#they sound a bit mad half the time and honestly to someone who doesn't much care for the practice

[neganium]

Just got a really annoying response to my unrebloggable post on my personal blog about disliking people wanting to burn the goat, and so I am now doubling down on my Anti-Goat-Burning position, bc somebody decided to be unkind without any good reason to be.

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[mayapapaya33]

I'm about half an hour into the third episode, and I see a bunch of people in the chat saying that the Gods never explain themselves, which sure, could be a valid criticism. But they have said that destroying a God is different than replacing them via ascending because their mantel of power won't be upheld. The Matron killed/replaced/erased? the previous God of Death and took their place. It has been heavily implied/ basically outright stated that the Factorum Malleus (God Hammer) would not just be the end of the Gods, but the end of their domain which does NOT just affect said God, but also all mortals, who are their creations. The phrase "never have existed" has been thrown around a couple times. If the Gods never existed, with no one to take their place in the weave, guess what, neither has anyone on Exandria, ever. That's my read on the situation anyway. Cause and Effect: Gods create mortals, no Gods ever, no mortals ever. To use a pertinent quote, it's very Wibbly wobbly timey wimey.

They also said that there are things beyond our mortal comprehension that exist outside this world that would take the combined might of ALL the Gods to defeat. Now, that "beyond mortal comprehension" bit can come off as condescending for sure, but what if it's literally just the truth and they genuinely can't explain it to us more specifically than a general outline. Go back to the beginning of episode 1 of Downfall, we couldn't even comprehend their NAMES. They were/are impossible fractal patterns and balls of light and sensation and sound and thunder and fire. Imagine all the other things that we just physically cannot process.

Imagine trying to teach quantum physics to an ant. You like the ant, the ant is really cool, and charming, and fun to be around. You love the ant and think it's great. You're very proud of the ant's achievements. The ant has impressed you with its skills. You want to protect the ant and you also want to protect yourself. You aren't trying to be a dick. But it's still an ant. How ARE the Gods supposed to translate the untranslatable Eldridge Monstrosities that lurk beyond? The things that, were you to grasp a fraction of their reality, they would break your mind and leave you a drooling mess on the floor, clawing at your head with madness. Other than by saying; 'look, there are layers here you don't understand, and also threats that require all of us to combat. Shit's complicated, sorry.'

This is all in addition to the "the Gods are a fractured family and would rather put each other in jail than murder each other" thing. Which honestly, that's fair. If someone I loved went off the deep end and started killing innocent people, I too would rather put them in jail than murder them. And many things can be true at the same time. They can both long to be a family again AND have legitimate/strategic reason for not killing each other. Not wanting to kill your family doesn't automatically make you a liar or a bad person lol. The prime deities DID choose saving mortals over getting along at thanksgiving with the betrayers and a lot of people seem to be forgetting that. From what I can tell, it would have been super easy for them to be like, 'ah fuck it, fine. Have it your way bro. Smush the ants if it means that much to you.' But they didn't.

[autumn-foxfire]

I've spent the better part of the day playing the new Genshin update and am in a good mood so I've decided it's time for me to tackle the London section of Detective Conan.

As I've said on an earlier post, I am looking forwards to aspects such as Shinichi's pure enjoyment about being in London but there are others that I am not *cough* the "confession" *cough*

Honestly, why are they surprised that "Conan" can speak English. His name is very much English in nature, most people would assume that he has an English parent or was raised in America/England.

But it's very cute that Shinichi did not miss an opportunity to go visit the home of his hero!

I genuinely can't believe his parents have never taken their son to London... it almost seems cruel considering they love to travel and it's clear their son would adore to visit such a location...

And you'd think that with all the connections Yuusaku has, he could have gotten his son and Ai a passport to help make their identities real and give them the chance to travel. But judging from how they've also never taken their son to LONDON I think it's pretty clear they don't give much of a damn.

It's also so Gosho can force what happens.

Ai is incredibly kind however, to give Shinichi the chance to go to London despite the risks.

Oh this also makes me incredibly sad because Ran shouldn't spend her money on Shinichi who knows he'll be coming to London, she should get souveniers for herself. Shinichi as Conan could have said he'd get them.

It's the pink shirt T-T The pink shirt of doom.

SHINICHI IS SUCH AN ADORABLE NERD!

Oh Shinichi did try and stop her from getting him souveniers. Well at least he tried to stop her.

Of course you've made her mad Shinichi, she wants to do something nice for you and you blew her off because you're hiding a secret you don't need to hide from her.

Shinichi and his ability to stumble on a case.

It's so weird to hear british accents in DCMK...

Minerva is a bit of a bitch but Ran also needs someone to tell her to ditch Shinichi and move on. Yes, what she did could have been seen as insensitive but as the audience we know that's not the case so Shinichi is just causing her more pain than needed.

Does it not concern Shinichi at all at how easy it is for him to lie to Ran? Because it concerns me a lot.

HOLMES IS WRONG SHINICHI. FOOD IS FUEL.

Shinichi DOES NOT DESERVE RAN.

Yes, that's the appropriate reaction to have to your "love interest". Flee. Fuck I hate their canon relationship so much.

Okay, but what is with Ran's reaction too?! Honestly I'd run as well. Lord give me strength.

Get hurt, idiot.

WHY WOULD SHE KNOW YOU'RE KUDO SHINICHI?!

ALL RAN HAS ASKED IS IF PEOPLE HAD SEEN A JAPANESE BOY! SHE NEVER SAID THE AGE OF THE BOY SHE WAS CHASING! MY GOD THIS IS SO DUMB!

HE'S RUNNING BECAUSE YOU'RE SCREAMING HIS NAME IN A WAY THAT SUGGESTS YOU WANT TO HURT HIM?!

Ran has every right to be mad with Shinichi but damn is this moment so contrived and stupid!

Ran is crying her eyes out and Shinichi still only cares about the case when Ran is sharing how fucking hurt she is?! RAN DITCH SHINICHI.

...4 more episodes left.

I'm honestly so disgusted that it took a half-hearted "confession" that he only did because Ran was in so much pain caused by his actions for her to forgive his behaviour. Fuck Gosho and fuck how he writes Ran.

"This is the name of a story Shinichi told me about before" and it's a flashback of her getting mad at him and then complaining about him enjoying Holmes.

"Why hasn't the killer been arrested yet?" because the police suck!

Ran doesn't even want to see Shinichi after his great "confession" how telling.

Ran just assaults the man instead of asking kindly for him to roll up his pant legs... She and Shinichi are really competing for who is the most unlikable in these episodes.

Ignoring a threat? Sounds like the police here. Unless that threat is someone who isn't white and british and usually they're not a threat.

I can understand why the English are speaking slow for the sake of Japanese watchers but it really reminds me of children learning shows and is throwing me off a little XD

GREMLIN CHILD

He was just going to tranquilize a security guard to get in T-T

I mean, out of all of them, Shinichi has the most experience with guys who chase their appearance.

Shinichi shouting out in the crowd was adorable. He's redeemed himself a little from this clusterfuck of a set of episodes.

And of course his parents already know but are just leaving it all to their young son because all parents in dcmk are SHIT. Don't forget that. "But Foxy, it's more entertaining for the MC to save the day" it is but the price of that is him having extremely terrible parents.

Okay but Gosho does realize how bad this is right? Comparing Ran and Shinichi's relationship with Ares and Minerva. Minerva said that she doesn't want Ares to hold back from what he loves meanwhile Shinichi is constantly holding Ran back and making her wait for him. He does see the difference, right.

What Shinichi did wasn't a confession. He told her she was trouble and then said how could he understand the heart of the girl he likes. MAYBE RECOGNIZE SHE IS EXTREMELY HURT AND DISTRESSED AND YOU'RE THE REASON WHY! It's a terrible confession and I am totally writing Ran rejecting it.

And Ai knows Shinichi is an idiot.

[unclewaynemunson]

Time for Wingman Wayne (Ronance Edition™) part 6! | Read pt1 here | ao3 link

'Are you free next Sunday?' Steve asks Robin on Tuesday evening, when they're wrapping up their shared shift at Family Video.

'Yeah, why? Eddie didn't ditch your date plans, did he? Should I be mad at him?'

'No, don't be mad at him!' Steve exclaims. 'Date's still on. We just decided we should make it a double date.'

Robin arches her eyebrows at him. 'Do I need to remind you that I'm very much not dating anyone?'

Steve rolls his eyes in response. 'Yeah, I am aware of that,' he says. 'That's why we invited someone for you.'

'Um... Have you already forgotten how that worked out last time?'

'Yeah, and this time I actually know who we're setting you up with, so this is no doubt gonna be a success! She's really cute.'

Robin hesitates. She feels skeptical about the whole thing, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to actually meet someone new, because getting over Nancy hasn't exactly been easy so far and it's getting a little pathetic.

'Okay, yeah, let's do it,' she decides.

'YES!' Steve shouts out, in the same over-excited way he did back when she said yes to being set up with Mr. Munson's mystery match.

'So what's the plan?' she asks.

'Apparently there's this tea garden at the other side of Lover's Lake that opened this spring,' Steve says, and Robin freezes. Oh no. The tea garden. The perfect second date proposed by Nancy right before Robin told her how there was never gonna be a second date. Suddenly, this whole thing seems like an extremely bad idea.

'What's wrong?' Steve asks her, perceptive as always.

She can't tell him. Of course she can't tell him. So she plasters on a fake smile and says, 'Nothing! The tea garden it is. Um, are you sure Eddie is gonna be into that, by the way? Doesn't really sound like his kind of thing.'

Steve snickers. 'It was his idea, actually. He's way more romantic than he seems, you know.' His eyes start lighting up in that adorable yet slightly concerning way which warns Robin that a totally vomit-inducing monologue is gonna come out of his mouth. 'Last night, he –'

And yep, that's her cue to tune the fuck out of whatever story this is going to be.

Instead, she lets her thoughts wander to that stupid tea garden. She had rambled on about it for almost half an hour on Eddie's porch, so either Eddie totally forgot about that or had shamelessly stolen the idea from her without even realizing that a double date right there would be literal torture for her. And honestly, both possibilities are kind of rude of him.

---

Sunday comes around way faster than Robin would have liked and she spends way less time spreading clothes around her room and squinting at herself in the mirror than she did the last time she got ready for a date. It just seems a bit pointless, this time. It's too soon. Fuck, she should've said no to Steve's suggestion when she had the chance. Because now she's going on a date while her heart isn't in it at all, and this girl might be genuinely cool but she won't stand a chance against the perfection that was Nancy Wheeler, and that's actually really unfair towards this new girl that she hasn't even met yet. God, she's probably gonna be super sweet and caring and funny and deserving of so much better than Robin can give her right now. Fuck this. She should probably call Steve and tell him she's ill or something.

But then the doorbell rings, which means Steve is already here to pick her up, and she has no choice but to face the music and go to the goddamn tea garden that's only gonna remind her of the one person she can't have.

She tries her very best to feign excitement when she gets into Steve's car. Luckily, Steve himself is too caught up in his own enthusiasm about their plans to notice Robin's weird mood. He keeps talking her ears off about how cute she's looking and how she'll for sure meet the love of her life this time. She suspects that he still feels guilty about the whole Nancy thing and that's why he's overcompensating, but it's actually just as sweet as it is annoying, so she decides to let it slide this time.

'So are you gonna tell me her name this time?' Robin asks when they stop at Forest Hills and wait for Eddie to get out of his trailer.

'Okay, so I actually do know her name this time, but I'm not gonna tell you,' he tells her, with a weird smile around his lips that tells her she's missing something.

'Oh my God, Steve.' She groans and lets her head fall against the headrest behind her.

'What?'

'You did something. No, don't look at me like that! What did you do?!'

'Nothing!' he exclaims, way too fast.

'Steve,' she says, deadpan. 'It's someone I know, isn't it? Wait, please tell me you're not trying to get me back together with Vickie, that'd be really awkward and I'm not –'

'No, it's not Vickie,' he's quick to interrupt her.

She squints at him, trying to figure out what exactly is going on in his brain. The look on his face is way too guilty.

'Did you set me up with Tammy Thompson?!'

He bursts out into loud laughter, which at least tells Robin that she won't be going on a date with her crush from years ago that Steve's been relentlessly teasing her about ever since he found out about it. That's good news, she supposes, because that would probably have been the single most embarrassing thing to ever happen to her and she might have to move states afterwards.

'What's so funny?' Eddie asks, flopping down on the backseat and pressing a kiss against the skin of Steve's neck.

'Steve won't tell me who you guys are setting me up with,' Robin states, turning around to face Eddie. 'Would you maybe care to fill me in on this little detail of my own love life?'

But Eddie only grins his signatory broad devilish grin while mysteriously wiggling his eyebrows.

'It's a surprise,' he says in a conspiratorial tone, which really doesn't help ease her suspicions in the slightest.

'Don't look at me like that Buckley, I promise you you'll like her, okay?' he says, his eyes suddenly all wide and innocent. 'She has Wayne's stamp of approval. If you don't trust us, can you at least trust uncle Wayne?'

Robin sighs and leans back into the seat while Steve drives them off the trailer park. She tries very hard – and fails, of course – not to think about what happened the last time she got set up with someone who had “Wayne's stamp of approval.”

Pt7

Taglist: @munsonsuccubus @messrs-weasley @shrimply-a-menace @booksandsience @sadcanadianwinter @mightbeasleep @theysherobinbuckley @bisexualdisastersworld

[petrichoraline]

I binge-watched this into the dark hours of the night and I had a lot of points I wanted to make but I'll just vent (a bit spoilery)

this show is funnyyy, it had me laughing at points I wasn't supposed to (like when dome would appear standing in the distance out of nowhere like a horror movie character but sweet music played on top) and it also does endearing very, very well.

the main characters' dynamic is interesting. they're a very lowkey couple in a way, domestic and sweet but when the conflict is conflicting the tension is palpable. thorn can be very sassy and petty (kind of despite himself) and fah tends to need direct guidance - their fights remained consistent in nature and the conflict though frustrating made a lot of sense. these are young men with a lot of doubts about their future, their goals and relationships. theyre put in kind of impossible situations and acting out, saying the wrong thing, having trouble with controlling emotions are normal - it's difficult to watch but not because it's nonsense as is the case with a lot of forced conflict in media.

ai and saen had the best only one bed scene I've seen in A WHILE like I couldn't think of a better one, it had beautiful sound design, enough time dedicated to setting the scene and building the tension AND some lovely acting that made the switch in their dynamic so romantic and natural. they also had a cute development, even when softened up ai maintained that sharp tongue and saen kept looking at him with the same adoration and handling his comments with patience (the graduation gift reaction wouldve hurt me but not saen, that man is so used to it 😂)

dome and vee had me going crazy in the first episodes, I really enjoyed the tension but I was rooting for pan the whole time. i was yelling about girls in bls lmao like these dudes had me stressed for a girl I was so sure was gonna be sweet about it AND SHE WAS. at one point I was like "if you grab that empty beer bottle and take revenge I wouldn't be mad tbh", that girl was GRACIOUS. also "I told him that if he found someone he could leave anytime" girlll 😭💗

honestly vee didn't seem too remorseful at the beginning so his guilt really taking over in the second half felt a bit out of nowhere but also right. I think hes usually a playful guy and the consequences didn't really dawn on him at first, not to mention he didn't expect to actually fall in love. dome is a cutie but that man pissed me off, I think the reason he struggled his much being hes now into a guy made the conflict compelling and understandable but it still was so unfair towards his girlfriend, I was screaming BREAK UP on like ep.2 not because I cared about his rs with vee but because he clearly doesn't want to be with her and he should set he free (and ironically it turned out she was the one who tried to give him that type of freedom)

also the hyperventilating scene..I felt that, it was so good.

the colours, cinematography, music choices, humour and drama are really engaging. I started the show a while ago (quite a bit after i had decided to watch it due to good recommendations), stopped for a bit, got to the end of ep.3 and put it on hold for a while because tbh the first episodes weren't too much fun, they had this one single flashback happen like five times in an episode like they were making sure those kids got their exposure 😂 but it really picked up from there, i binged 9 episodes at once, i didn't skip scenes, used the speed up button only once and didn't feel the need to check my phone which is a lot lol

it's fun, it's sweet, there wasn't much basketball after all (which was good for me cause I wasn't in it for the sport, I thought it was a volleyball show 😁) but there was plenty of tenderness, the way characters display affection is so nice and thought out. there's a nice squad, the friendships are not really a main focus? but you can feel the support (glad we got an aii/thorn moment, I was sure those two would get along)

I recommend it even if the first few episodes are a bit on the dull side, what it does well it does really well and it's a worthy watch 💖

[bisexualshakespeare]

BTS: I’ll write a DVD commentary about my personal favorite passage from Harvest Festival series :D

Question from this post

I think I'll do the part in Eckleberry Pie where Graydon goes to find Boorman to apologize

Boorman wasn’t far. Graydon found him downstairs in the dining hall, eating a piece of pie and sweet talking one of the maids cleaning up.

“Effie,” He said when Graydon sat next to him. “This is my friend. The pouty one that I left to check up on, causing me to nearly miss your fantastic eckleberry pie. Obviously shouldn’t have done that.”

originally this was blackberry pie because I love blackberries and didn't want Boorman to be drinking. Sometimes around when I was finishing I remembered Elora's task to grow an Eckleberry bush and thought that would be a fun call back. Also a bit of a callback to sad-angry-frown-prince

Effie smiled at Graydon, glanced at Boorman, and shook her head fondly.

I remember I agonized over Effie so hard. I was like 'what does she sound like? does she like boorman? is she bothered by him? what are they gonna talk about?' before I was like ok this is just an excuse to get them to fuck. she doesn't need to have extensive character motivations, she can just walk away 😆

Graydon cleared his throat as she retreated. “So. Thank you, first of all, for checking on me. That was nice of you to think of me.”

“You’re welcome.” Boorman said with his mouth full. Boorman talked a lot with his mouth full. Graydon was pretty used to it by now.

Sometimes when I'm trying to keep my mindset in canon, I will just reference things in canon to remind me I'm okay? This is me being like 'yeah you're writing boorman right. remember when he talked while eating the probably-not-men-who-were-turned-into-pigs at nockmaar? you're doing great' lol

“I admit I was a little harsh before. I was upset and kind of mad at myself and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I hope I didn’t offend you or make you feel like you weren’t wanted.”

Boorman straightened a little. “I wasn’t offended.”

Graydon slowly put a hand on Boorman’s arm. “Because you are wanted.”

a couple people in the comments have said this is surprisingly smooth for Graydon? I honestly was just trying to be like 'boorman is not a substitute for elora! graydon's not using him! i want to be clear here!' this is me waving my hands around

Boorman looked at him with surprise, and with berries in his beard. Graydon couldn’t believe he was going to have his first time with this huge goober. Then again, that huge goober was kind of his best friend.

Boorman is great but he is without a doubt the grossest of the group. He drank spoiled wine at nockmaar, ate the worms at the shattered sea fishery. I have no doubt that if he was in his feels about being rejected he would eat half a pie no problem. I don't know how much I was thinking about it as I was writing it, but in hindsight I think I wrote Boorman as having a crush on Graydon prior to the fic. Even if he didn't, I think he's a dramatic enough person to use any excuse to cry into dessert.

Boorman patted his face with a napkin in an attempt at nonchalance. “So what changed your mind?”

Remember when this said non nonchalance and we were both confused? lol

Graydon winced. “You know that consummating you mentioned? I kinda ran into it in the showers.”

Boorman gasped. “In public? Elora Danan’s not as vanilla as I thought.”

Graydon's mind briefly went to the marks he briefly saw beneath the robe.

I am just now noticing I put briefly twice in the same sentence. damn i was distracted thinking about elora in only a robe lol

He shook his head. “But also, you know, I’ve never done anything before. If you were interested, it would be nice to have someone-”

“So handsome and experienced in the art of love making?”

“I was gonna say, someone I really care about.” He smiled a little.

Graydon's just so sincere and sweet and truthful! and also can you tell I really REALLY wanted it to be clear he liked Boorman and this wasn't just a rebound?? That's literally all this scene was written for! if I didn't care about that, Boorman would've just been in the room when Graydon came back and they would've immediately started fucking. Which now that I mention it is basically what happened in Lightning Strike 😂

Boorman brushed a lock of hair from his face. “Well I’ll have to think about it while I finish my pie.”

“Of course.”

Boorman picked up the plate and poured the rest of the pie into his mouth.

“Alright, let’s go.” Boorman grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the hall as Graydon shrieked with laughter.

This is the funniest image to me! It feels so right for Boorman to be like 'well i'll save face' and then immediately not. I don't know if "shrieked" is the right word for how the actor would actually laugh in response to this but it is how *I* laughed so it went in! 😂

Thanks for asking! 😘

[ilovetheseattlemariners]

Lost the poetry contest

That was yesterday. I've been meaning to write to you for awhile. I feel like I smell like shit right now and I've been paranoid. I've been stressed. Last night I was lying in bed and I was ready to scream uncontrollably. I felt as though I was on the verge of dying.

Yesterday I found out that I had a bunch of poetry due for my intro CRWR class. That was a fun surprise for everyone. I'm just going to try half-assing some things and then end up turning in something that I really have no pride in just for the sake of getting a mark. Such a thing is one of the most depressing things in the world, and is intrinsic to trying to interpolate arts into academia. I've had the most terrible writer's block for so long, and yesterday when I found out that I'd lost the poetry contest any sort of possible motivation or passion or drive for my field instantly left me. I did finish James Agee's letters to Father Flye yesterday, though, and was kind of motivated a bit. And thought again of Ashbery's story, too. Some of the half-assed shit I wrote yesterday sound pretty good right now, even. Though I don't know. I've been trying this Franz Wright/Tang Dynasty style of sparseness in my writing, and it doesn't really feel like me? I honestly feel as though I've lost my voice. I feel too like I need to compromise myself for any sort of success. Nobody else really writes like me, and that should be a good thing but I end up hating it. I hate how people don't know how to respond when I read a poem. I hate not knowing whether or not my poetry is good. I hate not know what to do about it at all

That's poetry, at least. I feel like my prose is great, but that's because its prose. I read Jesus' Son in like two days, and it was some of the finest prose I've ever read. I need get on revising a piece of short fiction for my fiction class. Johnson's work should help me with that.

Improv on monday was pretty uneventful, too. I hit the shed last night and sounded great, which is of course how that works: you sound great on your own but suddenly you have to face a crowd and your playing has no body or soul. I mean, I was just in the practice room today and played until I fell out of love with myself. I don't think I love the cellist any longer either. It's just dry and sparse. I'm tired of having to start everything. And I mean that's just how she is but I know I can't live with that. But I always think of her. It's bad. I have a lot of thoughts about her being there next jazz jam and me really blowing everyone's socks off. Because last Mon nobody really said much about my playing. I mean nobody was really there. Its midterms szn — hence the aforementioned stress having me feel as though I'm perpetually falling to my death. But nobody telling me that I'm the greatest bassist they've ever heard, which I never really cared to hear back then because its all exaggerated lies but I guess lately I've been needing to have my dick jerked off. I've been needing to get lucky too. The girl said she was tentatively inviting me to her friend's house for a friend get-together over a movie, but I doubt that's going to happen now because I'm not putting in any effort and she doesn't have the inclination to give me anything. Its upsetting. I'm mad and I'm unloved. I mean I guess I could work my ass off trying to get her to perceive me but who fucking cares anymore. Just me. I care deeply.

Ran into my childhood friend again for the first time in god knows how long. She's ignoring me, I know she is. I tried hitting up her line the day after that awkward blocking thing happened and she didn't reply, and when I saw her yesterday I brought that up and she acted like she didn't see that. Alright. She's studying with my gym bro rn, too, someone else who is also ignoring me and I don't know why. I think everyone hates me. I have no real deep friendships and I have nothing going for me. I have a gig tomorrow where I'll be playing music that I don't care for at all and I'll probably get home late and have to clock into my fucking 9-5 and who cares at all who gives a shit. I better get away from you now to touch up this short story and then somehow get together the time to fucking write some poems. I bailed on my niece's jazz gig today like a jackass. Of course I wouldn't get a piece of nothing at all.

I should just call off work, right? I should just call all of this off and just fucking fuck off of it in all honesty. God damn I'm so fucking over it all.

[the-blorb-system]

Again I really like your Analysis about the blacksmithing, and originally when I wrote that I wanted to include this segment about it and his adventures, but realistically, it didn't and wouldn't matter.

Blacksmithing and the adventures, solo or lu related, is something that he experiences as an individual. I talk about the all-around race that can qualify for more than one of them, but in a way the core basic analysis

Of course when you take a deeper look, the roles currently needed or necessary also play a major role. Let me give you an example. You mentioned warriors. He is a captain in an army is he not? He survived so many hardships and pain and struggles, certainly he can handle just fine what you go through in your unimportant, mortal simple life.

That was my thought process when our warriors first split (our country was at war, still is by the way), and he in true warriors fashion, took the duty of an emergency fronter to ensure we will be safe. That brought up too many trauma flashbacks and he didn't last (RIP Cap, we couldn't save you, but we won't forget).

We didn't know about LU or the legend of zelda for that matter until a very little bit over half a year ago, and the group of alters from this fandom can easily fit a classroom student list by the amount of them.

So long a brain js still traumatized, and so long splitting and multiplicity are objects and means that are already familiar to the brain of a person in term of self experience, splits can happen. If your mental or physical state is urgent, + you are autistic and tend to latch to the current media you have favor for, it's very common to split from a "recent" media or media you didn't know for a long time.

So go easy on yourself about that part

Honestly kudos for me writing this- cause I'm like only 5% focused on the writing rn. Iegit washed dishes and argued with a guy if it's morally wrong or not to lay a chocolate eclare

- Digi

fhdjlskdfls what

Sounds rough, so yeah, kudos!

Our Warriors is very much an emergency fronter. It's a little hard to get into because I don't entirely understand it, but the gist is that at home it's not really safe for others to front very strongly or very often, not in an outwardly noticeable way. I mean, my family knows about the system and accepts it, but they don't understand it, and the whole mix with rejection sensitivity in knowing that I would get weird looks or have unpredictable/uncontrollable responses to someone else fronting distinctly enough to be noticed sets off all sorts of Danger alarms in the system, so it doesn't happen.

But especially when visiting my irl friends who happen to also be systems people can front all the time, and Wars has a habit of jumping in any time I become nonfunctional.

Like "okay, you're shutting down and panicking, but we need to finish eating and I happen to know you will be more comfortable if I help make the bed for you before leaving front", so he just gets shit done in a very straight forward fashion and it's nice.

Also. hhhhhh the war stuff...

I dunno what your situation is, but I'm sorry. We're not... exactly? in war, here in the US, but I think in 100 years this'll be looked back on in history classes as part of the peak of our structural and societal fall and failure. I cannot properly express how much I fucking hate our government. The capitalist bullshit and the way our government actively contributes to genocide in other countries then claims we have nothing to do with it because we don't live there...

I dunno, I'm not knowledgeable enough to get into it and I don't want to turn into the kind of person that rants about politics, especially without all the facts. I know enough, and live poorly enough, to be mad about those specific things I mentioned and that's about it.

On a semi-unrelated note, have you heard the song Ain't No Crying by Derivakat? Damn, that's a jam, and I actually enjoy the sort of righteous rage it insights in me when I'm in the mood to rage at the machine.

-Lizzy

[secondhand-lions]

looks @ u like this

using this as an excuse to talk about sirenity because they're easily one of my Guys Of All Time and iiiiii don't get to talk about them a whole lot

- is an excellent musician (virtuoso! but primarily anything with strings!) and artist! he also has synaesthesia (which, like their dyslexia, was less severe before The Benny Incident) and perfect pitch and they're an uncannily good mimic.

- fully knows and understands RobCo Termlink code and can, therefore, talk with the vast majority of robots/androids/computers in the wasteland

- there is not nearly enough time to go into their sex life. they've been around. very casual about sex and relationships to the point where it circles back around to become an intense soul-rending need for People and Connection and then it circles back around AGAIN to being very casual. two things can be true at once

- met and talked with benny -> "well. goddamn that's a lot to think about" -> met with House -> "even more to think about. shit." -> Courier Walking Instinct kicks in -> muscle memory takes them back to Primm -> Johnson Nash knows enough about them to recognize the Walk To Think state they're in, accepts that this is a short meeting -> Sirenity keeps going, still on muscle memory to the entrance to the Divide -> thats the thing that snaps them out of their sorta half-dissociative state -> "fuck i'm hungry" -> back to Primm for Ruby's casserole -> turns around, sees the ruined drive-in -> "y'know what? yeah. a movie sounds good right now." -> OWB (during which their mental state is surprisingly good! a creeping dread of familiarity at the sight of the painted old world flags and the descriptions of the other visitors, but yknow! that's fine! then they have a breakdown upon hearing Ulysses' voice again.)

- indeterminate amount of time and gameplay -> Dead Money -> stick around in the mojave for a bit before finally relenting and admitting that they have to back out and recover from the Cloud for a bit ("i have to go clear my lungs") -> Honest Hearts

- casual friendly situationship/QPR with Arcade, kinda a cool older cousin/sister figure to Veronica, good friends with Cass and Raul, visits Lily as much as they can. i'm not really sure of where they stand with Boone. they very badly want to tell him "i think you can be proud of the work you put into something without being proud of what the thing was or did or became" but like... Boone wants an ending, a neat little all-loose-ends-are-tied finish, and Sirenity is living proof that that sort of thing doesn't just Happen. they never were good at delivering endings, anyway.

- post-game otp is sirenity/ulysses but it's open because they both know that they can't always provide what the other needs/wants and love is more of a verb than a feeling anyway

- good friends with the Khans, Followers, and Kings!

- was genuinely really hoping that Benny would stick around after their conversation. not even mad about getting shot or jumped by his bodyguards.

- uhhhhmmmm OH YEAH Mobius was. such a refreshing presence for them. even if they do have to stand weird to keep eachother out of their blindspots. "crazy fuckers missing an eye who experience more visual inputs than should be there" solidarity. she helps with his messed up sensors :]

- honestly i think Sirenity's VERY very postgame jaunt to the Commonwealth is. just straight up in their canon now.

- scars from the Big Mt Spine Removal and Subsequent Un-Removal look like train tracks :) because i think it's cool

- whenever someone gets incredulous about how much stuff and people and places they know of or about or just straight up know their reply is "i have Lived a Life"

- that post about aragorn son of arathorn being sad(lonely) BECAUSE he knows so many people, not despite knowing so many people or knowing so many people despite being sad(lonely)? yeah that applies here. always missing someone. pulls them in so many different directions and yet! and yet! they wander down a new path. courier walking instinct.

- oh yeah they definitely have something set up so the Followers can use the resources of Big MT. that's probably their most regular delivery

- ANOTHER THING! pre-benny incident, the NCR had put a bounty on one of the Khans (haven't thought of a specific person) and Sirenity just. took the wanted poster and moseyed on over to their camp to warn them ("you...? why would you do this?" - "well, if someone i cared about had a hit put out on them, i'd sure as shit want to know about it") and that's how they meet Jessup and McMurphy

- and then DURING the Benny Incident, during the "maybe the Khans don't look the people they kill in the eye-" line, Sirenity shoots Jessup a Look that says "you work with this guy???"

- needless to say they were. very blasé about mortal danger. still is. if there's a multi-perspective story they're really going to try and find the other perspective(s)

yayyyyy okay i think that's it!

Nobody including me posts about their ocs enough so please please please reblog reply or whatever with some oc tidbits!

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Is Love in the air? Or it is just Gwen fuming?

Continuing with Mumbattan, the falling bit will go in another post (that will also be more about the movie than shipping since I don't have a lot to say in that regard,) let's go where we left of with: Gwen is MAD.

There are multiple reasons for her to not be in the mood, and sadly, Miles coming to help isn't exactly making that list any shorter, to Miles' disappointment.

Sorry Miles, part of being spider-man is helping people that actually don't want your help. You'll get use to it.

And then comes Pav, an amazing ray of sunshine who is great and deserves all the love he can get. Wish I knew enough about Desi culture and the Kerala region to make him justice, I hope someone who does makes an analysis.

Moving on, Pav is great, he saves them with ease as well as giving an extra punch to the bad guy, all while he realizes what's going on in record time.

I adore how Gwen barely explains the situation to him and he already knows what's up. To be fair he isn't wrong, Miles may feel guilty about this spot mess and definitely wants to help out because is the right thing, but let's face it he also didn't want to never see Gwen again, and probably he wanted to help her.

Everyone has seen this scene because it was part of the trailers so you would think there is not much I can say that someone hasn't said, but while looking at this scene I picked up onto something I never realized in my previous viewings and had be cackling.

But before we get to that, what's Gwen and Miles' reaction?

Miles? Immediately denies it, which is to be expected. If you had ever been in Miles' position, I'm 99% sure that you would do the same. He likes Gwen, a lot, but he and Gwen aren't officially anything and having the guy you just met talking about your private feelings isn't ideal.

Gwen? Well, her dialogue doesn't give me too much to work with, she sounds like she is trying to downplay the situation a bit, if not outright denied it (probably because she knows Miles definitely has feelings for her,) but c'mon, he is not that down bad for her, right?

Her hand gestures were interesting, honestly this part goes on so fast I didn't truly get what she was doing until I was watching it half speed.

This accompanied with the dialogue really has me thinking she is trying to act like no, nothing is happening, but it is very weak and I think what I love the most about this part is that no one is buying it (Not Pavitr, not the audience, and probably not themselves,) yet they still try.

Now this part? Oh this is precious.

Here is the thing, the second line comes from Gwen, which she says very quickly after he says this.

But Gwen isn't the one who's feelings are being put on display, so why exactly Gwen is trying to convince Miles than Pavitr isn't good at reading people?

The next part comes with speculation, but hear me out.

Pavitr is part of the organization, right? I doubt he knows about the canon events part, but he knows that there are anomalies crashing in another dimensions and the other spiders are suppose to come to catch them so they don't do a mess. He probably knows how strict is Miguel about this too.

So if Pavitr said that Miles must be in love with Gwen for following her uninvited, what do you think he would say if he knew that Gwen literally slacked on a mission because she was spending all her time with Miles?

Yeah and later why Gwen won the poll to the biggest simp in this relationship.

Let's move on.

Small addendum but when Miles is asking how Pavitr already has a watch at six months, Gwen is unsure what to say when she gets caught up.

The tower scene deserves multiple post (for multiple reasons too) but let's just remember that Gwen was trying to let down Miles easy about the association, because she knew Miguel wouldn't allow Miles to get in.

While I do think part of her reaction is by being caught on a lie in which she still doesn't know how to tell the truth, it doesn't escape me that a big reason why she said that lie in the first place was that she didn't want Miles to be hurt about being an anomaly.

She never had a chance to say what she really thinks about this (which is kind of her fault, she could at least attempted to explain some parts before getting to Miguel; I am still angry how everyone let Miles think this was a good thing until the very end.) I wonder if part of the reason is that she may had a speech similar to Peter B's and maybe the creators wanted to reserve it for the next movie.

Yep, she is still mad.

I don't have much to say here, I like this joke; they are spidey people and Miles is already getting up so Gwen know is not serious anyways.

Oh Pav, you don't know half of it.

I love how even when they aren't being corny he still smells the tension, because let's face it, I wouldn't had this much material to analyze if there wasn't a constant influx of little gestures back and forth from these two showing always how important they are to each other.

I remember when I first saw this scene I thought Pav doesn't have enough information to know this, and now I just think the guy is smarter than me.

Me the next few months because I swear I need to have some resolution with these two or I would lose it.

Miles quickly gets up to Gwen to talk about the plan, which shipping aside, makes sense. He doesn't know Pavitr and their initial exchange wasn't ideal, not to mention that he may feel he would ask him about Gwen if he gets to her.

I don't think they realized what Pavitr was saying, which honestly that just highlights how focused they are on each other. They are in Pavitr's dimension, trying to catch this guy, and instead of asking him if he knows anything that could help them, or just include him in this conversation considering the three of them are on this now; they just zeroed on each other almost without thinking.

Which is funny considering they don't have that much experience working together for this to just be second nature, maybe the second nature is just stop listening to other things around each other.

I guess this is why Pavitr wasn't bothered about not being included, he has the best seat for this.

Sorry to just add another joke, but this is literally me, while these two are talking about how to catch The Spot, he is just looking INTENSIVELY at them to see if he can spot another thing.

Okay, is finishing each other's phrases kind of a romantic trope? Yes.

Do Gwen has plausible deniability, since they are just seeing the Spot go towards Alchemax, and she knew before hand that the Spot was going for universes that has one? Yes.

Do I think the filmmakers, who had put so much effort in this movie, from the way things are said to the colours, didn't do this on purpose? Oh absolutely not.

The thing that I find the funniest about all of this, is that this is Gwen's entire dilemma with Miles, she is convinced it can't work and is better to try to pretend those feelings aren't there, except neither him or her can't help it, those moments and the connection they have just keeps showing up.

Short answer Pav: They don't.

Okay! With this we finish their tour around Mumbattan, the immediate next part has been technically covered, so will probably talk about what happens after Hobie's presentation.

This part was a lot more fun that I expected, I was a bit nervous to go about this since I didn't think there was much I could talk about, but just like always, I just keep loving this movie more and more.

Thanks to those of you who read it! If you like my content, please consider either commissioning me or donating to my ko-fi, and if not please reblog!

[clairecrive]

Billy idea that I have no time to write myself loool: reader and Billy are friends with benefits. Reader is happy with the arrangement and knows Billy is sleeping with other women but she doesn't care. It's not serious with them. Billy however hadn't really thought about Reader sleeping with other people and he finds out. Maybe from friends (Frank, Curtis and Karen because hello AU) or maybe all of them are out at a bar and he sees her go home with someone else? But he gets suuuuper jealous about it and realises he wants more. I'll leave it up to you if Reader wants more too. Angsty jealous Billy though, am I right? Lmaooo (this is faulty-coding btw, hello 🖤)

"Commitment"

A/N: omg hi! I love your work so much I feel incredibly honoured that you chose me for this request! I hope you like it x This is also for this anon, I've combined the two requests since they were similar.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, slut-shaming, hurt-comfort, smut at the end

Word count: 3K +

Tags:@blackst0nes7077, @thefictionalgemini, @tarkanelima-blog

@pansysgirlfriend, @acciorudolphx @supernaturalcat7, @crazyclownchick (I don't know why it won't let me tag you)

To add yourself to my taglist, fill in this form.

NAVIGATION PAGE

"Hey, stranger." A familiar voice and then his familiar touch on your back before he sat in front of you.

"Hi, Billy."

"it's been a while," he mentioned casually while his eyes took you in.

It had been more than a while, actually. Last time you saw Billy had been over a week ago. Well, you hadn't really seen him, that was the problem.

Ever since you had started your "agreement" you'd drop by his office from time to time to surprise him. He had told you that he deeply enjoyed office sex while you had never had it. Needless to say, it soon became one of your favourite things.

And that was why that day, you were at Anvil. You hadn't told Billy that you were coming. It wouldn't have been a surprise then, would it? However, when you stepped in front of his door, just one touch away from opening it, you heard it.

Well, heard her actually.

It was Billy that ended up surprising you that day. You usually loved surprises but that one you would have gladly skipped.

Although it had taken you most of a week to come to this realisation, you realized that it was actually a good thing to happen. The thing you had with Billy wasn't labelled. It was fun but it wasn't serious. Despite the fact that you were friends and hang out with the same group, you had never committed to each other.

And you were honestly fine with it. You enjoyed your time with Billy, outside and under the sheets.

It had been months though and you hadn't wanted to acknowledge it but it wasn't enough anymore. Billy's role in your life was ambiguous. He was your friend sure, but one you'd have sex with. He wasn't your boyfriend but he was the one you'd spend the most of your time with, the one with whom you were intimate.

You wanted more, you realized. Enough with these half measures.

Billy will understand, you told yourself. He inwardly made it clear where he stands. Time to broaden your horizons.

And, as matter of fact, you had. It was true that the ocean is full of fish but you hadn't had a lot of luck with them before. Sure, Jake was nice. He was polite and nice. An overall good guy.

He was just lacking a... je ne sais quoi that made you unsure about it. But you were willing to give him a chance and so you kept going on dates with him.

Needless to say, you hadn't spoken to Billy since that impromptu visit to his office.

"Been busy," you offered him taking a sip of your beer. It was a lame excuse but you couldn't care less. Karen offered you some appetizers. You stared at them for a bit before shaking your head refusing them. Ignoring Karen's questioning look, you took another sip.

"Yeah, she's been busy alright." Frank's low chuckle came from the other end of the table.

"Meaning?" Billy asked, now curious about the implication seeing how your cheeks had suddenly turned red.

"She met someone," Karen chirped in, winking in your direction.

Mentally facepalming you, you swore them off. It wasn't the way you wanted Billy to find out. Not that you cared what he thought since he couldn't be bothered to be as transparent with you, but still. You hated being put on the spot.

"Has she now?" Billy's eyebrow arched and he gave you an amused look. But his jaw clenched and that gave him away.

"Not that it's any of your business. But yes, I have. His name's Jake, he's a nice guy." You explained briefly, ignoring the intensity of his stare.

"So you're that kind of person then." Leaning over the table, his voice took an edge he had never directed at you. "Ditching her friends as soon as she meets a guy?"

"You know that's not true." Narrowing your eyes at him you were almost offended by his institution if it wasn't for the fact that you knew that it was his bruised ego speaking.

"Tell that to my many unanswered calls on your phone."

"That's not on Jake," you scoffed taking a sip. His eyebrow arched while his hands gestured to you as if to say "do tell".

"Let's just say that I saw firsthand just how busy you keep yourself when I'm not around." You tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice, you really did. But without success.

Billy's lips pursed in thought. You had no doubt that he had an inkling about what you meant but he couldn't figure out to what exactly you were referring to.

"So is this what it is? You being petty because I've been with someone else?"

"That's me wanting more for myself and taking it."

"If you were that insatiable, y/n, you should have just told me."

"Stop making me sound like a slut, Billy. That is not what this is about."

"Isn't it? Because that's exactly what this looks like to me."

Pursing your lips, you refused to show him just how much he had hurt you. Nodding your head you decided that you'd had enough. You did not have to sit here and take his bullshit.

"You know, Billy. Slut-shaming isn't a good look on you." Waving to your friends, you quickly told them that you had to go. An emergency you said. But they knew better, their eyes fixed on Billy as he watched you walk out of the bar. Hands tightening around the bottle of beer he had ordered, he stood up once you disappeared amongst the crowd.

Without bothering to explain himself to the group, he simply followed you outside.

"Y/n." He called your name once he saw that you were already a bit far from the bar. In a couple of quick strides, Billy had gotten to you since you had slowed down.

"Go away, Billy." you didn't bother to look at him.

"Wait, wait," he said gently taking hold of your arm to get you to stop. And you did but stared at his hand on you until he dropped it and took a step back. "Look I'm sorry, I was an asshole." he apologised.

You only nodded to show him that you understood him but didn't offer any words to assure him that you forgave him.

"And I'm sorry you had to find out about Madani that way." He added hoping to make things right between you.

"Don't worry, it was actually an awakening for me." You added briefly looking at him. Tone harsh and unapologetic. You were still too mad at him to care about being considerate of your voice.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it made me realize that this," you gestured between the two of you, "was not working out for me."

"Oh really?" now the word had lost every tint of disbelief it had before. It was more like he was challenging you. Like he didn't quite believe you.

"Yes." you stood your ground pushing your shoulders back, "I figured out that I want more. And I know that I'm not going to get that from you."

"It was good while it lasted though," you called over your shoulders as you turned, ready to get the hell away from him. But the words he said though, made you halt on your feet.

"Who said you're not going to get that with me?"

"That would require feeling something for me other than lust, Billy." you snicked not fully turning around to face him, just your head.

"Who says I don't?"

"Madani, maybe?"

"She doesn't mean anything, y/n." He scoffed rolling his eyes.

"Of course you'd say something like this, Billy. Doesn't help though." As if him admitting to having meaningless sex with other women could help his case. Men. Fully done with this conversation you gave him one last look before turning away again.

"I know why you didn't eat those appetizers before." Again, after a few steps, his voice made you stop. This time, the implication of what he meant, sat heavily on your shoulders making you tense. Still, you didn't turn around.

That didn't deter him though.

"I know that you love them but they remind you of your grandfather. He used to make sure there would always be some of those at home whenever you went to visit him. And I know you haven't eaten them since-"

He stopped when your head whipping to him, eyes glaring.

He was right. You knew it, he knew it. But him strumentalising your beloved grandfather's death to get through to you? That was low, even for Billy.

Not only it called for you to acknowledge out loud that your grandfather wasn't there anymore but it also surprised you because you didn't think anyone would notice something so small.

"What are you saying, Billy?" Eyes glossy, like everything someone mentioned him, you tried your best to not let your voice waver.

"What I'm saying is that I care about you, y/n. I care enough to notice things. The tiniest details that you don't even know are there. Like that every time you're reading and something bad happens, you press your hand on your chest over your heart, as if you wanted to stop the pain from coming or something. Or that you always cook whenever you miss your family even if you never say it out loud. Or-"

"I get it Billy." you raised a hand to stop him. "You're observant. I knew that. That's basically what you do for a living. Not counting that you're a fucking sniper."

"Maybe," he conceded slowly taking a step in your direction, "I notice things, that's true. That doesn't mean that I store them in my mind, though."

"I care about you, y/n. A great deal. Enough to notice all the little things that make you you and enough to memorize them."

"I don't know if I can believe you, Billy. If you cared you wouldn't be going around sleeping with other women. And I know-" you added when you saw his mouth open to protest- " I know that technically we weren't together but still Billy. A technicality is not going to earn you my trust." Shrugging your shoulders you opted for being honest with him. You had never lied to him and you certainly weren't going to start now. Billy had never lied to you either, not that you were aware. And even if this thought should have reassured you, you were still hesitant about believing him.

"Then give me a chance to do so. Let me prove to you just how much I care about you and how little I care about everything else." He insisted, taking another step and then another until he was in front of you. Hands on your jaw, he delicately craned your neck so that your eyes could meet.

The height difference had always been a reason for jokes among you. It was no secret that Billy had a slight size kink, at least not to you, and so more often than not he'd use that.

Thumb slowly caressing your jaw, his eyes flickered between yours. They were full of hope, of promises but there was also a lot of vulnerability. Billy was not the type to be so forthcoming about his feelings. The fact that he had been with you, on a side street nonetheless, was a demonstration on its own.

Sighing, you knew you needed to decide. Yes, hearing Billy having sex with another woman had hurt you but you were not together. While that didn't make it hurt any less, it made the situation slightly less grave. He hadn't cheated on you, not really. You hadn't told him you wanted more. Hell, before that you didn't even know that you wanted more.

And now that you knew, now that he knew as well, here he was promising it to you. He wanted to give you exactly what you wanted. So could you really say no to him?

Of course not.

"Alright."

"Yeah?" a big smile grew on his face, his eyes twinkling in joy.

"Yeah, I'm going to give you a chance. Only one, Billy. So you better not mess this up." Poking his chest with a finger you warned him that this time around, things were going to be different.

"You're not going to regret that, babe." His eyes held a solemn promise. Just briefly though because soon, they were back to their usual mischief. Billy leaned to you, his lips meeting yours in a small kiss.

At first.

He kissed you soundly, his mouth perfectly on yours, building his tempo slowly. Then, you felt his tongue on your lower lip and you knew that things were about to escalate quickly.

Not that you minded of course, but it was not appropriate to do what you had in mind in the middle of the street.

"Billy," you moaned slightly leaning back to warn him that you couldn't get too carried away.

"Call that Jim guy," his mouth peppered small kisses along your jaw, "tell him that it's over. That he never stood a chance," he moved down on your neck.

"Yes."

"Let's go home so that I can show you how much more I can give you."His mouth had trailed back up and stopped so that it was hovering over your ear. His voice was low and breathy and husky and fuck it sent a wave of pleasure right in between your legs.

------

No sooner had you stepped over your threshold than Billy's hands were on you. The door barely closed, he pushed you against it. His hands cradled your face, effectively keeping you holding you in place while his mouth ravished you.

You gladly let him do as he pleased. Mouth opening to welcome his tongue while your hands gripped his jacket to keep you steady.

"Billy," you whimpered his name as his lips left yours. You tried to follow them by getting on your tiptoes but he didn't let you. Chuckling, he gave you another small kiss.

"Yes. Remember that it's me that it's making you feel this good. Me. Not Jim or whatever his name is, not anyone else. Me." He growled on your lips while one of his hands gripped the hair at the nape of your neck making you gasp.

Staring at his glowing dark pits you couldn't do anything other than nodding feverishly. You were at his mercy. Completely. And Billy knew that and it did nothing but please him to no end.

You'd always enjoyed whenever Billy was rough with you but him being jealous and kinda possessive too? Game changer.

Smirking at your reaction, his hands moved lower on your body until they hatched behind your knees pulling you up. Biting your lower lip, he swallowed your whimper for the friction once you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Billy didn't waste any more time, in quick long strides he was in your bedroom and threw you on the bed. You'd almost giggled when you bounced on it if it wasn't for the savage look in Billy's eyes.

Fuck, he looked so sexy. A sin.

For a moment, he just stared at you laid there waiting for him. A hand quickly wiped his face before he unbuckled his pants. Now it was your turn to stare at him. More like ogle but you knew he didn't mind.

Shedding his pants, he crawled over you until his face levelled yours.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want. And then some more." He promised, nipping your earlobe. "You're never going to feel the need to look for other guys."

"There's no one else I'd rather be with, Billy."

Your hands trailed over his still clothed back before tangling his always perfectly styled hair. "Only you." You whispered in his ear.

If it wasn't for your hand on his back, you would have missed him tensing. "Say it again," he demanded, his head still in the crook of your neck.

"You're the only one I want, Billy." You repeated knowing fully well how he struggled with accepting love and affection. This meant to him just as much as it did to you. He was giving you the promise of commitment but so were you. And despite the fact that you had already been loyal to him, you knew how important it was for him to hear the words.

"There's no one else for me either, y/n. Never was, never will be." He raised his head to say this. It was a confirmation, yes, but it also felt so much more coming from him.

He had been telling you how much he cared about you since you left the bar but somehow, him saying it again now held more meaning.

"You promise?"

You felt childish and it was probably pathetic of you to ask him again. But this was you being vulnerable, letting him know that you needed him. And you trusted Billy.

"You're mine." He said instead. One of his hands coming to cradle the back of your head while the other closed around your right breast.

"And I'm yours."

And here it was, the promise, the reassurance you needed. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss. It was wet and more teeth and tongue than anything but it was passionate. You were claiming each other.

Not separating your lips, he used his hands to get rid of your clothes. While he unbuckled your pants, you took his shirt off. Him doing the same with yours while you pushed his brief down on his legs.

Once you were completely naked, Billy crawled back over you. His hands resting at the sides of your head. He was everywhere. You could feel him between your legs, your arms wrapped around his back, your vision field occupied by his beautiful face.

He was everywhere, he was everything.

"And now, I'm going to leave no room for doubt in your mind anymore." He whispered on your lips, his cock rubbing over your slit teasing you about what was to come.

You had asked him for a commitment and fuck if he didn't commit to it. All night long.

[ibuki-loves-you]

Trigger Happy Havoc Girls with an S/O who is like Mikan

Warnings: Mikan's personality/actions

Mod Ibuki: Hey hey hey!! Sorry for the long wait on this :/ I hope it was worth it, though!

Kyoko:

Kyoko was immediately worried for your safety

She had a lot of questions

Why were you so shy? Had you been through something?

She kept those questions to herself though

If someone ever made fun of you, she’d glare

Literally just walk up to you, wrap on arm around your waist and the other on your arm

And glare

If you ever took a fall in front of her she’d carefully lean down and help you up, suggestive or not

Although she might blush a bit if it was a suggestive position

“There, you’re alright. It was just a small trip, thankfully.”

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for her, she would be appalled

“Love, I don’t want you to take your clothes off because I’m not in a particularly good mood. Bad moods are normal, that doesn’t mean you take your clothes off every time it happens. Don’t offer that to me unless you personally want to do it.”

Kyoko is not someone you can look at and feel as if she’s mad at you, because she makes it clear if she is

But if you did think she was, she’d be pretty upset

“No, love. I’m not mad. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing at all. I honestly don’t think I can be mad at you. You just seem to make everything better.”

Kyoko’s heart skips a beat whenever you’re around <3

Hina:

Hina LOVED YOU

The minute you two met she did not let you out of her sight for long periods of time

She was just worried someone would hurt you or take advantage of you

If someone ever made fun of you, she’d be so mad

No one wants to deal with mad swimmy baby

“That is so rude, you know!? That was completely uncalled for! There was absolutely no reason to say that! Now apologize!”

If you ever took a fall in front of her, she would honestly fall too just to make you feel less embarrassed

She’d cover you if need be, though

Either with clothing or with herself when she “falls”

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for her, she’d be in shock

Mainly because you offered it to her because you thought she was upset

“What!? Please, S/O, no! Don’t say that! Taking your clothes off won’t make me feel better, cuddles will! Get over here! Because of that statement, I demand you let me cuddle you!”

If you ever thought Hina was mad, which is rare, she’d he so upset

“Baby! No! Not at all! I could never be mad at you! I swear! Your face is just too adorable to be mad at!”

Swimmer baby just wants your happiness above all

Celestia:

Celeste would never admit it if anyone asked

But she loved you the minute she laid eyes on you

Your personality only made her want to be with you more

Not many people dared to bother you, but if an unlucky soul did try to do such a thing…

Celeste would give them a run for their money

“Are you fucking kidding me!? How dare you!? Why don’t you crawl back into whatever ditch you crawled out of and leave my significant other alone! Do I make myself clear!?” She’d turn to you and give you a soft smile. “Come on, dear. Let’s go get some tea to cheer you up, yes?”

If you fell in front of her, she wouldn’t be able to catch you without falling herself, but she’d immediately take your hands and help you up

“Come now, darling. Don’t cry, it was an accident. Everything is alright.”

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for her, it would take a second to click

But once it did her reaction was similar to Kyoko’s

“Darling, I don’t wish for you to take off your clothes merely because Yamada put me in a foul mood. I would much rather you keep said clothes on and have a cup of tea with me, maybe some conversation as well. Please don’t offer yourself to me out of pity.”

If you ever thought she was made at you, she honestly thought she was gonna cry

“W-What? Dear, no. Not one bit. Not one ounce of me is angered by you. I love you far too much to be mad at you. Now, come here and let me hug you.”

Celeste truly does care about you, more than she has cared for anyone before <3

Sakura:

Protective

That’s it

Sakura wants your safety above all, because she knows how shy people can be taken advantage of easily

If anyone dared to make fun of you, oh boy

Sakura is fucking terrifying

“I suggest you run before I snap you in half.”

That’s all it takes to send them on their way

If you fell in front of her, she would definitely be able to catch you

And she would!

But if you did manage to miss her arms, she’d pick you right back up and hold you

“See? I got you. Everything is okay.”

If you offered to take your clothes off for her, she’d be calmer, but nonetheless upset

“Hey, don’t do that. I don’t want you because of your body. I want you because of your personality. That’s what I fell in love with. Don’t offer yourself to me, or anyone else. Ever. It’s your body, you can most certainly choose what to do with it.”

If you thought she was angry with you, she’d be so quick to tell you otherwise

“No, not at all. I am not mad in the slightest. Even if I was, I’d never take my anger out on you. That’s wrong, and I love you too much to even think about doing that.”

With Sakura as your girlfriend, you will always be protected. And that’s a promise

Mukuro:

Mukuro is shy, but definitely not as shy as you

Like Sakura, she wanted your safety above all

Let it be from others or her cruel sister

If someone ever made fun of you, she’d be pretty angry

Hell, she may put those skills of hers to good use

“Hey. Don’t let me hear you say something like that again. Ever. That’s just plain disgusting.”

If you ever took a fall in front of her, her reflexes are extremely fast, so she’d try her absolute best to catch you

More often she does, but on the off chance she’s unsuccessful, she’d apologize with a bright blush

“I-I’m sorry, love. I tried to catch you, uh, I’m sorry. Here, grab my hands.”

If you offered to take your clothes off for her, she’d immediately say no

“S-S/O! No! No, I-I don’t want you to do that! I-I’m not in a bad mood, and even if I was I wouldn’t want you to take your clothes off just to try to improve my mood! Please don’t offer that to me, that’s practically violating you! And I don’t want to do that!”

If you ever thought she was mad at you, poor girl might cry

“L-Love, I’m not mad at all. I-I promise. Even if I was mad, I don’t think it could be caused by you in all honesty. I love you, okay?”

Soldier baby’s heart go brrr

Sayaka:

Shy or not, Sayaka’s a cute blushy mess around you

She still teases you in a friendly manner, but always makes sure you know she’s only playing

If anyone over bothered you, she’d be incredibly salty

Like, pettiness and all

“Oh, so that’s how you’re gonna be? Well, I’ll have you know that my significant other is NOT gonna do that. You’re a rude person and I hope karma hits you hard.”

If you took a fall in front of her, she’d screech so sound and try to catch you, but would most likely fail

When she saw that you were embarrassed, like Hina she would trip to make you feel better

“See, S/O? It’s fine! Now we both tripped, hehe! Isn’t that funny!”

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for her, she’d hug you immediately and try to make you happy

“Nope! I don’t want that, okay? I want to kiss your cute face! Not rub up on you because you want to make me happy! Now c’mere, so I can kiss your cute face!”

If you ever thought she was mad at you, though, she’d be really sad

“What? No, I’m not mad at all! Let alone at you! I promise, S/O. Even if I was mad, I’d have a peaceful conversation. Not a screaming match about it! Now, give me a hug!”

Sayaka will hug you as much as you please, as long as it makes you happy <3

Toko:

Toko thought you were annoying at first

But then she realized how similar you two were

Not long after, she fell in love with you

Just like in those cheesy novels she writes

If someone ever bothered you, she’d get pretty mad

Lowkey considers letting Syo out

“H-Hey, asshole! T-That’s a r-real d-dick t-thing to say! S-So w-why d-don’t you just g-go back to w-whatever ditch y-you crawled o-out of a-and d-die!”

If Syo was around when someone bothered you, well I think we know how that'll go

They aren't around anymore, especially if they were a pretty boy

If you ever fell in front of her, she’d lowkey get second-hand embarrassment, but would help you up anyways

“Hey, l-look, you’re fine. N-Not a scrape or anything. Y-You’re okay.”

Syo would leap into action immediately and pull you to your feet

"See!? It's like you never even fell! You're okay! No tears, I hate seeing you cry!"

If you ever offered to take your clothes off for her, she’d freak the fuck out

“W-What!? N-No! D-Don’t do t-that! K-Keep your clothes o-on! I-I’m n-not mad! E-Even if I w-was, I w-wouldn’t w-want you to s-strip! Y-You’re t-too p-pretty for t-that!”

If Syo was around, she would as well

"What!? Oh no no no, this just won't do! You're body is far to marvelous to be shown so willingly, y'know that? Don't let others see it so easy! Even if it is just me! Doesn't matter!"

If you thought she was mad at you, she’d scoff at first, but then realize you were being serious

“What? I’m not m-mad at you. W-Why would I b-be mad at y-you? I-I have no reason to b-be. D-Don’t say that, I-I’d tell you if I-I was mad at you...S-Speaking as if I-I c-could g-get mad at y-you.”

Syo would latch onto you and hug you, giving you a little spin

"No, dollface! I'm not angry at all! See? I'm happy! So happy! Especially because my baby-cakes is here! Now, c'mon! Gimme a smooch!"

Even though she’d deny it at first, Toko really does love you

[noperopesaredope]

"Mini" Ramble

(Sorry if this sounds like I'm targeting Europeans. I'm just talking about my experiences. Europeans, feel free to talk about this from a European POV)

One issue that I've noticed come up in regards to American race vs. European race (and honestly different places with different idea of race in general) as a half-Black African-American is how people will come to another country and not think about how they will be perceived by others in said country based on race.

Americans have long been trained to be able to generally tell what someone's race is and are often extremely observant when it comes to little features. We have a weird need to know everyone's race (don't ask why, it's an impulse at this point) and tend to use this knowledge to adjust our behavior accordingly, because again, race is very important in America.

It is one of the biggest aspects of identity for a lot of people, whether consciously or subconsciously. Race can affect your everyday interactions and experience in the world. Saying race doesn't have an impact on someone's life experience (at least in the US) is almost like saying gender doesn't have a big impact on someone's life experience.

But as I said, in the US, ethnic groups are often lumped together into broader racial categories, which isn't quite as prominent in Europe. So while someone might be considered a POC in Europe, in the US, they're just White. Thus, they are treated as White, and it can feel weird for them. It's almost like how I, as a white-passing/presenting (don't know what the correct term is anymore) half-Black person am definitely considered at least relatively black in the US (and so are many lighter Black-Americans). But in a lot of other places, I will be considered almost completely White, which can actually feel a little upsetting even if I understand why.

This can also go the other way around (though not with Europeans usually), kind of like with Trevor Noah. He is a half-Black half-White person from South Africa who was raised amongst Black folks. In South Africa, among fully Black folks, he was consider White, or at least mostly White. People referred to him as a "White boy." Fully White people would still be dicks to him, but it was kind of complicated and he had more White privilege.

But when Trevor came to the US, he was considered to basically just be a light skinned Black person. In fact, I didn't even know he was half-White until I read his autobiography/memoir. The definition of Blackness is much broader here than it is in a lot of other places (though this isn't just the case in the US). So he was a bit caught off guard to deal with American anti-Black racism, or at least had a slightly different understanding about what he could and couldn't do, as well as how he would be treated and perceived.

This is a tricky thing when it comes to different definitions of race (as well as cultural experiences as a whole). People aren't prepared for how people will perceive their racial identity in another country with a completely different idea of race or who counts as what. So we sometimes get mad when we aren't perceived the way we are used to being perceived and it feels invalidating at times. Thus, I think people also need to emotionally prepare for/be understanding if people from different countries and different cultures perceive them as a certain way.

They aren't trying to be too invalidating, they just have a very different concept of race than you. That's why some of these posts by Europeans talking about how Americans think they are White (or shouting at non-Europeans in general for calling them White) kind of annoy me to a certain degree. I am half-Black and it is important to my identity, but if someone from a majority Black country where most people have a much darker skin tone calls me White, I probably won't be that mad. I only really get mad when other Americans call me White or not Black, because we grew up in the same country with a similar understanding of race and I will deal with some of the struggles they will due to my Blackness. But non-Americans? I'll usually let it slide.

I get it, it can feel shitty to have your identity invalidated. This issues you face within the place you grew up in are valid, and to be considered a certain way can feel like your struggles are being dismissed. But that's what happens with cultural differences, and you need to be prepared for that. Just stay calm, explain how you feel and identify, and maintain patience if someone doesn't fully understand.

Hot Take: When it comes to the topic of race and racism as a whole, Europeans and Americans need to have separate conversations from each other.

(Explanation in this reblog)

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

[lostysworld]

A healing touch – Kaz Brekker x reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (final)

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warning: OOC (I hope it's not too much in this chapter :D), a little bit of angst.

Summary: something inevitable happens, that causes you to reveal your true feelings

A/N: I hope guys, you'll like it) Also I was hit by the song "Paradise" by Chase Atlantic, and I think it's perfect for them here))

Masterlist

The weather is perfect. Perfect for visiting your friends in the Crow Club. You don't have any plans for the whole day, and not even for helping your parents in the bakery, so you decide to spend this morning with pleasure.

The anticipation of seeing Kaz is so strong, after yesterday's evening, that your fingertips are tingling with joy. Does it mean, he will finally start treating you another way, more...intimate.

But when you come up to the club's doors, two men from Brekker's guard block your way. As you want to ask what the matter is, Jasper appears behind their backs.

– It's okay, guys. Let me settle this, - he claps their shoulders and comes to you.

– What's going on, Jas? - it is strange, that you are not allowed to go further. The boy's glance changes from cheerful to sympathetic one.

– I'm afraid, you are banished, Y/N.

– What?! Kaz banished me?

What you could possibly do to cause such a move from the man. When you left him yesterday's night, everything was alright.

– I want to talk to him.

– Y/N, I don't think-

– He banished me from the club, and, as I suppose, from the Slat too, and if it's his decision, I will not argue. But I only want to know the reason, Jas, - for a second you are peering at each other intensely. – Do I not deserve it?

– You do.

– Lead the way, then.

You may be a ray of sunshine, as others see you, but you also have a strength to fight back, if it's necessary. And now it is the time.

The wooden ladder squeaks under your steps, and you can swear, that Kaz already learns about your presence in the club. Well, he'd better know.

On the last stair you step forwards in front of Jasper, opening the door in Kaz's office. The man is sitting behind his table, showered with different documents. Rapidly he raises his head to meet you in the doorway.

Jasper takes a step back and leaves you two for his own sake.

Brekker furrows, his jaw's clenched.

– As far as I know, you are banished form the club, Y/N.

– We both know, I don't obey your orders.

You look at each other with such anger and rage, but deeply in your chest you still feel resentment towards him.

– What the matter, Kaz, - you throw you hands up, coming closer. Brekker doesn't move, he doesn't even take a step back from you. – Have I done something wrong?

Your eyes are roaming across his face. Kaz looks tired, as if he didn't sleep that night at all, dark circles under his eyes become more visible.

– Nothing, - he stands out of the table, leaning on its side now with arms crossed on his chest.

– Nothing? Is it your answer? - the man is still silent. – Don't want to give me a reason?

Of course he doesn't have to, but you think, he will do it as your friend. Even if you see him as much more than a friend to you.

– Kaz, we are friends-

– Yes...'friends', - his voice is full of unhidden venom, that makes you furious and lost at the same time. – Your friends are downstairs, and you still can meet them outside of the club.

You still don't understand, but something tells you, Brekker won't explain you anything. He has his own strange reasons, and, like everything else about him, you just have to accept this.

The man waves you off.

– If it's all, - he switches his displeased gaze on you. – I still have a lot of work.

Is it the end? He just doesn't want to see you anymore.

– Of course, Mr. Brekker, - he flinches barely visibly from your addressing. – I will no longer bother you.

You comes out, slamming the door behind your back.

Kaz closes his tired eyes rubbing his face. What did you want to hear from him? What could he possibly tell? That he doesn't want you here because of the constant life-threatening? That he serves as a magnet for all killers in Ketterdam, and is afraid that you will pay his price?

You'd better stay in your little shiny bakery and never met him in years.

The sudden urge to abandon it all and stop you from leaving is overweighted by his common sense, and he just throws everything from his table in anger.

Kaz Brekker is never drunk, but now something is driving him to the bottle of whiskey in his drawer.

Even if the man doesn't want to remember this now, the day, when he first met Y/N, is so vivid in front of his eyes.

Flashback.

It is a winter evening, almost night, calm and snowy, and Kaz comes out of the Slat to find Jasper, whom all of them are waiting for discussing the next heist. And why he of all of people, should look for him?

It is cold, and the man shrugs his shoulders. His leather gloves don't bring him any warm at all and his fingertips start freezing.

After a half an hour of wandering across the town, he finally hears that familiar voice and sees Jasper along with a young woman, who the boy is hugging with one arm.

– Why should I search for you, Jasper, while you're having fun with another girlfriend of yours?

Brekker is grim, but after one glance at the girl next to Jas, he feels a bit confused. Her wide y/c eyes seem looking right inside his soul.

– I'm not his girlfriend.

As fast as the boy opens his mouth to explain, the girl cuts him off. Her voice is calm, but the man catches a sparkle of surprise in it.

Jasper waves her to Brekker.

– It's Kaz, he's my boss, - the girl steps forwards and extends her arms for a handshake.

– Nice to meet you, Kaz, - a mischievous sparkle shines inside her gaze. – I'm Y/N.

Her voice rings, not getting lost in a noisy crowd. The way the young woman calls his name sounds...nice, and Brekker blinks for several times to return his previous cold demeanor.

She still stands with her hand awaiting for his reaction, and when Jasper wants to say about Brekker's touch aversion, the man instantly grabs her hand in his and shakes.

– Kaz Brekker, miss.

Her touch is warm, he feels it even through his glove. And all of her radiates with warmness, actually Kaz thinks it's a smell of baked bread.

A knowing grin appears on Jasper's face and he decides to keep quiet instead.

End of flashback.

Slowly you became a part of the team, and Kaz wondered for a thousand of times, how natural your presence was. It felt like the Crows have been knowing you for their whole lives.

And now you are gone, and it is his fault only. But Kaz would better know that you're safe, somewhere far away from him and his doubtful fortune.

The chilly wind becomes colder, as you make your way around Ketterdam, deciding not to come back to the bakery after your fight with Kaz. Otherwise you couldn't escape your mother's questions.

Slowly your anger calms down, and while the night falls on the town, you find yourself near the Slat.

Knowing this area you would never appear here in this time of the day or without any company, like Jas or Inej. Like Kaz.

You shake your head. Kaz kicks you out of his club like you have never belonged there, severing all the ties between you.

You feel yourself like a little naive girl, who is twisted around the finger will all your trust and friendship stuff.

There is no one except you on a narrow dark street, where only one lamppost is lit. Suddenly you hear steps behind you, that are echoing from dull stone walls of slams.

You turn around to see two men coming to you, as cold shiver runs down your spine. No way it can end up well.

You fasten you steps, noticing that the two behind you do the same. When you start running, you already abandon all thoughts about escaping alive.

In the end you bump into a wall, that can mean only a dead end of the street. Perfect, just perfect. Intending to come back while it's not that late, you doesn't notice a dark side street between two old houses, that may be your escape route.

But you still hesitate, and when you refuse to go there, someone's arm grabs you and drags into the alley.

Instantly a gloved hand closes your mouth, in case you want to scream. This familiar glance of Kaz in front of you calms down your rapidly beating heart, that pounds in your throat.

You exhale in relief, and both stand like this until the strangers' step disappear. He is so close to you, there is no an inch of space in between, but his palm. Slowly, he drops his hand, making sure that you won't scream.

He looks at you intensely like this for some minutes, and when the street is empty and silent, Brekker takes a step back.

– What the hell are you doing! - of course you could thank him first, but just can't hold back these words.

– Follow me.

He nods and goes further, not looking at you, trying to bring you to the safe place. After some time you find yourselves at the Slat with no Crows on the first floor.

Without a word you come with him into his room. Honestly, you don't have a slightest idea, what he is going to tell you now, after you morning incident.

The door is closed, and it feels like your freedom is cut off by his own hands.

– When I last saw you, I was a whiny pain in the ass, - you arch a brow at him. – And now you are waiting for me on the streets to save from a pair of thugs.

Brekker is silently watching you and it starts to drive you mad.

– Did you bring me here to keep quite, Kaz? - you watch him turn with his back to you and freeze. – At least tell me, what were you doing-

– That is the reason! - Brekker slams his hand on the table surface, and you flinch. – You think, that I don't care, but it's not true.

– Kaz-

– I banished you from the club, because I simply don't want you dead. Or this day didn't teach you anything?

– So you don't want me here? - your gaze is locked on the man. – You just throw me out.

– Is it the only thing you've heard?

– Than why I'm here now?

You know, he wants you alive, it is his only intention, but it's time for you to settle this. When Brekker doesn't respond, you go on.

– Oh, I can tell you, why, - you take several steps towards him, and the man doesn't move away. – Because I'm much safer here, in the Crow club or in the Slat, doesn't matter. Any place, where you are, I'm safer, Kaz.

– But you...you deserve more than the Crow club or the Slat, - he comes up to you, leaving a short distance between. – You deserve so much more, Y/N, and I can't give you that.

It is enough. Your emotions overwhelm you, and all anger, resentment and longing for the man you love now turn into tears, that are just flowing freely down your cheeks. You know every thing, that Kaz thinks about himself, and you just want him to shut up. Only because he deserves more too.

– I'm not asking for more, Brekker. Why don't you see it?

– Why are you so stubborn? - Kaz shortens the distance, taking his gloves off. He is watching a stray tear on your cheek, but can't force himself to raise his hand and brush it off.

– Because I love you, Kaz. If you want it or not.

The man stays speechless. Not that he doesn't want it, but he just doesn't expect your feelings. He shakes his head.

– It won't end up well.

– It isn't supposed to end, Kaz! - his answer only makes you cry more, as you turn away from him, starting roaming around the room. Why should he always be like this? – Unless you want it to end, of course.

– And what do you want, huh?! - the anger slowly overflows him. – If everything stays like this, that will only give you another reason to hate me in the end, Y/N!

– What do I want? I want to spend my life with you, Brekker, every single moment of it, - you throw your hands up in displeasure. – But as I see, it's not mutual.

Kaz is still silent, and you only have to leave him be. You don't want to hurt him with your words, and knowing that, you'd better go away now.

When you go downstairs, you see Nina and Matthias, but don't even turn to her, calling you. You know, it's rude, but nothing matters now.