden to the side, trying to play the game.

“Oscar, don't push your brother.” Henry corrects. His brow knit, he means business. “Why don't we turn off the game and go to the park.”

Scowling, Oscar rolls his eyes, a Cavill trait. You can't help giggle at how much the two boys look like their uncle.

“Why can't she take him and we stay here?” Oscar pauses the game.

“Because we are all going, I said so.” Henry pulls rank over the sulking child. “Now, it is my game and I want it turned off. I will banish you from playing the rest of the weekend.”

Did that sort of thing actually work?

Indeed it did, for Henry at least. He didn't have to ask the second time. Oscar did as he was told, powering down the gaming system, not without a pout though. Dogs and children wrangled, everyone was out of the house in a timely fashion. Another grumble came, when the boys – primarily Oscar – realized that this was an adventure to be taken on foot.

Whatever, he would get over it.

Holding tightly to Moose's leash, Aiden walked proudly along side his uncle. The red Aussie being on his best behaviour, although you made sure to keep a close eye in case he got any ideas to run off with the child. Making it to the park in one piece, no run offs or mishaps, was nearly a miracle. Letting the two dogs off to play, Henry handed Oscar the ball and told him to throw it as far and hard as he could.

Aiden didn't go too far, sitting in the grass, chatting idly with you. He told you about his favourite subject at school. His favourite sport and hobbies. The topic of conversation got real, when he leaned in closer. Whispering that his favourite superhero was Ironman, but he would pretend to like Superman to make his uncle Henry happy.

Overhearing the confession, Henry shot you a wink and a slight nod. He was well aware of his nephew's acting skills.

Throwing the ball with his uncle, until the two dogs returned panting and tired, Oscar ignored you and Aiden. Enjoying the time he had to chat with Henry about various things. Sports mostly. He made the observation that the usually shy Aiden was your new best mate. Sitting on your knee in the grass, Aiden laughed as you tickled him. Your bonding interrupted by Kal wandering over and slobbering against your face.

“Kal!” You squeal and push the big dog away. “Get off.”

“I think he's saying it's time for ice cream.” Henry laughed, retrieving Kal.

“Ice cream!” Aiden cheered rushing to his feet, Moose dancing along beside him.

Settled on the grass under a big shady tree, Aiden had his wish. An ice cream cone in his hand, melted debris on his cheeks and chin. He was a picture of happy. Oscar sat with his back against the tree, watching  flock of birds near by. Henry rested beside him, Kal's leash in his hand. The big dog licking his paws, having finished a small cup of delicious ice cream.

Sitting beside Aiden, you hold your ice cream for Moose to take a lick. He had his own cup as well, although he refused to share with you. Funny how dogs and children were that way. Henry had shared his with you, insisting that you try the passion fruit frozen yogurt. Resting in the shade, you can't help but enjoy the comfortable silence between the four of you. The boys had been perfect all afternoon, you were certain their mother would be thrilled to hear that they had done something other than played video games. In the silence, Oscar shifted around, sitting to face his Uncle.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Henry nodded.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Hearing the question, you nearly choke. Sputtering and wiping a hand across your chin.

“No, we're friends.” Henry rolls his eyes. Giving you an apologetic look.

“Friends who like to kiss?”

“No, friends who like to sacrifice small children who ask too many questions.” You speak without any thought on that comment. The sheer look of terror on the child's face is enough to force Henry into hiding his laughter.

“Uncle Henry, she's weird.” Aiden licks his ice cream cone, pushing the melting treat a little too hard. Resulting in it splatting to the ground, bottom lip trembling Aiden is on the verge of tears when Kal and Moose rush to the rescue. Kal hunting down the ice cream on the ground, cleaning up. Moose goes straight for the face, licking the remains off of the little boy's face. “Uncle Henry!” Aiden laughs as the dog's tongue tickles his face, Moose now joined by Kal.

“Boys, off.” You attempt to call off the dogs, while Henry has already gone to get Aiden a second cone. “Kal, Moose. Now.”

“Here we are,” Henry holds a new cone, laughing when he sees the sight. Aiden on the ground, Kal and Moose licking his face like it was their new day job. “Well, at least I won't have to clean him up.”

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[queerweewoo]

TEASER TUESDAY

this is from (what has evolved into) my jealous!eddie fic asdfhjkljjjjsksk. it's canon compliant, so far, and i actually shared the first half for snippet sunday but i'm including it here, too, because it's changed quite a bit since then.

WARNING: i personally have no hate for tommy, but eddie is becoming increasingly jealous af over tevan—and is also devastated about chris leaving and sad in general right now bc of it—and therefore kinda digging in on hating on the guy in this particular story.

.

“It'll always be you, Eds.”

Buck beams at him from across the table and Eddie thinks of Texas sunshine in late July and of violet flames and Supernovas.

He feels his best friend's words and that blinding smile in his gut like a constant, gnawing hunger, but Eddie's an old hand at starving himself of his desires and doesn't know how to answer anyway so just winks and smiles back, and it's a dim little effort peeking out from the cover of the shady place Eddie's been cowering in for a while—ever since the brutal incandescence of the lightning strike, since Buck fucking died—while he tries his utmost not to freak out two-fold: 1) at the non-stop panic attack-inducing possibility of something as completely fucked-up as those three minutes and seventeen seconds happening al over again and 2) self-abasing distress over whether or not here is just where Eddie lives, now.

Dwindling in the shadows.

He crosses his arms over his chest (his heart) and breathes in deeply yet silently, and is motionless as possible as he prays his wild-eyed expression isn't giving away his hard-won hiding place.

Buck shouldn't be able to just—say stuff like that to him. It's torture. And while Eddie may very well be a masochist, he does have his limits. Sure, right now his partner is actually only talking about them teaming up for Pictionary and whatever other games the group will undoubtedly end up threatening each other over this evening, but still. Eddie can't help but hear some things in the way he is so desperate to hear them.

Those things he wishes Buck meant for real.

Whether Eddie is capable of openly admitting it or not (maybe he has some kind of weird defect when it comes to this shit?), he now knows inherently that it'll always be Buck for him from here on out

Then Buck is merciless, adding, “You're my Ride or Die, Diaz! It's you and me forever, right?” just to up the torture and consequently murder Eddie in cold blood right here in the middle of Hen and Karen's living room in front of all their friends.

And ¡Dios mio!, Eddie is so totally fucking fucked.

Despite himself, he nods and huffs out a small laugh, confirming, “Ride or Die, Buckley,” while cursing the blood vessels in his neck and cheeks and ears as he flushes a shade of scarlet redder than the sacred Mexican Heart under the scrutiny of the entire gang (bar Bobby and Athena), fists clenching further where they're balled up beneath his armpits.

Chimney raises his beer in the air. “Alright, alright, settle down you bunch of reprobates! All Ride or Die teams have been established, so, everybody buddy up and take your places beside each other now, please. I believe that you all have a drink…” and he looks around the table to check if his estimate is correct before continuing. “Yes, cool, okay, so. It is therefore once again time to find out who this month's Most Powerful Party Gaming Duo will be—” and he turns to Maddie and says, “Don't worry pookie, nobody's taking away our reigning champion title tonight; we got this.”

Maddie smiles at her husband, sweet as sugar cookies, before addressing the rest of the room with a savage, “Get ready to have your asses handed to you, Losers!” 

There is a round of disgusted gasps being gasped and disbelieving heads being shaken and defensive fists being waved in the air, all amid Hen's, “Reigning champions? You won one time. And who the hell made you Gamesmaster Han, anyway? My house, my rules, Howard.” And then Karen's adding, “I think you'll find it's actually our house, my rules, babe,” in her wife's direction, she and everybody else now moving around the table like they're playing musical chairs—Eddie stubbornly stays put because if you ask him, it's more than enough that he's managing to be here, period—as each of them pairs up with their chosen teammates into squads made up of Significant Others.

Husband and wife. Wife and wife. Two sets of Boyfriends and girlfriends. Josh and his date. 

Eddie and Buck. 

Except it isn’t Eddie and Buck, not really. Not at all, actually, at least not in the way Eddie wants it to be—fucking needs it like his blood needs to move oxygen around his body to keep him alive—because Eddie will only ever be Buck’s ‘forever’ whenever Tommy isn’t around.

The Air Operations pilot is on shift tonight, thank fuck. Eddie honestly isn’t sure of what he would have done if Buck’s boyfriend had come over this evening. Bailed on the whole thing, probably. 

He becomes vaguely aware of the half-moon shapes that must be forming in the heels of his palms from where his short fingernails are trying their best to break the skin, and wonders when exactly it was that he started referring to his buddy, Tommy, as ‘The Pilot’. Although Eddie isn't sure of whether the term buddy can really be applied any longer, not since the dynamics between Tommy and Buck changed, and Eddie hasn’t heard from Pilot Boy in weeks. And, okay, so the reason for that is most likely the fact that Eddie kept brushing the guy off like a first class asshole, until Tommy just stopped bothering to call. But honestly, he just can’t bring himself to give a shit about whatever the new buddyship between the pair of them might have bloomed into—not when the sneaky fuck stole his Buck.

If the skin on the palms of Eddie’s hands wasn’t so calloused from work he's pretty sure there'd be blood dripping from them right now. 

“Hey, you okay, man?”

Buck has swapped seats with May and is now bumping Eddie’s shoulder and knee with his own, and Eddie wants to fucking die. 

“What? Oh, sure, peachy. You?” 

“Yeah, I'm good, Eddie. You just—you look a little—” 

“How we feelin’ about our odds tonight then, amigo? Think we can take the title?” Eddie can't change the subject fast enough. 

Steady as ever, Buck just goes with the flow and rolls with Eddie's punches like the seasoned champ he is. 

“I really think tonight could be our night, Eds.” 

Pure. Fucking. Torture.

“Eh, your artistic prowess isn't exactly well documented, Buck.”

Buck scoffs in mock-offence that has a little too much bite for it to be entirely pretend. “I absolutely beg to differ, actually, and so would—”

Christopher.

Their eyes meet for less than a second before Eddie is looking away, yet that's all it takes for him to spot the anguish swirling round his best friend's baby blues. It's like oil in water: Two things that should just never be put together.

“Eds—”

Eddie clears his throat and tries to swallow down the lump that's instantly formed, in an attempt to fill the other gaping hole in his heart; the one that sits right next to the empty space that belongs to Buck.

He can't do this right now. Not here.

“To be fair, I'm not much better, so.” His voice sounds like somebody else's.

Somebody better than him.

Again, Buck pulls on the thread Eddie's left dangling for him, the way he's supposed to. “Well that is bullshit and you know it,” he counters, with a parental look of admonishment that's become polished over the years with the ton of practice that he's had with—

This time Eddie can't keep his deep breathing covert, so he sucks in two big lungs full before exhaling sharply and grabbing at his beer. He takes a long swig to distract himself from his wayward thoughts, and the IPA is nowhere near as bitter as the foul taste already festering away on his tongue.

“You're too hard on yourself, Eddie. You always have been. You need to—you gotta learn to be kinder to yourself, man. Realise that—that some things, such as art,” Buck says pointedly, as if Eddie doesn't know that he's not talking exclusively about Eddie's mediocre willow charcoal skills, “they can just—take a little extra time and patience, is all.” 

God, Eddie loves him so much he aches right down to his fucking bone marrow.

.

tagged by the lovely @inell — thanks, boo! my tags are beneath the cut...

@rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius @angela-feelstoomuch @woodchoc-magnum @veronae-buddie @kitteneddiediaz @buddiebeginz @eddiegettingshot @mazzystar24 and anybody else who wants to do the thing!

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

I never understood vegans opposing eggs. Unlike milk, you dont do anything to get a chicken to lay an egg. They just do it. And if you don't take them the eggs will just rot and get gross.

It depends, anon.

Farm eggs and local eggs are great bc you know the animals are treated fine. It's the cage eggs I think they're protesting, and those animals have truly horrific lives and (where financially possible, although it isn't for everyone) we should aim to buy farm eggs.

Cage eggs are from chickens that live in tiny wire cages, many have the front half of their beaks removed, and only the girls are kept. You don't wanna know what they do to male chicks who are born, it's not good.

You should also be skeptical of the conditions for barn chickens, esp if thebox says a ridiculous amount of animals per metre or hectare. Do they get outside time, and what do they get fed? There's a farm near us which has a dedicated livestream on their chickens for people to see how they are cared for. Next time I get eggs I can share the link, its on the box.

Like any animal that's been domesticated, chickens have been carefully bred for their laying capacity so they do lay a lot of eggs, sometimes several a day.

It's best to ask a farmer about the hens and eggs, but realistically they're a byproduct unless they've been fertilised, and from what I recall of the chickens we had when I was little (and they were rescues so they might have been atypical) they would brood on these eggs until they started to get... smelly.

Unless we gave them ceramic/plastic alternatives to sit on and took the real ones. If there was no other food available, they'd eat their eggs too.

If we should be upset by anything, its the grain-fed cows.

There's a farm that does it in a town I drive past several times a week, and its awful. The animals are packed into this little paddock with no grass, its consistently a muddy churned mass bc urine and rain etc.

I don't know if the persistent muddiness is why there is no grass or if that's deliberate to make sure they only have grain fed. It's just not great, they don't DO anything during the day, just stand there and mill about a bit. As far as I'm aware the RSPCA and other organisations have visited and by the loopholes in laws, they're feeding and caring for the animals, so its fine. At least on a farm or in a paddock they get to do what cows do, and chill most of their life, these guys and grainfeds in other shady little places most likely, aren't getting a lot of that.

Not to mention those awful pig-breeding locations that keep being caught where sows are pinned to the ground by either a head or body restraint to prevent eating a piglet or rolling on one. Like, yikes.

And before anyone brings it up, shearing a sheep is safe. You do not take the whole goddamn skin off for the sake of wool, it's a haircut.

And yes, sometimes the little buggers wiggle about, so they get a nick or two but they naturally produce lannolin, which soothes and protects the cuts. If there's anything we should be angry about, it's the lack of regulations around mulesing and docking (trigger warning for blood, injury and medical proceedures without proper anaesthetics). If we had better protections and rules around animals, perhaps the government would be coerced into subsidising the provision of anaesthics and appropriate tools (medical grade) to farm areas with animals that need docking of tails or mulesing, to keep them safe.

Make no mistake, flystrike is horrific and needs to be prevented at all costs, but there's also a lot of people out there doing things without real training or proper equipment and the animals are the ones who suffer. You wouldn't call a person off the street to do your cosmetic surgery, bc they're not trained.

----

Back to the main topic, because my brain works like a whirlpool of little fragments of info:

But good farmers, good producers and people who know their business are out there doing right by their animals. They provide food and care appropriate, handle the removal of excess eggs or honey safely, because it's a business but its also a way of life.

It's when things get industrialised that the time, attention, care and empathy goes out the window. They become a thing in a box to be used and destroyed as soon as it stops making money; not a living thing that needs time, care and attention.

Or something eloquent that explains the point better

[faakeid]

On your previous post you explained some similarities between KD and smaylor, but you also mentioned that smaylor's relationship is platonic. But then what kind of differences these couples have, which make you think that kd is romantic and other one is platonic, except for marriage? Take care!

Hey dear! I hope you’re doing well.

I even explained that at the end of the post because it would cause misleading to some people.

The issue with kd and what makes it different is a lot of external factors that would be contradictory in smaylor case (Robin has a husband for a long time, Cory had a relationship for some time as well so it makes them being a real life couple kind of... unrealistic . Unless you go to the cheating path but it makes it unsettling).

But with KD they had a lot of external factors and I even commented about it previously. But some of them are:

Members reactions to them and mostly being of dismissal or in a negative light (S*ho);

Using couple name with the other in a private setting and with no reason for fanservice (jagi);

Putting one of them in two dating scandals around the time there was a blind item talking about two members of the same group dating;

KD’s reaction to the whole thing, how their moments decreased when this blind item was firstly released in 2015;

How SM deals with them in comparison with other fanserviced ships inside and outside EX*;

The fact some moments happen but they’re not mentioned to the public or some translators sees them but change things to not mention KD (like when the car tweet came out, one of the translators said JI left with MK but it was actually KS. There were NUMEROUS cases of this happening throughout the years like fans were shielding their moments from international public);

Some coincidences regarding theories released back in 2016 and how they coincidentally appeared in group moments to be debunked (back when international fans were talking about jagi, it was around Monster comeback and Xiu*hen also used jagi. Other small coincidences like this happened, who was active during that time will know).

So kd being a couple goes so much more than touches and stares. The environment surrounding them speaks volumes about why their relationship is more than platonic and how “external forces” (sm, the members, some fans) seems to want to bury them at whatever cost.

With smaylor, there was a lot of drama especially because of being involved with Batman fandom and it influenced a lot of things about the actors attitude (Cory deleting nygmobblepot support tweets, being shady, saying they were just friends, kind of a disassociation of their image in interviews) and how the production dealt with it (with story arcs mostly). But they were always open with their admiration and friendship to the point Cory was around Robin’s husband numerous times on social media. I mean, if I had a romantic or sexual relationship with my married coworker, that could be a huge no for everyone involved.

So yeah, although some stuff about them are similar, they have huge differences that justify my vision being different for both of them.

[neon-junkie]

It’s Me Or The Liquor

Summary: A misunderstanding during an argument leads to you storming off, crying over what Bill's done. 

Pairing: Bill Williamson x gn!Reader

Word Count: 2913

Rating: SFW

Tags: Drinking problems, Alcohol, Break ups, Arguments, Angst, Angst with a happy ending.

Notes: I wrote the first chapter from a prompt list, then felt bad for leaving the ending so sour, so I fixed it :) 

Bill's drunk yet again. This is the second time today, and the fourth time this week. And it's only Wednesday! He's getting worse lately; usually, he's bad, but recently it's been agony. Maybe he was approaching the anniversary of his deployment and didn't want to be conscious to experience the pain, or maybe he was more stressed and worked up than usual.

You'd tried talking to him many times, as a friend and as his other half, but he'd always brush it off and mumble "I'm fine. You ain't got nothing to worry about." It's all lies. He's not fine, and you have so much to worry about. There's so much on your plate, so much stress, so much fear. You don't want to bury Bill when the alcohol finally takes him, or have him damage his brain so much that when he finally becomes sober, he doesn't remember anything, especially you.

He's currently sat by himself at the round table near Pearson's wagon. It's late afternoon, and the Lemoyne air is thicker than usual. Damn this swamp, and damn Bill for working you up. It's selfish of him, to have you worrying like this when all he needed to do was accept his problems and fix them. Sure, it's a big step and not as easy as it looks, but you've told him time and time again that you're willing to help him. The whole gang is willing to help him, but first, he needs to help himself.

"Bill?" You call out as you approach him.

"Sweetheart!" He slurs, looking over as you approach. He leans back a little too much, almost slipping off his seat. "W-why don't you come join me, huh?" Bill offers.

"No, Bill. We gotta talk," you sternly tell him.

"We is talkin', ain't we?" Bill laughs. He's right, but that's not at all what you meant.

"No, Bill. I mean real talk. I've had enough," you say. Bill's picked up on your defensive body language and the frown on your face.

"What's a matter? What you... What... you had enough of?" Bill stumbles. He's really sloshed, but at least he's responding.

"This drinking, Bill. It's gotta stop, for good." You have to put your foot down. Every time you've spoken to him you've been soft, not wanting to hurt him, but enough is enough. You take the bottle from his hand, swiftly chucking it out of camp, spooking the chickens as it flies over their head.

"What the hell?!" Bill's quick to his feet, knocking over the crate he was sat on. "Why'd you do that?" He almost shouts, trying to turn around and walk over to find his discarded bottle, but you put your hand on his arm, stopping him. He's always obedient with your touches, even if he is drunk.

"Listen to me, Bill," there's a grit to your teeth, and your tone is strong enough to have a very shocked Bill turn and face you. "This drinking ends today, alright? I can't deal with this anymore. All you're doing is stressing and upsetting me. I'm tired of this, it's hurting me just as much as it's hurting you."

"What in the hell are you talkin' about? I'm fine, you're fine. There's ain't nothin' to be worried about." Bill shrugs your comment off as always.

By now, most of the camp is watching, concerned for both of your safety, and curious as to where this is going to go.

"This ain't fine, Bill! You know it, you just keep pretending it is," you shout. You've never shouted at Bill before, but you're finally at your breaking point. "It's me or the drink, Bill. I don't want this anymore!"

"Well, you know what?" Bill slurs. He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to reply. “I don’t want you anymore." He was meant to say he didn't want you to keep bothering him about his drinking, but his drunken brain had spilled the wrong words out of his mouth. It was too late for him to explain what he really meant; your heart had just been shattered for the last time.

"Fine," you tell him, sniffling lightly as tears began to fall. "We're done then."

You're quick to turn heel and walk away, not wanting to waste any more time trying to get through to a drunken fool.

"Wait, no. That ain't what I meant," Bill calls out after you, trying to chase you but you speed walk away. Bill ends up stumbling over within a few paces, groaning and mumbling to himself as he sits upright.

He looks around but you're already gone and all he's greeted by is the many disappointed and disgusted faces of the camp members. "What is you all lookin' at?" Bill barks to them, trying to shove them off but none of them are budging.

"You fucked up, Bill," Arthur sternly tells him. "You just picked the hooch over your other half."

"Why would you do that? ___ does so much for you! They're been tryna get you to quit it for months now and all you do is make things worse," Tilly butts in. Mary-Beth has her hand on Tillys shoulder, quietly telling her to leave it.

"I'm going to go see if they're alright," Susan tells the gang, ignoring Bill on the floor. She storms off, following your tracks, ready to mother hen you.

"Shit, leave me be!" Bill mumbles as he stands up. He walks away in the opposite direction.

"Moron," Bill overhears Arthur mutter under his breath.

 All Bill wants to do is grab another bottle and continue to drink the pain away, but he can't. For once, the thought of alcohol makes him feel sick. The thought of you makes him feel sick, but not in a disgusting way, more like he's sick with himself for acting the way he did towards you.

His heavy steps lead him to the back of Shady Belle, grumbling to himself as he sits down beside one of the trees, overlooking the field and the lake in the distance. Despite the alcohol in his system, he no longer feels drunk. The shock of the breakup seems to have sobered his thoughts and vision up, and for once he realizes what a mess he's made.

There's no way you're going to take him back, is there? There's no way he can fix this, especially after you've spent so long trying to help him. All Bill's done was throw everything back in your face whilst giving you the middle finger. Shame on you for trying to help him.

Bill soon realizes he can hear the faint sounds of you sobbing. You're sat over by the boathouse, sobbing into Susan's arms as she coddles you, telling you you did what you could, that you're a good person, that he doesn't deserve you.

Bill wants to get up and walk away, not wanting to hear those sounds, but he continues to sit there, letting the sound of you crying from his mistakes scold him. Hopefully, he'll use those sounds as a wake-up call, finally quitting the drink and focusing on fixing his mistakes.

We can only hope.

---------

It's been a few weeks since the incident with Bill. The gang is still stuck at Shady Belle, and Dutch has been yapping to everybody about some bank robbery for a while now. Something in your gut tells you that it's a bad idea, but your thoughts and feeling have mostly been drowning over Bill. He's barely been around, occupying himself with heists and robberies, staying out of camp as much as possible and far away from you. The few times you've seen him, he's kept his head down and walked the other way. In some ways, you're happy that he's keeping his distance, but you can't help but notice his permanent glossy eyes and the shakes he's been getting from the alcohol withdrawal. He hasn't picked a bottle up since the breakup, and although you're happy he's quit, it's still a shame things had to be this way. Maybe this was the slap around the face that Bill finally needed, though he never expected you to be a casualty. There's one thing neither of you had done, and that's talk. Most couples tend to have that 'talk' after they break up, usually letting off steam and urging out whatever feelings were leftover, but you'd not said a word to that man. Bill hadn't said anything either, but you'd seen the way his mouth had partially opened and quickly shut whenever he was around you. It seems Bills fuse has finally come to an end, as he'd made it his mission today to talk to you, hopefully about what had happened. The Lemoyne air always feels sticky, even at night. You wipe another layer of sweat off the back of your neck, wiping it off on your pants, your eyes flicking back to the campfire. You're on guard duty, a camp chore that often gave you time to yourself to just think about things. Nobody ever came round these parts, probably still assuming it was crawling with Lemoyne Raiders, meaning you could let your guard down just a little bit and spend that extra focus on thinking about whatever was bothering you. Unfortunately, Bill was always bothering you. You'd questioned yourself over and over on if you'd take him back, and despite having countless arguments with yourself, the answer is always yes but only on certain terms. If he could keep the hooch away, then yes, simply because you know the second he picks it up again, he'll drown himself in it. And Bill needs to find a way to make things up to you; changed behaviour is at the top of your list, though you'll also accept a fancy dinner or a new outfit. The thought of Bill dressing up in his undersized tux to take you out always brings a smile to your face, and you catch yourself smiling at the thought now. You overhear those distinct heavy footsteps approaching, and your heart both sinks and flutters at the same time. "___?" That deep voice calls out but remains soft and timid. "Bill?" You respond, your eyes focusing on the landscape. "Could we talk?" Bill asks, still stood a meter or two behind you. You pause for a moment and decide that yes, you definitely want to talk. "Alright," you respond. Bill takes his time approaching, slowly settling onto the stool beside you. His eyes flick over to you but quickly moves them to the campfire instead. He's quiet for a good few seconds, his mouth repeatedly opening but nothing comes out. Finally, Bill speaks. "I err... I guess you know what I'm wantin' to talk about?" Bill asks. "I do, yes," you respond. "Well, it probably don't mean much to you, but I am sorry for what happened," Bill tells you. You remain silent, giving him time to continue as you can tell he has a lot more to say. "I ain't touched a bottle since, the thought of booze now just makes me sick-" "It's a shame you had to sacrifice me in the process," you cut him off. You didn't mean to snap, but you can't help the anger that begins to bubble in your chest. "Like I said, I'm real sorry," Bill pouts. "You was right. You were just tryna help me and all I did was take you for granted." "And not listen to me," you add on. "And not listen to you," Bill repeats, nodding at the same time. "I was really foolish, treatin' you like that, not listenin' to you..." Your eyes have been fixed on the landscape this whole time, but the faint sound of a sniffle makes you snap your head away, looking over to Bill. He's hunched over as always, his forearms resting on his knees, his back slightly arched. Bills head is dipped down, almost staring at his feet, and the brim of his hat covers most of his face, but you can tell from the way his nose twitches that he's crying. "Bill?" you question. "What?" he asks, a little bluntly. "Are you crying?" "What? No. I... I don't do that," Bill tells you as he quickly wipes his eyes, his hat still covering his face. You're quick to your feet, taking the few steps over to where Bills sat. He keeps his head down, still sniffling away. You bend down and reach out to cup his chin, but Bill slightly flinches. He eventually remains still and allows you to gently tilt his head up, though his eyes flick away to stare at anything but you. "Bill," you sigh, noticing his glossed eyes and the salted trails over his cheeks. "What?" he asks again, acting as if nothing is happening. You crouch between his legs, one hand still on his chin, the other resting on his knee to steady your weight. Bills eyes finally lock onto yours and you notice the way his bottom lip starts to shake, probably also biting his tongue to try and stop himself from crying. "Bill, I gotta tell you something," you say. "What is it?" "Since... that event happened, I've questioned myself over and over on if I'd ever get back with you." "Would you?" Bill asks, almost cutting off the end of your sentence. There's both hope and fear in his eyes as they meet yours. "I keep arguing with myself about it, but I always decide that yes, I would get back with you." Bills eyes light up as you speak, his heart pounding in his chest, but he refuses to get his hopes up yet. Bill knows from experience that every time he becomes happy, something bad always happens, stealing that moment from him, so he refuses to let his guard drop this once, knowing things will only get worse if he does. "I don't get why, I ain't treated you right at all. I've been a sorry excuse for a partner," Bill beats himself up, his eyes trailing to the floor again. "Apart from the drinking, you've been an angel," you say with a smile. "You mean that?" "I do." Although Bill wants to call your bluff, he sees no bluff in your eyes, only a warm heart and a gentle smile looking up at him, something that he thinks he doesn't deserve. "I still don't deserve you," he replies. "Maybe not," you say with a small shrug and a laugh, "but I think you do." "Are... are you suggestin' that we could... maybe work things out?" Bill asks as his eyes meet yours, a tear trailing from the corner of his eye as he blinks. "We could, but I still expect change from you," you reply as you catch the tear before it hits his beard. "Sure, I got it. I ain't gonna be touching the booze no more, I can promise you that," Bill says as he raises his hands. "And you've gotta make it up to me," you add. "How?"   "I ain't gonna tell you, you've gotta put some thought into that." Bill pauses for a moment, already thinking of the many ways he could make things up to you. "Alright," Bill says with a small nod. "Sweetheart," he quietly adds on, nervously looking away. "Oh, Bill," you sigh, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb over his skin, still slightly damp from his tears. "Come here," Bill says, his hands flexing as he urges you onto your lap. Bill pulls you onto him, swinging your legs over his as his arms wrap around your waist. He cradles you, holding you like a baby as you snuggle your head into the curve of his neck, his beard brushing against your forehead. Bills hands knead at your shirt, eventually settling with a firm grip on you. "I've missed this," Bill mumbles as his cheek rests on the top of your head, his heartbeat echoing against your ear. "Me too," you admit. "You have?" "Of course I have." Bill doesn't verbally respond. He pauses for a brief moment, letting your comment sink in, before holding onto you tighter, bringing you in for a bear sized cuddle, his body almost wrapping around you. A large part of you wants to cry, not just because you have Bill back in your arms, but because the feeling alone of him holding you is enough to bring you to tears. Like Bill, you're never had anybody pay you much attention; most folk look straight through you, but Bills ears perked up the second he saw you, and the more the two of you spoke, the more you realised how similar you are. Bill has to fight the urge to apologise over and over, wanting to tell you how truly sorry he is for what happened and the way he spoke to you. He holds himself back, scared that his insecurity and repetition will scare you away, although he knows it's going to take a lot more than that. Instead, Bill just holds onto you, enjoying the way you're curled up in his lap, despite his thighs going a little numb. He'll sit there for as long as you'd like, happy to have you in his arms again, appreciating you more than ever. He's already thinking about the many ways he can make things up to you, and he plans to do them all.