#which i have been saying since the beginning

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

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It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[ere-the-sun-rises]

Okay, I'm sorry again Medieval and Biblical Latinists, but this post popped up in my notifs again and the more I look at it, the more revolted I become. Wheelock's love for Republican and legible Latin is possessing me from beyond the grave, so let's go.

"Pro Jupiter, puer, ecce bibendum!" Where the fuck do I even start. The sentence is straight up an incoherent collection of words. The literal translation is "Before Jupiter, boy, lo! about to be drank." What the fuck were you even trying to type??? Were YOU drunk doing this? I thought the Vatican was supposed to be full of monks with nothing better to do. You're shaming your 9th century copyist predecessors.

"Pro" is used wrong. It usually takes an ablative, because "before" is temporal, not spacial - it doesn't usually mean "in front of [object]" so much it means "[in the period of time] before [event]". If you're looking to say something like "by god", then a more natural invocation would in vocative or ablative of agent - "O Jupiter" or ""Ab Jove".

"Ecce" is bizarrely out of place. It should be at the beginning of a sentence because it's not actually a word, it's an exclamation. You wouldn't place "behold!" or "huzzah!" in the middle of a sentence, you heathen.

"Bibendum"? Bibendum??? You can't have a participle in a complete sentence without a normal verb. Participles can't ever stand on their own. If you're using this as a substantive ... why??? Just use the word for whatever this liquid is. Even as a substantive it barely makes sense. It's the equivalent of holding out a cup and saying "liquid" with no further context. Why are you making this so hard and ugly to read???

I don't think the sentence is even salvagable because I cannot figure out what the fuck it was even trying to say. If I had a gun with one bullet in it, I would use it to shoot this sentence. Hang the translator by the nipples unless they're into that.

I can't read most of the second panel, but the last phrase "dubito quin sciat" is clearly meant to stand on its own by the way the punctuation is placed. And that is a damn shame because it's horrific. It reads "I doubt why he would know."

Students, please note that "quin" is an interrogative adverb meaning "why?" The question mark is non-optional. It's literally only a question word - why is it in a passage that does not contain a question???

"Sciat" is weird here. Subjunctives can be used as a clause verb, but scio in particular usually takes an accusative noun to make sense. The word means "to perceive with the senses" but can also be used as shorthand for "to see/to know/to understand".

The sentence would read better as "dubito ut illum sciret" or "I doubt that [he] would see this [thing]."

0/10, broke ass original construction. Lock the translator in a basement with Wheelock's textbook until one or the other breaks.

"Heu, Timothee, mater tua delapsa est ob cutem arienae et P. S. mortua est." Fine, this one isn't technically wrong, but it is brutally literal in a frankly uninspired way.

"Delapsa est"?? Have you no imagination? No creativity? No sense of good Latin prose? Delabor does mean "to fall/to descend" but it also means "to fall to ruin/to be destroyed". A much better (and funnier) word would have been "cado", which means "to fall [down]" too, but crucially also means "to be cut down/to be slaughtered/to die". It would be a way better play on words with the "mortua est" following after.

His name needs to be Romanized. Do you think the Romans had names like Vergilius for fun?? No! It was so the fucking thing could be declined. Fix Timothee's name.

I don't like "ob". It feels wrong, like a skinwalker. It's not meant to be here. It can technically mean "on account of", but it's more prominent meaning is "toward". It should probably be replaced by a dative or ablative of agent/means here instead.

"Cutem" should be cuto, to be dat./abl. of agent/means. An accusative doesn't look right when the sentence's main verbs are passive, since passives are reflexive.

"et P. S. mortua est." Ugly, disfiguring little addendum. Why is it in the same past tense as delapsa? Repetitio is only fashionable in poetry. This is prose - you need variatio. Cicero and I hate it here.

It would read better as "Tua mater, Timotheius, cuto arienae casura est, cepitque morti." - "Your mother, Timothee, fell [by means of] the skin of a banana, and [she] was seized by death."

These panels only get more offensive to the Latin language the longer I look at them. This translator would get roasted alive by any ancient or Medieval scholiast who read this and they would deserve it. Even poets would vomit.

today i found out that if you have library access through ur school, you almost definitely have a copy of the vatican’s latin translation of diary of a wimpy kid and i am currently reading Commentarii de Inepto Puero thank you

[badnewswhatsleft]

rock sound #312 (nov 2024)

transcript below cut:

ROCK SOUND 25 ICON

FALL OUT BOY

A BAND THAT CAPTURED THE HEARTS, MINDS AND HEADPHONES OF A GENERATION OF KIDS WORLDWIDE, FALL OUT BOY UNDOUBTEDLY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ALTERNATIVE SCENE FOREVER, NEVER AFRAID TO EXPERIMENT, TAKE CHANCES AND MAKE BOLD CHOICES AS THEY PUSHED FORWARD. FOLLOWING A SUMMER SPENT EXPLORING THE 'DAYS OF FALL OUT PAST', PATRICK STUMP AND PETE  WENTZ REFLECT ON THEIR PATH FROM POP PUNK, HARDCORE MISFITS TO ALL-CONQUERING, STADIUM-FILLING SONGWRITERS AS THEY ACCEPT THEIR ROCK SOUND 25 ICON AWARD.

WORDS JAMES WILSON-TAYLOR

PHOTOS ELLIOTT INGHAM

Let's begin with your most recent performance which was at When We Were Young festival in Las Vegas. It was such a special weekend, how are you reflecting on that moment?

PATRICK: It's wild, because the band, I think, is going on 23 years now, which really came as a surprise to me. I know it's this thing that old people always say, 'Man, it really goes by so fast', but then it happens to you and you're just taken aback. There were so many times throughout the weekend, every 10 minutes, where I'd turn around and see somebody and be like, 'Holy shit, I haven't seen you in 18 years', or something crazy like that. It was hard not to have a good time. When I was going up to perform with Motion City Soundtrack, which was an exciting thing in itself, I turn around and Bayside is there. And I haven't seen Bayside since we toured with them. God, I don't remember when that was, you know? So there was so much of that. You couldn't help but have a good time.

PETE: I mean, that's an insane festival, right? When they announce it, it looks fake every time. The lineup looks like some kid drew it on their folder at school. For our band, the thing that's a little weird, I think, is that by deciding to change between every album, and then we had the three year break which caused another big time jump, I think that it would be hard for us to focus on one album for that show. We're a band where our fans will debate the best record. So it was amazing that we were able to look backwards and try to build this show that would go through all the eras - nod to Taylor obviously on that one. But it's also an insane idea to take a show that should really be put on for one weekend in a theatre and then try to take it around the world at festivals. The whole time on stage for this particular show production, I'm just like 'Is this thing going to go on time?' Because if the whole thing is working totally flawlessly, it just barely works, you know what I mean? So I give a lot of credit to our crew for doing that, because it's not really a rock show. I know we play rock music and it's a rock festival, but the show itself is not really a rock production, and our crew does a very good job of bending that to fit within the medium.

That show allows you to nod to the past but without falling fully into nostalgia. You are still pushing the band into newer places within it.

PATRICK: That's always been a central thing. We're a weird band, because a lot of bands I know went through a period of rejecting their past, and frankly, I encounter this thing a lot, where people have expected that we stopped interacting with older material. But we always maintained a connection with a lot of the older music. We still close with 'Saturday'. So for us, it was never about letting go of the past. It was about bringing that along with you wherever you go. I'm still the same weird little guy that likes too much music to really pin down. It's just that I've carried that with me through all the different things that I've done and that the band has done. So for us, in terms of going forward and playing new stuff, that's always the thing that's important to me; that there should be new stuff to propel it. I never wanted to be an artist that just gave up on new music and went out and played the hits and collected the check and moved on. It's all got to be creative. That's why I do it. I want to make new music. That's always why I do it. So something like When We Were Young is kind of odd really. It's an odd fit for that, because it's nostalgic, which is not really my vibe all that much. But I found a lot of nostalgia in it. I found a lot of value in looking back and going 'Wow, this was really cool. It was amazing that we did this, that we all did this'. That scene of bands, we're all old now, but it has taken off into such a moment culturally that people can point to.

Let's jump all the way back to the first ever Fall Out Boy show. There is very little evidence of it available online but what are your memories of that performance?

PATRICK: So the very first Fall Out Boy show was at DePaul University in a fancy looking dining hall. I actually applied to DePaul, but I never went there because the band went on tour. I think there were only two or three other bands. One was a band called Stillwell, who were kind of a math rock emo band, and then this heavier, more metallic band. And then we were there, and we had a guitar player, John Flamandan, who I have not seen since that show. He was only in the band for a week or two, and we were still figuring ourselves out. We had three songs and I had never sung before in front of people. I did a talent show at school one time when I was a kid and theatre kind of stuff where you would sing, but it was more in that context. And I was also a kid too. This was the first time ever that I'm the singer for a band and I was fucking terrified. We had a drummer named Ben Rose, really great guy. I haven't seen Ben in a million years, either, but we were still figuring ourselves out. The other thing is that all of us, with me being the exception, were in other bands, and all of our other bands were better than Fall Out Boy was. We were very sloppy and didn't know what we were doing, and so I don't think any of us really took it seriously. But there was a thing that was really funny about it, where even though we kind of thought we sucked, and even though we weren't really focusing on it, we had a lot of fun with each other. We enjoyed trying this other thing, because we were hardcore kids, and we were not the pop punk kids and the pop punk bands in town, that was like 'the thing', and we were not really welcome in that. There was a fun in trying to figure out how to make melodic and pop music when we really didn't have any history with that. It was very obvious that we didn't know what we were doing at the beginning.

So when did it begin to feel like things were finally clicking? When did you find your roles and what you wanted the band to be? 

PETE: In regards to the music, I liked Fall Out boy, way before I probably should have. I remember playing the early demos and it giving me a feeling that I hadn't felt with any of the other bands that I had been in. Now, looking back on it, I might have been a tad early on that. Then as far as the roles, I think that they've been carving themselves out over time. We've always allowed ourselves to gravitate to our strengths. Between me and Patrick, we'd probably make one great, atypical rock artist if we were one person. Because our strengths are things that the other doesn't love as much. But I think that what has happened more is it's less of a fight now and there's more trust. We have a trust with each other. There's things that Patrick will play for me or explain to me, and I don't even really need him to explain it, because I trust him. I may not totally understand it, but I trust him as an artist. On the other side of that, it's also very nice to have someone who can veto your idea, you know what I mean? It's nice to have those kind of checks and balances.

PATRICK: I had been in this band called Patterson, and all three of the other guys sang in kind of a gravelly, Hot Water Music vibe. I was not intending to be a singer, but I would try and sing backups and, it wasn't a criticism, but there was this vibe that, while I could do the gravelly thing, my voice was coming through and it didn't fit. It was too pretty and that became a thing I was kind of embarrassed of. So when Fall Out Boy started, I was actively trying to disguise that and mute it and hide behind affectation. Pete would really push me to stretch my vowels because that was in vogue in pop punk at the time. There were all these different ways that we were trying to suppress me, musically, because we were just trying to figure out how to do the things that the bands we liked did. But that wasn't really us, you know? It's really funny, because 'Take This To Your Grave' was recorded in three sections, about six months apart. Over the course of that time, I can hear us figuring it out. I think a really defining moment for me was 'Saturday', because I am not brave, I am not a bold person, and I do not put myself out there. When I was showing the band 'Saturday', we were jamming on the bit after the second chorus, and I was mumbling around, just mucking my way through it, and I did the falsetto thing. I didn't think anyone could hear me over us bashing around in Joe's parents house in this tiny little room. But Pete stopped, and he goes, 'Do that again'. I was so terrified of doing that in front of these guys, because you gotta remember, I was incredibly shy, but also a drummer. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, and now I'm singing in a band and I'm certainly not going to take chances. So I thought the falsetto thing was really not going to happen, but when I did it, there was this really funny thing. Somehow that song clicked, and it opened up this door for us where we do something different than everybody else. We were aiming to be a pop punk or hardcore band, but we found this thing that felt more natural to me.

As you embarked on Warped Tour, simultaneously you were finding this huge level of pop and mainstream success. How was it navigating and finding your way through those two very different spaces?

PATRICK: I used to work at a used record store and what shows up is all the records after their success. So I got really acquainted and really comfortable with and prepared for the idea of musical failure. I just wanted to do it because I enjoyed doing it. But in terms of planning one's life, I was certain that I would, at most, get to put out a record and then have to go to school when it didn't work out. My parents were very cautious. I said to them after 'Take This To Your Grave' came out that I'm gonna see where this goes, because I didn't expect to be on a label and get to tour. I'm gonna give it a semester, and then it will almost certainly fail, and then after it fails, I'll go to school. And then it didn't fail. Warped Tour was very crazy too, I was talking about this at When We Were Young with My Chem. Both of us were these little shit bands that no one cared about when we booked the tour. Then we got to the tour, and all these people were showing up for us, way more than we expected, way more than Warped Tour expected. So Warped Tour was putting both of us on these little side stages, and the stages would collapse because people were so excited. It was this moment that came out of nowhere all of a sudden. Then we go to Island Records, and I had another conversation with my parents, because every band that I had known up to that point, even the biggest bands in town, they would have their big indie record and then they would go to the major label and drop off the face of the planet forever. So I was certain that was going to happen. I told them again, I'm going to put out this record, and then I'll go to school when this fails. 

PETE: I think that if you really wanted someone to feel like an alien, you would put them on TRL while they were on Warped Tour. You know what I mean? Because it is just bananas. On our bus, the air conditioning didn't work, so we were basically blowing out heat in the summer, but we were just so happy to be on a bus and so happy to be playing shows. You go from that to, two days later, stepping off the bus to brush your teeth and there's a line of people wanting to watch you brush your teeth. In some ways, it was super cool that it was happening with My Chemical Romance too because it didn't feel as random, right? It feels more meant to be. It feels like something is happening. To be on Warped Tour at that time - and if you weren't there, it would be probably hard to imagine, because it's like if Cirque Du Soleil had none of the acrobatics and ran on Monster energy drink. It was a traveling circus, but for it to reach critical mass while we were there, in some ways, was great, because you're not just sitting at home. In between touring, I would come home and I'd be sitting in my bedroom at my parents house. I would think about mortality and the edge of the whole thing and all these existential thoughts you feel when you're by yourself. But on Warped Tour, you go to the signing, you play laser tag, you go to the radio station. So in some ways, it's like you're in this little boot camp, and you don't really even think about anything too much. I guess it was a little bit of a blur.

Pete, when you introduced 'Bang The Doldrums' at When We Were Young, you encouraged the crowd to 'keep making weird shit'. That could almost be a mantra for the band as a whole. Your weirder moments are the ones that made you. Even a song like 'Dance Dance' has a rhythm section you never would have expected to hear on a rock track at that time.

PETE: You know, I just watched 'Joker 2' and I loved it. I do understand why people wouldn't because it subverts the whole thing. It subverts everything about the first one. That's something I've always really loved, when I watch artists who could keep making the same thing, and instead they make something that's challenging to them or challenging to their audience. Sometimes you miss, sometimes you do a big thing and you miss, and we've definitely done that. But I gotta say, all the things that I've really loved about art and music, and that has enriched my life, is when people take chances. You don't get the invention of anything new without that. To not make weird stuff would feel odd, and I personally would much rather lose and miss doing our own thing. To play it safe and cut yourself off around the edges and sand it down and then miss also, those are the worst misses, because you didn't even go big as yourself. This is where we connect with each other, we connect by our flaws and the little weird neuroses that we have. I rarely look at something and go 'Wow, that safe little idea really moved me'. I guess it happens, but I think about this with something like 'Joker 2' where this director was given the keys and you can just do anything. I think a lot of times somebody would just make an expected follow up but some people turn right when they're supposed to turn left. That's always been interesting on an artistic level, but at the same time, I think you're more likely to miss big when you do that.

PATRICK: Going into 'From Under The Cork Tree', I had this sense that this is my only shot. It has already outperformed what I expected. I don't want to be locked into doing the same thing forever, because I know me. I know I'm not Mr. Pop Punk, that's just one of many things I like. So I would be so bummed if for the rest of my life, I had to impersonate myself from when I was 17 and have to live in that forever. So I consciously wanted to put a lot of weird stuff on that record because I thought it was probably my only moment. 'Sugar, We're Goin Down' was a fairly straight ahead pop punk song but even that was weird for us, because it was slow. I remember being really scared about how slow it was, because it's almost mosh tempo for the whole song, which was not anything we had done up to that point. But in every direction, in every song, I was actively trying to push the boundaries as much as I could. 'Dance, Dance' was one of those ones where I was seeing what I can get away with, because I might never get this chance again. We were on tour with a friend's band, and I remember playing the record for them. I remember specifically playing 'Our Lawyer…' that opens the record, which has that 6/8 time feel, and they kind of look at me, like 'What?'. Then I played 'Dance, Dance', and they're like, 'Hey man, you know, whatever works for you. It's been nice knowing you'. But I just knew that, on the off chance that I ended up still being a musician in my 40s, I wanted to still love the music that we made. I didn't want to ever resent it. It's ironic because people say that bands sell out when they don't make the same thing over and over again. But wait a second. Say that again. Think about that.

That attitude seemed to carry directly into 'Infinity On High'. If you may never end up doing this again then let's make sure we bring in the orchestra while we still can... 

PATRICK: That was literally something that I did say to myself this might be the last time, the likelihood is we're going to fail because that's what happens, so this might be the last time that I ever get a chance to have somebody pay for an orchestra and a choir. I always think of The Who when they did 'A Quick One, While He's Away' and there's a part where they go 'cello, cello', because they couldn't afford real cellos, they couldn't afford players. That's what I thought would happen for me in life. So I went in and thought, let's do it all. Let's throw everything at the wall, because there's no chance that it's going to happen again. So many things came together on that record, but I didn't expect it. 'Arms Race' was a very weird song, and I was shocked when management went along with it and had kind of decided that would be the single. I was in disbelief. It did not feel like a single but it worked for us. It was a pretty big song and then 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' was easily the big hit off that record. So then we have two hit songs off of an album that I didn't even know would come out at that point. But again, it was very much just about taking the risks and seeing what the hell happened.

As you went on hiatus for a few years, you worked on a number of other creative projects. How did those end up influencing your approach to the band when you returned?

PETE: On the areas of the band where I led, I wanted to be a better leader. When you're younger and you're fighting for your ideas, I don't think that I was the greatest listener. I just wanted to be a better cog in the machine. When you're in a band originally, no one gives you the little band handbook and says 'these are the things you should do', you know? I just wanted to be a better version of who I was in the band. 

PATRICK: There's a combination of things. 'Soul Punk' is a weird record. I love that record but I kind of resent that record for so many things. It's my solo record, but it's also not very me in a lot of ways. I had started with a very odd little art rock record, and then I had some personal tragedies happen. My EP that I put out far out sold expectations so then all of a sudden, Island Records goes, 'Oh, we think this could actually be something we want singles for'. I think we had all expected that I would be putting out a smaller indie record but then all of a sudden they were like 'oh, you could be a pop star'. So then I have to retrofit this art rock record into pop star hit music, and also channel personal tragedy through it. I hadn't ever really been a front man - I'd been a singer, but I hadn't really been a front man, and I hadn't really written lyrics, certainly not introspective, personal lyrics. So that whole record is so strange and muted to me. So I went from that album, which also failed so fucking hard - I should have gone to school after that one. But Pete had reached out to me just as a friend, and said 'I know you're in your own thing right now, and I know that you're not the kind of person that is going to be in my fantasy football league, so I'm not going to see you unless we make music. But you're my buddy, and that kind of bums me out that I don't see you at all, so I guess we have to make music'. I thought that was a fairly convincing pitch. It's true, that was what we do when we hang out - we make music. So we reconvene, and going into it, I had all these lessons that really made me understand Pete better, because Pete is the natural front end person. So many of our arguments and frustrations and the things that we didn't see eye to eye on, I grew to understand having now been in the position of the point man that had to make all the decisions for my solo thing. It really flipped my understanding of why he said the things he would say, or why he did things he would do. I remember early on thinking he was so pushy, but then, in retrospect, you realise he was doing it for a reason. There's so many little things that really changed for me doing 'Soul Punk' that were not musical but were more about how you run a band and how you run a business, that made me understand and respect him a lot more.

What are memories of that initial return and, specifically, that tiny first show back at the Metro venue in Chicago?

PETE: Those first shows were definitely magical because I really wasn't sure that we would be on a stage again together. I don't have as many memories of some of our other first things. We were just talking about Warped Tour, I don't have many memories of those because it is almost wasted on you when it's a blur and there's so many things happening. But with this, I really wanted to not take it for granted and wanted to take in all the moments and have snapshots in our own heads of that show. I did a lot of other art during the time when we were off, everybody did, but there's a magic between the four of us and it was nice to know that it was real. When we got on that stage again at the Metro for the first time, there was something that's just a little different. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes that art that we were making separately different than all the other stuff.

Musically, as you moved forward, everything sounded much bigger, almost ready for arenas and stadiums. Was that a conscious decision on your part?

PETE: Patrick felt like he was bursting with these ideas. It felt like these had been lying in wait, and they were big, and they were out there, and whether he'd saved them for those records, I don't really know. That's what it felt like to me. With 'Save Rock And Roll', we knew we had basically one shot. There were really three options; you'll have this other period in your career, no one will care or this will be the torch that burns the whole thing down. So we wanted to have it be at least on our terms. Then I think with 'American Beauty...' it was slightly different, because we made that record as fast as we could. We were in a pop sphere. Is there a way for a band to be competitive with DJs and rappers in terms of response time? Are we able to be on the scene and have it happen as quickly? I think it kind of made us insane a little bit. With 'American Beauty…', we really realised that we were not going to walk that same path in pop culture and that we would need to 'Trojan horse' our way into the conversation in some way. So we thought these songs could be played in stadiums, that these songs could be end titles. What are other avenues? Because radio didn't want this right now, so what are other avenues to make it to that conversation? Maybe this is just in my head but I thought 'Uma Thurman' could be a sister song to 'Dance, Dance' or maybe even 'Arms Race' where it is weird but it has pop elements to it.

PATRICK: I had a feeling on 'Save Rock And Roll' that it was kind of disjointed. It was a lot of good songs, but they were all over the place. So when we went into 'American Beauty…', I really wanted to make something cohesive. I do think that record is very coherent and very succinct - you either like it or you don't, and that's pretty much it all the way through. By the time we got to 'MANIA', I had done all this production and I'd started to get into scoring. The band had done so many things and taken so many weird chances that I just felt free to do whatever. At that point, no one's going to disown me if I try something really strange so let's see what happens. 'Young And Menace' was a big part of that experiment. People hate that song, and that's okay. It was meant to be challenging, it's obviously not supposed to be a pop song. It's an abrasive song, it should not have been a single. However, I do think that record should have been more like that. Towards the end of the production, there was this scramble of like, 'Oh, fuck, we have no pop music on this and we need to have singles' and things like that. That took over that record and became the last minute push. I think the last half of that record was recorded in the span of two weeks towards the end of the recording to try and pad it with more pop related songs. I look at that record and think it should have all been 'Young And Menace'. That should have been our 'Kid A' or something. It should have really challenged people.

But we have spoken before about how 'Folie à Deux' found its audience much later. It does feel like something similar is already beginning to happen with 'MANIA'...

PETE: I agree with you, and I think that's a great question, because I always thought like that. There's things that you're not there for, but you wish you were there. I always thought about it when we put out 'MANIA', because I don't know if it's for everyone, but this is your moment where you could change the course of history, you know, this could be your next 'Folie à Deux', which is bizarre because they're completely different records. But it also seems, and I think I have this with films and bands and stuff as well, that while one thing ascends, you see people grab onto the thing that other people wouldn't know, right? It's like me talking about 'Joker 2' - why not talk about the first one? That's the one that everybody likes. Maybe it's contrarian, I don't really know. I just purely like it. I'm sure that's what people say about 'Folie à Deux' and 'MANIA' as well. But there's something in the ascent where people begin to diverge, you are able to separate them and go 'Well, maybe this one's just for me and people like me. I like these other ones that other people talk about, but this one speaks to me'. I think over time, as they separate, the more people are able to say that. And then I can say this, because Patrick does music, I think that sometimes he's early on ideas, and time catches up with it a little bit as well. The ideas, and the guest on the record, they all make a little bit more sense as time goes on.

'MANIA' is almost the first of your albums designed for the streaming era. Everything is so different so people could almost pick and choose their own playlist.

PETE: Of course, you can curate it yourself. That's a great point. I think that the other point that you just made me think of is this was the first time where we realised, well, there's not really gatekeepers. The song will raise its hand, just like exactly what you're saying. So we should have probably just had 'The Last Of The Real Ones' be an early single, because that song was the one that people reacted to. But I think that there was still the old way of thinking in terms of picking the song that we think has the best chance, or whatever. But since then, we've just allowed the songs to dictate what path they take. I think that that's brilliant. If I'd had a chance to do that, curate my own record and pick the Metallica songs or whatever,that would be fantastic. So it was truly a learning experience in the way you release art to me.

PATRICK: After 'MANIA', I realised Fall Out Boy can't be the place for me to try everything. It's just not. We've been around for too long. We've been doing things for too long. It can't be my place to throw everything at the wall. There's too much that I've learned from scoring and from production now to put it all into it. So the scoring thing really became even more necessary. I needed it, emotionally. I needed a place to do everything, to have tubas and learn how to write jazz and how to write for the first trumpet. So then going into 'So Much (For) Stardust', it had the effect of making me more excited about rock music again, because I didn't feel the weight of all of this musical experimentation so I could just enjoy writing a rock song. It's funny, because I think it really grew into that towards the end of writing the record. I'd bet you, if we waited another month, it would probably be all more rock, because I had a rediscovered interest in it.

It's interesting you talk about the enjoyment of rock music again because that joy comes through on 'So Much (For) Stardust' in a major way, particularly on something like the title track. When the four of you all hit those closing harmonies together, especially live, that's a moment where everything feels fully cohesive and together and you can really enjoy yourselves. There's still experimental moments on the album but you guys are in a very confident and comfortable space right now and it definitely shows in the music. 

PATRICK: Yeah, I think that's a great point. When you talk about experimentation too and comfort, that's really the thing isn't it? This is always a thing that bugged me, because I never liked to jam when I was a kid. I really wanted to learn the part, memorise it and play it. Miles Davis was a side man for 20 years before he started doing his thing. You need to learn the shit out of your music theory and your instrument - you need to learn all the rules before you break them. I always had that mindset. But at this point, we as a band have worked with each other so much that now we can fuck around musically in ways that we didn't used to be able to and it's really exciting. There's just so much I notice now. There are ways that we all play that are really hard to describe. I think if you were to pull any one of the four of us out of it, I would really miss it. I would really miss that. It is this kind of alchemy of the way everyone works together. It's confidence, it's also comfort. It's like there's a home to it that I feel works so well. It's how I'm able to sing the way I sing, or it's how Andy's able to play the way he plays. There's something to it. We unlock stuff for each other.

Before we close, we must mention the other big live moment you had this year. You had played at Download Festival before but taking the headline slot, especially given the history of Donington, must have felt extra special. 

PETE: It felt insane. We always have a little bit of nerves about Download, wondering are we heavy enough? To the credit of the fans and the other bands playing, we have always felt so welcomed when we're there. There's very few times where you can look back on a time when... so, if I was a professional baseball player, and I'm throwing a ball against the wall in my parents garage as a kid, I could draw a direct link from the feeling of wanting to do that. I remember watching Metallica videos at Donington and thinking 'I want to be in Metallica at Donington'. That's not exactly how it turned out, but in some ways there is that direct link. On just a personal level, my family came over and got to see the festival. They were wearing the boots and we were in the mud. All this stuff that I would describe to them sounds insane when you tell your family in America - 'It's raining, but people love it'. For them to get to experience that was super special for me as well. We played the biggest production we've ever had and to get to do that there, the whole thing really made my summer.

PATRICK: There's not really words for it. It feels so improbable and so unlikely. Something hit me this last year, this last tour, where I would get out on stage and I'd be like, 'Wait, fucking seriously? People still want to see us and want to hear us?' It feels so strange and surreal. I go home and I'm just some schlubby Dad and I have to take out the compost and I have to remember to run the dishwasher. I live this not very exciting life, and then I get out there at Download and it's all these people. Because I'm naturally kind of shy, for years, I would look down when I played because I was so stressed about what was happening. Confidence and all these have given me a different posture so when I go out there, I can really see it, and it really hits you. Download, like you said, we've done before, but there's something very different about where I am now as a person. So I can really be there. And when you walk out on that stage, it is astounding. It forces you to play better and work harder, because these people waited for us. The show is the audience and your interaction with it. In the same way that the band has this alchemy to it, we can't play a show like that without that audience.

[43hughess]

Juno - Quinn Hughes

the lights dim in the stadium as you finish playing one of your songs, dumb and poetic. you softly smile as you look out into the crowd. "why hello Vancouver!" you say into the mic with a slight giggle. Quinn, Luke, and Jack all cheer along with the plethora of people in the crowd. Quinn was still confused on how he got dragged to your show but somehow, he was here.

it was now time for the intro to your song, juno. you searched the crowd for the "hottest" person in the crowd. you gasp softly for dramatics as you point into the vip section. "ladies! get over here!" you called for your backup dancers as Luke and Jack try to figure out if your pointing at their section.

"you see that guy over there?" you question as you point directly at Quinn. "which one?" they ask in unison. "that one" you say dreamily as you gesture towards Quinn. Quinn looks up from his phone and his jaw drops slightly as he sees his face on the big screens decorating the sold out arena. Luke and Jack instantly start freaking out but quinn finds himself mesmirized by you.

"what's your name, baby?" you ask with a flirtatious tone. “Q-Quinn!" he shouts. "Quinn baby..i fear your under arrest for being way too hot!" you hold back a slight giggle as the red and blue lights flash around with a siren sound filling the air. "here cutie" you say as you hand the fuzzy pink handcuffs into his hands gently. "t-thanks" he mumbled as he fiddles with the handcuffs. "your welcome." you smile softly at him as you stand back up.

"oh no! Quinn over here is just way too hot m-my clothes are falling off for him!" you yelp jokingly as your dress reveals your sparkly, baby pink outfit. Jack jokingly presses quinns jaw back up since he was staring at you in awe. Luke pisses himself laughing but then looks back up at the stage as you begin to perform.

it was now time for the part that most people were anticipating. the juno pose. you imitated a sex position every show and changed it everytime. "you make me wanna make you fall in love" you sing as you gesture to quinn and he is still in shock. "oh late at night im thinkin' bout' you ohhhh, wanna try out some freaky postions?" you sing as you scurry over to the end of the stage. "hey Quinn, have you ever tried this one?" you say seductively as you smile directly at him. he tries to form one but it comes out as a lopsided grin.

after the show Luke, Jack, and Quinn were all chatting about well...everything. "im still in shock not gonna lie" Quinn admits with a breathy laugh. "me too" Luke agrees with a slight nod. "out of all people though you?-" Jack was cut off as a security guard comes out. they all tense up but before they can question him he beats him to it. "hey...uh-Quinn right?" the strong man asks. Quinn nods, confusion written all over his face. "y/n wants to see you come follow me" he waves him over, all of their jaws drop but quinn recollects right away before following him into your dressing room

they soon enter and you look up from your vanity. "oh, hi Quinn" you smile sweetly at him. "sup" he says nervously as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "here come get comfy" you say as you adjust the pillows on the fuzzy white couch for him. "t-thanks" he smiles. "how are you, you looked pretty miserable out there." you giggle. "nah," he laughs softly,

"i just got dragged along by my brothers we got free tickets but im glad i came." he smiles softly. "i recognized you my dads a big Canucks fan." you make your way over to sit next to him. you giggle slightly as he nearly spits out his water. "I’ve actually been to a few games?" he is way too stunned to even speak so he just nods. you two end up chatting and around 20 minutes later luke and jack come in as well, you two hang out and sadly part ways but hey, quinn got a follow back so he was satisfied. he told jack everything the second he got home.

[overtake]

Post-Vegas Maxiel | 1.2K

The lead-up to Max’s fist on Daniel’s front door is a hazy kaleidoscope of memories.

Flashes of sponsor-branded tumblers with gin and tonics being pressed into his hands, which started the night steady and ended up shaky when they tried to sneak under Martin’s shirt and feel up his chest.

Fuzzier still: Martin pulling him into a hug and whispering something against Max’s sticky, sweaty temple about where Max really wanted to be. He can’t make out the words in his hazy memories, only their too-kind cadence, but he remembers the shape of the name Daniel on Martin’s mouth and the way he suddenly stopped wanting to kiss it.

His phone history highlights a costly change to his flight path, a car service for when he landed, typoed assurances to his team that he’d make it in time for Qatar, and four calls that Daniel never returned.

So Max is here in LA, knowing Daniel is probably warm and fast asleep in bed. He can picture the leg hanging off the side of his mattress. His white noise machine will be making Daniel’s bedroom sound like rain, a different shower than the champagne that was poured over Max’s head and down his throat.

He longs to be inside. To press his broad chest against the muscles of Daniel’s back. To kiss down the heated skin because Daniel keeps his bedroom warm like Perth summer and prefers flannel sheets.

Max’s whole body aches with every movement and the need to hold Daniel, even as a solid thrum of excitement keeps his spine rigid and eyes open. He wants to take what Daniel hinted could be theirs when all this was over, even though Max still has two more races and maybe more years left. He’ll be okay if Daniel isn’t ready, but the part of himself that was genetically designed to know Daniel tells him he’s allowed to try.

“Max?”

And then Daniel’s there, confused and squinting around the side of the house. Not asleep, the way Max pictured. He’s in shorts and nothing else, the side of his hand pressed to his forehead as he tries to ward off the sun’s glare and process what’s in front of him.

Max, little pieces of confetti still stuck to his cheek, holding nothing but his backpack and a phone on 10% battery. Max, bleary-eyed and mouth beginning to taste of hangover and death.

He knows he’s not a vision, that this isn’t the big romantic gesture he’d planned with dirt bikes under a Christmas tree. Instead, he hopes his flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the break of his face into the same kind of smile that lived under his helmet when he crossed the finish line … he prays those are enough, that Daniel is healed enough to let himself want Max now and like this.

“I won,” Max says dumbly. He wishes he remembered to grab a water bottle from the car service so the sentence wouldn’t dry tacky and cotton under his tongue.

“You won,” Daniel says, matter-of-fact. He’s not upset or elated. He’s not anything different. He’s Daniel, as himself as ever, looking like he expected this, like Max belongs here the same as the green grass and cement walls.

Max doesn’t feel ridiculous and fearful with Daniel holding him in the stare of his gentle eyes. They’re crinkled at the edges from all his years of laughing — many of the moments shared with Max adding to their depth since the skin there was taut with their shared youth. Max is developing his own smile lines, finally old enough for his skin to permanently imprint the joy of knowing Daniel.

“I have to leave for Qatar tomorrow,” Max says. He takes a step toward Daniel, then another, until Daniel begins to move too.

Max processes for the first time the way Daniel glows under the LA sun and considers that maybe he could make a home here too in Daniel’s joy. He’d seen him in Monaco. He’d been able to confirm for his own eyes that Daniel was taking ownership of this new life and thriving in it. He’d been too nervous then to do more than take Daniel to lunch and padel and observe him cautiously, trying to note every change in his month of healing.

He has the same relaxed and relieved demeanour now as he did then. Daniel is beautiful and belongs everywhere, but Max would make his home in LA just to watch the way Daniel lives so carefree under these palm trees and hundred lane highways.

His shoulders are even looser here than they were Monaco. When Max places a hand on Daniel’s bare, sun-warmed hip, he can feel the tiniest squish of where Daniel can finally eat all the schnitzel he wants. He’s a cactus built in the tough conditions of a sport that didn’t love him back, and he’s still blooming his flowers without it. Max wants to cup him like he’s something precious and be grateful that this sport didn’t make him bitter, that he was born so good that he could survive all this and love Max anyway.

“Guess you don’t need to get me a Christmas present after all,” Daniel jokes. His giggle ducks his head down to Max’s shoulder for a half second, hair tickling the nape of Max’s neck.

Max didn’t need his point to win, sure. But he liked having it; knowing that Daniel set a lap record as his final fuck you to the blind fuckers who quit on him, a lap that also gifted Max breathing room. He’d wished in the plane ride home after Singapore that fastest laps had something tangible for him to steal and hold in Daniel’s absentia. A trophy, a plaque, anything he could grip between his heat-swollen fingers to remember how his chest felt when his radio crackled with the news of Daniel’s triumph.

Max shakes his head, which sends a slightly dizzying wave through his dehydrated, sleep-deprived body. He adjusts his grip tighter on Daniel’s skin, a needed reprieve after the physical ache of wanting.

“You of course still get a Christmas present,” he tells Daniel. He briefly wishes his breath were fresher, but he doesn’t think Daniel will mind too much. “A real one, too, but also.”

He drops his bag on the grass then so his other hand is free to trace the contours of Daniel’s stubbled jawline. Max thinks that if Daniel is careful, Max will be okay to strap the seatbelt around his thighs this week even with the lingering beard burn.

Daniel gifts him the kiss instead, while Max is busy trying to memorize this moment inside his bleary head. His lips are wet against Max’s parched, chapped ones, but he doesn’t pull away from the reminder of Max’s night spent celebrating a world that Daniel was choosing to forget.

Instead, Daniel’s arms ensnare his waist and tug him closer until Max’s breath hitches and he forgets they’re in a front lawn and loses himself inside Daniel’s mouth.

“Congratulations, champ,” Daniel says, pulling away only long enough to speak the words. His nose brushes Max’s when he speaks and begins to tug Max toward the front door. “Let’s get you home.”

[earthchica]

Funny How Times Flies | 4

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you and terry make the best of the end of the trip and promise to make time for each other despite being a short distance apart but you begin to have doubts.

warnings: fluff, angst, panic attack, short long-distance relationship, misunderstanding, first-ever argument, jealousy & possessive! terry, explicit smut (18+), fingering, handcuffing, breeding kink, dom/sub, unprotected sex, dirty talking, nicknames (baby, baby girl), words: (5k)

note: i really love how this chapter came out; it might be my favorite. please enjoy! Let me know your thoughts and if you want to be tagged in future parts.

series masterlist

-

You haven't been this happy and at ease in a very long time. This trip has been so excellent, and you’ve had so much fun with your friends, especially with Terry.

Today was the last day, and sadly, all of you had to leave tomorrow morning. Terry wanted this last day to be just the two of you, so first he surprised you with breakfast in bed.

"Good Morning, beautiful," Terry says, placing the tray in front of you and giving you a quick peck before grabbing his plate and sitting on the end of the bed.

You laughed at how cheerful he sounded. “Good morning, handsome!” You responded with a smile and grabbed the fruit bowl first.

"How did you sleep? I bet you slept hella good huh?," He teased with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at him, knowing what he was hinting at.

"I slept amazing, Terry, but I can’t walk now 'cause you had to do that thing," You said, eating out of the fruit bowl; you picked a strawberry and fed it to him, which he gladly took in his mouth.

"Thank you," Terry said, chewing the strawberry down before adding, "You mean the thing you were begging me for?" He asked with a chuckle, and you looked at him as he tilted his head towards you with a smile that caused your heart to flutter.

“Whatever!” You said, sticking your tongue out at him playfully, making him scoff, jump on you, and tickle your side. You bursted out of laughter, trying to push his hands away. “Terry, oh my god, stop.”

He continued to tickle

“That’s what I thought,” Terry stops, looking down at you with those pretty eyes of his. He was staring at you with this affection that made you feel shy. ”God, I love you,” He said, and your eyes widened, realizing what he was saying, and his eyes widened too.

He cleared his throat, moving off of you. “Uh…this breakfast is good,” Terry said, looking away from you. You sat up, sharing through his eyes as he went to talk about something, and you just went on with it to not make it awkward.

After breakfast, both of you got dressed and left the villa. You and Terry walked hand in hand and visited a few gift shops before finding yourselves in a taco restaurant and eating the best tacos you had.

Soon leaving there, you couldn’t help to ask. "So where are we going now?"

Terry shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle, finding your excitement adorable. "I thought we checked out one of the cenotes since we didn't get to go to one in Valladolid!"

"Terry, really???!!!" You asked, hugging his arm tightly, looking up at him with those big warm eyes of yours.

“Yeah, the van is waiting for us,” he said, motioning to the van crossing the street. You grabbed Terry’s hand and dragged him to the van.

The ride was filled with laughter and upbeat Latin music as the car meandered through vibrant landscapes beneath the top of towering trees.

Upon arrival, a guide escorted you to a location where you could change and securely store your belongings. You and Terry changed into swimwear before meeting a woman who assisted with lifeguard sizing.

The lifeguards fit snugly, ensuring your safety as you prepare to explore the cenote's inviting waters. The guide gave you a brief overview of the cenote's history and unique features, adding to the sense of wonder.

As you look at the water, you feel excitement and peace, the beauty of the place enveloping you like a warm embrace.

“Terry, this is truly breathtaking. Thank you!” you exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the lips.

“Anything for you, baby,” he responded. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” He added, and you stopped him for a second, feeling yourself get a little panicked.

Terry could tell immediately by how your hand began to tremble in his. You didn't hear what he said; it was all muffled as you realized that you might be terrified of large bodies of water.

Your knees slightly knocked as you stared into the water as another couple jumped in with no problem. You started shaking your head and feeling yourself get worked up.

Terry grabbed your shoulders and told you to sit down. You tried to suppress your trembling, but you were failing, so he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey, baby…just take deep breaths." He instructed, and you did what you were told, closed your eyes, and took several slow, deep breaths.

"There you go…do you still want to do this?" Terry asked, cupping your cheek as your trembling turned to slowly fade away with his soft touch.

"Yes, let’s…let's do it," you said with another deep breath, and he took hold of your hand and walked you towards the edge of the water.

You and Terry slowly got in, feeling the refreshing and invigorating cool water. You were captivated by the vibrant marine life and the beautiful rock formations hidden beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning back against Terry. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the gentle rhythm of his breath matching the soothing lapping of the water.

“No need to thank me, baby. I’m always here if you need me,” Terry said, kissing your forehead, causing you to smile happily at the words he used, it was similar to what you told him.

“Look at those fish,” you said, pointing at a flash of color that darted past. “They’re like little jewels swimming through the water.” You added.

Terry chuckled, his laughter rich and warm, sending a thrill through you. He said, “Just like us, right? A couple of precious finds in this hidden paradise.”

Your eyes met, and the world around you faded at that moment. “You’re definitely a treasure,” you whispered, your voice barely above the sound of the water.

Terry turned slightly, brushing a braid behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your dark-brown skin.

“And you’re the most beautiful part of this place,” he replied softly. The sincerity in his voice made your heart race, a flutter of excitement igniting in your chest.

“You know, um, I meant what I said earlier…I do love you…I know it’s too soon to say it, but I feel it in my bones, and I know I do,” Terry said, his voice a soft murmur.

Your eyes sparkled, searching through his eyes, and there was truth behind him, a sincere expression on his face. He loved you, and you felt it grow with every intimate moment togather.

You loved him too, but you were a little scared to say it out loud, so you just said, “I know, Terry…..I don’t want this to end; I don’t want to return to the real world…"

You trailed off for a second, looking away. "And this feeling will change,” you confessed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Baby, I promise this feeling I have for you won't change. We'll make time for each other and create our own moments that we can cherish forever; we just gotta try and give it a chance” Terry suggested, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Your heart swelled at his choice of words, and you nodded, a smile blooming on your lips, sealing the promise with a soft kiss. In that perfect moment, surrounded by cenotes' beauty, you hoped you two kept the promise.

-

The shift back home wasn’t easy. The first week without Terry was tough, but he called you almost daily and facetime you sometimes at night.

The two of you lived in Louisiana, but you lived in Lafayette, and he lived close to New Orleans was about two hours away from each other.

Terry texted you one day that he was driving down to visit you for the weekend, and you were beyond excited. When you heard the doorbell ring, you rushed to the front door.

You practically swung the door open, and there Terry stood, looking so damn fine in a baseball cap, hoodie with sweatpants. His voice was like music to your ears when he said, "Hey, baby,"

You dragged him in with his suitcases before closing the door and jumping into his arms. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly, not letting you go.

You felt him burying his face into your neck for a second before placing soft kisses on it, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You both stood there, holding each other for a few minutes,

Terry moves from your neck to kiss you softly. You place your hand on the back of his neck, and his tongue begins dancing against you, causing you to let out a light moan.

"Fuck. I missed you," He says, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours while staring into your eyes with a mixture of warmth and love.

"I missed you too, Terry," you said with a smile before slightly pulling away from his embrace, taking his hand, and guiding him to the table in your dining room.

"I made your favorite," he looked at the table and then back at you with a smile. At this very moment, Terry was happy to be here with you for a little bit.

Shortly after eating dinner, chatting, and enjoying each other's company, you were both in the living room, cuddling while watching a movie.

Clearly, neither of you was watching. "Terry, stop," you giggled, moving his hand away from the inside of your shirt. As much as you wanted him to take you, you love being a tease.

"Watch the movie," you said, pointing to the TV. He paused, removed his hands away from you, and crossed his arms while staring at you with a look.

"Don't make that face," you said, looking over at him. Wrapping your arm around his shoulder, you began playing with his ear, causing him to smack his teeth.

"Why shouldn't I? I haven't seen you in weeks. I miss you and want to show you how much I do. I know you do, too," Terry said, giving you a knowing look.

You smiled, didn't say anything, and just rearranged yourself onto his lap and pulled him into a needy, passionate kiss. You pulled away for a second to take your shirt off.

Terry growls at the sight of your breasts; he's very weak. He caresses your body with his soft, large hands while leaving soft kisses on your neck.

His hands moved down your ass and squeezed it harshly before pulling you back into a kiss. Both of you stood from the couch and began to tear each other's clothes off.

You both feeling so aroused and craving for each other. Terry lifted you up, carrying your bridal style, and asked. "Where is your bedroom?"

"It's right around the corner," you said, helping him with the direction. He opened the door and glanced around your cozy bedroom before gently laying you on your bed.

Terry hovered over you and began kissing up your body; you could feel his throbbing, erect dick pressing against your leg. "Terry, please, no teasing. I need you now,"

You moaned as he began to kiss your wet folds. He looked up at you, seeing the need in your eyes. "Of course, my baby needs me." He nodded with a smirk, kissing his way back to your lips.

Terry positioned himself between your legs, and you moaned, wrapping your legs around his hips as you felt him thrusted forward, fulling you up good.

The very good feeling of his dick sliding into your wet pussy almost sent you over the edge. Without warning, Terry began pounding into you, making you grip his back.

Terry lowers his lips to yours and kisses you hungrily while still pounding into you with an unimaginable speed. He bites your shoulder and lets out a muffled moan.

He pulls away to look at you as you let out a moan, feeling yourself clench around his dick already. It was all so good, and desperately wanted to last.

"Ahh, fuck. I miss you, baby; I miss this pussy so much," Terry moans, rearranging the sex position to missionary to the lotus. He lifted you into his arms as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"Fuck, fuck fuck me, Terry," You moaned, throwing your head back as you felt the undeniable, great pleasure that both of you were giving to each other.

The rocking rhythm of it all and the deep connection were sensational. Your moans were so loud together that you swear you were next-door neighbors who could hear the two of you.

You placed your forehead against Terry's, both of you panting heavily, looking into his beautiful, light eyes as his fast pounding drove you crazy.

"Ahh Yes, Terry. Fuck, I love you; I love this dick," You moaned, feeling your body begin to flutter as you felt yourself get closer to the edge of orgasm.

"You love me, huh?" Terry asked, pulling your hair sightly. You nodded shyly, not realizing you had blurted it out, and felt slightly nervous to repeat it.

"Come on, baby, let me hear you say it again," Terry said, tugging your hair again but a little harder than before, causing you to whimper in pleasure.

"I love you…I love you…I love you, Terry," you chanted loudly with every thrusted he gave you until he kissed you passionately, feeling satisfied.

"Mmm...I fucking love you too, baby so damn much." He moaned, grabbed your shoulders, and you moaned, burying your face into his neck.

Terry pounding harder and faster to the point both of you orgasm together. Both of you screamed each other's names as your bodies shook from the high.

Terry tries to stay steady and hold you but eventually falls on top of you towards the bed. After a few breaths, Terry pulls out, watching his cum dripping before cleaning you up.

He lays down next to you, caressing your cheek with his hand before Terry pulls you into his chest, hearing you mumbling something and you close your eyes and fall asleep from the good dick you just had.

The following morning, the sunlight shone through the blinds, casting on your glowing dark-brown skin, and Terry couldn't help but admire your beauty.

Your silk-pressed hair was sweated, your lips were open, and a little snore came from your mouth. He couldn't help but caress your cheek, lingering on your neck.

Terry smiled happily as you started to stir, slightly mumbling some under your breath as you stretched out your limbs before cuddling back into his chest.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks before they opened, revealing your warm eyes. You looked up at Terry with a slight smile, who was staring at you.

"You know it's not nice to stare," You said, yawning as his eyes sparkled with the light seeping in from the cracked blind. "I know I can't help it, you're so beautiful"

You felt your heart flutter; it was wonderful how this man affected you so strongly. "Good morning, baby," he added.

"Morning!" you said, yawning again. Terry smiled, but slowly, that smile turned into a frown. You were about to get out of bed, and he stopped you.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Terry asked, pulling you back into the bed, causing you to giggle. "To start my morning routine and shower if that's okay with you, handsome."

"Yeah, but only if I join," He said, kissing the sweet spot on your neck, causing you to let out a small moan.

"Mmm, okay, but you gotta catch me," You said playfully, rushing off the bed.

"Hey," Terry growled, jumping out of bed. You giggled as you ran into the bathroom; right behind you was him.

You and Terry had a fantastic weekend and continued to have those weekends, but as a few months went by, you two still made time for each other, working around strict job schedules.

You slowly felt this wouldn’t work out and began to distance yourself. Terry immediately noticed you weren’t answering his calls or texts like you used to.

You always give him a rundown of your day, morning to night, ask about him, make sure he's doing well, ask about his work, and try to plan another weekend to see each other.

“Hey, boss, everything alright?” One of his employees approached Terry with a concerned look on his face.

He nodded and said, “Yeah, you think you can hold down the restaurant for me? I got sort of an emergency”

“Sure thing, I got you. Go handle your business” Marcus nodded, giving him a dap and reassuring expression.

“Thanks, Marcus!” Terry said, grabbing his jacket and keys. He was so worried that he was on his way to Lafayette to see you and figure out what was wrong because he didn’t like this distance from you.

Meanwhile, you were just getting off work, checking your phone, and seeing multiple notifications from Terry. You sighed and ignored them.

You grabbed your bag and phone and went to look for an Uber on it since your car was in the shop until the next day. You were almost out of the door until you heard a familiar voice call your name.

“Hey, we’re going to get some drinks, you should come” Quentin said, walking alongside you and you weren’t gonna lie before you went on this trip and met Terry.

You had a slight crush on Quentin. I mean, he was a fine, brown-skinned brother with charm. You were surprised he was even talking to you.

You guessed that after coming back from the trip, you had this new glow that attracted more people. You were less shy and introverted and more talkative and open to others.

“Oh come on, it would be fun,” He said, and you thought about it for second looking into his brown eyes. “Okay, I’ll go, only because my car is in the shop and I need a ride home”

“Well, I’m your guy,” he said charmingly. You, Quentin, and a few other co-workers went to a bar and had a great time. Quentin made sure you went home, and you and the two were laughing.

Quentin walked you to your front door, not noticing the car in your driveway. Terry was watching the whole thing. He texted you earlier that he was here, but you didn't answer.

So he was just waiting for you to come home, and now seeing you and this guy, he thought the worst. However, he tried to keep a level head and not jump to conclusions.

“Thanks for inviting me and giving me a ride, Q. I had a lot fun” You said, turning towards him with a friendly smile.

“Of course, anytime. Um…I was wondering if…” He started, getting this look in his eyes, and you knew where this was going, so you stopped him quickly.

“I have a boyfriend,” You said shyly, looking away for a second, then back at him. He looked slightly disappointed but changed his expression fast.

“Oh, shit…of course you do, beautiful woman like had to be taken sorry,” Quentin said, and you were about to say something until you heard a car door open and closed loudly.

“What the hell is going on here?” A familiar voice came out. You and Quentin turned your head, and Terry came up from his car. You didn't notice it in the driveway.

Your heart began racing, and you felt slightly scared, not for yourself but for Quentin; you had not seen this level of fire and possessiveness in Terry's eyes until now. 

It was hot and scary at the same time. Terry approached your side, wrapped his hand tightly around your waist, and saw a look at Quentin.

“Uh…Quentin, this is my boyfriend, Terry, and Terry…” You started clearing your throat before you could finish your sentence. Terry cut you off and said, “I don’t give a fuck. Who is he? Why is he here?”

“My brother….was just.” Quentin began but Terry didn’t let him finish.

“I ain’t yo brother, I don’t fucking know you” Terry said, raising his voice a little bit and you placed your hand on his chest to calm him down while looking up at him.

“Terry, relax. Quentin is my coworker. Me, Him, and some of my other coworkers went out for drinks. He was just making sure I was getting home safe,” you explained, trying to reassure Terry, but the tension in his posture was still firm.

“Look…Ima go, I’ll see ya at work,” Quentin said to you before rushing off to get in his car and drive away fast. You scoffed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

You got your keys out, opened the front door, and looked at Terry, motioning him to get inside. Terry bit his bottom lip, looking away, before walking into the house, with you following him behind.

You closed the door, locked it, and placed your bag on the side table. “What was that, and what are you doing here?” You asked, following Terry into your living room and watching him go sit on the couch.

"Nah, I don’t think I need to explain myself. What’s up with you and the old boy?" he replied, folding his arms and looking at you.

"Terry…like I said, Quentin is just my co-worker, nothing more or less. You think I can't talk to other men just because I'm with you? Even when It’s just an innocent conversation!" you shot back, frustrated.

"It didn’t look like just an innocent conversation to me," Terry said defensively. "You were smiling at him like you wanted him or something."

"Don't make this into something it’s not, Terry," you said, calm but firm as you took your shoes off. "I was just being friendly and thanking him, that’s all."

"Friendly? You were practically fucking flirting with him!" Terry shot back, his expression tightening.

"Flirting? Is that what you call it? I was just being polite! You're being fucking ridiculous right now, Terry," you countered, crossing your arms in frustration.

Terry shook his head. "I don’t want you to talk to “Quentin” again. He was clearly interested, and he wanted something from you."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "Terry, I'm allowed to talk to people, especially my co-workers, man or woman. Plus, I made it clear to Quentin before you jumped out of your car and acted all possessive and shit….I told him that I have a boyfriend."

“I don’t want him or anyone else. I want you, Terry,” You added, moving towards him, and Terry's expression softened with a flicker of remorse.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I just….these past few days, you’ve been distant, not answering my calls or texts, and I needed to see you. When I saw you with Quentin, I don’t know; I just thought the worst and saw red, " he expressed.

You took a breath and grabbed hold of his hand before next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry too, Terry. I should’ve answered your calls and texts…I guess I’m still trying to work on my communication.”

“Hey, it’s okay," he started, looking at you softly. "Do you really drive two hours to come to see me?" You asked with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I was worried, baby. Whatever it is that's going on, I need you to know that I'm here to listen and that you don't have to shut me out. ” Terry said softly, kissing your hand, making your heart flutter.

“I thought this short long-distance relationship would work, but I’ve been doubting. I'm gonna be honest, Terry..." You paused for a second, looking away before back at him.

You added, "I can’t keep up with us driving two hours back and forth to see each other; I want you close and right by my side."

Terry took a breath and nodded before speaking. “I understand, baby and I can't either. So it got me thinking, and I've decided to move here and be here with you”

Your eyes almost bugged out. “What? No, I can’t let you do that, Terry. You gotta think this through…" You paused, searching his eyes, and you see he had made his mind up.

"My mind is made up," Terry said with a smile. "But your whole family lives in New Orleans, and your job, the restaurant. You would really give that up for me?” You asked, shaking your head.

“Yeah, it’s worth it because I want to be where you are, the woman I’m madly in love with." He starts caressing your cheek with his soft hand.

"I don’t want to lose you, baby. You are the best thing that ever happened to me in a long time. I’m not letting you go so easy,” Terry added.

His eyes locked onto yours, a fierce determination lighting them. You held his gaze, feeling everything else fade away as tears of happiness came down your face. "Okay, Terry."

"Okay, good!" he said, his voice low, filled with love and devotion that sent shivers down your spine.

"I missed you, you know that?" Terry said, pressing his forehead against yours and you nodded.

"I missed you too, Terry, so damn much!" You cried, and he pulled you into his chest and brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

You trembled at his touch as his fingers wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right?"

"I do, and I love you so much, too." It was almost a whisper on your lips, but he heard you. Terry smiled, slowly moved in, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

You moaned softly, placing your hand on his cheek before slowly pulling away and grabbing hold of his hand. You got up, and he did the same and followed you to your bedroom.

You let go of his hand and went to your dresser. There, you grabbed a pair of handcuffs and handed them to Terry, whose eyebrows raised curiously.

"Do whatever you want with me; I'm yours forever, Terry," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. This caused him to grin and his eyes to darken.

"Mmm, my nasty girl wants to be handcuffed, huh?" He asked, roughly cupping your chin with his massive hand, causing you to whimper.

You nodded. "Yes!"

"Yes, who?" He asked, still cupping your chin while tilting his head to look at you with gentle dominance.

"Yes, Daddy!" You corrected, already feeling wet with the way he stared into your soul and towering over you with his height.

Terry lets go of your chin, straightening his posture, folding his hands against his stomach, and says, "Strip!"

You slowly take each piece of clothing off while keeping eye contact with him, watching the desire on his face deepen. You were completely naked now, slightly feeling a breeze hit your nipples.

"Mmm, so fucking gorgeous baby. Turn around," Terry says, motioning with his finger. You turn around and feel the heat of his hands on your wrist.

Terry wrapped the cold metal of the handcuff on you and locked them before giving your ass smack. He turned you around to face him and pressed his lips against yours, taking your breath away.

Terry pulls away and helps you get down on your knees before him. You bite your lip, looking up at him for a second, then to his pants. He unbuttons them and pulls them down with his boxer.

You let out a moan as your mouth began drooling at the sight of his big, juicy dick so hard and throbbing. Terry took his hoodie off before grabbing hold of your face.

"You think you can suck me with no hands for me, baby girl?" He asked, and you nodded with confidence. "Yes, I can Daddy"

"Mmm, okay. Go ahead, make Daddy proud," Terry said, hitting his dick against your face before you wrapped your mouth around his dick.

You started to suck him and bob your head slowly while looking up at him, causing him to moan. You began to move your head faster, making Terry grip the back of your head.

“Fuck, baby just like that, just like that” Terry moaned as you continued to suck him as he began to play with your breasts and you took him fully into your mouth,

He let out a moan at the warmth of your mouth, gripping your hair and popping you off of him. You gasped with saliva, looking up at him with desire in your eyes.

"Mmm, fuck I ain't gonna last if you keep looking at me like that, sweet girl. So fucking beautiful: Terry moaned, watching you sucking him back into your mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, open your mouth wider, baby," Terry chanted, grabbing your hair and beginning fucking into your mouth, causing you to moan and your eyes to water slightly.

He pulls out of your mouth, saliva dropping, and slaps his dick against your face causing you to chuckle. "Mmm, yes, love it when you slap me with your big dick."

“Shit...girl..." He continues, and then you take him back into your mouth. "Yes, yes, yes, just like that, keep sucking this dick so good” Terry bites his lip and throws his head back, moaning in pleasure.

You continued to bob your head up and down faster, looking into his eyes, always loving the expression of pleasure he made when you sucked him off.

"Shit, shit, shit, i'm gonna come!" Terry shouted, his panting extremely heavy. His muscles tensed up, veins almost popping from his arms with a loud moan.

You moaned muffled, feeling him release his seed into your mouth. The warm liquid trickled down your throat as he pulled out. You adjust yourself on the floor and taste his cum.

"Mmm, It tastes…sweet, Daddy," You said with a giggle, showing him the cum on your tongue, causing him to let out a moan at the amazing sight.

"You truly are my nasty girl!" He said after a couple of minutes of catching his breath. He went to get a wet washcloth to wipe your mouth before helping you up on the bed.

He didn’t waste any time on putting you on all four, spreading your ass cheeks, and pushing his tongue in your pool of sweetness and lavish wetness.

“Oh, ahhh, yes” You moaned into the sheets, feeling his tongue moving in and out of your wet pussy folds while adding two fingers into your dripping hole.

He began moving them back and forth between the two. Your moans chanted came louder than before as his tongue and fingers moved faster.

"Pussy is pretty and tastes so good, baby. So delicious, how am I so lucky to have you, huh?" Terry asked, giving you little licks here and there.

“Oh shit...Terry, don't stop, please,” You moaned, and he smirked, removed his tongue and his fingers, and replaced them with his dick, making you come.

"Oh my god, oh my.....Terry," You moaned, feeling yourself come hard on his dick as your body began shaking. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

Terry grabbed your wrist with his left hand and smacked your ass with his other before thrusted into you hard, causing you to gasp and moan.

"Terry, wait, please," You said, trying to move away, feeling sensitive; he didn't care and continued to grab your wrist and thrusted faster and harder.

“Mmm, fuck, baby, you're gushing, you hear that, baby?” Terry asked, pulling out slowly and thrusted his dick in and out of your pussy, causing wet sounds from your pussy.

"Yes, yes, ahh," You moaned, tilting your head slightly to look back at him with so much pleasure and want. "Fuck me, fuck your pussy, fuck all of me, giving all of that dick deeper."

"Mmm, baby girl. Keep talking nasty to me; you wanted it deeper?!" Terry moaned in pleasure and gave your ass a smack on the cheek and went slightly deeper.

"Shit, yes just like that." You moaned; he always knew how just you wanted and made you feel so good. Terry was looking down at the crack between his dick moving in and out of you.

The sensation of just thrusting in and out, feeling your walls, was everything. He smacked your ass, then grabbed a hand full of your ass cheek to spread them wide.

Halfway through, he takes the handcuffs off of you and pulls out of you. "Ride me, baby. I want to see that pretty face," Terry said, going to lay on his back, and you crawled on top of him.

You positioned his dick to slide into your pussy, causing both of you to moan. You placed your hands on his chest and began to bounce up and down his dick.

He smacks your ass with a growl, and you bit your lip, rolling your hips and grinding against him. You look down at him, meeting his eyes and feeling yourself clenching around him.

Terry opens his mouth in an O shape, watching every expression on your face, being in awe of you fixed on your breasts and loving how you moan his name and your eyes flutter at him.

His hands leaving your ass to caress up along your back softly. "Fuck, girl, keep looking at me like that, fuck with those pretty eyes. Might come and put fucking baby in."

His words made your body flutter slightly. You grinned at him and asked, "Mmm, do you want me to have your baby, big daddy?"

"Shit, yeah, I bet you'll look so damn sexy pregnant with our kid." He said, reaching up to squeeze your breasts. "Especially seeing these beauties all big and vein-filled with milk."

You knew he was just talking, but how he looked at you told you something else. The thought of having a baby with Terry in the future was ideal.

“Ahh...yes, yes, yes I wanna have your baby, Terry, one day,” You chanted out between moans, feeling your orgasm start to get close as you clenched around his throbbing, full of cum dick.

His hips slammed into your ass, feeling his balls hit at a different angle. "I'll give it ya one day if you wanted it, filled you up," he grunted, wrapping his hand around your neck.

"Fuck, yes fuck I'm gonna cum! fuck me” You screamed as he continued thrusted into you. “Me too, baby, together.” Terry let out a choked out of moan, his face scrunching in pleasure as both of you came together.

You blinked, seeing stars as you felt him release his seed deep inside of you, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head before letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

You dropped on Terry's chest, burying your face in his neck. He kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you, stroking your back.

Terry lies on your back and cleans you with the same washcloth he used earlier. He then takes a breath, lays beside you, and pulls you into his arms.

He looks at your face to find you knocked out, causing him to grow a chuckle. "I will try to make you a mother one day." His hand slowly reaches your belly, caressing it in circles with a hopeful smile.

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

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You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[amermaidsecretdiary]

I'M QUITTING + MY VOID STATE SUCCESS STORY

Hello guys, it's been a long time since i have posted something or in general be active here which was mostly because of personal reasons (just focusing on myself), although one of them had to do with our community.

I personally joined loatumblr at the middle of 2022 (from a previous anonymous account i had) but i started posting much later. Back then, the community was at it's peak ngl. The bloggers and the way they explained stuff was honestly, at least for me, so helpful and enjoyable. After the end of 2023 - beginning of 2024 this community started dying. I really didn't like this since I loved scrolling through specific blogs and reading their posts. I tried to post some stuff to give a little bit of life in there and i guess it did help a little.

Quick note; Please don't get me wrong, i'm not saying that the current posts and blogs running right now suck.. what i'm saying is that this community used to be way more alive back then.

One of the reasons why this happened is because people applied and got what they wanted. So they logged off tumblr. When I realised that, I decided to seriously focus on loa and start applying myself. And i ended up manifesting some good stuff, and I was good with it. Although, after some time, i decided that i wanted to manifest a completely new life from scratch, which it was what i wanted to do from the first time i joined tumblr but i ditched that thought and ended up changing some stuff about my current life.

My goal back then was to enter the void state (which im pretty sure it was 95% of the people in here goal too), but i didn't understand it properly so i couldn't 'enter'. I ended up ditching it and manifested without it. But after some point, i did my research and fully understood the void state or better, pure consciousness. If you go through my blog, you won't see much stuff about pure consciousness because i choose to not talk about it in here. The way it is treated it loatumblr just pisses me off. If you post a void success story, people will immediately run to you and ask you basic stuff like 'how did u do it?' when all the information needed about it is already posted. People tend to see it as something 'huge' and believe they can't succeed in it which is bs. If you do a little bit of research on pure consciousness you will understand how simple it is. Although, even if the 'void state' is seem like something that people overcomplete this doesn't mean that you can not use it. What i'm saying is that there are some people who really dislike the concept of it and will recommend u not to try it. Look, everyone has their different opinions and beliefs but if you want to manifest your dream life in the void state, go ahead. After all, it found you for a reason.

So coming back to my experience, since it was always my 'dream' to manifest my dream life in the void state, i decided to do it now. I'm pretty good at lucid dreaming (i've been lucid dreaming 3 years now) i decided to tap into my pure consciousness during a lucid dream. So i did my usual routine, had a lucid dream in which i closed my eyes and found myself floating in a void. I affirmed that i have lucid dreams everynight and then i got out. I did this 4 days ago, and i have had around 3-4 lucid dreams every single night, without doing any practise at all. Also, i have been scripting my entire dream life and i'm preparing myself to finally experience it. I have decided to make a looottt of big changes but two of them are the 'biggest' for me; numb.1 i will manifest that i will completely forget about my current life (i will also not remember anything about the law, for personal reasons) and numb.2 i will go back in time around 30 years ago (again for personal reasons). I mentioned this to make it clear to you that i won't be able to post my 'success story' after manifesting it, since i will not remember anything about me manifesting stuff and also even if i did, i wouldn't be able to post it since i will not have access to tumblr or current technology in general. So my success story is this one. This days, when i find the right time for me, i will have a lucid dream as usual and tap into my pure consciousness again which from there, i will finally manifest the life of my dreams. So that's my final post you will see from me. I hope you all never give up and get what you want because trust me it's worth it and all this found u for a reason. If you really want it and you stay consistent, then it's all yours. My words can not describe the way i feel right now, knowing that i have my dream life right in front of me and i can just grab it and give it to myself anytime, after this big journey. Goodbye everyone :)

[cliosunshine]

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐈𝐈

Jason Todd x dragon trainer!reader

Summary: after a portal mysteriously opened in your world, setting all of your dragons loose, you must find a way to take them all back home before it's too late and before you catch feelings for a certain cute guy in a red helmet

Warnings: none, slight mention of mythological creature abuse, Jason and reader begin to bond

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: second part to my first ever fic! I was happy so many of you enjoyed it, please let me know if you'd like a third part <3

As you walked around the cave, all you could do was admire the advanced technology surrounding you. You were craning your head up to get a better view of the animatronic T-Rex, a cup of tea in your hand. It was kindly offered to you by what you could only assume to be Batman’s butler, Alfred. The old man had kind eyes and also gave you a slice of pecan pie, which you really couldn’t refuse, especially after everyone in the room heard your stomach grumbling.

“So, tell me,” you started to say, swishing the amber liquid in your cup, “how can we find a way to get me and my dragons back home if we don’t know who opened the portal in the first place and where it was activated?”

Batman let out a contemplative hum, his back turned to you. He was sitting at the console typing away. “We need to check all of the security cameras in the city and also take a look at the air’s static and electromagnetic radiations that have possibly interfered with the electronic devices in Gotham”

The others were in the room as well, each one of them with their brows furrowed, having clearly switched to ‘professional’ mode, as you liked to call it.

With their domino masks and helmets gone, you could see how the three young men – Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin – starkly resembled Batman. You didn’t know why they decided to reveal their identities. Thinking it over, you realised they actually didn’t since you couldn’t recognise them and they hadn’t given you their real names. It probably figured that since you came from another universe altogether, you’d pose no threat to their identity.

Your gaze lingered on Red Hood’s face. He had a rugged yet defined look to him that didn’t let your eyes glance away. Be it the greenish eyes, the white streak on is hair or the scar on his neck, but you couldn’t look away. You must’ve been staring pretty intensely since he lowered his gaze onto yours, a slight blush creeping up his neck and covering his ears.

You quickly looked away, your own face heating up in embarrassment at being caught.

Jason cleared his throat, trying his best not to let a chuckle escape him at your flustered reaction.

Cass raised a brow at you two, tilting her head to the side curiously.

“We should go out and stop the dragons before they cause even more damage,” quipped Dick all of a sudden, quickly rising to his feet with newfound energy.

You clasped your hands together, nodding in agreement.

“Yes! We should-”

Roarrr

Your brows furrowed at the noise. It clearly came from the batcave, but that wasn’t a voice you recognised at all.

You looked at the others with a puzzled expression. They all seemed rather calm and even amused by the sound.

“This way, Goliath, please, use your legs for once in your life-”

You turned to where Robin’s voice came and your expression lit up upon seeing the cutest and fluffiest red dragon just mere meters from you.

“Aww who’s this now?” you asked as you approached the creature.

Robin pushed the dragon towards you to no avail and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

“He’s- Goliath-” he explained between pushes, clearly out of breath.

The dragon eyed you warily.

You smiled softly at him, extending a hand for him to sniff, “He can probably smell the other dragons on me,” you explained as you saw his ears perk up upon smelling your skin.

He gave you a look of approval and you began stroking his red fur. It was far softer than you had anticipated and it had a weird feeling to it. You pulled your hand back, examining it.

You grimaced as you saw your entire hand covered in a shiny, slippery substance.

“Why is he covered in oil?”

Robin gave you a pleading look for half a second, before regaining his usual stoic composure.

“He’s been itching a lot for the past few weeks and we figured that-…uhm…the best way to treat him was to put an ointment on his body,” he explained, your wild out gaze on his making him freak out internally that he somehow messed up.

“Poor Goliath,” you cooed at the dragon, scratching his chin. You were grateful that you couldn’t bring Obsidian in the cave with you or he would have thrown a jealous fit. You continued your ministrations as you gave him a once over. His skin was reddened because of the itch and the ointment and he continued to scratch his ears.

“I think he may have a skin infection,” you diagnosed, cleaning your hands with a tissue Robin gave you. “If I were at the sanctuary, I would make him a sage compress and given him a two-week treatment.”

You sighed in contemplation, wondering what to do.

Robin came over to you, a map in his hands, “Gotham’s botanical park is a few blocks away from here. Nobody’s there during the night so maybe we could break in and get the ingredients you need.”

You raised your brows at him, amused by the fact that a vigilante would actually commit a break in and theft.

Sounds of agreement followed his proposition and you could only nod along.

“We can drop by and get the ingredients while we search for the other dragons,” suggested Nightwing, looking over at you. You nodded again.

“Great then,” he said, clapping his hands once, “We need to separate so we can cover more ground,”

Immediately hands flew up and shouts were exchanged about who was going to team up with who.

“I wanna go with the bat!” snickered Spoiler, “I can’t wait to see him try to catch a dragon”

Batman still had his back turned, but was definitely listening to the conversation because his shoulders stiffened.

“No, I must go with Batman, I’m Robin after all-”

“You wouldn’t even tease him like I would!”

The bickering stopped as everyone’s attention snapped onto Orphan, who was signing something.

“What did she say?” you asked, not being able to understand her and honestly just having learned a few signs for one of your deaf dragons, nothing more.

Nighwing beamed, “She said that you and Hood over here should team up and search for both the dragons and the herbs together”

Oh.

You and Red Hood both looked at each other and you suddenly registered what was bound to happen.

You and this incredibly attractive stranger on Obsidian’s back.

Oh fuck.

You laughed nervously and he seemed to mimic you.

“Uhm, alright then,” you squeaked out, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, even Batman’s.

“Off you go, then, shoo,” Nightwing escorted you to the exit of the batcave, earning more than a few grumbled cusses from Red Hood – or should you just call him Hood?

You hardly managed to choke out a “goodbye” before the door closed centimetres from your face.

“What a dickhead,” said the vigilante next to you, this time with only his domino mask on, “I apologise on his behalf- he doesn’t know when to shut up,” he says with an irritated groan.

You chuckle at that, reassuring him. As you approached your dragon, you glanced up at him once more, taking in how his sharp features contrasted greatly with the soft curls of his black hair.

The moonlight gave him a sort of vampiresque look and you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes seemed to…glow? It seemed as if his blueish-greenish eyes did a complete 180 and became this neon green colour.

You narrowed your eyes at that, continuing to walk.

Meanwhile, Jason side eyed you the entire walk back to Obsidian.

His mind wandered as he tried to come up with possible explanations about this whole situation. Who were you and where did you even come from. He wasn’t buying the whole “Oh, I come from Earth!” thing and neither were his brothers. Maybe there was a possibility that you truly came from a parallel universe were apparently dragons existed, but then why hadn’t they had at least one encounter with these anomalies before?

He thought back to Superman and Krypton. Although it probably wasn’t the exactly same thing, he guessed that if Bruce was allies and friends (although he’d never admit it) with Clark, then anything was possible.

He also found you really pretty and not alien-looking at all, but that’s beside the point.

His eyes wandered back to the lasso on your utility belt. He had sworn that when it was up in the air, swinging above your head in loose circles it looked exactly like Wonder Woman’s.

He had to ask you about that later. For now, he could only grief his bike even further as he took a good look at the dragon in front of him that looked like it wanted to tear his head off.

He could only reciprocate the glare as your back was turned to both of them, fishing out your list of ingredients that were needed to make the compress.

“Ok, so” you started, oblivious to the death stare contest between Jason and the dragon, “are you ready for a once-in-a-lifetime experience?”

Jason looked at your excited expression and gulped nervously when your dragon huffed begrudgingly, clearly not wanting to let him on.

“You sure about me getting on this thing?” Those were fighting words for the dragon, who shrieked offended at being called a thing.

You tried to not worsen things further, putting your palm out in dissuasion, smiling nervously.

“He can understand your every word, Hood” you explained, your nervous and apologetic tone prompting Jason to see in the corner of his eye how the black dragon huffed in agreement, the smoke coming out of his nostrils making him wince.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly, “Sorry, I didn’t realize”

You waved him off with a smile, “It’s all good. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Jason took a second to think to himself – have I ever rode a horse before? - . He didn’t know if he had no memory of doing so from all the concussions he’s had this year alone or because your gaze was making him slightly nervous. Yeah, it was probably the latter.

“No,” was all he manged to blurt out, really not wanting to get on your dragon’s back.

“Good, because it’s nothing like it!” You laughed out, your shoulders relaxing, “I feared you would’ve been one of those people who tried to get Obi moving by slightly kicking on his stomach because trust me – it would’ve ended badly”

Jason didn’t find humour in that, but chuckled along nevertheless.

He watched as you hopped on your dragon’s back with elegance and precision, not a single movement wasted. He also took notice at how Obsidian helped you up by lowering one of his wings. He put his helmet on, missing your disappointed look at his now covered face.

“Come on, take my hand and put your right foot on Obi’s wing bone” you instructed as you pointed at where your foot previously was, your other hand outstretched for him to take.

Jason looked at your hand, then at your face. He looked at your hand again.

You couldn’t possibly lift half his body weight up with a single hand, right? A hand that was significant smaller than this, nonetheless.

“Are you sure about this? I’m a big guy, I don’t want to – Oh shit!”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you bent down to grab his hand and Obsidian nudged his foot on his wing, only to lift his whole body up as if he weighted nothing and fling him up in the hair. Jason screamed as he tried not to fly right into the bush behind you. He thankfully didn’t as your tight grip on his hand prevented him from becoming the next rocket man of Gotham.

He landed right behind you, his whole body shaking as he tried to regain his composure.

“Don’t worry about me, Obi does all the heavy lifting,” you said as you laughed so much that tears started to form at the corners of your eyes. Your dragon seemed to mimic your laugh with huffs and puffs as he moved his head up and down with closed eyes.

Behind you, sitting with an unamused expression and arms crossed over his chest, Jason had a half-mind to just ditch the two of you and walk to the botanic garden alone.

Your laugh quieted down and you looked back at him, this time with a genuinely apologetic look in your eyes.

He lifted the corners of his mouth ever so slightly, thankful for his helmet covering his face.

At least someone had the guts to mess with him like that.

“Hold on tightly. I’m warning you, I’ll try to go as slowly as I can but Obi doesn’t like men that much and will actively try to throw you off, so it’s better if you hold onto me, that way he won’t do it,” you told Jason and he glanced down at the dragon, who was already looking at him with an already mischievous look in his eyes. Fucking hell. He hoped to survive his first ever dragon ride.

Jason lifted his hands that were previously on his lap and carefully held your waist, only his gloves and a few layers of clothes separating your skin from his. He swore he could feel the warmth radiating from your body.

“I said tighter, Hood,” you told him in a firmer tone, to which he responded by getting closer to you and pressing his chest to your back, his arms now circling your waist tightly.

He could feel your heartbeat picking up significantly and smiled to himself.

“O-okay, that’s better,” you managed to squeak out before tapping your dragon’s neck once.

The sudden movement made him spread out his wings and soon enough you found yourselves up in the air, taking in Gotham’s skyline from above.

Jason couldn’t help but bring you in even tighter, trying his best not to hinder your mobility as you tapped Obsidian’s ears to signal when to turn, opting your practiced tapping signs rather than having to shout out directions, now that you had someone else riding with you.

“Is this the place?” you turned around towards Jason as you got closer to a sign that had “Gotham Public Botanic Garden” written in dark green letters.

Jason nodded, not being able to utter a sound as the proximity between you two made him nervous. He was accustomed to being held from behind when he rescued civilians and tried to take them someplace safe, but to hold on to someone and trust them with his life as he travelled on a dragon’s back? Yeah, that was a new one for him.

You patted Obsidian’s back twice, prompting him to land near the entrance. Thankfully no one was in sight as Jason figured you would’ve gotten more than a few odd looks.

He was the first one to hop off the dragon’s back, already missing your body’s warmth as he tried to hold on to whatever remains where left of it on his leather jacket.

You then slid down, petting Obsidian’s snout with tenderness and placing your lips near his spiked cheek, “Thanks, Obi. Now let’s go, we need to find quite a few things to help Goliath out.”

As you made your way through the various greenhouses, Jason walked by your side and Obsidian on the opposite one, protecting you from harm.

If he could say one good thing about that damn dragon, Jason would praise him for his protectiveness over you. He noticed how, from the very start, he always kept his eyes trained on you, not missing a single sign of discomfort and immediately taking action when he felt like you were being threatened.

Other than that, he was a complete jerk.

You continued to walk in peaceful silence that was only interrupted by you telling him you found another herb needed for the compress.

When you had almost gone through the whole list, Jason spoke up.

“How do you know so much about dragons?” he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

You smiled fondly at nothing in particular, as if reminiscing some good memories.

“You see,” you continued walking, your gaze never leaving the herbs in your hand, “I was absolutely distraught at how the majority of the people where I come from treat animals that aren’t your usual house pets, especially dragons. They would more often than not abuse, torture and kill them just for fun or to boast to others how they managed to kill a dragon-” you cut yourself off with a shaky breath, anger evident in your voice and your eyes.

Obsidian nudged your arm with a sad face, letting out a low grumble and you smiled weakly at him. Jason wanted to put an arm around your shoulders and pull you close to him, but he restrained himself.

“I found Obi one morning while working out in the park,” you continued, “and he was so cute, sitting there in that box that he accidentally had set on fire, so chubby and round with those big amber eyes- gosh he was adorable,” you chuckled, a single tear managing to escape and running down your cheek. Jason’s hand twitched by his side.

“I took him home. My parents were seething with rage at the thought of me taking care of a dragon, an animal everybody in our community despised. So I left home and went to live with my best friend, Katie, in a house near our hometown’s lake and from there, piece by piece, we learned more about dragons as we rescued them.”

Jason stayed silent, your words making him see you in a new light. He admired your strength and perseverance, your will to not give up and go against your parents to do what you knew was right. He saw a lot of himself in you and he liked that.

“That’s incredible…wait, I never got your name” he paused embarrassed, having completely forgotten to ask your name at the batcave.

You smiled softly, not a hint of offence in your kind eyes, “No biggie,” you shrugged light-heartedly, “it’s Y/N”.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks”

You stayed like that for a while, content in the silent agreement you both had settled upon. Jason liked you. you weren’t over the top like his siblings were, but also not a complete recluse who disdained human contact, as often found himself to be like. You were…you. And he liked that.

Soon enough, you had gathered all your ingredients and were getting back onto Obsidian’s back. This time the dragon was much gentler with Jason. He probably felt the shift in demeanour you and him had during the walk and eased up on him. Jason was grateful for not getting hauled up like a ragdoll a second time.

As you were back up into the air, a sense of tranquillity engulfed the both of you before a faraway shriek reminded Jason that you still had another dozen or so more dragons to find and bring back to the manor.

Exchanging a look with you, he observed you directing Obsidian to where you had heard the sound, before a blaze interrupter your path and a pair of glowing eyes were set on the three of you.

Jason’s blood ran cold and his mouth moved faster than his thoughts could as he pointed a gun at the fire-spitting dragon.

“That’s the fucker that melter my bike!”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rumors

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader (no specific characterization, but he wears the eye makeup from The Batman)

Summary: Gotham has shared rumors about you and Bruce for years, and Bruce finally decides to do something about them.

Warnings: none, I think! it's mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Inspired by Rumor by Lee Brice + Battinson's eye makeup

A/N: I just found this and have no idea how long ago I wrote it. I edited it, but hopefully it's decent!

Masterlist | DC/Bruce Wayne Masterlist | Request Info

It’s late; the sun disappeared hours ago, and the pale moonlight took its place. This is when Gotham looks its prettiest, with no bright light to shine on the dark alleys, dirty streets, and criminals lurking around corners. But this is also when Gotham is at its worst. No one knows that more than you and Bruce Wayne.

Everyone in Gotham, you included, has tried to label the relationship you have with the billionaire, but no one seems to be able to decide on a suitable title; you’re too close to be colleagues, not close enough to be partners, friends seems to be too little, but in a relationship feels like a stretch. No matter what the tabloids call the two of you from week to week, you’re constant. Never apart for more than a day or two, Gotham’s prince and his seemingly dearest friend are seen together far more often than you are seen apart.

Your eyes burn as you force them to stay open, clicking the mouse to read another article in the Journal of the American Medical Association. You’re not a doctor and never wanted to be, but it seems to be the only thing able to hold your attention and keep you awake. Somewhere above you, in Wayne Manor, a grandfather clock rings, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. The police scanners have been quiet for several minutes, and the walkie-talkie beside your cell phone is silent. Your head turns toward the garage entrance as you stop scrolling through the abstract for an article about obstructive sleep apnea. Your attention is captured by the familiar sound of the Batmobile rumbling in the night. The engine idles for a moment before silence reclaims the cave, the headlights dimming and allowing the peaceful darkness to overtake the night again.

“Quiet night?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying to not disturb the rare peacefulness surrounding you.

“Yeah,” the gruff voice of Batman responds.

He lifts his tired arms to remove his cowl, sets it on the desk, and flits his eyes across the computer screen before they land on you. Baby blues scan up and down your frame before finding your face as if you were the one who had been in danger all night; as if you could have been injured sitting in the plush office chair and reading medical journals.

“Alfred left your dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry,” you say, smiling softly as you stand.

You lift your hand and push Bruce’s hair off his forehead, a sigh escaping his lips at the contact. It’s been too long since someone touched him like this, even though you did so just this morning before his business meeting.

“‘M not hungry,” he says, his voice returned to normal. Bruce, not Batman.

“You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

“After you.”

He carefully removes his suit, places it on its stand in the Batcave, now donning sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking much softer than he had mere minutes ago. You take his hand and lead him to the elevator, leaning against the rail as it takes you up into Wayne Manor, opening into a dark hallway. Bruce takes the lead, expertly navigating his home and entering his bedroom, his hand never leaving yours.

“Bruce,” you say, tugging his hand as he makes a beeline for his bed. “Your eyes.”

“Right,” he sighs, releasing your hand and moving to the bathroom.

You follow him silently, laying your hand atop his own as you gently pull a washcloth from his fingers. Nodding at him, you gesture toward the closed toilet, which he sits down on, and tilt his head up slightly. After wetting the washcloth and grabbing the gentle skin cleanser from his cabinet, you move to stand before him, unsurprised when his hands find your hips and pull you closer, now standing between his legs. The silence surrounding the two of you is never uncomfortable but a relief from the stresses and pains of daily life in Gotham. As you raise the washcloth, he closes his eyes. You gently wipe the excess makeup from his skin before adding the cleanser and watching the color lift off his skin. With each gentle stroke of the washcloth, he looks more like Bruce Wayne.

“Done,” you whisper, stepping away from him and rinsing the black product from the washcloth.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, standing and wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back as he drops his chin to your shoulder. “For everything.”

You smile at him in the mirror before leading him to bed, not arguing when he asks you to lay with him. The comfort of someone you care about by your side all night is unlike any other.

The first Wayne Charity Gala since the murder of Thomas and Martha is officially underway. Gotham officials and citizens have been eagerly and impatiently counting the days since the announcement several weeks ago. You spearheaded the planning, running constant interference between Bruce Wayne and picky Wayne Enterprises partners. The gala was planned to the minute, not a detail forgotten. Bruce had agreed to make a public entrance on the condition he had a table to himself, a wish that was quickly granted. The ballroom is now filled with people, co-planners talking in the earpiece you wear as you survey everything from the corner.

“We need more champagne in section 7,” you say into your microphone.

“On it,” a response sounds immediately. Several servers carrying full trays exit the kitchen and move to their assigned sections.

You begin making laps around the room, sticking to shadows and corners, politely greeting guests as you met them. The gala begun twenty minutes ago, and the building was already nearing maximum occupancy. The entertainment has yet to begin, waiting for the mayor, Bruce Wayne, and several other prominent Gothamites to arrive. The roar of paparazzi from outside the large double doors signals the arrival of one of these people. All eyes are on the door as they open yet again and everyone watches the mayor enter and greet her fellow citizens. Shortly after, the man of the hour makes his grand entrance. Bruce's dark hair is styled, and a new navy suit adorns his strong figure. He shakes hands with a fake smile plastered on his face as he makes his way to his table near the back door. Relief washes across his face as he reaches it, conversing briefly with a Wayne Enterprises associate before she is called away. You watch him with a smile, still listening to the gala workers in your ear.

“The mayor will be on stage in two minutes,” someone alerts.

“Perfect. After her speech, escort the entertainment to the stage,” you respond.

After a short detour to ensure the backstage area is to Wayne Enterprises’ standards, you are surprised to see Bruce Wayne’s table empty. The mayor approaches the stage, the chatter in the room quieting as people find their seats. You walk around a pillar and nearly run into a waiter. You apologize as you step backward and hit someone’s chest. Strong arms wrap around your waist, keeping you upright and away from the floor.

“I apologize,” you say as you separate yourself from your savior, nodding to the waiter before he returns to the kitchen. “May I get you anything?” you ask as you turn to face the man who had caught you. Oh.

“You could take a break. Join me at my table. I do have a plus one,” Bruce replies with a smile.

“Actually, you don’t. You waived it when you only RSVP’d for yourself,” you retort playfully.

“I don’t think they’ll mind,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Mr. Wayne, I have work to do.”

“Five minutes. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want a break from those heels.”

“As right as you are, there is a lot of press in here; you’re dealing with enough headlines right now.”

You peek around the corner and see the lights dimming.

“You need to get back out there,” you say, gently pushing him toward his table.

He catches your wrist gently and asks, “Find me when you get a chance?”

“If you haven’t ditched by the time I get a break, I will find you,” you promise.

He smiles and nods before returning to his table. You continue your rounds during the mayor’s speech and the beginning of the entertainment show. Concerns from the staff lead you to the kitchen, where you decide to open another box of the expensive champagne and begin serving dessert early. Many laps later, the gala is winding down as guests begin leaving, and the entertainment thanks the audience before they exit the stage. Within an hour, only a few guests remain, and the cleaning staff is waiting for them to leave to begin cleanup. You cross the room to gather the guest books from each table.

“You know how to plan a gala. I should let you do it more often,” a familiar voice says from behind you.

You smile as you turn to face Bruce. “No,” you protest softly as he tries to take the books from your arms. “You’re a guest.”

He tilts his head before looking around the room. “As the only one, I think it’s okay.”

You look around too, and notice the last guests are gone. You wave to alert the cleaning crew they’re ready to begin. As they enter the ballroom, Bruce uses the distraction and gently takes the guest books from you.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Bruce says, offering his free arm to you.

“I was going to stay and-“

“You’ve done more than enough, let’s go,” Bruce implores.

You disconnect your earpiece to leave them in the staff dressing room to be picked up in the morning. The guest books are placed aside to be cataloged and used for thank-you cards next week. After, Bruce leads you to his car, opens the passenger door, and helps you in before getting in himself. He drives back to Wayne Manor in comfortable silence, parks in the main garage, and leads you to one of the many guest rooms.

“There should be clothes in the closet, help yourself” Bruce says as he turns on the light.

You open the closet and see everything from pajamas to work clothes to evening gowns, and it is all your size. “What is all this?” you ask, turning to look at Bruce.

“Alfred and I thought that since you spend so much time here and do so much for us, you deserved your own space,” he explains with a shrug.

“You didn’t have to-” you interrupt yourself with a yawn - “do all this.”

“We wanted to. Get changed and meet me in the bathroom.”

You change before entering the bathroom, as requested. Bruce gestures to a soft chair at the vanity, and you sit down, looking up at him as he approaches you.

“My turn to return the favor.” He smiles before removing makeup from your face with soft touches. Pleased with the success of the makeup wipe, he turns and procures a wet washcloth, wetting your skin before he applies face wash and gently rubs it into your skin. After he rinses the face wash off, he picks up a brand-new bottle of your favorite moisturizer and applies it to your face and neck before wiping his hands on a separate towel. “Need anything else?” he asks.

“That was way more than I did for you,” you mumble sleepily.

“You do more for me than you realize,” Bruce states. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I need a plus one to the gala,” Bruce says as he enters your new office.

“Okay, Mr. Wayne,” you answer, pulling up the gala attendance list on your computer. “Who should I put down? Ms. Kyle?”

Bruce pinches his eyebrows together briefly before shaking his head. “No. I wrote it down to ensure you understand.”

He hands you a card, watching with a smile as you read your name.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m planning and working the gala, I can’t-“

“Pick someone else to run this one. You can still plan it, but I want you to come with me. If you agree, of course.”

“I’d love to. What about the press? Aren’t you worried about what they’ll say?”

“Not a bit. So, do I have a date?”

“You do, Mr. Wayne,” you answer with a smile.

“Perfect.” Bruce returns your smile, and you know you made the right choice.

You get ready for the gala at Wayne Manor. After choosing one of the gowns from the closet Bruce prepared for you, you gratefully accept Dory’s help with your hair and makeup.

Bruce knocks on your door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. He stares at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You look very handsome,” you respond.

Upon arriving at the gala, Bruce takes your hand as you both walked through the hordes of press and into the venue.

“You outdid yourself,” Bruce whispers, looking at the elaborate decorations and settings.

You smile, squeezing his hand gently as he leads you toward your table, never releasing your hand as he speaks to several people. After excusing himself, he asks you to dance. You stare up at him, dumbfounded that Bruce Wayne just asked you to dance. He pulls you against his side without waiting for an answer and leads you to the dance floor.

“Bruce, you know all the rumors are going to start again, right?” you ask as he places a hand on your hip and takes your hand in his other. Your hand raises to his shoulder while your eyes stay trained on his, unwilling to look around and see all the people staring.

“What if they weren’t rumors this time?” Bruce asks, leading the dance.

“What do you mean?”

“There have been rumors going around for years about me and you. Stirring up Gotham’s richest and criminals alike. Tell me why we are the only ones trying to deny this feeling. I feel it.”

“I do too,” you assure him softly.

“So, we can shut them down, I can shift the attention of the reporters,” Bruce begins. “Or… we could make it true.”

“Do you want to keep them talking or make them stop?” you counter.

Bruce doesn’t answer, finishing the dance. As the music fades, you drop your hands, but Bruce adjusts his grip on your waist and pulls you into a kiss that captures everyone’s attentions. Cameras flash, paparazzi yell, and Wayne Enterprises employees whisper to one another as several pay up for long-standing bets. Gotham knows what to call us know, you think.

You pull back first, and Bruce rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe that will keep their focus of Batman for a few days,” he murmurs.

“One rumor at a time, Bruce.”

[shiny-jr]

Any updates on the damnation au ,’)

Actually, yes, there is. Some good news, some bad news. But I'll put this off now, to get it off my shoulders. This is an important damnation update!

Let's start with the good news, shall we? The good news is, Ignihyde is less than ten pages away from completion. I have been able to write a bit for it recently, so steadily that number is going up. It has taken a while to get back into the groove of things, as it's been so long since I've written anything and I had to reread what I had, reflect and brainstorm, all that jazz. However, progress is being made slowly but surely.

Additionally, the follower count is getting closer and closer to 8,000. Like, very close. It's like I'm sitting here, yapping mostly, ranting, and occasionally putting out a post, only for new readers to go "okay, I like this" and follow, despite me not being able to post much. At this exact moment of me writing this, the follower count is 7,821 and usually soon I start reblogging previous damnation results leading up to the moment I will post the new result.

Now, notice I have yet to say anything about Diasomnia. That is because I have yet to begin writing for it, despite the ideas I already have for it.

I want to be real for a moment, and saying that this has generated some anxiety for me, which is never good.

I don't want this fun hobby to become a burden I learn to dread. There's many things I worry about. I won't be able to come anywhere near completion for Diasomnia in time, it'll be rushed and be a horrible ending to an otherwise decent series I'm mostly proud of. At this point to being so close to finishing Ignihyde's damnation story, I worry that it's not good enough. That it's nothing compared to the previous endings. That it won't be well received.

These thoughts about Ignihyde's part are something I often experience before posting something major I've worked on for a while, which I expected. I will go through with Ignihyde, as it should be done well before the milestone is reached. At the pace things are going, I will not be forcing myself to hurry to start and finish Diasomnia.

I do not want to make a mess of things, and create some unsatisfactory ending. That's why, for now, Diasomnia's ending will be delayed. I wish to write a good story, at least to the best of my ability, and I cannot do that in a time crunch while under pressure. I'm sorry if this is disappointing news. I hope I can make up for this in a good Diasomnia damnation ending later on, but not now.

Further updates for damnation, the Ignihyde ending, will be posted soon. Thank you for reading this long announcement.

[fallenfrommars6277]

Okay, I've seen the cameo where George hints at Edwin's "first adult experience" with the Cat King and I wish to share my two cents about it.

First of all, disregarding which pair anyone ships, I believe we can safely say that Payneland will eventually be endgame: it is left as an option by Charles in Hell, it is hinted in the show and it is basically sustained by Jayden and George themselves.

I am, for one, a Payneland shipper. I admit that at first I wanted them to stay just friends because I am a sucker for great friendship stories, but rewatch after rewatch I started to see them as soulmates in a romantic kinda way.

Nevertheless, I think (and honestly have thought since the beginning, not just because they said that now) that it would be great to see how Catwin would evolve and in particular I think it's just right that Edwin has his first experiences with the Cat King, maybe not straight away sex, but in general intimate experiences.

Let me explain.

Yes, it would be nice to see Edwin and Charles getting together and awkwardly kissing and having together their first intimacies: it would be a first for both of them, because I believe that while Charles may have fooled around a bit, he didn't ever actually make love to anyone, let alone a boy. So it would be all romantic and gentle and blushing virgins and it absolutely would be great.

BUT.

Both Edwin and Charles are on a journey to self discovery, in general but especially in the love and sexuality area, but they are at different stages of it. While Edwin has been repressed for over a century, he has been now awakened (by Charles, by Monty and above all by the Cat King) to feelings and sensations and wants that he now needs and IS READY to fulfil.

On the other hand, Charles isn't there yet, he just now learns that his best mate is in love with him and he feels nothing but love and adoration towards him but he fundamentally doesn't know what actual love (as in being in love with someone and being the one someone is in love with) looks and feels like, also they're both guys and while he has been nothing but supportive of Edwin about him coming to terms with his homosexuality, considering the time and especially the household in which he lived in, I don't think he wouldn't have problems realizing and admitting to himself that he is bisexual (I know it's not canon, but come on) or at least that he fancies another boy. And even when this happens, I think that he would have a lot of holding back, being insecure about his "ability" to love and not wanting to hurt Edwin.

That said, I think that Edwin has always loved and will always love only Charles, but it is only fair for him now to start having his experiences and exploring his sexuality and, while Edwin and Charles have been a whole for over 30 years, doing everything together, I believe this is something he has to do by himself and the best person with whom to do this is the Cat King because they're both attracted to each other, because the CK is very experienced and I think this would be someway reassuring for Edwin (like he's doing this, he's experimenting with someone who knows very well what he's doing), because the CK would never be judgemental of his inexperience, and above all because the CK cares about him, but also knows that no matter how much he can care about him and be affectionate towards him and even love him, he will never actually have him because Edwin's heart belongs to Charles since that night in the attic.

I expect (yes, I'm talking like this is actually happening because maybe I'm delusional but I've not given up hope yet about a second season) that while Edwin does this and experiments and learns things about a part of himself that has always been hidden and repressed, Charles someway does the same, of course not realizing that he wants to have sexual experiences because he is, if not actually experienced, more acquainted with this "area", but that he has to explore his sexuality to understand how he can fit loving Edwin into it and then actually act upon this, but to do this he also needs to find a way to separate himself from his father, from his painful childhood, and control his anger and navigate and accept his own emotions, all the shades of them, to start appreciating himself and considering himself worth of loving and being loved.

In conclusion, as I said before, they both are going through a journey, but while Edwin's at the end of his and is ready for what comes next, Charles has just now started it, so it's just right that just this once they don't do this together, because they KNOW that even if they take metaphorically different roads, they eventually will find each other at the finish line.

[better-than-sleeping]

A part of Richard's isolation from the group that I would like to put forward is this:

I truly do believe the group care for Richard as a friend, even when their relationships start to spiral out of control near the end. But that care isn't always present throughout their lives, the same way most people aren't constantly obsessing over their friend's feelings 24/7, and he cannot understand it.

It's not just the stuff you would typically think of that proves this to me, like the twins going out of their way to include him, companionable rambles with Bunny, making food with Francis. The most obvious instance of this is Richard being excluded from the Bacchanalia, and yes, this obviously sucks as someone trying so desperately to be included and a part of the group, but also makes so much sense from their perspective.

If Richard had been normal, he would have been so weirded out! This could be a convenient excuse, but it could just as easily be the group showing their own desires to be accepted by HIM, in a kind of reverse of roles that Richard naturally doesn't want to pick up on, because that would be seeing them human, and fallible, and SIMILAR TO HIMSELF. Unthinkable!

Something I've not seen discussed is the little aside when he first falls in with the group proper and relates that they had found him just as aloof as he had found them. Their inviting him to Francis's house was simply an urge to impress him, and I can't see any other way of reading it than that. If they had simply wanted to include him, but didn't care about how he saw them, they could have simply kept inviting him to their houses and out for lunch.

But, it's the moments that also double as little instances of ostracism that really interest me: Camilla saying Henry didn't want to do another pig ritual because he thought it would upset Richard, the group telling him they've already involved him enough and that he shouldn't participate in Bunny's murder. The general reading of this (that I've seen so far) seems to be that Henry did these things purposefully to keep Richard apart from the group, he didn't know him as well as the others, an unknown quantity, someone he didn't care for as much since he hadn't known him as long. But there's a lot of ambiguity there as well, and I think what makes things so compelling is that uncertainty. It could be purposeful, or unintentional, or some inextricable combination of the two.

(As an aside- ironically, I believe Henry may care about Richard the most out of anyone in the group. Helping him while he was sick, worried about seeing Richard drunk during the day, it's all rather sweet, and I don't believe it was entirely some machievellian scheme.)

However, I like to see the isolation as mostly, if not entirely unintentional, because that makes it so much more cutting to me. It's subtle. They don't put any special thought into doing it, they just…don't even think how these things could make him feel.

The worst part is, as far as I remember, Richard never fully engages with his feelings about this, but they are felt so much through the story and his actions within them. They are moments that sunk deep within his psyche like a stone that's dropped into water and swallowed immediately without a trace. It sits very still inside him, unmoveable.

His acceptance of these moments as they are happening to him is likely a result of his history of loneliness and being apart from others. There is nothing unusual to him about this, that it would require further thought from him within his narrative.

A large part of Richard's isolation is due to his glorification of the people he deems worthy, which continues even after he begins to see their flaws. Despite them, he still can't bear to see them torn down to his level, people he can relate to instead of glorify or look down upon. I think there is an element of self destruction to this, not wanting to understand so he has an excuse to punish himself for self perceived deficiencies.

It's very intriguing, this uncertainty of how much of Richard's isolation from the group is imagined, or perhaps even self imposed in a kind of feedback loop, where he feels pushed away and so pulls himself away from them, to anonymous parties with people he professes not to care about, takes pills and sleeps for days, to numb himself from the pain of their rejection.

And in the process, this feeling of isolation is enforced, becomes more a reality through the concrete evidence he has produced by himself. Maybe the group see his behaviour and think he needs space, they give it to him. He feels lonely, he says nothing. Because he would rather freeze to death than ask for help.

[starrysnowdrop]

So I’ll go through all three of my ships briefly, starting with Hali, then Yume, and then Sohna!

Hali x Aymeric

For me, I’ve loved Aymeric ever since his first appearance in 2.4 with his meeting with Alphinaud, and Hali has been smitten with him since she first saw him as well, at the same time, but my reasons and Hali’s reasons are very different.

At first, I thought Aymeric had major hidden antagonist vibes, like he was going to betray us and he was going to be the big bad of HW, but instead I was completely wrong, and he ended up being the exact opposite of what I had expected, and I ended up loving him even more for it.

Hali always thought the best of Aymeric, and she wanted to climb him like a tree ever since she first saw him, but the “Oh” moment for her was not until the assassination attempt on Aymeric’s life in 3.1 that Hali realized that her feelings were way deeper than just friendship. A love confession wouldn’t come until 6.0 though! 🤦‍♀️

Yume x Zenos

((Yume’s side blog: @firelightmuse))

Both Yume’s and my feelings for Zenos have been, well, complicated to say the least. I’ve always thought he was hot as hell, and next to Aymeric, he’s definitely the hottest man in game for me. But I wouldn’t even think of shipping him with Yume until this year, thanks in part to a dream I had, and also a HUGE boost from @meepsthemiqo (TYSM my friend!!).

For Yume, she became obsessed with him after he had defeated her in battle twice, and spared her life twice, which drew her to Zenos, as she had never been defeated before in a one on one battle. Even though she knew he was her enemy, her feelings for him only grew over the years, and her “Oh” moment comes after their battle in Ultima Thule, in which she realized that she couldn’t let him die, and she saved his life instead.

Sohna x Alphinaud

((I don’t have any banners made for Sohna or for the ship banner yet, so have an Alphi gif instead!))

So, this is my newest ship, and many of you probably never knew this, but Alphinaud has always been my favorite Scion, and he’s overall one of my favorite FFXIV characters period. Talk about that character growth! He’s such a great character, and I even thought of shipping Yume with Alphi a LONG time ago, but I aged Yume up to 24 at the beginning of ARR, and they had a good friendship instead. I have never tried to write a ship with Alphi until now, but I have been fond of him since his character growth in HW.

For Sohna, she’s smitten from the beginning, but she has her “Oh” moment and falls for Alphi hard when he saves her life in the first attack on Tuliyollal. That’s all that I have for them for now, but I’ll be working on Sohna’s development in the meantime.

((Thank you for sending this to me @mimble-sparklepudding!!))

fellow wol x npc shippers- If applicable, what was the "oh" moment for you and your oc falling for their love interest? Was yours seperate from your WoL's?

[yuurei20]

Lilia Facts Part 34: Liia and Idia (pt3)

Lilia says he has actually heard that Idia is “a hardcore gamer” and he had been thinking of inviting him to play some co-op, but he never had the opportunity.

Ortho pressure a reluctant Lilia into sharing his email address and forwards him a list of the online game that Idia plays. Lilia talks about a friend who showed him how to play back when he was new to gaming, and Ortho encourages him to reach out to that friend when he plays with Idia.

Lilia responds, “...I suppose. Maybe someday.”

Idia and Lilia overlap as Gloomurai and Muscle Red in Book 6, with both characters cancelling plans to run a dungeon together the same night that STYX has kidnapped the NRC students and Idia eventually overblots.

Lilia says, “you've been my comrade in arms ever since I started playing. It wouldn't feel right running a new map without you” and Idia is delighted, saying that they have been gaming together for two years and Lilia “knows how to keep his distance and never pries into my life. And he says nice things that warm my loner nerd heart…'grateful’ doesn't begin to describe how much I appreciate him.”

Idia says, “This right here is what friendship's all about!”

The scene returns to Lilia, who explains that they need to remain vigilant, as they do not know what the Watchman (who is also Idia) will do next.

Lilia explains, “the Watchman is not our enemy. Just as they are no one's enemy, so too are they are no one's friends.”

After the drama of Book 6 Lilia receives another message from Idia, inviting him to run the dungeon that they missed.

Book 7 begins stressfully for Idia, who we see openly weeping over the news that Lilia has retired from gaming.

Idia says that they gamed together for over two years and played pretty much every day, which he has never done with anyone else before.

Ortho offers to look up Lilia’s location but Idia forbids it, believing that he would just be nuisance. (Idia: “No way it'd be fun to hang out with an antisocial, introverted nerd like me.”)

Later, however, he wonders if he should have worked up the courage to ask if they could stay in contact.

[thememestrider]

Had an idea, thought it was cute, so I wrote something for it.

Introductions - Dante x F! Reader

Sypnosis: Needing to touch base with the various high lords and regents of his new Imperium, Robute Guilliman hosts an enormous social function at his palace on Ultramar. Naturally, Commander Dante is invited. And, naturally, he's taking his beloved as his plus one.

C/W: No warnings, possible lore inaccuracies/ooc (especially for Guilliman since idk anything about his lore lol), reader is described as female in this one, pre-established relationship, kinda fluffy with a smidge of angst, lil spicy insinuation at the end but nothing nsfw, unedited.

Back in the days before the Heresy, Guilliman had hated events like this.

The pomp, the lavishness, and the expenditure; all so his father could have the opportunity speak with the high lords and imperial regents face-to-face. It's so gawdy, so wasteful. And, frankly, it's so unbearably pretentious.

But, just like those early days, Guilliman understands the necessity. Without them, he'd never see any of the imperial upperclass. Half of them are too preoccupied to try and arrange private audiences with, while the other half will simply refuse. Events like this are a chance to bring all these people together in one place, allowing Guilliman to brief, reprimand and pass orders to everyone he must while keeping them from being distracted or finding some way to avoid him. These conversations are exhausting, though. And, more often than not, frustrating to all hell. Several times throughout the night, Guilliman has to disengage from mingling, to preserve his sanity as much as his strength.

Now is one such time.

Swirling a cup on wine in one hand, the Primarch surveys the floor of his place's vast dining hall, which for tonight has been converted into something akin to a ballroom. His serfs had done well in setting everything up; everything from the music to the drapes to the crystal chandeliers scream luxury from the tops of their lungs. Guilliman takes a swig from his wine. While the taste is pleasant, he find himself resenting the fact that he is immune to the effects of alcohol.

Everyone here, I despise, one way or another.

His gaze catches on the right side of the room. A flash of red; deep, rich and belonging to an ornate set of robes; draped over a man taller than anyone else in the room aside from the Primarch himself. Black hair streaked with silver cascades over his shoulders in loose waves. He's standing against a wall, hands clasped across his lap, sharp amber eyes following something amidst the crowd that Guilliman cannot pick out. The Primarch recognises the man immediately. As he does, a weight suddenly lifts from his chest.

Well, not everyone.

Guilliman starts towards the man in red. When he notices the Primarch approaching, the man's already rigid posture stiffens even more. Setting his fist across his heart, he begins to bow. But before he can complete the gesture, Guilliman intervenes. "How many times must I tell you, Dante? I'll not accept such signs of humility from a man such as you."

He speaks with a smile, but evidently, Dante's innate reverence of the Primarch will not allow him to partake in the jest.

"Forgive me, my lord," the Blood Angel says. "You surprised me, is all."

"There's nothing to forgive." Guilliman sets a hand on Dante's shoulder. "It's good to see you, nephew. I am glad you could attend."

"I..." Dante trails off, and Guilliman fears his attempt at personability have unsettled the space marine. But, eventually, Dante allows himself a brief half-smile. "Thank you, Guilliman. It is good to see you, too."

Releasing his shoulder, Guilliman pauses to look Dante up and down. In spite of his advanced age, Dante remains a spitting image of his gene-father, Sanguinius. Paired with his noble heart and soft-spoken demeanour, and the commander might as well be Guilliman's long-dead brother reborn. The thought tugs at the Primarch's heart. He covers it with a smile. "You look well. Very well. You have recovered from your wounds sustained on Baal, I hope?"

"Somewhat," Dante admits. "Though I cannot say the same for Baal itself."

Guilliman nods sombrely. "The Tyranids are a merciless enemy. Even in defeat, they leave little upon which to rebuild." He offers the commander another smile. "You will rebuild, though. It will just take time."

Dante's expression is thoughtful. "Not too much, I hope; time is not something we have in abundance in the Imperium Secundus. "

Rueful silence follows the commander's words. Slowly, Guilliman can feel it turning melancholic. He moves to break it before that happens. "I see you lack a glass; can I get you a drink?"

Suddenly, Dante perks up. "Oh, no, my lord. You needn't worry. My-"

"My wife is already on it, he meant to say."

Guilliman turns around sharply. He sees you, wrapped in a slinky dress the same crimson shade as Dante's robes, smiling playfully up at the Primarch. You have a glass in each hand. Both filled with wine, though one is significantly larger than the other. This you hand off to Dante, before gliding to the space marine's side and slipping your now-free hand around his arm. For a moment, both men are at a loss for words: Dante, due to your unbelievably casual behaviour towards the Lord Primarch, and Guilliman due to your refering to yourself as...

"Wife?" Guilliman stares at Dante in surprise. "I didn't know you had a wife. "

Dante's expression suddenly hardens. "You don't disapprove, do you?"

"It'd be a bit late if he did," you add slyly.

Guilliman blinks. "I- No, no! Of course not. I'm just... I'm just surprised, is all."

You throw your husband a smirk. "Surprised?" you mutter. "That's a bit rude." Dante's only reply is an unamused glare.

Guilliman shakes his head. "That's not- I only meant that I didn't realise space marines... had partners. Let alone... got married."

"They don't, typically," you reply. "But Luis and I-" quickly rising to your toes, you plant a quick kiss on Dante's cheek. "We're a unique case, you could say. "

Guilliman hardly hears what you're saying; the mere sight of you has his thoughts paralysed. Your crown barely reaches the Blood Angel's shoulder, and yet hanging off his arm, you look completely at home.

Dante is the same, too. Guilliman sees the way his face lights up when you kiss him. Had seen the hostility in his eyes when the Primarch had questioned him, like a primal protectiveness. Even now, it's not yet faded. As much as Dante reveres Guilliman, the Primarch realises that if given the choice between him and you, Dante will choose you without hesitation. Guilliman feels... He isn't sure how this makes him feel. The logicitian in him cringes at the thought of his fellow Lord-regent- his second-in-command, effectively- having his loyalty split between the Imperium and something (or, in this case, someone) else. But another part of him, the human in him, sees the way you look at each. The way you stroke Dante's arm as you speak. The way Dante unconsciously leans into you, as if drawing comfort from your touch. Guilliman sees all of this, and everything that lays unspoken beneath, and he feels... He feels happy. Hopeful. And maybe, though he'd never admit it aloud, he even feels a little jealous.

Before he can ponder that point any further, you address the Primarch again. "Well, Lord Guilliman, it was an honour to finally meet you. But I'm afraid I must steal my husband back for a moment."

Blinking his reverie away, Guilliman nods. "Of course, my lady." He stifles a wince at how quiet his voice has become. "It was... It was a pleasure meeting you, as well."

You flash a brilliant smile. Dante simply nods. Rather than wait for you both walk away, however, Guilliman takes his leave first. Turning on his heel and retreating back to his earlier vantage point. For the rest of the night, however, his thoughts remain on the pair of you. Swirling amongst pleasure, melancholy and other things he does not yet know how to label.

********************************************

The moment that Guilliman is out of earshot, Dante sighs in relief. "By the Throne," he mutters. "That went better than expected."

You raise an eyebrow. "What went better than expected?"

Finishing his wine, Dante sets the empty glass down on a table as you walk past. Then, you feel him squeeze your hand; the one you have threaded through his arm.

"You and Lord Guilliman," he says softly.

You take a moment to study your husband's face. You find it wrought with undeclared anxiety. Slowing to a halt, you turn to face Dante, keeping a hold on his arm. "Why?" you ask gently. "Did you think he'd disapprove?"

His grip on your hand tightens. "I thought he would take you from me."

You find the suggestion humorous- as if you'd let anything get between the two of you- but upon seeing the stress still lingering on Dante's face, you do not say so. Instead, you ask, "Why would he do that?"

Dante looks at you ruefully. In spite of his feelings, it seems your naivety has amused him somewhat. "Space marines are weapons, sweetheart," he answers. "The only things our hearts are supposed to feel are duty and honour. Not..."

Gently, you finish his thought for him. "Not what we have."

Dante smiles sadly. "Exactly."

"Well... Guilliman said outright that he doesn't disapprove. So, that must bide well, right?"

"That could change," Dante argues.

"If it does, we will fight it."

"And if we cannot?"

Sighing, you set your glass aside. Then, you reach up to cradle his cheek. Immediately, he leans into your palm.

"Then nothing," you say softly. "It will change nothing. No matter what does or doesn't happen, Luis, I'm not going anywhere. Remember what I said? You'll never have to manage without me again."

Draping your arms around his neck, you pull him into a hug. You feel him grab you around the waist, forearms pressed against your lower back and pulling you flush against his front.

"I love you," he whispers into your ear.

You nuzzle into his hair, resting your head in the crook of his neck. He smells delicious; of musk and sweet spice.

"I love you, too, " you reply.

For several, tender moments, you remain locked in each other's arms. Many passers-by eye you curiously. Some even begin to gossip. But neither of you pay them any heed. In fact, neither of you even notice them. Eventually, you're the first to draw away, but it's only enough enough to meet Dante's eye. Your arms remain firmly wrapped around his neck. "I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to get out of here."

Absently, Dante begins stroking your back. "Is that why you pulled me away from Guilliman?"

You nod. "I've taken all the high lords and ecclesiarchy I can for one night." With a sigh, you rest your head on Dante's chest. "Between that and meeting a Primarch, I need some peace and quiet."

"I understand," Dante says. "And I agree. Although..."

"What?"

"Maybe you could hold off from the "peace and quiet" for little longer?"

You look up at him. "Why?"

Dante flashes a smirk. Through it, you make out the tips of his angel fangs. "My love," he says sweetly. "You've made me watch you glide around in that dress all evening..." He holds you tighter. Suddenly, you're accutely aware of how low down your back his hands rest.

You give him a sultry smile. "Well, in that case... I suppose I can." With that, you pull away, taking your husband by both hands and pulling him towards the ball room's exit.

Taglist: @solspina :)