#things get very muddled and awful

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 1

[prompt: against a wall window]

male reader x huh yunjin

5k words

You're not entirely sure where the jacket to your suit has gone.

You know you should know; it’s a rental and you need to return it in a week. But Yunjin told you to take it off, and since then, things have been... a little hazy.

More concerning - or it would be, had Yunjin not also lost some part of her attire - is what her thumbs are hooked into. Like she's peeling out the silhouette to her skin-tight, backless dress - the way she can't keep from leaning against the elevator wall. Your lips have the taste of her red lipstick all over, and her body melts with every little flick of the tip of her tongue against yours, puddles that much further when she feels your fingers curling into the folds of that skin-tight black material.

The motion to push the fabric up and over the rise of her hips is a purposeful kind of thing.

For the past hour, her skirt kept brushing over the fabric of your pants while you went from shaking hands to kissing hands to her placing yours on the hem of her dress, in the quiet space of a balcony the hotel staff had clearly marked as off-limits. A kiss behind the shell of her ear, a suggestion, a shiver.

Now, things are happening in a sort of reverse: from slow and curious, to needing more and wanting less, and suddenly, neither of you want to wait - until her thighs are spread wide apart, with your free hand slid over her smooth thigh, fingers skirting the edges of her lace, cupped over her heat - right, there. The throbbing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me," is what she's asking.

"Something awful," you reply, but there's only a gasp out of her throat to prove your point. No words.

Just the look: desire clouding over the expression. The not-so-subtle display of want, need. Tongue pressing to lips and tugging along the corner. A moan, two, quieted behind the knuckle she can't quite help putting in her mouth.

You consider shoving her panties down the curve of her thighs and spinning her around - leaving her arms to brace the railing and keeping the dress around her waist while you fuck. Quick, rough.

The mental image is too nice to let it go.

You consider how much she might genuinely prefer to that to whatever she'd had in mind when she suggested you really ought see the view of the city from her room - oh, the skyline, it's gorgeous, she offered, lips tugged into a perfectly practiced little quirk that said: the view of me, on all fours, face down into a mattress as my ass swallows down your cock - I can't wait to have you.

You can feel the thought concrete itself to the base of your skull when you roll the flat of your finger over her clit and start sliding up and down between the lips of her pussy - finding her a little wet already, dripping onto the fabric in the most obvious way. When the elevator stops a few floors shy, you try to play it off by squeezing at her rib cage and tugging the fabric back in place, hiding the tell-tale lines between the fabric, just as Yunjin starts that gentle laugh from the very base of her spine. A real beautiful timbre in its sound.

But things get more muddled, admittedly, when the doors ding and the group on the other side piles through.

There's an exchange of glances, where they're asking if this is allowed, is there enough room, can they make room. One of them, in a dizzyingly plunging, strapless blue number that has you pressing your palm into the small of Yunjin's back just a little more than you have been up to that point, considers, carefully.

"Yunjin," she says, fingers brushing through the fringe of a smart-chic bob, prim cut of jet-black hair.

Yunjin shifts her weight onto the other heel. "Chaewon."

"By the looks of it," she says, and the way she looks you over has all the judgmental verve of an older sister, a real cold stare. "You've got a I'll-be-staying-in-tonight kind of vibe."

A deeper laugh now, rolling out across the backs of her teeth. "If it's all the same to you," is what you hear from her, "it'll be an early night for me."

“Don’t make it a habit,” she tells Yunjin.

“We’re just going to go enjoy the view.”

“Yeah.” Chaewon gives you one final, disapproving expression. “I bet he will.”

The elevator isn't totally silent, not for the subtle hum and whir of machinery. But everything is a lot closer now. Especially your thoughts, the way Yunjin pulls herself closer against you by a hand on the back of your dress shirt - her fingernails mapping the ridge of your spine, finding your hip bone, thumb curving back and forth against the curve of it.

The four girls at the corner are just making chatter in their corner of the lift. They've got a reservation - in name, anyway. If things were as simple as getting from the hotel to the elevator and beyond, no need for the next forty floors to pass at a snail's pace.

In fact, the four have this sort of tense, concentrated way to them that suggests otherwise - like maybe they came all this way and made that sort of promise to have the whole night end the way some things ought: alone.

"Don't stop on account of us," one of them says after a while.

Which is enough to set off this glare into the furl of Yunjin’s brows. Not her friend's intention. But they laugh it off.

When the doors scuttle open, finally, the two of you stumble out, feet not catching up to the rest of you before Yunjin has her fingers around your wrist and drags you out. Her heels - red-bottomed and not entirely flat but definitely a lot less heel-ey than others (she’s tall, she says, it makes her self-conscious), are clacking quick across marble tile until she arrives at the door of her room, pulls her keycard out of her clutch and leans shoulder-first into the door after the click and whir of entry.

She takes a step backward.

The door locks at your back when it's kicked into its frame.

The first thing you notice is her dress: pooled on the floor around the arches of her heels, cast off like a cloak or some overcoat - to be tossed aside once the sun goes down.

"Make a habit out of this, huh?" you ask in an effort to keep yourself busy - gawking's never been a good look on anyone, even with your natural gifts, the glint in your smile, all your charm - but the curves of her body are stunning, curves that start where her thighs begin, wrap around her hips, cut in at her waist, bloom from the perfectly-small-breasts that now are showing their dusky pink nipples, firm and on full display.

All of Yunjin, like this, beneath pale moonlight pouring diffuse through the fish-bowl-glass of her hotel room, is nothing short of an invitation.

A good look, is what you're about to say if you don't come up with anything else.

"You do this kind of thing often?"

"What's that," Yunjin says over the sharp line of a grin.

"What I mean to say is: I hadn't pegged you for the," and you gesture, rather elegantly, with the flop of your wrist, "lure-some-poor-sap-away-from-a-party-and-take-advantage kind of type," before managing something like a genuine laugh. "Not to knock that lifestyle or anything."

"There's not a thing in the world you know about me," is what she offers. Which is, unsurprisingly, totally true, and slightly unfair.

Yunjin is walking toward you while you consider it.

Drifting when she comes around. It's that close. You can smell the warmth of her skin, a whiff of that vanilla, an infuriating softness - the room is dark, but the moon is bright and the city is glowing, reflecting its light and the various hues from neon signs below, outside, until Yunjin stops, standing right in front of you, just, waiting.

Then, the steady rise of an eyebrow that, for a second, feels like a challenge.

“So," you kiss into her lips, and that's the first. "Let me know you."

The second is when her hands slip up and over the back of your neck and you can't keep from reaching for her sides, pulling her closer. Her hips and ass and those fucking gorgeous, full, legs that can't decide which direction to take - until she's pressed, warm, soft, and perfect against your body, and she's sighing this sigh, heavy, a moan.

The third time, she's licking into your mouth, tongue rolling in and around the taste of your own.

"Too many clothes," she murmurs, and you can feel the pull at your half-undone bowtie, the collar to your dress shirt. She's working the buttons off their slots with deft, clever fingers.

"That's what happens when I'm trying to look sharp."

"Sharp, and hot."

"Is it working?"

Her eyes are as dark as the hair framing the smile that plays at the edge of her mouth. "I'm taking your clothes off, aren't I?"

"Mm," you reply, a smirk of your own. Pressed right into her jaw, her neck, the column of her throat, where she tastes sweet and salty. Like the sea and the night. Before you can even ask, with your fingers teasing the elastic of her underwear, I'm guessing you want me to do the same.

Yunjin makes a sound like, mm-hm.

The hotel room is quite standard, which is to say, nice. But, for what it is, it's not too fancy. There's a large, king-size bed with the crispest sheets you've ever felt. A little kitchenette. Some counter space and a fridge. A TV hanging opposite the bed, with an armchair and a love-seat positioned to face the screen.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?" Yunjin asks, and her voice is low. Almost a husk, a whisper.

"What did you have in mind?" you say to her, and there's a hand on the nape of your neck, a fist of soft, slender fingers wrapping the length of your cock.

"You're going to fuck me until I'm cumming on your cock. You'll get me on my knees, first, though."

"That's the plan?"

"Unless you have another." Yunjin grins, a smile so full and bright and genuine. You don't know anything beyond her name and the perfectly sculpted curve of her ass. She could be anyone, an actress, a singer, a model. A girl-next-door. A friend of a friend.

She could be yours.

And in a way, when she's on her knees, her mouth hot and tight around the shape of your cock, those fucking lips pressed into the base of it, sliding easy with the spit she leaves on your shaft, that's exactly what you tell her.

"Yunjin," is all you're saying, a sigh, a hiss. You're helping her get your pants off the ends of your feet while your cock is lathered and bathed in her spit, feeling her slender fingers pull up and down your shaft. "That feels so fucking good, baby. Just like that." It's fast, sloppy, she's taking you in and out of her hot mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world. A slurp, a cough, and she's completely unfettered, sucking down and swallowing another breath - not to mention all that about her tongue. A swirl over the head of your cock and you show how much you like it, letting her read the bite into your lip, inventorying every little wince through your brow.

But see - you have your fingers in her hair, holding the strands away from her face. Away from where Yunjin's eyes are breathtaking and glittering, blinking back up under upturned brows, looking up at you from where she's taking you into the hot wet of her mouth, inch-by-inch. And the part of you, this cruel, twisting sensation, would hate for her to think anything of your hands - how they're at the top of her head, cradled behind, and easing her forward, the head of your cock teasing the roof of her mouth.

The back of her mouth.

The back of her throat.

Fuck, her eyes go wide. She's good. She takes it.

And just from the pretty look she keeps on her face, Yunjin loves it. Loves to be pushed, loves to have her hands running along the ridge of your thigh until her fingers are prying the very bottom, the underside, your balls. Like this, with her kneeling down between your legs, the flexing muscle of her upper arms to her palms squeezed tight on either cheek of your ass, where the heat starts to stir deep - to pull. Bring the full length of you to the back of her throat.

The choked sound from deep in her chest should surprise you.

And for the shortest moment, you're holding still and forcing her head, your hands keeping her perfectly put: just there, right there. Exactly like that - where she could look like the perfect mess and feel a twitch right between those lips that keep asking so kindly, go ahead, fuck a load of cum down my throat, baby, use these lips - the soft swell of these lips until you're cumming for me.

Or something else along those lines.

The thought of it crosses your mind: cum spilling from the corner of her mouth as she tries to take everything you have. The flutter in her throat wringing it all down. The mess that all would make. Not that she isn’t already a perfect sight.

You tug on her hair again.

Yunjin's eyes sparkle.

Her eyelashes go a little droopy, hazy. Dark.

And she starts humming across this wistful note of a sigh as her lips start slipping over your shaft - dragging in that slow, agonizing, blissful way over everywhere sensitive and aching. Taking her time, while one hand goes up and strokes what her mouth can't touch, while you pull her head, those perfect strands, just a touch further down, because if she can't quite deep-throat you then Yunjin can give a goddamn masterful impression.

Her cheeks hollow, and the suction - god.

You could cum right in between the pretty little pout of her lips, over the flat of her tongue. Right down her throat.

But in a turn of events neither of you anticipate, you don't do it; you are, much like anyone else, not without limits. Which is probably how you end up lifting Yunjin back up by the underside of her elbows, asking, "that feels a little one-sided, no?"

It's only fair to pull a smirk, kiss, all the best tricks - all for the best parts of her, full, curving, down from her neck, shoulders, her arms, the palms of her hands, every part of her: that perfect shade of peach, pink. From there, everything else falls away. The slow way Yunjin sneaks away with the kind of saunter you'd expect, hips swaying all the way up, sashaying out this inviting side-to-side before you realize it's working -

And you're asking, "Yunjin?" then telling, "I want you up against that window."

The sun's long set - but it'll come up soon enough, over the edges of skyscraper-blocks and shining up out from the base, until everything is bright and gleaming.

"Which window?" she teases.

So you swat at her ass. A not-so-delicate slap. "I don't care so long as I fuck you into it."

"And if someone sees?" she laughs out, still intent on teasing you, and the small edge in her voice is some combination of excitement and worry.

"Then we better give them something worth seeing."

Yunjin's palms land flush to the glass, fingers spread out - wide, wanting, willing - where the blue, yellow glow of city lights shines in over the curves of her profile, the slope of her cheek, the bright pools her irises turn under the warmth. She's the only thing worth seeing, and there's nothing that could possibly stop you from needing, wanting more, right now.

There's no other explanation. No other reason, really, to explain how you're desperate: to fill her, bury yourself inside her - to where you're promising, coming up behind her and guiding her over - so you can spread those creamy thighs apart, push her shoulders up against the cold surface of the window. Where she'll catch a view of her reflection staring back at her: beautiful, exposed, and hers.

"I'm going to fuck you now," is exactly what she's been begging you to say, is why she ends up feeling, with the deep, twisting need building somewhere, how you'll work your cock so deep into her wanting cunt that the only thing that makes her legs go weak - wobbling, really - is the promise of cock rubbing so close and teasing the slick folds between her legs. Until she's a little more demanding, needy - and fuck, where is all the foreplay you'd promised earlier? That perfect, thick cock of yours is missing. She knows what all this really needs.

"Yeah? You need me here?" and she gets this whine, a little pathetic, but in the cutest way.

Yunjin turns her eyes to you, over her shoulder, just the faintest bit of a sneer. 

Because she needs it, right now - rough, quick, good. 

A gasp catches in her throat when you drag your cockhead through her wet heat, once, twice, and the slide of it against her clit becomes the only thing that matters in the entire goddamn world. 

"Inside," her teeth are clamping hard on her lip now, holding it from trembling as she tries to put words together, "Put," is where she loses focus and you're sucking, and kissing, and biting at her shoulder, "put, fuck. Please, put your, put - that cock of yours in my-" You slip into her hot-soaking-wet cunt, and after you've clenched a fist and brought a palm to the center of the window, so that you could open up your body around her a little easier, her muscles squeeze and grip and milk the first few strokes so tight. So-fucking-good.

There's not even a word for it, how she fit like a glove around the first thrust, but if the expression on your face says anything, it's everything Yunjin wanted and more: the shape, the angle, how you're pressing your fingers so hard into the impossible geometry of her waist, the round of her ass - oh, she’ll be a mess of red marks, shapes and lines, reminders of how good you fucked her - these long deep strokes in and out of her creaming pussy - evidence left where the heat inside her builds and pools.

And god, Yunjin is so, so easy to fuck: you can pound into her as rough and steady and fast as she'd begged - there with your other hand, pulling hard, hard, at the loose, dark locks of her hair. Where it has Yunjin gasping, moaning, the whole nine. She has to look to find her balance - and meets the two silhouettes framed inside the reflection on the window. Two shapes, lost in the blurred shadow and outline of lights outside the hotel window, behind which the whole city and its crowds might have stopped the way they'd started, with the rest of you caught between these strange moments:

First, the mindfulness. The purpose and meaning in movement, sensation. In being alive and young, hot, gorgeous and dumb as you can afford to be be.

Yunjin's murmuring, "right there, I want you," or telling, or begging, "don't, you have no idea, I, no-" until your body presses flush up against hers, hips rocking into her perfect figure - taking you like she was built for it, and everything feels so much tighter now, so much closer. Her palms and cheek against the glass, her knees are all shaking and ready to fold at any moment. "So deep, fuck. Fuck me right there, just like that."

Then as you suppose, the unbridled lust on display: Yunjin's turned to this kind of abandon - she's swearing out loud, saying things that have no name and very little form until you've dragged the roughness of your fingers all over her body and found she needs a palmprint on her inner thighs, her ass. That she's whimpering with every deeper plunge until, finally, she gets what she's after - and the words are falling out of her mouth. All it does is mean nothing now - whatever you've been waiting to hear, the pleas to fuck her harder, the cocksleeve talk, or any other request or order.

It's a small miracle, really, considering how she'd gotten you throbbing and aching with just the press of her lips and the dangerous little curl of her tongue - the tight heat all in the back of her throat - but Yunjin cums first.

Loudly. 

Messily, too, as she rides out the feeling - tightness gathering right into her core. But her head, it's in the clouds and a little far away, the skyline bathing her skin in shades of glittering silver and gold. And god, the heat of her tight, twitching, soaked pussy - pulsing around the thrusting curve of your cock: the sublime kind of place, spot, rhythm.

How her arms give out and she's pressed, flushed, back to chest with you, right there. Her words are soft. Wholly unimaginative: yes and fuck, yes and oh, she wants you, loves how well you fuck. The murmur comes from that gorgeous body of hers, the exact shape of everything that feels good to feel. The jut of her hips and her legs are longer than her height suggests they'd be, flawless from the ankle and foot to her thigh to where your arm wraps around the base of her ribs, hugging her from the back.

It's a perfect fit.

And not in the glass-slipper kind of way that means there is such a thing as a soulmate, no.

"Cum in me," she breathes, and then - all over. That's it. The moment your fingers are splayed back out over the pane of window, she can't hold her gaze steady. Those tears prick up at the corner, where they get caught. Where her voice is too high and pitchy - begging, a whining noise and some syllable. Something inaudible that has pressing these hot, open-mouthed kisses right into the pretty rise-and-falls of her spine. The sloppy-wet sound from your cock slipping back in, and back again, until you're just left fucking these little ragged breathes out of her chest.

The space between her lips and the glass, the white-ghosting breaths of air out between those plump little pouts that have shaped and molded themselves into some version of words, a few half-finished pleads: “kiss, hold, fill, fuck, just," and, "my body, love-

"Your fucking pussy, Yunjin, holy shit, it's - fucking - so, god," you all but growl out.

Pounding into the tight clench of her cunt.

The bed in the other room might be the better choice, the sheets and pillows for more support than the hard wall she's propped against. But the glass, to see the view and take her up against it: it feels nice, cool and comfortable, even when your motion makes it fogged and sticky with condensation. She had, when your first thrust pushed inside the molten heat of her pussy, reached around the corner - fingertips splaying wide apart, up, along the foggy pane, watching the shadow of her palms turn blurry and indistinguishable against the soft glow of neon beyond.

"I'm cumming," you tell her, "I'm cumming - fuck," before shoving her body even further into the glass. Fucking her hard - just short of bending her to the point of where she might break.

That last stroke or two goes a little wild; all that coiled and pressurized want and need, boiling over the moment you fuck your cum deep into her trembling body. This time, your sounds aren't just the thoughtless hum and groan from the depth of your lungs, but some collection of dirty words, grunts. Nasty things. A whole host of obscenities: like how it's for the sake of claiming, leaving something of yourself behind. How you're pulling the smooth, curve of her hips into your body to push as much of yourself inside the gripping warmth of her. How your hot cum is starting to spill from her pink, perfect, hole - all for the better because when you take your thumb and swirl and trace and smear all along her slippery-wet slick, she gets like this: squirming in these lazy, needy little wriggles against your touch.

It takes the two of you sometime longer to move. Not long, but, you know, a little while.

When it is that Yunjin comes back to herself, you feel the smile as the ghost over your arm.

The kind of thing to ask, though you're too fucked to pay attention, are questions about life: where do you go to school, how long will you stay? All of that. There's a quiet moment where your mind plays back, vaguely, a little more intensely, the realization - and regret of it, the waste - of fucking a stranger for a night.

And in a real short moment:

"That was - really good," she says, still not recovered quite enough to walk.

Yunjin sounds all that same: a stranger. Not familiar. That's, like, your last chance or whatever. Before this becomes a one-off.

("Stay for a while?" is what she doesn't manage to ever ask.)

"Have to leave early tomorrow." And she looks at you, shoulders dipping at the ends. She says things like: "my work," and "we have an international flight. Customs is a bitch."

"Oh," is what you say to all that, looking her body over again, drinking down all the small details of her. The ones you'll lose forever after tonight. All of them, you know.

All because that's how it had to be, from the start.

"For sure."

Yunjin's hands are twisting at the end of her hair, stroking and brushing through the silky, black strands. Just for something to do: maybe, optimistically to keep herself occupied with some semblance of a thought that has nothing at all to do with how she can't seem to shake this sudden, cresting wave of frustration - how there's an urgent throb from deep within, pushing into her skin like a force.

You swallow. Try to smile. "It was fun."

-

The hotel's checkout desk is staffed by a cheerful looking man, almost fresh out of high-school. Too cheerful a smile, perhaps, and maybe a little too bright for the time of day. You'd been busy pacing the lobby, trying not to stare at your phone for the third or fourth time since stepping out of the elevator. Your feet have scuffed the ground under the coffee table, around the floral couches - almost tripping over the boutiques lined in the middle of this path. Likely you'd have considered them if you weren't focused elsewhere.

Thinking about how you'd put off any discussion about piecing back together your rental suit.

"Did you have a good stay, sir?" the concierge asks, reaching out across his desk to pick up a card. He's placing a machine in front of him.

Your face warms ever-so-slightly. "Wonderful."

"That's what we like to hear. Just swipe your key here."

The machine's screen flashes and there's another cheerful beep, indicating everything was processed.

"Could you get me my receipt?"

"Absolutely. One second."

And the printer whirs to life: spitting out line-after-line of printed data. Until there are twelve characters of nonsense and garbage, including but not limited to the link to a questionnaire and an explanation for all the boxes marked 'x'. It also indicates your total costs (minimal, really) and lists a detailed breakdown of services: breakfast, in-room bar, laundry, towels - all the necessities.

"There, would you like- wait. Sir? Someone asked me to hand this to you," and after reaching under the desk, "looks like a suit jacket of sorts."

"Oh."

He raises an eyebrow. "From the event, I'm assuming."

It's hard to tell what it's about. But as you wrap your fingers into the cloth of the fabric, tug at it a bit, there's a note that slips and falls to the floor.

You sort of frown, skeptical. Fumble with the note. And the note says this:

In your absence, I helped myself to your jacket, your wallet, an extra serving of breakfast, as well as a large iced-coffee. Promise you I'll get the next one. Call me: (xxx)-xxx-xxxx.

Affectionately, your (girl)friend for an evening,

Huh Yunjin

[tetzoro]

˖˙ ꔫ — FEELS LIKE SUNSHINE ˚

꒰ synopsis : you’ve been having a tough time but kuroo is there to take care of you and remind you how loved you are. this fic is very indulgent so thank you for reading ❤︎ ꒱

꒰ contents : kuroo tetsuro x f!reader ; negative beginning but happy ending, hurt/comfort, non sexual nudity, use of pet names (sweetheart, beautiful, my girl) sappy at the end lol — WC : 1.8k ꒱

“Long day?” Kuroo asks, holding you close as you start to settle back home. The familiarity is swirling around you, yet you’ve never felt so out of place. You can’t even grace his question with an answer.

The world was muddled, gray. All of the colors around you felt muted and wilted away without the joy the sun brings. 

It wasn’t often you felt like this, but in light of recent events, it’s become your new normal. A blanket of barbed wire wrapped around your shoulders, never letting you rest or relax completely.

You could see the look on his face, the worry etching along his beautiful features twisting the knife in your stomach, nausea rising up your throat. The buildup of bile threatened to spill out and you were choking back the words you desperately wished to say.

Life had a nasty habit of floating out of your grasp, the good things slipping through your fingers and leaving you holding nothing but vacant space, wondering what happened.

It wasn’t that your life had lack of love or enjoyment, but today all of it felt miles away as you’re faced with your reflection — everything bad staring back at you that makes you want to shrivel up and hide away, covering the mirror up in hopes it was all an illusion.

Insecurity and self-doubt chip away at you, taunting you as false memories try to validate all your worst demons, all boiling down to one simple thing.

The absence of hope.

The loss of light that causes darkness to flood in, sticky and invasive, a parasite that latches onto your flesh and bones, tormenting your mind with its lies that only selfishly feed into its lifespan.

Breaking out of it can be a terrible thing. It can hurt like hell — feel like it too as you rip apart something that’s glommed onto your skin and drains you of all the goodness you still desperately tried to hold onto. 

But his touch helps bring you back. The gentle brush of his fingers along your cheek refocuses all of your thoughts — attention landing right back onto him.

“That bad, huh?” Kuroo gives a small smile, one that plants a seed of hope back into your body. The little joy he carries on his face as he looks at you warms and nurtures it, the feeling beginning to bloom and blossom into a rebirth. “Aw, come here, sweetheart.”

The hug he gives you grounds you, pushing all the spiraling pieces of your mind back together, his love consuming you as his arms wrap around your body. 

“Just been a little rough lately.” You mumble, cheek resting against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat a calming beacon of hope. After the agony of sailing alone in the dark for so long, your lighthouse stands tall, looking for you at every mile.

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head, giving you an extra squeeze. “But I've got you.”

“You don’t have to.” Self-sabotage floods your veins, your hands already trying to push against him, your body pulling away as you’d do anything to keep him from barring the weight you carried on your shoulders.

Kuroo lets you get some space, but you still feel his light touch you. The soft expression he had, the way his fingers twitched with need, already itching to have you back in his arms.

“I want to.” Not an ounce of hesitation wavered in his voice and you blink back a tear, desperately trying to hold your ground.

You wanted to give in so, so badly. But the thought of having anyone feel an ounce of what you felt scared the shit out of you. A last-ditch effort to protect them from you and all the hurt you held.

“I don't want to burden you.” The confession is but a whisper, secretly hoping that he didn’t hear you. But he does, he always takes it in and understands you even when your voice shakes.

“You couldn’t burden me even if you tried.” The fondness in his promise almost scared you, your walls screaming to be put back up. But you knew it was a lost cause, he was nothing if not persistent.

“But-“

“And even if you could,” he pauses, smoothing his palms over your cheeks and down your shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead, speaking his next words against your skull as if your brain would be forced to take them in. “Then please, please burden me.”

“What—“ He cuts you off before you can try to doubt his plea.

“I’ve chosen, committed to loving you. All of you, no matter what. We’re a team, remember? So, burden me.” The fiery intensity in his amber eyes shows you there’s not an ounce of doubt, no hesitation to what he just admitted. It tugs at your heart in all the right ways.

His forehead leans against yours, gazing down at you with all the love and care in the world that it makes you feel silly for ever doubting it. The lingering feelings remain, something deep down inside of you that wants to come out.

“Tetsu, I don't even know where to start.” your voice is still small, vulnerability creeping up on you, pressing down on your back as you fall deeper into his embrace. 

“Then why don’t we get a little more comfortable?” Kuroo asks, innocently enough. “Pouring out your heart out in the front foyer doesn’t seem ideal now does it?”

“No.” You shake your head, a hint of a smile lining your lips. The slight twitch fills Kuroo's heart with hope. He gently takes your hand, leading you further into your shared apartment. 

He’s quiet for a moment and you wonder if he’s feeling the weight you carry on your shoulders through the mere act of holding hands. Before you can slip through his fingers, he holds on tighter, tugging you forward so he can wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“What do you say, beautiful? Take a bath, order some takeout, and maybe tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His other hand reaches up, gently booping you on your forehead, followed by the tip of your nose. 

“Yeah.” The light begins to seep back into your soul the more you melt into his side, tucked away from the ugly thoughts that were invading your space these past few days. 

To say you were lucky was an understatement. To have someone who’s willing to sit with you for as long as it takes until you muster up the courage to speak about your troubles is more than you could ever ask for.

The patience and care that exudes from the man beside you is almost infectious. Love pours from every word and every action he commits, flooding the walls of your heart until you have no choice but to open the doors and let him fully consume you. It only makes it easier knowing that he’s held the key all along.

“Get in there.” Kuroo smirks, jerking his head to the drawn bath, a waft of lavender filling your nose – the kind he knew you always loved. It crinkles your nose just right, scrunching it up in a blissful state that catches the sparkle of Kuroo’s bright eyes. Everything looked beautiful and your heart has never felt so warm, so cherished.

One of your favorite things about this apartment was the bathroom, as silly as it sounds. The high rise you lived in left big windows in every room, this one being no exception. The city lights shone beyond, letting you gaze out into the world when it didn’t have the opportunity to look back.

It’s amazing how one moment you can feel so down in the depths of despair but looking out at the window from this height serves as a reminder of how far up from the bottom you are. The progress you’ve made doesn’t become exempt the moment things start getting tough again, it’s merely another test that aims to show you how far you’ve truly come.

As you crawl into the warm water of the tub, letting the bubbles soak away your worries and sing you melodies of relaxation, Kuroo goes the extra mile. Because of course he does. There were a few candles you kept in the linen closet for nights when you two wanted to have a romantic bath. He lights them anyway, adding to the cozy ambience, and your heart soars at the thoughtful gesture.

“Are you planning on joining me?” You ask, eyes on him, watching him scurry around the small space to make things perfect. His head whips around to you, gaze softening once again before something mischievous swims his golden irises. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Kuroo quickly takes off his clothes, not giving you nearly enough time to admire his toned body before he slipped in behind you, sturdy arms holding you flush against him. “There, now we’re all nice and cozy.”

“Thank you, Tetsu.” You sigh a breath of relief that had been trapped somewhere deep within, locked away with a key that had been thought to be lost. Leaning back against his shoulder, you realize how much you needed this — him.

His syrupy sweet lips brush against your head like the sun kissing the horizon as it rises once again. It fills you with warmth, support, gratitude. Everything wonderful in this world birthed from a simple kiss that held all the love you needed. 

“You can always lean on me, I won’t ever let you fall.” Kuroo’s voice is softer than usual, a tone reserved for you and these tender moments when you need a little extra gentleness. The tender, reassuring words cradle around your ear and hold your heart steady as his arms loop around you, securing you in place. “I promise.”

You know your thanks will fall on deaf ears, that this simple task he’s doing for you is no sweat off his back. The only thing he craves to hear from you is your acceptance, your willingness to let him in so you can tackle everything together like the power couple you were meant to be.

“Okay.” You whisper out into the soft-lit room, letting the atmosphere of love and bubbles consume you, melting away your troubles like the wax that drips from the candles. “I will.”

“That’s my girl.” Without even seeing his face, you know he’s smiling. A proud grin he notoriously wears like his finest suit whenever he finally achieves his goals. The one he knew he’d sport in only a matter of time after he broke down your stubborn walls once again. 

Tender hands rub along your arms, his lips brushing along your head as he hums to the tune that never fails to make you smile right back. The song you would often sing to each other in the sweet moments in your life whether it be slow dancing in the kitchen as dinner cooks, or moments like these where you’re tucked away from the rest of the world to be reminded just how much your souls are tied together.

thank you for being here + thank you for reading ❤︎

[yandere-wishes]

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Doc-Ringo⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

✮ Yandere! Boothill x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: There's a slick black-clad little gal who's been messing with his bounties recently. Boothill's been dying to rustle her up and take a bite

⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, war trauma, Genie trying to do a cowboy accent.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺: Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett

And I don't hardly know her,

But I think I can love her,

Ah, now when she comes walking over,

I've been waiting to show her,

My mind's such a sweet thing

I want to do everything

What a beautiful feeling

It's not like the movies, they fed us on little white lies.

~💜

The first time he sees you there's a tempest of bullets rattling off his chest. Metal singing metal, as shells vie for an opening. It's all very lethal,

like the center of a rabid dust storm. Kissing death and sucking in her poison. Boothill can't tell where the bullets are coming from only that there's a dozen at a time ringing over his head. He shields his face with the metal of his forearms peaking through the gap to catch a glimpse of black.

Pure black.

That's the first thing he notices as your frenzy yields, You're clad in black from head to toe, even going so far as to dawn an eerie familiar mask. He's seen this scene play out somewhere before, he just can't remember where. "Morning mister", he likes that voice, jejune and teeming with confidence. It reminds him of himself, back when the sunset used to mean something and he could still feel wheat stocks under his soft palms.

"Howdy lil'lady I reckon you're in my way. Mind stepping aside before you get yourself hurt?" Your answer comes in the form of an aimed pistol, spine straight, midnight serape caught on the wind. He thinks you look a little too much like the folks back home -back when there was a home- blood boiling over eager for a fight. His bounty is standing just over yonder, blocked partly by your stubborn shadow. Boothill doesn't think twice before firing two rounds.

He's met with four...

He's in a cheap motel on Penacony, screwing in bolts that came loose. In the end, you laid claim to his bounty. Dragging him away to the hills. He's left growling at the thought, bested by a muddle-fudging fox. Lil gal probably ain't never even been in a proper shoot-out. The screwdriver cracks under his metal fingers. Boothill ain't about to start letting some pretty little thing get in the way of him and his targets.

The TV screen flickers to a melancholy monochrome. The films are old, distorted, crippled in parts. But he keeps them around, much like everything else about him, it's a bygone thing refusing to die.

He still likes to play them from time to time, trying to elicit the tastes of home. Hearing Nick and Graey setting plates out for dinner as his siblings rush downstairs. The movies are older than the new universe in more ways than one.

They come from a simpler time.

He'd always wondered why someone would bother painting such precious things in black and white. Spilling melancholia into picture frames, leaving everything tasting of vodka and vanilla.

It doesn't matter though, not really. All that matters is the sound of hooves on sand and bullets shooting. So long as the cowboys live their stories, everything else can be forgiven.

But this time something's off. The bandit's black mask shines through, gleaming something awful making him grind his sharp teeth. That damn mask, sitting pretty over a sly smirk. it reminds him of you, little cutie with your slick attitude. What bandit goes around doing hero's work anyway? What kinda twisted little lady are you?

He's getting mighty sick of this. Do you think you own the universe or something? "Been seeing way too much of you lately." There's sand in his Synesthesia Beacon his voice coming out horse, brittle. He kicks the head of an IPC lackey trying to drive home a point. "You getting on my nerves cutie". The ground looks nothing short of a graveyard, bodies scattered some piled. The blood paints the sands in a deep maroon, reflecting the glint of the distant stars. The last soldier is cowering behind you, his whimpers singing in Boothill's ears, one more bullet, that's all it'll take. "This one's mine" you mutter, and he wonders for a moment if the dry weather is getting to you too. "Not a chance pumpkin" his gun's drawn, firing bullets before you can even feel for your holster. The smirking bullet impales your abdomen, aimed point blank at the officer's head. But before the last body can be claimed you kick the man out of the way.

"Damn it" Boothill's anger is tangible, he knows you can feel it between your teeth. He's going to kill you, tear off that star-saken mask, and riddle you with bullets. You're getting too confident.

He doesn't notice your bullets at first. Protostars trying to act all rough and mighty. There's a temporary cluster of dust, a fraction of a second where his eyes aren't pinning you down. That's all it takes and then you're off. Sinking into the darkness and swimming away, taking his target with you.

It's only after the initial anger wears off that Boothill notices a tear on his thigh. A letter scrawled on the frayed leather of his pants. So you've started leaving your own marks, ay cutie?

He almost wishes he could feel the sting of your blade on his flesh. Feel your nails scrapping along his shoulders as he pins you to the ground.

Boothill fires at the moon.

Next time.

Next time for sure....

He's been chasing you for some time now. But catching up with you isn't as easy as he first thought. Seems like you go wherever the wind takes you and he's too busy with revenge to be following your capricious whims. The IPC ain't going to kill itself you know. And Boothill damn well wishes you'd start sitting still. He's heard from a reliable source that the IPC soldiers are throwing a little get to together down in one of the bars. Just a happy birthday for a colleague, nothing fancy. The thought alone makes his mouth water, place will be crawling with pests just waiting to be gunned down. Maybe tomorrow he'll try looking for you again, but tonight? Tonight's his night.

The neons have dulled now, they never were terribly bright to begin with. Penacony may be the land of dreams but not even dreams can stop reality from seeping through. The bar's loud, some new pop singer's music blasting from every speaker. Boothill downs his drink, liking how the ice cubes chime like a bad omen. He shoots the speakers first, needing some peace to focus on what comes next. The peace corp's lackeys are drunk, they stumble over themselves trying to reach him. He shoots each one like a kid playing carnival games. It's almost too easy...

The door is stampeded over by a heard of reinforcements. Somehow even in his drunken daze one of those yella-bellied lapdogs called for help. They're swarming the place like panicked rats, pushing past tables and chairs. Firearms aimed at his head. And for the first time, in a long, long time, Boothill feels a sliver of panic run down his bionic spine.

Motherfudger...

Boothill hears the familiar tumult of bodies hitting the ground before he sees what's actually going on. He feels you before he actually sees you. You're pushed up against his back, guns drawn locked, and loaded. "Heard you needed some help" Even though you offer your usual bravado, Boothill still picks up the nervous lilt in your voice, despite everything he thinks he likes it. It almost tastes sweet. "Best get away before you get yourself hurt little fox." "And let you have all the fun? Never."

"Certe murmur pugnando" Boothill laughs, he remembers those very words coming from a buddy of his before a duel. 'At least we'll die fighting' Somethings never change, even if you've carved out every principle from your body with a rusted kitchen knife. You'll always have those pesky morals stuck inside. He hears you chuckle, wonders if you find it odd that a rowdy galaxy ranger such as himself knows a dead language.

Well, he knows a lot about the dead.

The shoot-out lasts longer than he'd have expected.

But the real surprise lies in how neither of you are dead. Boothill's half laid across the bar, looking at you from under his hat. You're making him a drink following his instruction like a good little wife, not contradiction dressed in ebony. Gunpowder withers on his tongue, the bullet smoke permeates the air mixing with the gleeful tang of spilled blood. "Your drinks sure are complicated" you mutter pushing him his cup before picking up a bottle and reading its labels. "What's so hard about it pumpkin? Little bit of white gem and gin. All's you need." He sips your drink slowly, savoring your flavor. He imagines he's gulping you down, holding you for ransom behind his teeth, feeling your delicate little fists pounding against him. "I don't drink" you mumble as you sit across from him, you look so damn elegant, like a little princess from a fairy tale he use to read to a certain someone. You drink deeply from your glass of ice and water. Boothill focuses on the gentle motion of your throat. He licks his lips, trying to push down the thought of ringing such a fragile thing between his palms.

"So little lady, s'about time you start answering some questions...The hell you doing? Running off with my targets?" You set your cup down, eyes locking on his, there's the deficiency he's missed all night. The trigger hair that's just waiting for the right push. "They're not your targets...not really. They're just people. People whose planet got muffed up. I've been trying to gather them all in one place." For a second Boothill thinks you're talking about his planet, his home, his people. But it only takes one more look at you to understand.

"So, how'd yours die?" There's shrapnel in his throat when he asks, open wounds bleeding once more, filling his throat with bitter memories.

You stiffen, and he knows he's thumbing a broken bone, letting his finger dig between the cracks and snapping their frail linings. "Don't know, wasn't there. All I ever got to see were a few limbs, nothing enough to make a full person." you squeeze the glass until your knuckles turn white.

There's vindication rooted in your veins.

He knows the feeling all too well.

"We ain't so different you and I, reckon we make a pretty good team." His metal fingers lace between your soft skin, tracing the lifelines like an old map.

There's a goldmine hidden behind your lips, he imagines he'll have to kiss you to find the little nuggets. Your lips part, eyes filled with an odd-looking sympathy. What he wouldn't give to feel your plump lips bleed between his jagged teeth. "So..." you ask as his mechanic heart skips a beat. "What about yours?"

You've been laughing for five whole minutes. Boothill shouldn't find the noise as ethereal as he does. His anger lays heavily on his bones, he should be even angrier, lounging a bullet through your thick skull. But he finds the noise a little too perfect to disturb its source. Even if it's only created at his expense. Instead, he has half a mind to slap you, hard enough to shut you u and another to kiss you so hard you forget to breathe. "Damn hell so funny, cutie"

You look at him with those luminous eyes. Filled with pain and riddles. Boothill never did like solving puzzles. He only likes tearing things into bits. He needs you spartan, easy to read and use, and kiss. Not something he needs to piece together first.

"Dear stars you have no freaking idea how ironic you are." You say between bursts of spiteful-rooted giggles.

Why do those words sound so haunting like a ghost kiss? they should open phantom pains, but they sure as hell don't. Why do you always leave his head spinning? Boothill rolls his eyes, then leans over to pull down your mask. You jerk back, rewarding him with a dark grimace. You're out the window before he can ask your name.

"See you next time, cowboy"

"Next time I'm drawing blood"

The moment's over.

Fiddlesticks..

That night, Boothill dreams of you. He's lying in a stiff musty bed. It's too dark, even the moon is scared of showing her face.

Boothill dreams of the old saloons back home. Of their cracked wooden floorboards and the worn-out plush of chairs. In the dreams, you're wearing a black lace gown, like the saloon girls used to. He finds it all too funny that even in his dreams you still haunt him in black. Only now you're smiling, really smiling. Not that sly smirk, or mirthless grin you gave him back in the bar on Penacony. No, this here is a genuine smile and he's damn sure he's the one who put it there. You reach out for his hand, he feels warmth.

His

Yours

The dream is thick and dense like swimming through molasses. In another scene he's dragging you through the old doors, laughing as bullets and card chips hit the floor. There's a horse waiting outside. His horse. At least he thinks it used to be his. He pulls you up roughly in front of him. He's high off the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the rugged reins. High off the steed he holds in a vice grip between his thighs.

He's riding faster than he's ever ridden before, clambering for the sunset trying to engulf the sun. You hold on tight, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart is beating something fierce between his ribs. He feels like an Aeon watching the universe collapse under his galloping feet.

He feels alive.

With the sun's rays behind you, Boothill could almost mistake you for the star-dwelling angels Nick used to tell him about. There's something poetic in all of this. The cowboy standing off against the black fox.

Dare he call it cinematic?

Boothill creeps closer. Tilting his hat and watching you flash a nervous smile through his lashes. "Volo sentire te inter dentes meos" so you know that dead tongue too. "You will soon darling, that's what I'm hoping for" his reply only dwindles your smile.

He's missed the old duels. Missed staring into the eyes of the one who could kill you. It's all a matter of skill and luck. Whose faster, who the aeon will trust?

Somewhere in the distance, the tumble weeds begin to rattle.

"Now"

His bullet glides through the air, piercing through the dust and sand. Your bullet reverberates from your gun a fraction too late and ricochets past his cheek. Leaving a juicy trail of blood.

But his bullet was aimed at your chest.

And Boothill never misses...

You want vengeance he won't deny you it.

So long as you stay by his side.

He'll tuck you away somewhere safe.

Somewhere you won't be leaving him again.

Boothill cradles your body to his chest. "I promised you blood little fox, and Boothill never goes back on his word." His cheeks hurt from smiling as he lays his hat atop your head. He's Picking you up and walking into the sunset. He knows a good ol'doc who'll patch you right up. And then it's a happy life together.

Well for him anyway.

The end

Taglist: @hihellomy @salhanskkdbfkekfb @gasoline-eater @sp1cym0chi

[slu7formen]

Hellooo helloo, I love all your Luke stories so muchh!!

Could I have a request for Luke x Poseidon’s daughter reader something about her joining him even betraying her brother Percy because love prevails all so like their love is the most powerful thing of all.. hope that makes sense in a way hahaha okay thank youuu 😙💗💕✨

thank you so much for reading my stories, I’m so glad you like them ☺️

luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: betrayal, reader’s kinda blinded by love but also kinda cute, little fluff at the end

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Thirteen wasn't exactly the age you pictured discovering you were a demigod. Apparently, you had blissfully –or maybe obliviously— muddled through your first thirteen years completely oblivious to the mythological world that simmered just beneath your feet.

Your life had been a quiet one. Growing up in a sleepy seaside town, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore was the soundtrack to your existence. You felt a weird connection to the water, an inexplicable pull towards the ocean whenever you stood on the beach. But you attributed that to nothing more than a love for swimming and a healthy dose of wanderlust, you thought.

Then came the satyr. Grover Underwood, a nervous wreck of a creature with a perpetually startled expression. You don´t remember much about your life back then, just the way he stammered through an explanation about Greek myths being real, your parentage being linked to a god, and the pressing need for you to get to a safe haven called Camp Half-Blood.

And now here you were. Years went by, living at Camp Half-Blood, and being the only child of Poseidon.

Camp was always bustled with activity. Laughter echoed across the training fields, campers sparred with celestial bronze swords. Yet, amidst the chaos, a subtle sense of loneliness lingered around you. You weren't friendless, not by any stretch of the imagination. You had a close circle of friends, but there was a specific kind of lonely feeling that came with being the only child of Poseidon at camp, a forbidden child.

The other cabins, they all teemed with siblings. —mostly—. Shared history, inside jokes, and the comfort of knowing someone else understood exactly what it meant to have the same god for a parent – these were things you craved. There was a gap, a yearning for a familial connection that none of your friends could fully fill.

Then came Percy.

His arrival at camp was nothing short of spectacular. A blue-eyed twelve-year-old with a knack for attracting trouble. During a particularly intense Capture the Flag game, Annabeth, a sharp-tongued daughter of Athena with a strategic mind, shoved Percy into the lake. The air crackled with gasps and surprises as a shimmering green trident materialized above Percy´s head, claiming him for Poseidon.

The revelation sent a jolt through you. You, the solitary child of the sea god, suddenly had a sibling. Percy looked up at you with wide, startled eyes, a mixture of awe and apprehension playing on his face. It was like looking into a mirror reflecting a younger version of yourself, the same confusion etched on his features.

Percy looked up to you with a hero-worship that both amused and touched you. He saw in you a reflection of his own mother, Sally Jackson, with her kindness and unwavering belief in the good in others. You became his confidante, his guide through the intricate social landscape of Camp Half-Blood.

But you weren't the only one who welcomed Percy. Luke, your closest friend at camp, was equally happy for your newfound family, —or so he faked it very well. Percy quickly found himself asking you both all the questions he had and spending all his training session´s with Luke.

You and Luke were a natural fit. Both of you skilled warriors, blessed with the agility of Hermes and the raw power of the sea. You sparred together often, your movements a dance of attack and parry, a language only the two of you seemed to understand. Your laughter echoed through the camp, and more than once, you caught Percy or other campers shooting you hesitant glances, not really knowing what your relationship was about, a thin line between friends love and-, other type of love, drawn in between.

And yes, Luke loved you, and you loved him. So much, that´d you´d be able to do anything for each other. Little did Percy know.

The metallic clang of your celestial bronze sword echoed through the silent woods, a jarring counterpoint to the chirping of nocturnal crickets. Percy, his breath ragged and sweat stinging his eyes, pushed back against Luke's relentless assault. Betrayal gnawed at his gut, a viper coiling tighter with every parry and thrust.

Luke, his once friendly face twisted with a manic fervor, pressed the attack. Every word that left his lips was a fresh wound: about the Olympians' manipulation, about the power promised by Kronos, about how this wasn't meant to betray him, or anyone.

Suddenly, the clang of steel meeting steel ceased. Percy stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest, as Luke lowered his sword. A flicker of hope, fragile and fleeting, ignited within him.

"Percy," Luke said, his voice quieter now, a hint of desperation creeping in. "This is not what you want, trust me. Last chance."

Percy stared at him, the hope dying as quickly as it had flickered. How could Luke even suggest such a thing, joining him? Didn't he understand the consequences?

Before he could retort, a new figure emerged from the shadows of the trees behind Luke. His breath caught in his throat, eyes twitching as he tried his best to focus on the figure coming from the forest. You.

A flicker of relief washed over Percy as he saw you emerge from the shadows. "yn” he called out, hope blossoming in his chest.

You stepped into the scene, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on your features. But something was off. You weren't rushing to his side, face etched with concern as it usually was. Instead, you stood there, a strange stillness cloaking you.

"Percy" you finally said, your voice cool and controlled, lacking it´s usual warmth.

Confusion warred with the relief. "yn" he repeated, his voice unsteady. "Clarisse didn't – it was him" he stammered, pointing at Luke with his sword. "He stole the bolt. He's joining Kronos"

Percy expected outrage, surprise, anything. Instead, your expression remained unreadable. A shadow flickered across your face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I know what he did" you replied simply. The calmness in your voice sent a shiver down his spine. The casualness of your reply was scary. It was like you were talking about the weather, not a world-shattering betrayal.

There was something wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Then help me" he pleaded, a desperate edge creeping into his voice.

You met his gaze for a long, agonizing moment. Percy saw a flicker of something weird in your eyes, something that made your pupils blown. But then, it was gone, replaced by a fire that mirrored Luke's.

A slow realization dawned on him, cold and heavy in his gut. You weren't surprised. You weren't angry. You knew.

Percy's heart hammered against his ribs. He saw the familiar hilt of your celestial bronze sword hanging loosely at your belt, the moonlight glinting off the polished metal.

"Percy, I can't do that" you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Percy understood then. You weren't caught in the middle. You weren´t with him, you were with Luke, all the way. The truth slammed into him, a betrayal far worse than anything he could have imagined. You were a traitor.

Percy felt like you'd ripped open a fresh wound in his chest and poured lemon juice in it. This sister, this family he'd thought he'd found at camp, meant nothing to you in the face of this rebellion? The anger coursing through him was laced with a bitter disappointment that gnawed at his insides. He'd trusted Luke blindly, sure, but you were different. He'd looked up to you, confided in you. The betrayal cut deep.

"You're with him?" he choked out, the question laced with disbelief and a raw, wounded vulnerability. He couldn´t wrap his mind around it.

"I'm not with him, Percy" you countered, taking a hesitant step forward. He flinched back, the movement a physical manifestation of the emotional chasm that had suddenly opened between you. The pain that flickered across your face was a punch to his gut, but he couldn't ignore the conviction in your voice. "We're together" you continued. "We created this."

Percy couldn't believe what he was hearing. You were so convinced, so blinded by whatever twisted loyalty you felt for Luke, that you couldn't see the bigger picture. "How could you?" he roared, his voice raw with emotion. "How could you do this, to everyone who trusts you? To the people who love you?"

You scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Come on, Percy, you want to talk about betrayal? Let's talk about our father." The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge laden with bitterness. A sudden breeze swept through the woods, rustling the leaves and carrying the salty scent of the ocean as if a wave had crashed nearby. It seemed like even the sea itself reacted to your words.

"Let's talk about the gods" you pressed, your voice laced with a bitter venom. "They get bored at the Olympus, so they play their pretty games, making mortals fall for them and then discarding them like broken toys. Mortals like your mom, like mine. And they leave us, their children, to pick up the pieces."

Percy groaned in frustration. "They're not perfect" he admitted, "they're trying their best for us"

"Don't bullshit me" you say. The calmer your voice was, the more fear Percy felt. "I don’t wanna fight, Percy, but they couldn´t care less”

Luke´s face partially obscured by the shadows, but the jagged scar across his cheek was visible under the moonlight. It was a constant reminder of the failed quest Hermes had sent him on, a cruel mark of a father's neglect.

Percy's gaze flicked between you and Luke, a sudden understanding dawning on him. Your words, your anger, your sadness. It wasn't just about Kronos or overthrowing the Olympians. It was about a deeper wound, a festering resentment born from years of feeling abandoned by your father, his father too. He understood, but he didn´t think it was right.

"But you can't be serious" he finally choked out. "This isn't the answer. There has to be another way."

A flicker of sadness crossed your features, a stark contrast to the steely resolve you'd presented earlier. It was a fleeting glimpse, a crack in the facade you'd constructed, and it tugged at Percy's heartstrings. No, it wasn't jealousy or envy. It was a deeper, more profound sense of loss. You weren't angry at him for having a father who cared just a little bit, for having a family he cherished. You were simply… sad. Sad that you never had that, that your only family was Luke, and that his arrival, however welcome it initially felt, couldn't erase the years of loneliness you'd endured.

Percy´s eyes darted behind you, to Luke.

"Why are you dragging her into this?" Percy demanded, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and protectiveness. He knew you weren't the mastermind, Luke was the one who had poisoned your trust, manipulated your resentment.

"It's not that hard to understand, Percy" you answered before Luke could speak. Your voice held a quiet defiance, a loyalty that both warmed and stung him. "We're together" you repeated, the words laced with a quiet strength that resonated deep within him.

Then it hit him, another wave of realization crashing over him like a rogue wave. It wasn't just loyalty or a shared cause that bound you to Luke. There was something more, something deeper that flickered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

"You love him" Percy whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air. And it wasn´t a question either, he knew.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you didn't deny it. "We understand each other, Percy. We know what it's like to be unseen, unheard. Isn't that what love is? Empathy, understanding?"

A tear escaped your eye, glistening in the moonlight. Percy could see the pain, the longing in your eyes, how you clinged to the only thing that hugged you back; Luke.

“You’re blind” Percy whispered, hand instinctively groping to the handle of his sword.

"No, Percy" you countered, your voice soft but firm. "I'm awake. I see things for what they are. You know what it feels like, right? To have one person who understands you, who truly sees you" you continued. Your voice softened even further, a hint of vulnerability entering the equation. "Sally, isn't it?"

He flinched at the mention of his mother's name.

"That's love, P." you said, using the nickname you'd once shared. The sound of it sent a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill from his eyes, mirroring the glistening in your own. "And to me, to us" you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "that's the most powerful thing."

Percy saw the love for Luke burning bright in your eyes, a love that had blinded you to the potential destruction you were embracing. He saw the pain of neglect, the longing for acceptance that fueled your rebellion. But most of all, he saw a glimmer of hope, a flicker of doubt that your tear-filled eyes betrayed.

The weight of your words settled on Percy like a lead blanket. He understood the path you were on, but he couldn't just let you walk away, couldn't let you be consumed by this darkness. The thought of ever having to fight you, to raise his sword against his own sister, filled him with a dread that eclipsed even the fear of facing Kronos himself.

With a desperate surge of defiance, Percy lunged at you, Riptide flashing in the moonlight. You reacted with lightning reflexes, a blur of blue as you deflected his attack with your own celestial bronze sword. The clang of metal echoed through the silent woods, a discordant note in the tense atmosphere.

The fight was short, brutal, and utterly one-sided. You were older, more experienced, and fueled by a burning conviction that mirrored Percy's own determination. A quick twist of your wrist, a disarming maneuver honed through years of training, and Riptide clattered to the ground several feet away.

Percy landed hard on the leaf-strewn ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He lay there, disarmed, defeated, and utterly heartbroken. Betrayal gnawed at him, a bitter cocktail of anger and sorrow.

A single tear escaped your eye, tracing a glistening path down your cheek. You knelt down beside him, your touch surprisingly gentle on his shoulder. "Percy," you said, your voice thick with emotion, "you're my brother. I don´t wanna leave you”

Percy looked up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a storm of conflicting emotions. "Then why?" he choked out, his voice hoarse. "Why are you doing this?"

"Come with me” you continued, your voice softening further. “Come with us, Percy”

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

"I can't, yn" he said, his voice firm despite the tremor that ran through him. "I won't be a part of this, it´s not fair."

A flicker of pain crossed your features. You rose to your feet then, your expression unreadable again.

A curt nod was your only response before you swiped a hand across your cheek, wiping away the traitorous tear. Bending down, you retrieved your celestial bronze sword, the moonlight glinting coldly off its surface.

"Then I guess I won't see you for a while, little one" you said, your voice thick with a maelstrom of emotions. Percy almost flinched at the nickname, a stark reminder of the bond you once shared. The weight of his decision pressed down on him, a suffocating feeling that left him breathless.

Suddenly, a hand clamped softly onto your arm. You whipped around, eyes focusing on Luke, his face grim.

"We have to go" he said urgently, his voice laced with a barely concealed panic.

You glanced back at Percy, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and steely resolve. A million unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for you to reconsider, to choose family over rebellion.

But your path was laid. With a final, longing look at Percy, you took a few steps towards a cluster of crumbling ruins that stood there sentinel. Luke reached for your hand, his grip tight with a mix of reassurance and desperation.

Percy watched, a cold dread settling in his gut, as Luke traced a final line, completing the arcane symbol etched onto the column. The air shimmered, a blueish light pooling in the center of the ruins. It widened, forming a shimmering curtain that pulsed with an otherworldly energy.

Luke leaned in, whispering something in your ear. You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips for a fleeting moment. Then Luke, his face a mask of grim determination, looked back at Percy for a final time. And with a final squeeze of his hand, you both stepped into the shimmering portal. The blue light intensified for a moment, blinding Percy momentarily.

And then just like that, you were gone.

The portal spat you out in a blackness so thick it felt like a physical presence. The air was heavy with the smell of salt and wet sand. You stumbled forward, disoriented, hand instinctively tightening on Luke's. His grip was firm, anchoring you in the swirling darkness.

"Whoa, careful" he murmured, his voice a welcome sound in the suffocating silence.

He took a tentative step forward, then another, testing the ground. You followed suit, your steps hesitant and laced with a growing unease.

"Come on" he said, his voice tinged with urgency, "we gotta get to-"

He cut himself off abruptly as he realized you weren't moving. You stood rooted to the spot, your eyes fixed on something beyond him, your grip on his hand tightening almost painfully.

Luke turned you gently, his brow furrowed in concern as he gazed into your tear-filled eyes. The moonlight, pale and ghostly, illuminated the glistening tracks on your cheeks.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry. He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his touch a familiar comfort in the unsettling darkness.

You choked back a sob, the tears overflowing again. "Am I doing the right thing, Luke?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "I lost my family, again. Percy. He doesn’t-…”

The raw pain in your voice tore at his heart. He knew this path, this rebellion, would come at a cost, but seeing the emotional toll it was taking on you was a gut punch.

"Hey, hey, look at me" he coaxed, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. His gaze was steady, filled with a fierce loyalty that had always been a source of strength for you.

"We were on this path way before Percy arrived, remember?" he asked, his voice firm yet soothing.

You nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I need you to be strong for me, angel” he continued, his thumb brushing away the tear. "You´re what keeps me going."

He placed a tender kiss on your forehead. "I'll give you everything" he murmured, his voice a low promise. "I promise I'll give you the life you deserve"

Then, he trailed a line of kisses down your cheek, his lips lingering on yours in a final, lingering and sweet kiss.

It was meant to be a reassurance, but it sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. There was comfort in his touch, a flicker of the love you shared, but it was overshadowed by a gnawing doubt.

When you finally pulled back, a shaky breath escaping your lips, Luke took your hand, his touch gentle yet firm. He looked out at the vast expanse of ocean, then scanned the horizon.

You followed his gaze, squinting through the darkness. A faint flicker of white lights danced in the distance, a beacon in the vast blackness.

"Come on" he said, his voice tinged with newfound purpose. "We gotta get to the cruise."

[sickficideas]

Ooooh since you're doing dandadan now, can I request general headcanons for sick okarun and momo? Like who'd get sick more often, how badly would it affect them, symptoms, caretaking etc? Whether or not it's related to your current wip :)))

YES!!! absolutely anon i am happy to start talking about them...!!!!! You gave me a lot to work with and I tried to include everything you mentioned but if you ever want anything more specific from these feel free to come back !!!! 👽👽💖💖

PS I'm fighting demons on whether to call him Okarun or Ken but he's Okarun for this post since that's what you've called him lol

- Okarun is definitely sick more often but only as a result of his body not being able to handle his Yokai form. Like random high fevers, awful body aches, nausea, tinnitus, nosebleeds (i think even worse things like coughing up blood or absent seizures from over using it)...he's kind of a baby about it, he has a very low pain tolerance and fevers are so overwhelming for him with all of his senses being muddled 😭😭

- Momo isn't necessarily sick often but her similarly her newfound powers give her the gift of frequent headaches and migraines 👍 they don't hold her back most of the time, she just pops a ton of pain killers and moves on (after complaining), but bad with migraines she's huddled up in her dark room and just praying it goes away 😭😭😭

- Momo's fevers don't get as high and aren't as frequent as Okarun's, but the fever really messes with her abilities. She can't use it properly with Any higher temperature, but she gets really weird visual and auditory hallucinations too and she has a hard time distinguishing them from reality. This Deeply concerns Okarun any time he notices and he'll usually pick up on her hallucinations before he realizes she has a fever 😭 she hears him ask her something when he didn't even speak and he's on high alert all of a sudden like, miss Ayase I didn't say anything are you okay what's wrong?????

- Okarun does a good job taking care of Momo if she's sick but he's a tiny bit overbearing (to the point where she might snap and accidently scare him off...she Wants to be taken care of she's just very easily embarrassed) and also Horribly worried. Especially if she's acting weird or quiet he Might cry and she has to comfort him and he feels guilty about it. Vicious cycle lol

- Momo is similarly the overthinker of all time, she's watching all of his movements and focusing on everything he says and does when he's sick because he won't verbalize how he's feeling to avoid worrying her. Dummy. So she tries to figure it all out herself. She takes good care of him though and tries to make sure he's not too overwhelmed 🥺🥺

[unoislazy]

Spar With Me

(Part 3)

Mizu x Reader

Summary: after dealing with a situation in town, Mizu helps you calm down a bit.

Disclaimer; a small bit of violence

Part One

Part Two

————————————————————

Some time had passed since you had discovered Mizu’s pretty big secret. You had kept your mouth shut about your findings, in fact you hadn’t said anything about the situation entirely, not even to Mizu much like you had done for the sparring situation. You honestly didn’t know how Mizu felt about you knowing, you always seemed to find a way to stumble across the things she wanted to keep private and you felt awful about it. So much so that you had begun to distance yourself from the woman a bit, which wasn’t entirely that hard. Mizu was already a very quiet person, she was more of a listener than a talker unless she was interrogating someone for information, so if you weren’t the one asking the questions a conversation wouldn’t happen.

Well, that is unless Ringo asked the questions but oftentimes when it was up to Ringo, the conversation didn’t always really rely on the situation at hand or anything even remotely related.

A few sunbeams managed to break their way through the cloudy sky, gracing you with their shallow warmth as you continued on the very snowy path towards the village. It had already reached dusk by the time you had arrived, but you didn’t mind, you enjoyed the colors of the sun even if most of them were blocked out by the clouds.

Mizu had gotten some hint that she needed to go this way, so that’s the way you went. You didn’t know much about what you were really looking for and you didn’t necessarily have any real intentions on asking, it wasn't really your business you were just along for the ride.

The snow under your feet crunched and sloshed, indicating that many had walked the same path before you. It certainly hadn't been untouched, instead of being an appealing pure white color, the snow had become muddled with the dirt beneath it, creating a disgusting mixture.

You continued to face down, paying more attention to the path beneath you than where you had been headed and before you had realized it, you had lost Mizu and Ringo.

You frantically began to turn every which way, trying to find them but they were nowhere in your immediate sight. So, you made the decision that the best course of action was to go back the way you came and see where you might’ve lost them from there.

On your way back to where you had lost track of them you had passed by a group of men who seemed to just be conversing amongst each other outside of a teahouse. For any normal person it would’ve been much too early in the day to have begun drinking, but not everyone follows those ideals.

As you passed by, mentally recounting your steps, you took notice of them all turning and looking towards your direction, whispering amongst themselves about something.

You paid no mind to them, just wanting to focus on finding Mizu and Ringo first but before you could really go any farther, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You spun around quickly, realizing that it was one of the men from the group that you had passed by. You put on a sweet face, not wanting to start any trouble that didn’t need to be started and asked,

“Can I help you?”

To which the man responded,

“How much?”

You simply stared at him in confusion, taking notice that his friends had begun to walk up towards you as well, forming a very uncomfortably close half circle around you.

“Excuse me?” You asked, you initially thought he wanted to buy something off of you as you began to back away.

“How much?” The man gestured again, this time making sure to look you up and down.

“I’m not a courtesan, I’m sure there are plenty in one of the houses down that way.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to remain polite as you continued to back away. It seemed as if they weren’t getting the hint, and if they were they didn’t care in the slightest. The men laughed at what you had said despite it clearly not being a joke.

“Oh come on, you wouldn’t want a few extra ryo?” He laughed, reaching to place his hand back on your shoulder which you dodged slightly, obviously not wanting him to touch you.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” One of the other men joined in, trying to persuade you as he grabbed your arm. You struggled within his grip, trying to tug yourself free.

“I’d rather not, please let me go.” You were trying to stay polite but you were becoming more freaked out as their persistence grew. You continued to struggle against the man's grasp before another man had placed his hand on your other arm. Now you were being dragged by both arms back towards the tea house as you struggled against them,

“Let me go!” You shouted, which only earned a laugh from them as they continued to drag you. It seemed almost as if they found you struggling amusing in some way. It frightened you, who knew what waited for you beyond the doors of that tea house.

“Please just let me go!” You pleaded once more before one of the men had turned back to you, he was the only one who didn’t seem to find your begs and please funny. The rest of the men had stopped pulling you, but they still held on as you stared at the man before you.

The man made his way towards you, seemingly the leader of the group and likely the one who had the idea in the first place, and he stopped right in front of you. You could feel yourself begin to tremble as your body began to finally settle into the situation. Sure you knew how to fight a basic amount, but these men were unfortunately stronger than you, and you were unarmed so you had no advantage in this situation. Your entire body shook as this man stood before you, a scowl plastered on his face as he quickly raised his hand, ready to strike you.

You shut your eyes in fear, ready for the impact, but it never came.

Instead, all you heard was the sound of something being sliced, the thump of something being dropped, and the man who stood before you screaming out in pain. Once you had finally opened your eyes, you saw Mizu standing in front of you, her blade drawn and freshly covered in blood as the man cowered on the ground, curled into himself as he wept over his now severed hand.

“Let them go.” Mizu demanded, her blade now pointing at one of the men who held you while she glared daggers at the other. Even though she had her glasses on, her glare might’ve been strong enough to kill any man right where they stood, even without the added factor of her eye color.

“Why, You don’t own them do you?” The man who had literally just lost a limb spoke up, clearly testing Mizu’s patience. Her eyes quickly traveled from the man she had been looking at and stuck to him like he had a target painted on his forehead. He had some nerve implying that you were owned by anyone in the first place, let alone her. She didn’t allow his whining to continue on for much longer before delivering a blow that killed the man within seconds, not without spreading an abhorrent amount of blood in every direction first.

Once she had finished with him, she put her blade back up, now facing the two men who continued to hold you.

“I’d argue this isn’t something worth losing your lives over.” She said, before gesturing for them to go away. They both seemed to silently agree with her and let go of you before sprinting off into different directions with their tails between their legs. The moment the men let you go, your knees practically gave out on you, sending you stumbling forward a bit into Mizu as you continued to tremble. She tensed a bit, not expecting you to get so close but she eased up once she had realized how frightened you were. Her arms very cautiously wrapped around you, trying to comfort you the best she could having not really touched anyone in a non-fighting context in a long time.

By this point the sun had already set, she hadn’t gotten the information she wanted but she believed you were more important at this point in time than the tip she had been given. Besides, they would likely still be there in the morning so there was no rush.

“We should find some place to rest.” She suggested quietly as she continued to hold you, turning to Ringo as if to ask him to go look. He understood her look and nodded with determination, quickly going off to find the best place possible for his master.

Once Ringo had left Mizu looked down at you, taking in your features that she had never seen before. Anger? Maybe, Embarrassment? Definitely, but fear? You might’ve been afraid of a few things here and there but never had she seen you so shaken up, and she couldn't blame you. Usually she was much tougher on the people she was around, had it been anyone else that she had helped she might’ve just walked away after but you were different.

And despite her inner arguments, she knew exactly why.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her eyes had softened quite drastically compared to the way she had looked at the men. It was a look not many would’ve thought Mizu of all people was capable of.

You looked up at her, still stuck in your own world as you tried to process and work through what just happened. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know whether to shout, or scream, or even cry, so all you did was shake. Mizu sighed, not because you annoyed her, but because she felt bad for losing track of you. Sure you should’ve been paying attention, but she could’ve shown up faster to protect you. She truthfully didn’t know where you had gone until Ringo managed to hear you shouting and led her to you.

Before long, Ringo had come running back up,excitedly claiming he had found a place to stay. Luckily you all could afford to stay there, but unfortunately it would only be two rooms.

“You two should take the room together! I can go off on my own no problem!” He exclaimed proudly.

Mizu nodded, gesturing for him to lead the way back to the place he had found. She slowly let go of you, it would’ve been hard for her to continue to walk while in the position you two were in so she made sure you were steady first, then took her arms off of you. You were calming down but you were still a bit shaken up, sure one could argue nothing had happened to you but it was more the thought of what could’ve, and what might’ve if MIzu hadn’t gotten there when she did. You owed her a lot and you knew you’d have to repay her one day.

Mizu had begun to walk ahead a little, looking back at you to make sure you were following behind. She didn’t want to take her eyes off you and truthfully she really didn’t.

Once the three of you had arrived at the place Ringo had picked out, he went one way and the two of you went the other. The room that you had walked into was dimly lit, two futons lay towards the back of the room, a table that had been left with a few items on top was placed more towards the middle of the room, it was pretty cozy for something found at the last minute.

“We don’t have to sleep near each other, I’ll move mine over.” Mizu said plainly, already in the process of moving it over before you stopped her.

“Wait.” You began, she looked up at you, confusion riddled her face. “Would you mind actually… being closer? I just… I feel safer if I know you’re nearby and-” You explained but once you had looked back at her, you wanted to take back your words immediately. You felt so stupid asking for her to stay near you, you felt weak, you could protect yourself but you didn’t and now you were asking for her to be near you to comfort you?

You were so lost in your own thoughts you hadn’t realized that Mizu had already moved the bed back to its original spot with ease and without saying a single word.

“You don’t have to, It was just a sug-” You began, not wanting to feel as if you were forcing Mizu into an uncomfortable position.

“It’s fine.” Was all she responded with.

You supposed if MIzu didn’t want to be in a situation where she was uncomfortable, she wouldn’t. She would’ve just told you no, but she didn’t, so maybe you didn’t need to feel as bad as you did.

A little time had passed as you had both gotten ready to sleep. You sat straight up on your futon, staring at the wall facing away from Mizu as she laid down on her own. She had already taken her usual accessories off but of course they weren’t too far from her, her sword and glasses rested just as peacefully next to her.

You however, were still dealing with the aftermath of the adrenaline. You felt so energetic in a sense of fight or flight despite the situation having well passed by this point. It wasn’t your first time dealing with men that didn’t respect your boundaries, but it was the first time you couldn't deal with the situation on your own.

You tried to ignore it, finally laying down and turning away from Mizu, not really wanting to make your situation with her weirder than you already might have.

Despite being so worried, it didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep, but your dreams were nowhere near pleasant. The only thing that kept replaying in your mind was what could have happened had Mizu not gotten there in time, you struggled throughout your dream, pulling as hard as you could to get out of the men's grasp to no avail. You called out to Mizu for help but she was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Ringo.

You quietly muttered Mizu’s name in your sleep, tossing and turning a bit as you continued to struggle. You weren’t being entirely disruptive but it was enough to wake Mizu up, thinking that you were calling for her which confused her once she realized you were still fast asleep. She was going to head right back to sleep before she had heard you say her name again, this time in a bit more of a panicked manner than you had last time.

She sat up this time now realizing that you were having a nightmare. She very carefully grabbed your shoulders, very lightly trying to shake you awake to snap out of it. It took a minute but once you had woken up, you immediately shot up out of the bed, moving away from Mizu as fast as possible.

“Hey, calm down, it’s me.” She said in a low voice, holding out her hand to you. She couldn’t see you very well given the low light but she could hear your rapid breathing and it worried her a bit. She knew what it was like to have nightmares but it had been so long since she had reacted in such a way that she almost forgot other people can still be frightened by them too.

“You’re okay.” She added on, trying to give you some form of comfort. In your panicked state, you grabbed Mizu’s hand, not entirely knowing what else to do considering how disorienting it was to wake up in a place you didn’t recognize and not being able to properly see your surroundings. Mizu took your hand and very gently pulled you closer to her, keeping her breathing slow and steady hoping you would begin to mimic her.

Now that you could feel Mizu and actually had something to ground yourself with, you finally began to calm down.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly. You could feel her shift to look down at you.

“For what?” She asked, you could tell her confusion was genuine so you took a deep breath before explaining,

“I’m sorry you have to put up with this. You didn’t even want me in the group to begin with and now I’m giving you all these problems, I’m slowing you down for finding whatever man you’re going after.” You apologized. Once you had finished, you both sat in silence for a moment with Mizu still holding you. Despite what you had just said, you felt comfortable, you both did.

“Don’t be.” She began, “I get them too, nightmares I mean.” She admitted. You could feel her sigh a bit before going on to explain, “It’s been a long time since I started getting them though, so I don’t really react much anymore. I’m assuming this is your first time?” She asked to which you nodded.

“Maybe the next time we have some time, we should practice sparring again. That way you’ll be prepared for something like that.” She suggested lightheartedly causing you to give out a very light laugh. This was probably the most either of you had said about the topic since it had happened.

By this point, your breathing had returned to normal and you were much calmer than you were before. You couldn’t help but feel dreary as the adrenaline and fear slowly made its way out of your system and exhaustion took over.

“Hey Mizu?” You began through a yawn. You heard her make a small sound in acknowledgement as you finished yawning, “Can we stay like this?” You asked. You felt more comfortable in her arms than you had in a long time and you didn’t want to let go of that feeling… not yet at least.

You couldn't tell but a small smile had made its way onto Mizu’s face as she answered with a very short and simple, “Sure.”

By the time you had both laid down, you were practically out cold, but it was clear you weren’t going to be bothered by nightmares this time.

Every thought in Mizu’s mind was telling her she shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t be getting so close to you, she couldn’t let herself get distracted. She had a goal and she had to finish it no matter what.

But she couldn’t help but secretly indulge in the joy she felt whenever she was around you. She tried to keep herself as distant from you as she could so she wouldn’t get attached but clearly that plan didn’t work like she had hoped. She knew one day she would have to get over herself and continue on like she planned, but now was not that day, tonight she didn’t need to worry about concerns of the future, all she had to worry about was your safety.

And for the first time in a long time there was not a single nightmare in sight for either of you.

[jhoneybees]

Little Precious.

Hey lovelies!!! Here's a cute little fic, just getting back into the groove now so for the ones waiting on requests, thank you so so much for waiting, I will get to them very soon😭🫂

The song in the fic:

Characters: Early!70s X innocent!reader

Warnings/triggers: scolding, crying, slight name calling, mostly fluff though :)

Tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @theelvisprincess @i-r-i-n-a-a @thelonelyheart @polksaladava @hooked-on-elvis

_____________________________________________

Sniffling quietly, a trembling hand wiping under your nose and gripping at the fabric of your dress. You hiccup out a little sob.

You've upset Elvis, the man you love, the man who cares for you, the man who said to not go out of Graceland’s grounds without him and the man who scolded you for doing just that.

You just wanted to buy him a gift, a pretty ring that was displayed in a shop's window. Just wanted to bring a smile to his face but you being mobbed by fans only brought a furious frown.

Jerry was there, you weren't alone. You thought that would be enough protection but clearly you thought wrong and Elvis had to make sure that sunk into your skull.

__

“How many times have I told ya?” He growled.

“Didn't wanna listen to me, huh?”

“Don't need me ta keep you safe anymore. Go out there and be taken away by god knows who.” His anger filled eyes piercing through your poor little heart making it tremble.

“Silly damn girl.”

__

You know he was trying to make you realise that he's right, he's always right, you were scared when those fans swarmed you.

You didn't know any better.

And now, you're crying, alone in his bedroom.

Pitifully crying on the edge of the huge bed. Hitching and hiccuping hurting your sore throat, your wilting heart pitter patters in your chest. You try your best to wipe away the tears blurring your vision but it's no use, your terrifying thoughts have taken over your brain.

“Baby…”

What if he's leaving you?

“Darlin'.”

What if he doesn't love you anymore? What if he's kicking you out?

“Honey.”

What if he-

“Sweetheart.” Your gaze rushes up to the sound, kneeling in front of you on the floor. Blue eyes that were once filled with daggers now watch you with softness as little whimpers and cries leave your parted lips, the sight of his small smile growing on his face makes you suddenly burst into a waterfall of tears.

Your heart just can't take all of this all at once.

“Oh honey…” His large hands gently reach up to touch your face, prying your hands away to hold them when you try to hide and his thumbs stroke your knuckles, in a gentle, loving way. A way that he knows you love.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry, E-Elvis. I-I didnt mean- I-” Your words come out muddled, your cracking little voice, not knowing what to do with itself. You’re overwhelmed.

He scolded you but…

“Aw my little angel…” He coos, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as your body jolts with hiccups and sniffles.

…now comforting you.

“C’mere.” Pulling your frame into his strong embrace, Elvis sits himself up on the bed with you, rubbing his hand on the side of your waist and pushing your legs in to wrap around and be pressed against his body as much as possible as you sit in his lap, his other hand goes to hold your head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

You grip onto his shirt, hiding the rest of your head with a raised shoulder wanting to be protected from all the bad things of this world, your poor racing heart hammering in your chest as your eyes close, feeling his warmth surround you.

“I should be the one apologising… That wasn’t right fer me to yell at ya, aye?” He says in a low rumble. Pressing his lips to the top of your head as another small hiccup emits. “Ah jus’ got worried. Didn’t want ta see my baby get hurt. I’m sorry.”

“M-Mhm…” You respond quietly, playing with the collar of his low cut shirt you can feel your cheeks warm from him moving a little to get a better look at you. Delicately holding your chin up with his thumb and fingers.

“You’re still my good little girl?” He smiles hopefully, eyes admiring yours lovingly as his other arm tightens around your figure. Wiping the last of your tears with his thumb whilst you nod and take a deep breath.

Giving you a kiss on the forehead followed with a hum and tiny squeeze, he murmurs into your ear, his deep honey voice sending you up into the clouds. “That’s good.”

“Wouldn't know what to do if I didn't have my little princess…She fills my life with love and so much happiness…” He hums.

“She turned my life into pink.” Making you giggle knowing your favourite colour is pink. “There's my baby.”

~

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

And when you speak angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

"La vie en rose"

~

"Little Precious..."

[centrally-unplanned]

I wanna get this one out before the election since I think that is going to "cast in stone" some takes when it shouldn't given how much of a coinflip it is; Biden really fumbled the ball in the second half of his presidency. I was very pro-Biden at the beginning, I thought he did a great job. I don't think the stimulus was a huge source of inflation and meanwhile the economy came back roaring; obviously not mainly due to him but he did a good job on renewing Jerome Powell (a Trump appointee!) to the Fed, controlling the Strategic Oil Reserve, and "getting out of the way" on a bunch of issues from trade to Covid policy. His environmental policy around the energy transition was stellar, I approve of CHIPS, etc. And in foreign policy he is never going to get the credit he deserves for ending the Afghanistan debacle, and meanwhile the US response to the Russian invasion of Ukraine was about as good as you could possibly expect it to be out the gate.

He actually proved the haters wrong on his promise to "get things done in Congress" using his expertise - he did in fact get bipartisan bills passed and work with centrists like Manchin to get party bills over the line. It was a solid showing; I thought he was clearly better than Obama & Clinton.

But as time went on the wheels really came off. You can almost see the "ideas" running out, like once they had done the Covid drawdown and BBB/IRA, and the midterms made congress more unfavorable, "what's next?" left a void. There was a bunch of bad "party handout" stuff that is completely at odds with how things work today. Foolish moves like the student debt relief - unpopular, unwise in an inflationary environment, a handout to the wealthy, and dubiously legal - or all the kowtowing to the worst unions in the US that still resulting in declining labor vote share! A lack of follow-through on the bills showed the admin's lack of policy chops; the IRA is severely hampered by the lack of permitting reform for energy projects, but the admin applied virtually no pressure to making that happen because, eh, not their vibe I guess? The huge holes in procurement that Ukraine war exposed has been met with very tepid responses as well, just a sort of "throw money at it" default that has fixed little.

Israel is of course peak inertia. I am a realist, I understand fully that there is no world where the US responds to a terrorist attack on an ally by cutting them off - and I think the Biden admin has had its wins in this category, the amount of aid entering Gaza is certainly higher due to US pressure. But it is just embarrassing how obviously Biden himself treated Netanyahu and co as like, credible partners, when they just aren't? Again, Trump would just happily support them doing w/e no matter how many the killed, it wouldn't be embarrassing for him to watch that happen. For Biden, with his stated goals, it is weakness. He could have easily done better.

And we can't ignore the responsibility to the next generation - it is your job as President to set up your successor for victory. Immigration is a classic policy example of that dropped ball - a fear of seeming "Trump-like" in the face of an unsympathetic electorate and an admin itself not actually committed to massive increases in admitted asylum cases. It would be one thing if it was Biden's hill to die on, but it wasn't; just years of muddle before finally doing in ~2024 what they could have done in ~2021, too late to move the needle on the backlash.

Which leads us to the elephant in the room, as all things must. He did end his nomination in the end, again I don't think he is some awful president. But he took a lot of heavy pressure to get there. And the weirdest thing is...he is the one who scheduled a debate before the convention? That isn't normal! It was very obviously a test, to show he was fit - and he failed it. And then refused to admit it. What if George Clooney didn't aim for his head in the press at the 11th hour? What if Nancy Pelosi didn't bring out the big guns? Would he have not bowed down to reality?

And while I have been quite impressed by Harris's campaign so far, and not having a primary has been an advantage, it has still been very rushed. Orgs take time to emerge, you can't actually just snap your fingers and get 30 interviews booked or a docket of vetted VPs. I think Tim Walz a mistake, personally! Not a big one, but a weak choice when someone like Josh Shapiro is right there and "pivot to the center" is your stated strategy. But it is hard to blame her when she probably threw it together in a few weeks while also doing 20 stump speeches a month and debate prepping and all that! I can't say that specific decision would change, but others would. Hell, time could have helped - her favourables in a ton of categories have slowly been ticking up, if she was the candidate since January things could be different. We will never know of course, but the more distance from Biden the better.

I think in 2023 and 2024 it is in fact very hard to find any solid wins for the Biden administration. I can think of a few but they outnumbered handily by the missteps. And I think that, if Kamala wins, a lot of this is going to be papered over. All the political missteps will be like "eh, who cares! We won, right?" But that is not how effective strategy works. For one, if Kamala wins it is only because Trump is the opponent; a normie Republican would probably have trounced her. But more importantly your strategy should pretty much never be "eh whatever" to maximizing your electoral odds. Every action should either be A: this will keep us winning, or B: this won't but it will make the world a better place and so it is where we are spending our points. Biden has had a lot of "neither option" these past two years; too many, in my opinion, to be considered a good president anymore.

But I will give him decent at least, it is a tough job!

[littlemissthunderstorms]

warp speed chic pt.1

“the shining city on the fritz”

a tranquility base hotel and casino alternate universe.

———

you were in awe.

warm, glimmering lights hung down from the ceiling, the soft glittering reflections painting the walls like a mirrorball. smooth jazz filled the reception area, muddled by various chitter chatter and conversations. the whole atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but you couldn’t help the shiver than ran down your spine when you caught a glance out of one of the big windows, vast space scattered with stars and nebulas stretching on and on above the spectacular intergalactic city lights.

you caught yourself staring, jaw agape.

“can i help you miss?” a man with a sleek suit holding a clipboard looked up at you through his thick rimmed glasses, waiting for an answer. “oh- um, yes! i’m actually supposed to meet um..” you glanced at your card, “alex turner?” the man raised his eyebrows. “mr. turner you say?”

you nodded, not really aware of his importance, or if he had any at all. you just knew you were supposed to meet with him first thing. the man glanced down at his clipboard, shaking his head and scurrying over to the phone at the desk, where he fumbled with the buttons, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he waited for someone to pick up.

you clacked your nails on the desk, looking around as you waited, still breath taken by the gorgeous architecture, the way design flowed so beautifully throughout the space. “good evening mr. turner! sorry to trouble you sir, i’ve got someone who’s apparently supposed to be meeting- oh! great, i’ll send her right up. thank you- you too sir.”

you smiled at the man, nervously biting your lip. another dude in a sleek suit came up to the desk, annoyed. “jeremy, i’m the phone guy. what are you doing?” the man with the thick glasses, presumably named jeremy, rolled his eyes. “mark, i don’t want to hear it. go take this young ladies luggage up to her room,” he snapped back, quickly clacking away on his keyboard. “room 505.” mark scoffed, mustering a fake smile for you as he took your luggage and scurried away.

“sorry about him. he’s got a knack for directing calls... anyway, mr. turner’s been expecting you, follow me.” you smile and nod awkwardly, following him as he treks down a long, red carpeted hallway.

———

turns out, it’s a little frightening riding the elevator up to the top floor. you’ve never been too afraid of heights, but this elevator is a round tube of pure glass, giving you a chill inducing view of all the buildings as the lift rises, just getting higher and higher, the tops of the neon buildings getting lower and lower.

it was frightening for sure, but interesting nonetheless. the booming metro city outside was a design of neon lights and intricate architecture. surely there were many lives and different storylines sprawling and networking throughout the city, as there was everywhere but it seemed so much more captivating on the moon. you wondered what it was like to live here.

once the elevator reached the peak of the building, dinging as the doors slid open, you happily slid out into the hallway. “go straight down the hall, through that big door. that’s his office.” you nodded, a little intimidated now. “thank you sir.” he smiled. “have a wonderful evening miss.”

and with that he was gone, the elevator dinging once more as it closed, followed by the low hum of the lift descending back down, leaving you on your own. the top floor was eerily quiet, the lights dim. you took a deep breath before walking towards the huge door at the end of the hall, noticing the shiny gold plaque in the middle that read alexander turner, founder of tranquility base hotel & casino.

great. you were set to be talking to the goddamn owner of this place. you seemed very mentally unprepared, all you knew is that you would be working on designing the new wing that was just built, along with a team of designers. of course you were qualified for the job, and it was an honor to design for a place this spectacular, you were just a bit intimidated.

you quickly fluffed up your hair and smoothed down your shirt before knocking, your stomach knotting up. a muffled shuffling sound followed by a few heavy footsteps were heard from behind the door before it swung open.

the man that greeted you on the other side was quite striking. you didn’t quite know who you were expecting, but he was much younger than you imagined, probably no more of an age gap of 3 years between you and him, you assumed. the man wore a crisp, perfectly tailored navy blue suit, the cream button up below equally sleek. his dark hair was slicked back, his vampire-esque hairline on display.

“hello, it’s lovely to have you, i’m alex,” he shook your hand and you smiled, trying not to show your nerves as you introduced yourself. “come, have a seat,” he moved your chair out from under the desk, sitting in his own across from you after you’d sat down.

his office was a bit of a contrast from the rest of the establishment. instead of sleek, polished furniture and vast space, the room inhabited more of a homey, lived in essence. you could tell he’d actually done work here. mahogany bookcases lined the whole wall behind his desk, sprawling with books and journals. various paintings scattered the walls, an occasional sticky note or reminder stuck to a golden frame. instead of overhead lighting, vintage lamps scattered the room, basking the space in a comforting warmth that soothed your nerves.

he ran a hand through his gelled hair, fidgeting with the fold of his sleeves. “we’re really excited to have you here. i’ve got to say, i’m a big fan of your work.” this comment surprised you. “thank you, it’s an honor, really.” you smiled, your cheeks starting to hurt. “i just wanted to see you so i could get you all set up. just before you arrived, i emailed you everything you need to know, so um- just be sure to go over that.”

you nodded attentively. “tomorrow you’ll have a meeting with the other designers in the conference hall, which shouldn’t be tricky to find, there’s a map of the place attached to the email as well,” the man rambled on a bit, telling you a bit about the place, sometimes starting sentences just to never finish them, getting lost in his own thoughts.

you liked the way he spoke, his accent, the dreamlike quality his tone held. “any questions?” he chimed after telling you about the library. you shook your head. you had a lot of questions for him, so many you couldn’t even pick, and plus, you didn’t want to worry him anymore, so you saved those questions for another time, storing them in your mind as if they were books on his shelves. alex sat up, smoothing a hand over his blazer.

“well then, i’ll walk you to your room,” he smiled. “oh, that’s alright it’s no worry,” you stood up. surely he was busy, you didn’t want to bother him. he tilted his head. “do you know where it is?” you were silent for a moment, thinking of the plethora of hallways this place had, your chance of finding the suite on your own was small. “no…” you shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

———

“here you are, room 505,” he smiled, holding out a keycard for you. the walk to the suite area had been silent for the most part. the hotel was starting to quiet down since it was getting late. every so often he’d look back and give you a gentle smile before turning back, his heeled boots clacking against the sleek wood flooring. he was so intriguing to you, unlike anyone you’d ever met. you wouldn’t be surprised if he melted into the shadows, seeping away into darkness, like some sort of creature. you couldn’t explain it.

“thank you, mr. turner,” you smiled, grabbing the keycard. “it’s no problem, and call me alex,” he added, stepping away slightly as he realized he might’ve been a bit too close for comfort. “it was nice to meet you, alex.” he grinned. “it’s been a pleasure, have a wonderful night.”

as his footsteps faded off into the darkness, you held your keycard up to the scanner, eyes widening when the door clicked and swung open.

the place was stunning. a large, circular bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned in plush maroon and silky red pillows, with a matching maroon comforter. a white sheer lace bed curtain was tied to each of the four wooden posts, making a gorgeous canopy. the room was tasteful, soft, consisting of intricately designed carpets, sleek 70’s style furniture, and a plasma tv that slid down from the ceiling with a click of a button.

you almost squealed at the sight of the bathroom. the rooms porcelain tiles were pink and cream, matching with the patchwork carpet that sat in front of the clawfoot tub, which was filled with expensive soaps. you opened another sliding door to find a nearly empty walk-in closet, a cherry red silk robe hung on one of the racks, a matching pair of slippers below.

once you were snug in bed, practically melting into the mattress, being engulfed by the soft pillows, your eyes began to feel heavy. you slowly turned your head over to the exterior wall, sleepily gazing out of the large window. most of the city lights were off now, leaving only the inky black void of stars to lull you to sleep.

———

stepping into the conference room, you felt a little underdressed in your button down and slacks. there were about six other designers, all clad in an array of vibrancy. shiny space-age metallic tops, dynamic head scarfs, eccentric glasses. they all looked like they were set to walk a runway show, clearly you missed the memo.

you were a teensy bit late, thanks to the warm, soft bed that didn’t fail to keep you asleep through your alarm. you gave an awkward smile when they all turned to look at you, the door slamming a little too loud. you flushed, quickly setting your laptop and purse down as you pushed yourself into the seat across from alex, who gave you a gentle smile.

settling in, you looked up at the designer who was giving a presentation on his ideas for the new stargazing room. you fought to not scrunch your nose. white curtains? white furniture? white walls with gold detailing? it was cute, maybe for a suburban mom but it didn’t match the energy of the hotel whatsoever.

once it was your turn to present ideas, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. some of the other designers had okay ideas, but some were also good, and although you loved your plan, these people seemed intimidating.

for the stargazing area, you’d envisioned a more cozy, dreamlike room. the furniture and carpeting would be warm toned, various soft lamps and fairy lights scattered across the room. while you were walking everyone through your presentation, your nerves seemed to ease. when you turned back around to sit down, everyone was quiet, unreadable. great.

after each presentation was done, it was time to discuss. everyones attention redirected to alex. being the owner, he got a big say in the final decision. your heart raced once you heard him murmur your name. “i liked yours. we’ll go with that,” he concluded. “meeting over, see you guys tomorrow.”

your jaw was agape. no discussion, no nothing, he chose yours immediately. the other designers didn’t take it well either, mumbling and grumbling a bit as they gathered their things and stumbled out of the conference room.

the following week, you were in the conference room once again. everyone was discussing plans for the day spa, and you found yourself falling quiet. someone had suggested sleek wood paneled walls, which alex had liked. others had suggested fluorescent lighting installments, to which alex said no. you sat there, observing until alex turned to you. “what about you? any ideas?”

your cheeks flushed a bit. “i was thinking dim, hanging lights, a bunch of different kinds, all warm toned, it makes it more calming.” he fiddled with his pen, nodding and scribbling something down. “i like that.”

a designer across the table from you rolled his eyes subtly. you shrunk in your seat, feeling gross. you didn’t want to be known as some sort of suck up. you couldn’t help the way alex singled you out, agreeing with all your ideas.

nevertheless, it didn’t stop. you’d suggest paintings for the wall, he would agree, you’d bring up an interesting wallpaper, he’d find somewhere to put it, you’d point out curtains that complemented the room well, he’d nod approvingly and scribble it down on his notepad.

eventually, you learned to be quieter, trying to let the other designers have the spot light but sure enough, alex would ask you to share again, his eyes narrowing at you as he dismissed the annoyance that stifled the room.

every single time, you’d receive a subtle scoff or an eye roll from one of the other petty designers. you understood, it was annoying that they’d worked hard to get here and the majority of their ideas were being turned down, but still, were their egos just so fucking big that they couldn’t be at least a little happy for you?

———

the next morning, you found a loup mask outside your door. it was adorned in black satin and lace, small gold detailing outlining the eyes. underneath was a small, metallic gold envelope with an invitation inside.

you have been invited to the tranquility base masquerade party,

tonight, 7pm, @ the information action ratio, live music and free drinks.

so now here you were, clad in a black, lace dress, which mysteriously had showed up at your door later that morning, along with a stunning pair of gold earrings and a dainty necklace that matched the detailing on your mask. the black satin hugged you perfectly, making you wonder how they managed to nail your size and proportions.

chandeliers with bulbs of stars hung down in clusters, emitting a gentle glow. people danced and chatted, jazz flowing through the room from the band on the stage, the martini police. tons of different people wandered around, all masked and dressed in a variety of colors and textures.

letting your eyes linger, you spotted the group of designers all chatting at a booth. instead, you headed towards the bar, figuring they already hated you enough, why annoy them now. the bar was beautiful, lights lit up the whole structure, and as you ordered your martini, you couldn’t help but notice how good looking some of the bartenders were.

as you sipped your drink, you felt someone’s presence directly behind you, a little too close for comfort. you turned, trying to distinguish who was under the sparkly white cat mask. “so, are you fucking him or something?”

your eyebrows raised “huh?” the girl scoffed, and immediately you recognized her as one of the other designers. she had a model figure, super tall with platinum blonde hair, and a menacing scoff. she’d be a really good bully. “are you fucking alex? is that how you get him to pick all your ideas?”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed. “no. i have no idea why he favors me,” you stated, turning back to your drink when you felt a cold liquid down your back, making you gasp. you turned again, the blonde pretending to be shocked as she held her empty glass. “i’m so sorry! i’m so clumsy.”

you rolled your eyes, getting up and deciding you’d had enough. you just wanted to go back to your suite, shower and lay in bed. since you’d arrived, the crowd almost doubled in size. you fought your way through, bumping into a few shoulders as you tried not to step on dresses. a lady in a swan mask turned and bumped you, her feathery dress catching on your shoes. you lost balance, stumbling over your heels, about to fall onto another group of people when you felt strong hands on your waist, and in a whirlwind you were upright.

it was alex. he pulled you close to him and swept you away onto the dancefloor, his hand on your waist, a hand interlocked with yours. you almost didn’t recognize him at first. he wore a black masquerade mask, with dark shimmery sequins adorning the sides. his hair was fluffier, much unlike his usual slicked back look.

you looked up at him, noticing how your hand gripped his shoulder. he’d swept you away so swiftly, leaving you speechless. his dark eyes shimmered under the mask as he peered down at you, waiting for you to speak first. “i- i was just leaving,” you stuttered, hyperfixating on the way the spill made the wet satin stick to your skin. he made no remark, keeping his languid gaze, his mouth twisted into a subtle grin.

“there’s vodka all over my dress,” you added. alex shuffled, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around your shoulders. it didn’t help much, but you didn’t say anything. it was a nice gesture.

the mystery lingered in the back of your mind, you wanted to question him about his decisions to constantly favor you but his position of authority made you bite your tongue.

his position of authority. you noticed how many people were staring all of a sudden. you could sense it in his sharp suit, the expensive, musky cologne he wore. it was entrancing, he was quite entrancing himself, you couldn’t ignore it but you couldn’t do this. you didn’t want the taboo boss employee type of perception cast upon you and him. you wanted to be taken seriously. the other designers were already perceiving you as some sort of teachers pet. the thought instilled momentary nausea.

“alex, i’ve got to go,” you whispered. he looked down at you again. “i’ll walk you back.” you shook your head. “no, no thank you, i’ll manage.” you slipped out of his arms before handing him his blazer, maneuvering your way through the tight packed crowd, slipping around torsos and arms until you finally made it out into the secluded hallway.

you took a deep breath, the chatter, music, and clinking of glasses now muddled. the hall was dark, not counting the floor to ceiling window that casted a murky blue into the space. you pressed your hand up against the window. staring out, you still didn’t comprehend it all was real, convincing yourself that it was a dream, and dreams were merely fragments of space cut out and glued together, playing like a glitched out film reel in your sleep.

you snapped back to reality, the smell of vodka on your dress pungent. quickly, you headed back to your suite, heels clacking on the marble, loud in the silence.

———

hii! let me know what you think so far. sorry if this part is a little uneventful, i mostly wanted to set up the environment but trust, better things are coming.

taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed)- @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @averyzversi0n @michelleisheres-blog @kennedy-brooke @madeinuk @mathdebate00 @sstar-ggirl @tangointhequango @nela-cutie

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

One of the problems I had with the online radicalization of Jalil in reunion is how it actually occurs. Jalil is supposedly radicalized by a message board, but it’s provided by alliance and the AI mascot he uses is Lila. So it’s left muddled on what exactly is happening here.

Is there really an internet based opposition to LB and CN? You wouldn’t think it since Paris enlarge is shown to still support them. But the presence of message boards would imply at least some support for monarch even if it’s mostly trolls. Or is alliance fabricating it for Gabriel to upset people in a targeted way? Or is it just Lila with a bunch of alt accounts? It’s really hard for me to tell just how wide spread this is as a problem for Paris considering it’s dropped after this one episode.

I'm also not sure how seriously we're supposed to take the criticism shown in that episode. It feels very much like the sort of BS we get with Su-Han where he points out a legitimate concern but in the most obnoxious, inflammatory way possible so that the audience feels forced to disagree with him. It's terrible writing that isn't very fun to watch. Reminds me of all the awful live-action Disney reboots that try to engage with every critical take anyone has ever had, leading to a lesser story. They would be much better off to just ignore the criticism they don't want to properly address and have fun with the story even if there's an arguable flaw. That's what suspension of disbelief is all about!

You want Paris to support Ladybug and Chat Noir no matter what they do? Cool! That works! Just don't take an episode and introduce the idea that there is actually criticism out there because that makes us start to question things like anon is doing here.

Another great example is the "issue" that Gabriel never uses the butterfly miraculous to heal his wife when it feels like that should be within its power. The show was totally correct to never address that on screen because the butterfly probably should be able to heal her! The reason it can't is because then the show would end. If the writers tried to explain an in-universe reason, then it would be as nonsensical as their explanation of how the rooster works:

Gabriel: There! (to Orikko) You! You can grant me any power I want! (closes the Grimoire and walks toward Orikko) You will give me the power to travel through time! Orikko: No, you're mistaken! Time travel is Fluff's power and I can't grant the power that already belongs to another Kwami! Gabriel: Are you trying to deceive me?? Orikko: (nods) By all means! Read the Grimoire again! (Gabriel reopens the Grimoire.) Sass: Each Kwami represents a concept, and a concept can only exist once in the universe. Xuppu: Too complicated, Sass! Let's use an example to make things simpler. Take Tikki, she is the Kwami of Creation, and creation is creation, and if there's another creation than creation, then it's not "creation", it's "replication"! Gabriel: Then grant me the power to locate Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous! Orikko: Trouble is, that's not a power; that's a wish! Xuppu: For instance, if I asked Santa for a pair of socks, that's a wish. But if I want Santa to grant me the power to knit socks, then it means Santa needs to know how to knit socks in the first place so he can teach me! Gabriel: (groans angrily) Grant me the power to unmask Ladybug and Cat Noir's secret identities! Xuppu: No can do! Orikko: (shoves Xuppu away) I cannot give a power that would disrupt another Kwami's magic. And being able to conceal the person behind the costume, well, that's part of the magic of their Kwami. Gabriel: (enraged) So you're utterly useless!

If all of this is true, then how do the goat and the peacock make things? Isn't that Creation? And how was the butterfly able to make a time travel villain? That's Fluff's power! And how was Gabriel able to offer to make Marinette into a villain who could unmask people via the butterfly? That's going against the miraculous' powers!

The answer is simply that the lore was not thought out in a way that stands up to even the most basic questions. When that's the case, the only way to handle the problem is to just ignore it. Keep your on screen explanations as shallow as your lore. Don't try to add depth that isn't there. Trying to address it just highlights how shitty your world building is.

[lurkingshan]

Okay, well. I disliked just about everything about this final arc so if you loved it this post is not for you.

Repeated noble idiocy and San abandoning Vee in the wake of his grandma’s death is awful.

All this lying compounding Vee’s confusion and grief is just so gross, and everyone is complicit.

This constant sacrificial energy and suicidal shit from both Vee and San is NOT romantic. Romantic would be treating each other like partners and making decisions together.

Third’s function as the unwanted nice guy lecturing the ML is such a disappointing waste of his character and makes the romance feel even worse. If he has to keep telling San what to do it’s damaging to San’s character arc, and the show never even made use of his connection to Trai or let him have any real feelings about the things his past life self did. He feels like an audience insert Mary Sue instead of a real person.

Speaking of, the show’s themes about reincarnation and redemption and destiny feel so muddled. They went back and forth on who was Vad’s reincarnation and never settled it one way or the other, which they tried to sell as A Lesson but really just felt like a cop out. They seemed to be making a point about Vadfah and Third being opposite from their past doppelgängers, but then they undercut that by redeeming Vadfah at the end. They seemed to imply that fated destiny and soulmates don’t matter, but then explicitly talked about Third’s soulmate being on the way. I have no idea what the story believes about any of this, except that it doesn’t really want to take a stance. In the end, the central question of the mythology is dismissed with a shrug.

I’m also left unsatisfied with the stone’s lore in the end. I was a bit confused by there being no price for Vee’s life being saved by the stone, and @my-rose-tinted-glasses reminded me that San’s curse was from his deal with the goddess to live 100 years so he could find Vad. So in the end, there’s no actual price to pay for living artificially based on the stone’s magic. Kinda violating fantasy rules there but okay!

The show ended up being disappointingly tame on both the fantasy elements and the romance. The cracked out, propulsive, horny energy of the first half completely evaporated in favor of sappy, boring, and cyclical storytelling in the second half. No shade if you liked it but that is not at all what I want from a story in this genre.

I know this show had serious production issues and I’m definitely attributing the drop in quality in the back half at least in part to that. I still think Juu was the MVP and I hope we see that actress again very soon. And let’s get Daou and Offroad in that idol bl stat (with a decent writer, please). They’ve more than proven they can carry a show.

[mamawasatesttube]

a tuppence for your bi4bi Clois thoughts 🪙... I'm luv them so much and I'd love to hear if you have any specific headcanons about them 🥺

YESSSS!!! i DO have some thoughts. i love them,

generally i think lois has her bisexuality figured out by the time she's in her mid-20s. she and cat grant have had some rage-filled makeouts on at least one occasion, but an actual relationship would never in a million years work out between them. they respect each other but do not see eye to eye nearly enough. she never bothered to come out to her father, but just knows it's one more thing about her that he'd hate.

clark, by contrast, does Not have it figured out. he has spent his entire life repressing every single thought, feeling, and ability that set him apart from the classic good all-american boy because he had to fit in. and being superman, exploring his kryptonian heritage, etc., has helped, of course, but he is still. so repressed. he has no idea that he's ever experienced attraction to guys before. he's got some internalized homophobia to work through, about himself. He Has To Be Normal. so as far as he's concerned, there was lana, and then there was lois.

to me, clark's journey toward self-acceptance is very intrinsically tied to his family. there's kara, talking about how sexuality and gender stuff on krypton wasn't like it is on earth, especially in western culture. there's kon, suffering through his own repression and depression and trying to pretend he's fine. there's chris and jon, both too young to fully grasp it all (probably), who make clark incredibly aware of every step he makes in terms of parenting them.

so one day, after kon's finally come out to the family, and kara's muddled through trying to figure out earth labels that she's comfortable with, the two of them decide they wanna go to pride, and ask lois and clark if they want to make it a family affair. lois says hell yeah, and clark says yes of course he's happy to support them! and jon says YAY, GLITTER!! CAN I GET STICKERS? and chris says if you get glitter all over my nintendo ds again i will punt you into the ocean, baby brother or not.

and there's just this innocuous moment while they're out when kon goes "here i got you these!" and hands lois and clark two simple lil heart-shaped bi flag buttons. and lois is like aw thanks squirt! and ruffles kon's hair. clark meanwhile goes oh i think there's been a misunderstanding... ... . . . .. . .. .. . or. has there?

and that night he's just sitting on the edge of the bed holding this tiny like $3 button in his hands having a whole crisis. lois hooks her chin over his shoulder and asks what's wrong? and he's like. lois i'm not. i'm. except maybe i'm not not. but i don't know, i thought i... i never thought i could think about it. clark kent is supposed to be normal. i... i'm already an alien, lois, i thought i was already set apart enough, and if i'm... if i'm this, even when i'm clark, not superman, then... then...

and lois digs her matching little $3 bi flag heart button out of her purse and bumps it against his and says, even if you are queer, you're still not alone. and then clark gives her the patented kent family big soft puppy-dog eyes. that night, he falls asleep in her arms with his head tucked snugly under her chin. it's where he feels safest.

but the next year, he lets kara get him a flag, and lets kon tie it around his shoulders like a cape. and he's here as clark kent, but it's kind of funny when he looks at his shadow. because he might not be superman right now, but the silhouette still looks the same.

[onlyoneofyongsoo]

Why BUB actually fits into OOO's catalogue

Bump Up Business has been criticised for many things, and don’t get me wrong, it’s far from perfect, but there is one question I have heard a lot: “Why did OnlyOneOf of all people choose to do this? Doesn’t this show play exactly into the thing we have been defending them of?”

My own answer to this is yes and no. But let me explain. 

In this I will not be discussing what the writers had in mind, because I don’t know them. But I’ll talk about why I think it makes sense OnlyOneOf would tell this kind of story, whether they actually had any say in choosing this drama or not.

The main argument for most peoples' criticism I’ve seen is “This show is about/glorifying queerbaiting.” But is it really? Both of the characters are already queer. Jihoon has dated at least one man and is very aware of his own sexuality. Eden is quickly established as being very insecure in his own sexuality, not because he’s straight, but because he’s queer and finds that hard to accept. So the show is about queer characters. 

Okay, so how does the queerbaiting fall into this? Obviously there is queerbaiting present. Their company practically forces them to do it. Eden is very reluctant, but agrees after the company gives him an ultimatum. Jihoon is less reluctant, but also in a tight spot. He has fallen off and this is seemingly his last chance to save his career, something he wouldn’t give up even for the man he loved. So the characters take no pleasure in the queerbaiting, but is it a problem to them? Yes, actually. It is made clear that they have trouble telling apart what is real feelings and what’s just work. In episode 4 for example Jihoon asks Eden if he is struggling with their concept after Eden revealed how insecure he is in his sexuality. The question comes from a place of caring and honesty. Eden then answers that he is okay because it’s "just work". Since emotions and their hidden identities are now part of their work it gets all muddled and confusing for them. 

You might say now “But that’s not the problem with queerbaiting! They’re leading their fans on!” And from a fan’s perspective I agree. They are leading them on. But this isn’t about fans, this show is about idols. What would it be like for a queer idol to work in an industry where you are urged to act queer but to never be queer? How would that affect your personal life?

In the drama the queer characters hide their identity. Even after Hyunbin spread these awful rumours about Jihoon, they don’t reveal their relationship. Evidently having rumours about being with women is still better than revealing that you’re gay. The entire time they keep any real relationships under wraps. 

On top of that, in a way Eden has to out himself for his job. Even though he of course isn’t allowed to be actually queer, acting this lovey-dovey with another man in public sure must feel like he’s coming out and he is clearly uncomfortable with that. Interviewers and netizens are constantly questioning their relationship as well. Are they gay? Are they straight? Do they naturally act that way? Is the company forcing them? Having all your actions be scrutinised and dissected like this, especially as a closeted queer person is terrifying. 

Once again I’m not claiming that the writers wanted to represent queer idols’ struggles, but I think you can understand how this might be able to be read that way, especially by idols themselves. 

Now how does this fit in with OnlyOneOf’s usual work, besides the obvious queer element? For that I’d like to remind you of June 2022. That is the month we started off the undergrOund idOl project. If you’re like me, then that name probably made you question it. What does it mean? I remember theories about it being about struggling as a relatively unknown group and things along those lines. Luckily they gave us hints in several articles by letting us know that the series is about “the inner side of idols who shine on stage”. Okay, cool! So is it about struggles with fame? Like a glimpse behind the mask? Let’s look at the videos! Hm… Not much about idol life here actually… They’re all just.. queer? How curious. Almost as if they want to highlight the queerness so many idols or celebrities have to hide?

So OnlyOneOf, a group whose behaviours and sexualities are constantly being dissected and who is famous for telling and highlighting genuine queer stories, even connecting those stories to what idols have to hide, choose a drama that is about queer idols who have to navigate their queerness in an industry that demands “fake queerness” but has no room for real queer people. This doesn’t actually seem that surprising to me. Does it to you?

Last comments:

I don’t think that BUB is a critical masterpiece tastefully portraying the harsh reality of queer celebrities. I think that the producers and writers did not do a good job and that OnlyOneOf’s own work is a lot better. But I can absolutely see how this story fits into the larger picture and why this could be appealing to them. I don’t know if they even had any say in doing the drama to begin with. But I just wanted to provide a different point of view. Maybe someone found this interesting at least <3

[sadjestergirll]

⚠️ SPOILERS + THEORY FOR THE NEW WELCOME HOME UPDATE ⚠️

hello! this is my first post on tumblr, so I’m not sure how exactly to use this app very well but, just a note before I get started, I also have a YouTube channel, where I posted this theory on, i do not want to give away my channel on here though! If that’s okay!

. . .

I’m unsure if I’m overanalysing things, but hopefully you guys understand this theory and it makes sense to you! again, I could just be overanalysing, but these are genuinely just my personal thoughts!

first off, info on where I found the 2nd, 3rd and 4th photo from, basically if you go to the website and go to the “the playfellow exhibition” section, scroll till you see the bundle of photos and keep scrolling until you find the “welcome home Worksheet” image with a picture of Wally on it, then click on the image and either if you’re on laptop it’ll come up on the right side (I think) or if you’re on phone It’ll show up at the bottom, you then click the line that looks like an answer box and then it takes you to something that looks like a vault, click one of the buttons and it’ll ask you to enter a password, the password is BSPJW, then you should be taken to the place I’ll be talking about in this post! ✨

. . .

anyways, onto the theory I’ve made!

so, I’ve come up with a theory that wally might actually be the victim and it’s the re-searchers that are trying to uncover welcome home that are the bad people, like Amanda the adventurer and Hameln, people believe that Amanda is evil when really it was the company that was evil!

and this theory is basically going to be a bit like that, what if the re-searchers are actually the bad people? what if home and Wally are actually completely innocent and it’s just the re-searchers? as it seems to appear that welcome home was an ‘old TV show’ that nobody remembers apart from these so called ‘re-searchers’, the proof is mainly in photo 3, I believe the person who wrote that is one of the re-searchers, “maybe that’s why nobody has ever heard of WH”, this confirms that people don’t seem to remember welcome home apart from this re-searcher.

. . .

moving onto photo 2, the highlighted words, now I cant put my finger between if this is wally saying this or if it’s the re-searcher, because I mainly believe the other highlighted words are indeed wally, as photo 5 says “- wally darling” which appears to make it sound like wally, before I explain why I think it’s Wally, if you guys cannot read what it says in photo 2, i tried to read what it says, and it says . . .

“everything is so disgusting to touch, sometimes the mail doesn’t come for weeks, I want to rip into everything I have. my head feels so muddled too. ever since I opened that envelope.” . . .

. . .

now on quote “sometimes the mail doesn’t come for weeks” I have a feeling this is implying that something has happened to Eddie, since he is known as the “mailman”.

now anyways, back to why i believe this could be wally, basically in photo 4 it seems as if the re-searchers have found a wally puppet, now I have a feeling that the wally puppet could secretly be alive and it is actually wally but wally is playing d3@d due to the fact that the re-searchers might be dangerous people, I also think this is how wally gets onto the website and tries to contact the viewer, because if the owners of the website have the real wally, then wally must be able to sneak around and get a hold of the website, which is why it seems to appear that wally is the ONLY puppet in welcome home that seems to be able to interact with the viewer.

I also believe that wally trying to contact the viewer means he is crying for help, he is trying to hint that something awful has happened and he needs help with something, but it seems as if he has to keep it subtle, because if he gets caught, he could put himself in danger., this could also be why wally keeps repeatedly saying things like “can you see me?” “I can see you” etc, because he is trying to control the website and get possible help, and he believes the only way to get help is to try and hide secrets within the website to contact the viewer and try to speak with whoever is viewing the page.

. . .

but the question is, what happened to the other neighbors? where are they? and simply, I don’t quite know but I do remember this one welcome home theory I had seen on YouTube a while back, where the person stated that If you go into the “neighbourhood!” page and click on all the characters, it talks about ALL the characters in the past tense apart from wally, for example, it would say “wally IS” and for the others it would say something like “barnaby WAS”, and it literally talks about everyone in the past tense apart from wally.

why I think this is happening? because I believe that they are talking in the past tense for the other characters is because they haven’t FOUND them yet, in photo 4 it appears that the re-searchers have found wally, which is why they most likely talk in the present tense for ONLY wally, so I believe that the other characters are missing, either they’re just missing or something bad has happened to them, and the re-searchers have not found them yet, meaning this could be why they are making it sound like the other neighbors ‘no-longer’ exist.

. . .

In summery, I basically think that wally is alive and he is controlling part of the website— while the re-searchers are putting information into the website, wally is sneakily going on and hiding secrets, trying to warn the viewer and make the viewer realise that he needs help and that welcome home is not just a ‘sweet little neighbourhood’ that’s completely ‘safe’. and like I’ve also mentioned, I believe that the other neighbors are currently missing and the re-searchers are trying to hunt them down and find them, as that’s the re-searchers purpose, they’re trying to find the missing pieces of welcome home so they can ‘prove’ to people that welcome home was a ‘real’ TV show.

. . .

anyways, this is just a theory of course and I’m not in any way trying to say that this is canon or is true, it is just my thoughts and opinions and what these things look like to me, as there are many theories already, and although I feel like wally could be a victim, there is also a lot of proof that wally could be evil too.

but anyways, I hope this post made sense to you and you guys enjoy my theory! 💗

[aureoboros]

was i sweet once?

every time i think about baby durge it makes me sad, so here’s a ramble on adriel’s childhood:

they were essentially a changeling baby!! although not in the sense that orin is, as they aren’t a shape changer. their mother was a human from baldur’s gate, and their father was a drow who escaped menzoberranzan (i need to draw them both eventually). bhaal crafted adriel to resemble one of the children they had together - and they were switched as infants by bhaalists. if adriel’s surrogate parents noticed, they never said a word about it. their family was poor, their parents and siblings were loving, and they had a childhood full of play and exploration!! at least up until the incident happened, and everything went downhill from there. adriel was barely ten when the urges manifested :(

adriel woke to find their family dead by their hand, and to say the least, they were horrified by what they had done. they wouldn’t embrace bhaal’s influence until their teenage years (at which point it was so overwhelming that they just sort of… gave into it). and in the end, they grew to be a truly awful person as an adult. taking lives became like a checklist to them - even if some remnant of that scared child still lingered. they had a soft spot for children and animals, as well as the poor - and would avoid taking their lives, at the least. of course, this was never substantial enough to make much of a difference. adriel’s sense of personhood, for both themselves and for others, became very muddled.

so yeah!! orin’s betrayal really is the best thing that ever happened to them. while the memory loss certainly wasn’t a miracle in any sense, they wouldn’t have been able to break free without it. it was sort of a nature vs nurture scenario. they woke up as an empty shell, with no context for any of their urges - just the knowledge that they were there, and a general sense that they shouldn't give into them. though not everything can be fixed, they finally get to move on and choose who they want to be. so it goes, a tragic story turned road to redemption :] i love how tadpoles saved most of the bg3 cast

[birthdaycakeplate]

Ambiguous Ceasefire AU

Everyone’s favorite trope- Megatron gets high in the medbay and flirts with Optimus ✨

(I cannot proof read this or I will die)

————————————-

“It’s processor damage, Ratchet-“

“No, it’s processor lag. Stop fretting, Prime. He shouldn’t of been drinking that slag with an injury like that.”

“It’s a common practice, stumpy. Decepticons do not have ze luxury of pain patches jou hoity-toity Autobots do.”

“This is peace time, Strika. He could have waited for me to get to him after he comm’ed for me! Overcharge interferes with medication.”

“Please don’t raise your voice, Ratchet. He’s likely very sensitive.”

Megatron made a pathetic noise of agreement. Though it was too great a chore to open his optics and see for himself who was yelling back and forth at one another over his helpless, prone form, he could at least summon the strength to wave his servo in a silent plea to be spared.

These bots sounded far too over involved, and Megatron just wanted to sleep…

He shifted to find his bearings and a tremor ran through him as a searing sensation nestled deep in his abdominal plate screamed at him in protest. He conceded with a hiss, falling back against the padded slab beneath him.

“Hey! Stop moving!”

Megatron flinched at the sudden shouting.

“Let him.” Said the thick accent.

“He has to learn his lesson.”

“But it’s not his fault- you said he was trying to numb the pain.”

‘Not his fault’.

If Megatron’s glossa weren’t impossibly heavy and he had a slice of a processor left to think with, he knew he’d be quite inclined to chat with the more forgiving of the three voices above him to help him make sense of things.

He liked having a sensible mech around.

“He’s an idiot, but he was also desperate, you two.”

Megatron took it back.

Sleep was clearly not an option anymore, nor was a moment’s peace of the burning hole in his tank keeping him on high alert.

Through sheer force of will -and the need to assert himself, especially as an incapacitated warlord- Megatron cracked an optic open to address the spinning room at large.

In seconds, the colliding world of colors and far too bright lights came into a hazy focus, morphing into a sight more arresting than his first view of the Iacon tower in 4 millennia.

Before him stood a stunningly vivid mech, painted in blues and reds, silvers and yellows, and peering down at him with such captivation.

Shielding him from the blinding light in his optics with his curiously cocked helm.

Or perhaps, Megatron thought, that was concern etched into his smooth features- rather unsure of how to behold the colossal mech laid before him.

Megatron had built an empire with… ‘physical persuasion’ and his dashing charisma, and this new recruit was clearly feeling out of his depths at the sight of his glorious leader. Even in the pathetic state he was in -which Megatron could tell by his aching joints.

He was simply too magnificent a mech.

“Megatron?” The young recruit spoke his name, and in an instant of clarity, as Energon rushed to Megatron’s helm -and with it, the euphoric tendrils of some unnamed emotion- Megatron realized in wonder and awe that this was no recruit he’d ever seen before- because the blue mech wasn’t one.

“….M-Megatron?”

He was a guardian sent by Primus. That was a halo above his angled helm.

“A holy architect of the AllSpark.” The helicopter murmured in a hushed voice. Lying there in worship.

“You are a messenger of Primus?”

Wide optics stared back at him.

“No- Megatron, you’re not dead.” That little billed helm shook.

“This is Cybertron.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s dead and gone to the well of AllSparks.” Ratchet mumbled somewhere off to his side. Dialing in another boost of sensor blockers to rush Megatron’s sensor net and effectively muddle his already vacant processor further.

With the new surge of pleasure came another ping of inspiration, as Megatron’s sharp denta gleamed and curled back into the first genuine smile he’d fostered in ages.

The little angel looked at him, terrified.

“You are a messenger, here to give me strength to stand and weather these injuries to fight another day. I can feel myself returning to my full glory from just your presence here.”

“That would be the cortical patch.” Ratchet spoke again.

“You’re high. Feels good, don’t it?”

The angel began to shake his helm more frantically at Megatron’s blatant leering.

“I’m not a… a… u-um. I’m…”

“When I raise my sword again, fair Virgo,” Megatron’s rumbling vocalizer broke with the roughness of recharge attempting to take over him.

“Know that it is you I pray to victory for.”

Laughter burst throughout the little makeshift medbay as Strika heaved her vents empty. Ratchet struggled similarly.

Megatron did not mind the boisterous -frankly bothersome in this moment of rare beauty- laughter, as the angel’s blue faceplates turned kissably red all at once because of it.

Perhaps he was shy and unused to the thunderous sounds of war. The battlefield was always full of raucous mechs, and untouched by the appearance of a creation so pure and precious, did not know how to shelter one from it.

Megatron attempted to reach up and pacify the frightened thing by freckling each cheekplate with a gentle press of his lips to them, but found himself immediately knocked back by the weight of his own unresponsive limbs.

“Megatron!” The little mech reached out and grabbed his paw of a hand, barely able to grip one massive digit, squeezing for some kind of confirmation that Megatron was ok.

He was out, though. Giving in to the impressive cocktail of blockers Ratchet had calculated he’d fall victim to several minutes ago.

The laughter continued until Strika was on her knees on the floor, scrambling to string a sentence together.

“It’s processor lag…” Optimus reminded them.

———————————

Megatron had been subjected to the recording Strika had taken ten times over -or what little he could make of it over her deafening cackling. The wretched glitch.

Why he hadn’t permanently demoted her right then and there with his fusion cannon was entirely Lugnut’s fault, with his endless litany of loyalties Megatron needed to take into account.

He had to admit, while he couldn’t see most of what he and Optimus were up to by the end of Strika’s wheezing attack, he could not deny that that was his voice on the other end of the recording, promising his spark away to his former rival and crooning over him like he was the one bleeding out on a medberth.

Not that Megatron would be worried if he were…

At least their entire Earth teams hadn’t bared witness to the display, as they had when it’d been Blitzwing and Bumblebee accidentally confessing to one another. And that had been fairly explicit in its presentation, too.

So it could have been worse…

Optimus, with his flushed face, wasn’t looking at him like he shared that opinion anymore, though….

————

Actually, Optimus is gay as fuck right now and he wants to do that again please, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, you know how his insecurities are