#y'all i hate work it's sapping the life out of me all over again

[siribear]

the minutemen’s elite strike force consists of only this: whisper, deacon, maccready, preston, and a handful of settlers that make up the local militia. whisper and preston lead the way, with the militia right behind them and the snipers taking up the rear. in the two days it takes them to travel to the outskirts of the castle, on a peninsula to the southeast, whisper informs preston of her “deal” with the brotherhood.

for the first time, preston looks at her with disapproval. ‘you really think that’s a wise idea?’

‘we’re still getting our feet off the ground. you saw that airship, preston. with that, the vertibirds, the the power armor - we don’t stand a chance if we make them our enemies now.’ preston sighs heavily. ‘i don’t like it any more than you do, okay? it’s a means to an end.’

‘promise me you aren’t actually joining up with them.’

whisper looks up at him and the worry worn plainly on his face. ‘i don’t agree with their ideals. synths and ghouls aren’t that different from us.’

it isn’t long before he’s smiling at her again. and she still remembers deacon’s remark about preston back in sanctuary. she hides her blush to look out at the ocean, clear and blue and dangerous. the threat of mirelurks brings her back to the task at hand.

‘if we can move our headquarters from sanctuary to the castle, we keep sturges and the others safe, as well.’

preston nods. ‘mama murphy asks about you, sometimes. she says you never visit her.’

‘i - ’ she doesn’t. she’s always gone, for one, but more than that, she doesn’t like how mama murphy seem to know more than she should. ‘no, i don’t.’

preston fidgets with his rifle. ‘she wanted to know if you’d found your son yet. i didn’t know you had a son.’

whisper laughs mirthlessly. ‘and that’s why i never visit her.’

-

 the group wades through flooded streets, quickly dispatching mirelurks that burst from the ground, their hard shells the only thing keeping the group from picking them off from afar. one particularly well hidden mirelurk manages a good swipe at her leg before fully coming out of its hiding spot, claw and water coming away red. one of the minutemen disintegrates it, ash spreading on the water.

whisper waves one hand in thanks while the other inspects the cut. it’s mostly superficial, not deep enough to do any real damage. the worst part is the potential for infection if she doesn’t get out of the water. thankfully, the castle is close, and the water recedes back into the ocean. the minutemen scout a building ahead, the last one in a line of shops just before the castle. preston, deacon, and maccready stay behind while she quickly tends to her wound, sitting on the back of an abandoned car. a can of purified water to clean it, a quick stimpak for healing - there’s no saving her pant leg, however, sliced up the calf.

she holds one flap between her fingers and looks up to deacon. she raises an eyebrow.

he laughs. ‘oh, no. you’ve taken enough of my clothes.’ which is not an unfair statement. she returned the shirt, at least.

whisper gives him her best smile. ‘how else am i supposed to get into your pants?’

deacon huffs, absolutely not bothering to hide his proud grin; maccready actually bursts into laughter; preston just looks strained, though she can tell he’s fighting back a grin. in the end, she does get a pair of deacon’s spare jeans, which go right into her pack. she can change after they take the castle. celebratory wardrobe change.

‘didn’t think we’d ever make it back here,’ preston says, gazing out at the castle. at the high, fortified walls, the nearby lake with waves rippling in the wind. the broken walls are ominous, not blown apart by the bombs or eroded by time. something definitely attacked the fortress. something huge. their sea monster.

and yet, if she looks hard enough, she can see the stars in his eyes. ‘this is all thanks to you.’

whisper laughs awkwardly. ‘thank me after we take this thing. there’s still the chance that we fail horribly.’

‘if you die, i get your laser rifle.’ deacon jostles the weapon on her back.

‘only if i get her pistol. that thing is pretty nice.’

hands on her hips, she glares at the snipers. ‘you two are so supportive, thank you. let’s go, preston. the others are waiting.’

-

their plan is simple: preston takes the minutemen through the north end of the castle while whisper, deacon, and maccready take the south. preston will make the first shot, signalling the others to move in. and as they pass along the western side, there’s another collapsed wall at the edge of the lake. instead of circling around to the entrance, they climb up the mountain of debris onto the outer wall of the castle.

whisper looks down upon the pentagonal courtyard of fort independence, littered with mirelurk nests and mirelurk shells poking through the dirt. by her count, there are at least 6 hiding within the courtyard. open doorways lead to halls and more rooms and presumably more mirelurks. dead grass crunches underfoot as the three of them kneel in position. maccready watches one patch near them she knows is a mirelurk lying in wait.

two minutemen flank either side of the opposite wall. preston creeps further than that, pressing himself flat against the exposed wall. he spots them easily, gesturing quickly before taking aim. his first shot fries a single mirelurk egg, not bothering to waste it by hitting a shell. it’s enough. the ground rumbles and comes alive, the waiting mirelurks bursting from the ground. while they shake the dirt off their shells, the others open fire.

horrible, high-pitched, crab-like squeals fill the courtyard. the ground rumbles again; the mirelurk hiding next to whisper’s group finally awakens, charging blinding toward maccready. he pivots on his knee to take it out, one shot going straight into the mirelurk’s head. a smaller, paler baby breaks open an egg, chittering as it runs at them. he smashes it with the butt of his rifle, its body caving in from the impact.

‘that’s disgusting,’ she says, frowning.

‘these are your neighbors, boss.’ he wipes the ichor onto the grass under his feet.

it doesn’t take long for them to clear out the remaining mirelurks. the minutemen begin burning the nests, lobbing molotov cocktails before any more mirelurks can hatch. one minuteman walks over to the hole near the lake, favoring one arm; preston walks up behind him, checking on him before climbing the debris up to whisper’s group.

‘is he okay?’

preston looks over his shoulder, then to her. ‘a mirelurk got his arm before we could stop it. it’s been treated already.’

she nods. ‘good to hear. no injuries on our end.’ along the top walls of the castle, there are still undisturbed nests and discolored patches on the ground. more mirelurks, undisturbed by the noise. she does note the broken piles of artillery in certain corners of the pentagon. they could make use of it if any of it is salvageable.

‘there are still wings that haven’t been cleared, general. what are your orders?’

‘you take the uninjured members of your group, clear out the inner wings.  we’ll clean up out here. regroup near that radio tower.’

preston salutes her and returns to the lower level to inform his team. whisper and hers continue along the walls, destroying another set of nests and more mirelurks along the way. below them, the muffled sounds of more fighting and breaking glass. they finish on the far end of the castle, in one of the lakeside corners. preston emerges from the castle, mirelurk blood and gore splattered across his coat. she waves, amused when he waves back slowly.

the ground shudders again, strong enough to send her forward, close to the edge. she catches herself and follows the gazes of her companions to the lake. the center begins to bubble, waves rush to shore and crash heavily against the rocks.

‘boss, i don’t like this - ’

maccready’s complaint is cut short by a loud, low roar emanating from the lake. she covers her ears when the roar grows louder and a large, black shape breaks the surface. it stands higher than the castle walls, waving pincers as long as her entire body. water sloughs off its shell, covered in algae and lined with spikes. and then it sets its sights on the castle once more. as it walks slowly forward, whisper realizes this is their sea monster.

the minuteman standing near the breach in the wall fumbles for his weapon, clumsily aiming as his shots either go wide or catch the edge of the large shell. he draws its ire; it spits large globules of liquid in his direction. some land on the rocks, on the ground, but one is large enough to catch him directly in his face. and then he screams.

acid hisses, burning away at the rocks, at the man’s flesh. whisper stands, frozen, listening to the gurgling screams until he stops. she doesn’t hear deacon yelling at her to get down until he’s pulling him along with her to jump to the courtyard. they outrun more acid, some splashing against her heels.

she catches her breath against one of the inner walls of the castle, hand against her mouth to keep from vomiting.

‘whisper, hey.’ deacon’s rough hand on her shoulder brings her back. ‘we need you. come on.’

‘yeah,’ she says, voice rough. ‘i’m - okay.’ she closes her eyes for just a moment. ‘that-that acid was coming from those spouts near her head, right? damage those enough - ’

‘i’m on it.’ maccready ducks down and around a small crack in the wall. it’s enough for the barrel of his rifle to fit through and for him to see. ‘cover me?’

whisper and deacon nod in unison, watching as the giant mirelurk scans the castle walls for its prey. maccready’s first shots go high into its shell until it turns to face him. it roars louder when one shot damages a spout enough to break it, but acid still shoots out of the other. the wall saves him from most of the spray, but some makes it through the small crack. he pulls away in time to save his gun from the damage.

she and deacon take their shots. her low, him high; deliverer punching through the chinks in its legs. it stumbles and turns enough to face them, taking the pressure off maccready. with his angle, he hits the other spout with a shout of, ‘yes!’

and whisper would laugh with relief, if the giant wasn’t ramming itself against the wall of their cover. dust and rock rain upon them with every hit. they run further down the halls of the castle, the mirelurk limping behind them. something explodes off its back, and the three of them stumble to a stop. through another small window, they notice someone peeking out from a far doorway, a lowered rocket launcher in hand.

‘good to see the minutemen are good for something,’ deacon quips. ‘guess it’s our turn to cover them.’

whisper ignores the insult. she’ll definitely get him back later for it if they survive this.

between the two groups, they come up with a rhythm: preston’s group fires laser shots to have the giant mirelurk face them, then fire a missile; whisper’s group moves in close to draw the monster away before ducking back into the castle. it works, for a time, until the creature weakens. dislodged chunks of flesh hang off its body, blood seeps into the ground where it paces.

whisper moves in, getting its attention by focusing on its legs. one snaps off entirely, and it careens off to one side before righting itself. she backpedals, avoiding swipes from the large claws. someone from preston’s group attacks the creature, but it doesn’t turn like it had been. instead, she hears familiar squealing as mirelurk hatchlings fall from under the large shell. two nests worth of hatchlings swarm the other minutemen.

‘shit.’ she turns and runs, but too slowly. the hulking creature might be limping, but with the reach on those claws -

deacon grabs her arm, almost throwing her back inside, but when she turns, he’s gone. she yells for maccready, who starts shooting immediately. between him and her, they reduce the mirelurk’s head to a crater at the base of its shell. it falls heavily against the wall, but the castle holds firm.

‘i’ll check on the others.’ maccready pushes her. ‘go.’

she goes. crawling under the sagging body is stupid and dangerous, but it’s the fastest way outside, so she takes it. when she makes it on the other side, mirelurk blood sticky against her back, she spots him. deacon lies crumbled on the ground, halfway across the courtyard, a red gash across his chest visible even from where she stands. she runs to him with a stimpak at the ready.

deacon’s pale - paler - his sunglasses somehow still on, but askew. she lifts his head gently with one hand, and with the other she presses her fingers against his throat, his pulse soft and fluttering under her fingertips. whisper brushes her thumb against his cheek, and he groans when she administers the stimpak.

‘ugh. did i die?’ he shifts slightly and looks up at her. ‘am i in heaven?’

she almost sobs with relief, resting her forehead lightly against his instead. ‘don’t ever do that again.’

‘no promises, partner.’

‘you two need a moment?’ whisper straightens at the sound of maccready’s voice, but doesn’t rise.

deacon groans again. ‘never mind. this is definitely hell.’

[ellewriteswrongs]

layers of love - prinxiety

1.8k words

ao3 / ko-fi / previous work

summary: self-indulgent fluffy prinxiety, very domestic, some shrek references, y'all know the drill

cw: mild swearing, slight innuendo/suggestive dialogue

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Virgil asked from where he laid against his boyfriend’s chest. Roman’s hand stilled as he played with Virgil’s hair.

“Hmm?” He hummed, continuing to rock them with one leg hanging out of their shared hammock. “‘Course you can.”

Virgil made something akin to a purr as he laid in the sun, his hoodie discarded for once.

“When you first said you loved me…was it scary?”

Roman’s brow furrowed at the question, leaning back to try and see the other man’s face.

“Scary? I…I guess I don’t know. I think, in the moment, it just felt right,” he spoke with a soft smile, pausing only to plant a kiss on the other man’s forehead. “But ever since I realized it…every time I thought about saying it, I was terrified.”

When Virgil only shifted, tightening his grip around Roman’s waist, the latter continued.

“I was so worried you’d be freaked out and think I was moving too fast and the last thing I ever wanted was to scare you off, but I…” he trailed off, letting out an amused chuckle. “I was only ever afraid of losing you. Loving you has never scared me.”

Virgil hummed, leaning up to steal a lazy kiss from the corner of Roman’s lips.

“But what about all those stupid stories you like?” He smirked, folding his arms over Roman’s chest as he rested his chin on them. “Quite a bit of pressure there, Princey.”

Roman chuckled, twirling a particular strand of hair around his finger.

“Ahh yes, those stupid fairytales that you make me read to you all the time,” he teased, earning a playful slap on his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I have more than enough understanding of when dramatic proclamations of my undying love are unwanted.”

Virgil just exhaled a short chuckle, reaching to pull Roman’s hand out of his hair and over to hold it against his cheek, first pressing a kiss into the palm.

“Isn’t that why it’s such a big deal though?” He mused, his eyes half-focused on the beach around them. “Like, isn’t the whole point of falling in love so that something changes once you say it? And…and nothing changed when we said it.”

Roman stiffed a little bit from under him. “Did you…want something to change?”

No. No, of course he didn’t. That was the best part about it.

He told Roman as such.

“I guess I just…always thought something would change, even if we didn’t really want it to,” he explained, closing his eyes as Roman started playing with his hair again. “But I like how we are. How we’ve always been.”

“How we’ve always been? I don’t know about you, stormcloud, but I think things have definitely changed for the better.”

Virgil huffed with a small smile.

“Alright, fine,” he said, his cheeks hot. “I’m glad we changed even if it was just a little.”

Roman chuckled, his chest vibrating comfortingly against Virgil’s head.

“Yeah, I think I like you a little bit more these days, sunshine.”

Virgil scoffed, jabbing Roman’s side with his elbow.

“Thanks, babe," he spoke teasingly. “What glowing praise."

Roman only wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tight, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other holding him by the waist.

"My darling dark and stormy knight,” Roman cooed dramatically, peppering kisses all over his face until the other started laughing. "The angel from my nightmares, oh how I adore you with everything I am."

Virgil smiled, his gaze soft and fond as he looked up at the man he loved.

"Mhm, that's more like it," he smirked, stealing a kiss. "I love you, dork."

Roman bent down to lean their foreheads together.

“What's with all the introspection, my love?"

"Good word, babe."

“Shut up, I'm just worried about you," Roman grumbled, tucking Virgil's head back under his chin.

"You're worried about me? Because I’m talking about being in love with you?" Virgil asked, taking one of Roman's hands to fiddle with his fingers.

"Well, you just don't...talk about it. We both don’t,” Roman explained, his voice vibrating through his chest. "And I'm glad we are, it's just...not what we do."

Virgil smiled, sighing contentedly.

"Nothing's wrong, I promise,” he assured him. "I guess I've just been thinking a lot lately."

"Oh wow, congrats," Roman teased with sarcastic claps.

“Shut up, oh my god,” Virgil complained, not even trying to hide his laughter. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Alright, alright, I concede," Roman smiled, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"I just kind of realized that I've been feeling different lately,” he started, causing Roman to immediately stiffen and lean back to see Virgil's face. Virgil smirked, rolling his eyes fondly. “I just told you nothing's wrong, chill babe."

"You telling me to chill out is quite ironic, methinks," Roman teased, relaxing back into the hammock. “It's not my fault you're rubbing off on me, Frank Fear-o.”

Virgil snorted a laugh at the nickname before he continued.

"Ever since we said it, I've just felt... better," he spoke, a soft smile on his face. "I don't even know how to explain it, it's just...better. I get headaches less, when I get anxious, it turns into panic attacks like half as much."

He paused as Roman's lips met his temple.

"And I think the strangest thing is," he spoke, propping himself up on his forearm to look down at his boyfriend

below him. “When you told me you loved me, I didn't doubt it for a second."

Roman gave a short, watery chuckle; his eyes tearing up just a little.

"Even just a year ago, I wouldn't've believed anybody who said that to me but you," he paused, reaching to squish Roman's cheeks with one hand until they both laughed. "I knew you'd never lie to me, but more than anything, I felt it."

He leaned in, intending to only steal a quick kiss before it swiftly escalated.

“Who knew you were such a sap?" Roman teased, breathing heavily as they eventually broke apart.

“Says you, Romeo."

“Oh, I wear that badge with pride, darling," he beamed. "According to Thomas' Twitter, I'm his 'simp' side."

Virgil snorted, laying back down as he leaned into Roman's shoulder.

"Okay, they're definitely right about that one,” he mumbled, ruffling the other’s curly hair affectionately. “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger and you can’t even deny it.”

Roman grabbed one of said fingers and brought it to his lips, planting a dramatic, drawn-out kiss with the most exaggerated noise he could.

“But of course!” He bellowed, earning a fond eye roll from his boyfriend. “For it is my only duty to bestow upon you all of the love one can possibly muster.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few other duties, babe,” he challenged with a smirk. “Like maybe the concept pitch for the next scripted video that you haven’t done, or the notes for the editors, or the fact that Thomas hasn’t even picked up his ukulele since last year, or—“

“Okay! Okay, fine, I can’t devote my whole life to smothering you forever,” he agreed exasperatedly. “But if I could, I would.”

Virgil chuckled, folding his arms over Roman’s chest and resting his chin on top.

“Hmm, yeah I think I’d hate that.”

Roman gave an almost comical pout, pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

“Nope, absolutely not, you’re not getting me with that shit,” Virgil asserted, trying to maintain a firm tone as he came dangerously close to breaking into a smile. “Smother me twenty-four seven and I’ll dump you on the spot.”

Roman pulled a disbelieving face.

“You really think I’m buying that?” He smirked. “That you’d dump me for spoiling you absolutely rotten with my sweetness.”

He knew full well what he was doing.

“I need my space, princess,” he spoke, putting on a suave tone that he knew he wasn’t pulling off by the giggles that came from his boyfriend. “I gotta’ keep up the aesthetic.”

Roman brought Virgil’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Alright, alright, I respect the commitment,” he spoke, punctuated by kisses from Virgil’s hand up to his shoulder. “It’s so tragic that Mr. Misery Business would rather brood than swoon.”

“Who says I can’t have both?” He grinned. “I’m multi-faceted these days, babe. I have layers.”

Roman snorted a laugh, ducking his head right by Virgil’s ear.

“Layers,” he spoke with a heavy Scottish accent, his hands squeezing Virgil’s sides. “Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. We both have layers.”

“Oh my god,” Virgil cackled with laughter. “I hate it. I hate you, never speak to me again.”

Roman smirked, unfazed.

“But Virgil, that’s what friends do, they forgive each other.”

“One more word and you’re not getting any kisses for the rest of the week.”

“It’s already Friday.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to punish myself in the process.”

Roman flushed a little at the rare admittance of affection.

“You think you couldn’t go a full week without any kisses?”

“I mean,” Virgil spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to find out.”

He answered with a chaste kiss to the other man’s temple. “I guess the world may never know.”

“If Logan were here right now, he’d probably try to get us to find out.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I never listen to the ol’ poindexter anyways,” Roman grinned, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ahh, yes, my favorite thing about you,” Virgil teased with a sly smirk. “How you’d rather be eternally petty than have an ounce of rational thought in that pretty little head of yours.”

Roman gave an offended scoff.

“You know what, I’m just going to ignore everything you just said in favor of the fact that you called me pretty,” he defended with a humph.

“Oh, you like that?” Virgil continued teasing. “As if you don’t already know you're pretty.”

Roman feigned his innocence.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea, darling. Perhaps you’ll have to enlighten me on what you find so appealing,” he drawled, his voice syrupy sweet in a way that would’ve made Virgil weak in the knees if they weren’t currently lying on top of each other. “My cute button nose? Thick, wavy locks? Maybe my taut, round buttocks?”

Virgil barked out a laugh, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation.

“Pull another Shrek quote out of that ass and I’ll see to it that you won’t be able to sit for a week—a full week.”

Roman froze, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Is…is that a threat or a promise?”

Virgil just groaned, shoving him until the hammock teetered and he panicked, clinging back onto the other man. “You’ve been spending too much time with your brother.”

“You may be right, but this is certainly more fun, I must admit,” he sighed happily.

“Just shut up and take a nap, princess.”

“As you wish, my love.”

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

Fighter (Lover)

Call me fighter, I'll mop the floor with you

Call me lover, I'll take you for a drink or two

You'll get older, and maybe then you'll feel some control...

-

HOO longest thing i've ever written lads :V hope y'all enjoy! title/description based on fighter by jack stauber bc i thought it was very fitting lol

-

Engie let out a strangled yell as he finally managed to land a solid hit on RED's Spy with his wrench, the familiar sound of crunching bone and the squelches of blood that accompanied it filling the air and splattering his overalls in French flavored crimson.

Not a very pretty way to die, and he almost felt bad for the fella, knowing from.... rather painful experience how excruciating it was to go through respawn after having your skull caved in. But almost was the keyword here, especially considering the fact that the bastard had unfortunately managed to sap both his dispenser and his sentry in the process, leaving him not only vulnerable to his fellow REDs but without the resources to actually get things up and running again.

What was extra unfortunate was that before he could get to either of them, they'd both managed to practically destroy both affected buildings, causing his dispenser to spark and sputter to a halt and his sentry to explode, sending components and pieces of shrapnel flying everywhere and barely giving Engie a chance to shield himself while hanging on to less than half of his health points.

Great. Just great.

He let out an annoyed grumble, anger rising in himself as he began to at least attempt damage control by basically tearing the sapper off of his dispenser with his bare hand. He didn't even care about all the little metal bits in his skin that tore through his shirt and were starting to make blood ooze out, staining his already sullied uniform. What he cared about was making sure that RED didn't take their final point and not having sentry up, even if it was just a level 1, was going to make that exceedingly difficult.

That being said, if he made it out of this alive, he was gonna have a field day getting all these stains out he mused to himself as his pried open the side panel of his dispenser. He reached for his toolbox, rummaging around for his wire cutters, twist on connectors, and a new set of wires to replace the ones the sapper had fried as he heard a chorus of bullets being fired from somewhere around the next point over.

He frowned. Those were much closer than they were 15 minutes ago. Better pick up the pace.

With a deft hand, he pulled out the wires and snipped out all the unsalvageable ones, tossing them in his toolbox to properly dispose of later. Twist on connectors wasn't exactly a Good fix to all the problems he knew that damn shock box had caused, but it would be good enough to last him until the end of the round.

...He hoped, at least.

After making quick work of the internals and closing the panel back up, he flipped the switch back on, waiting a few agonizing moments before the dispenser beeped at him a few times and whirred back to life.

Engie let out a weary sigh of relief as it slowly started healing his wounds, giving it a couple whacks with his wrench to get it into somewhat working order. It may have been knocked back down to level 1, but hey, at least it actually started up again! Finally, he had one thing was working in his favor!...

...But only the one thing. Now was the issue of getting his sentry back up, and with his dispenser back at level 1, just waiting around for metal wasn't exactly going to be an option this time.

After scanning the battlefield a few times, a disgruntled noise escaped him. Pyro was nowhere to be found. Just his luck. He grumbled to himself more as he picked his dispenser up and moved it to where he thought it would be at least a little less visible so he could go search for an ammo kit himself, keeping a hand on his pistol and his wits about him as he ventured into a nearby building.

He hated to leave any of his buildings unattended without Pyro around to cover for him (usually in return for a joyride into town the following weekend along with the sugariest fruit flavored item they could get from the local candy store), but he really didn't have the time to sit around and hope for the Chance that they'd 1). be in his field of view and 2). not be too busy to play guard dog for 5 or so minutes (5 minutes they could very understandably use to set some REDs running for the hills. or a fire extinguisher).

And as much as he would love to just waltz into BLU's resupply and pick up all the things he needed with little to no effort, he was currently stationed at second to last and the time it would take him to get there and back would be more than enough time for the REDs to not only destroy BLU's hopes and dreams but also to give way for his teammates to complain about how he hadn't been there to defend them.

(As if he wasn't doing enough for this damn team already.)

So taking a gamble with getting an ammo box was objectively his best bet at the moment. Was he happy about it in any metric? Absolutely not. Sure, he knew his way around the place and he actually knew that the building he was currently in housed the largest ammo kit you could find out in the field, but he also knew that other people knew that too. And that meant that there was a very real chance of running into one of them and not only failing to defend BLU's points and having to put up with his teammates' negging but also dying and gettin sent through respawn in the process.

But that's as if anything was really going his way today.

He hopped up the wooden stairs two at a time, knowing that the ammo kit was somewhere up on the top floor. He'd actually passed by the Medkit on the first and as tempted as he was to heal himself up a little, he also knew that any more time he wasted in there was time that could be used getting a sentry back up.

When he'd reached the second floor, the ammo box was just where he expected it to be, sitting next to a window that looked out over the battlefield, giving him a front and center view of BLU's second to last point. He could just about see a sliver of his dispenser, silently relieved that it was still there. From what he could see, RED and BLU were still fighting it out over the mid point, both teams having captured and then recaptured it several times already, only for the other to take it back.

Currently, it was still BLU's but something told him that if he didn't hurry, that was going to change soon.

He quickly scooped up the ammo box, eyebrows furrowing when the top of it came off with relative ease. Odd. You usually need to do at least a little prying with these suckers to get the tops to pop off. He then rummaged around in it to make sure it had what he needed, confusion deepening when he realized that there weren't any syringe cartridges in the box.

And that's when he heard a slight rustling from somewhere just out of his peripheral vision.

He immediately dropped the box, bullets and miscellaneous parts spilling everywhere as he turned around and reached for his pistol.

However, he ended up getting a spray of syringes to the arm, letting out a strained cry as he instead grabbed his pistol with his other hand and randomly fired it in the direction of where the syringes had come from.

His guesswork was pleasantly met with a very loud "FUCK", his eyes finally focusing on a very irritated looking RED Medic who now sported a bullet wound in his non dominant shoulder.

"You wanna dance? Let's fuckin' tango, buddy," Engie muttered mainly to himself, only just about bearing the pain as he tore anywhere from 4-7 syringes out of his arm and dropped them to the floor.

He tried to shoot his newfound opponent again but his bullets made splinters rather than punctured flesh, Engie fully aware that his normally serviceable aim was probably off thanks to the searing pain in his... well, everything, cursing under his breath regardless.

However, before he could even process what to do next, the enemy Medic made a dive for him, the two of them tussling to the floor and struggling with each other for the right to end someone's life.

Engie was able to momentarily able to wiggle his arm out of the other's grasp, managing a solid hit on RED Medic's face that he was pretty sure ended up breaking his nose.

That really only seemed to make him angrier though, the two of them continuing to wrestle it out until Medic finally managed to come out on top, having practically straddled Engie's chest as he pinned down both of his arms to the ground. The both of them struggled to take in air, Engie still making feeble attempts to escape his captivity with little success.

If this weren't a life or death situation, he probably would've told RED Medic that he was rather handsome, even with a broken nose and blood dripping out his mouth and onto Engie's shirt. Truth be told, Engie had always thought him attractive and if the two of them weren't enemies by uniform color, he probably would've asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink some time.

But even if life or death prevented him from attempting to woo the man who he'd just shot, Engie couldn't help but be immensely frustrated with himself, eventually just letting out a wheeze of defeat as he gave out from exhaustion.

"Just- just fucking do it please, I'm really not goddamn having it right now," He growled out, causing RED Medic to squint and tilt his head at him. After all, it wasn't every day that your enemy practically begged you to off them after they (quite understandably) just tried to strangle you.

"Hey, Stitches, you hear me? Just cut my head off or steal my organs or whatever, make my godawful day into an even more godawful one," He reiterated, Medic unable to suppress a chuckle despite how tired he was.

"Sorry- steal your organs? Do you really think I'm going to do that?" He grinned incredulously.

"Dunno. You just seem like the type," Engie said dryly, Medic letting out a cackle.

"Well just because you made me laugh, I'll make this quick. You don't seem particularly happy right now," Medic vocalized, shifting so that he could pin both of Engie's arms down with one hand and reach for Engie's pistol that had gotten knocked out of his grasp in their scuffle with the other.

Stronger than he looks. Engie couldn't tell if his heart beating faster because he was literally about to die or because an item was added to the list of "reasons why I want to take my enemy out to dinner."

...Might be both.

"Golly gee, what gave that away?" Engie deadpanned, feeling the muzzle of his own pistol pushing against his forehead. RED Medic chuckled again.

"No hard feelings, right my friend?" he smiled at him, almost apologetically. At least Engie thinks it's apologetically. Kinda hard to tell with all the blood that wasn't in his body.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Nah. None at all."

...

BANG!

...And not even 20 seconds later, he suddenly materialized in BLU's main respawn room, immediately grimacing from the skull splitting headache he was saddled with; the unfortunate side effects of being shot in the head. Respawn could only do so much, after all.

He moved to open the resupply cabinet to just get what he needed and get the hell out of there before he was startled by the intercom crackling to life, Engie's stomach sinking when he heard the very familiar "YOU FAILED" accompanied by almost comically sad music.

Had he really been gone that long? He didn't even hear the Admin announcing that mid had been capped, let alone second to last, and surely he would've heard it even if he was being held up by RED's local handsome devil.

But his teammates slowly filing in with various injuries seemed to confirm their defeat, Engie sighing as he reached into the cabinet for a bottle of aspirin instead of a case of bullets.

"Hrr Mrnrph!" Pyro mumbled out as they made their way in, Scout with his arm around their shoulders for support as he hobbled in as well.

"Yo, Engie, where the hell were you?" Scout frowned, clearly peeved about losing that day's round.

"Yeah, maggot, we thought you were on second to last! Their damn Scout somehow slipped by us and ended up capping both of ours after RED capped mid again," Soldier added, Engie sighing. Of course this was going to be blamed on him.

"Sorry, fellas. Spy managed to sap both my sentry and my dispenser and their Medic got me when I was tryin' to get supplies. I was hoping y'all would be able to hold mid long enough for me to get back but that. Obviously did not happen."

"Oh, so it's our fault now?"

"Hey, I'm not sayin' it's anyone's fault, I'm just sayin' that they got the best of us today. We'll give it another go tomorrow, like we always do."

Scout obviously seemed unhappy by the notion but decided it best to shut his trap when Demo gave him A Look because even Scout knew that Demo was not one to fuck with. Engie knew he didn't actually intend real harm, he just tended to run his mouth with things he didn't necessarily mean. Didn't make his life any easier, though.

"Listen, I think we've all had a long day. Let's just get patched up an' relax before tomorrow," Demo interjected, the rest of the team making various sounds of agreement as the final members of their menagerie made their way in.

As he walked past, Medic gave him a conciliatory look that Engie could only give him a knowing smile in return for. They both knew what it was like for the entire team's failure to be blamed on their shoulders alone. Usually it was Medic who received the brunt of it, especially when he'd just been transferred in, but Engie was no stranger to complaints on his off days about how he should've been better or how could've done more.

It made him want to tear his own ears off. Not only because it was annoying as all hell because you didn't see him out here blaming the entire team's loss on one damn person's slip up, but because it was the kind of shit that he told himself when he was younger and it brought him back to times he didn't necessarily want to remember.

He was suddenly brought out of his brooding by Pyro walking up to him, Scout seemingly having limped his way back into base on his own.

"Mrr rrhrrh hrrph phr nrr rphmm hrr rr phrrhrrk phr rrr," They mumbled out sadly, holding their arms out to offer an apology hug and very much looking like a kicked puppy. Engie let off a soft "aw."

"Shucks, Firefly, it ain't your fault. Can't expect ya to baby me all the time, can I?" He joked, pulling them in anyways. Only a monster could refuse Pyro hugs, after all.

Pyro squeezed him tightly, nearly lifting him off the ground despite the fact that they were only a couple inches taller than he was as Engie was momentarily overwhelmed with the familiar scent of kerosene and singed rubber.

When they finally let go, Engie gave them a gentle pat on the head.l

"You go inside now, hey? I gotta check if my dispenser's still out there and you probably got your own injuries you should have Doc look at," He told them, Pyro nodding at him and giving him an affirmatory wheeze. They then gave him another quick squeeze before waddling their way inside, boots squeaking every so often.

Engie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Oh well. Nothing he could do now but prep for tomorrow.

He sat in respawn for a little while waiting for the aspirin to kick in and only decide it was time to get going when he finally felt like his brain wasn't trying to squeeze itself down his spinal cord.

After making the trek to second to last, he was pleasantly surprised to see that his dispenser was still on. And also there at all.

(To be fair, RED and BLU had been fighting over mid for so long that RED's Scout probably hadn't bothered to destroy what wasn't shooting at him in a desperate attempt to end the godforsaken match already. He couldn't say that he'd blame him.)

He was also surprised, though not as pleasantly, to see someone waiting for him. Specifically, someone in glasses and a tie that, even though it was covered in blood, had a face that was both painfully smug and oddly endearing.

Though they were technically now in ceasefire until battle tomorrow, he still instinctively reached for his pistol, blinking and looking down when he realized his holster was empty.

"I believe you're looking for this?" RED Medic asked as he picked said pistol up off of his dispenser, Engie nodding cautiously.

"Relax, dummkopf, I'm not going to shoot you. The bullet that was in your head was actually the last one in the magazine anyways," Medic snorted, demonstrating by pulling the trigger while pointing the weapon to the ground and coming up with nothing but empty clicks.

Regardless, he still offered it to Engie butt first, Engie himself still wary but a little less hesitant as he took a few more steps forward and took it in his hand.

"Apologies. I actually meant to put it back into your holster before you went through respawn but I didn't have adequate time. You pack quite a punch," Medic smirked lightly, Engie's attention suddenly being drawn to his still broken nose.

He grinned sheepishly.

"Heheh, yeah, mama taught me well... No hard feelin's though, yeah?" Engie sticking his pistol in its place and his hand out to the doctor, Medic letting out an amused huff at his own words being used against him.

"No hard feelings," He assured, shaking Engie's hand.

"I should probably be off now, I can practically hear my gaggle of idiots begging me to heal their boo boos from all the way out here," He then snorted, Engie letting out a chuckle.

"All good. I should prolly get the ol' girl back to the workshop. Damn sappers always do a number on the internals," He grimaced, thinking about all proper rewiring and circuit board replacement he was going to have to do, not to mention normal maintenance and cleanup.

"As I've heard. Our own Engineer has some particularly... colorful words on what he thinks of your Spy."

"Bit of a wily bastard, that one. Can't say I blame him," Engie shrugged, leaning against his dispenser for support and suddenly feeling face flush as Medic did the same, the two of them now so close that their elbows touched in the middle.

If Medic noticed, he didn't immediately let on, merely smiling at him.

"That we can all agree on, I think. What is it with Spies and deciding to be bastards? Is it a profession thing, does it just come naturally to them?" He said mirthfully, leaning in close enough that their noses were close to touching.

...Never mind, he absolutely noticed.

"'s gotta be, right? I mean, it's the only explanation for why they're all so dickish. That or the ones we've been in contact with just happen to be persnickety lil fucks," Engie grinned, Medic laughing loudly in response.

It only made him grin even wider. Medic's laugh had to be in a class of its own. Borderline obnoxious in nature but somehow brash and unapologetic while still being absolutely ridiculous.

Man, was it just something to die for (which he.. technically supposed he did).

"Ah, look at me, babbling about. I really should get going before I waste any more of your time," he said when giggles finally stoped threatening to rise out of his throat, Engie feeling a sudden pang of disappointment in his chest. He merely waved him off with a soft "shucks, weren't nothin'" as he tipped his hat, Medic giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

"It was nice talking with you, Herr Engineer. Perhaps we can meet again some time," He smiled before turning to make his leave.

Engie closed his eyes. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, don't do it, don't do it Dell, don't FUCKING do it-

"Hey, uh. Stitches."

Medic paused before turning around again.

"Are you... free this weekend?"

An amused glint suddenly appeared in Medic's eyes.

"Well seeing as we all have weekends off, yes, I should be. Why do you ask?"

"You, uh. You wanna grab a drink with me, this Saturday, maybe? I know this pretty good place not too far out and uh. I dunno, 'd be fun to uh. See ya again outside of work, I guess," Engie stumbled out, putting a hand on the back of his neck.

"...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," Medic smiled, Engie's face lighting up.

"Great! Uhm. I uh, I guess. Meet me on y'all's second to last at about 6? I know how to avoid all the cameras, so," Engie offered, Medic raising an eyebrow at him.

"...Hey, when you live out your days fighting people to the death for an old dinosaur who would skin you alive and turn you into the coat given the chance, finding out where her cameras and all their blindspots are isn't that much of a hassle. We're actually in one right now. Wouldn't've asked you out otherwise," He shrugged, Medic holding his hands up in response.

"I'm not one to judge. Whatever gets me out of playing team mama for the night. I'll just tell them I joined a book club or whatever. And if they don't believe me... well I think a saw to the skull might convince them," Medic said, suddenly pulling out his Ubersaw with a malicious grin.

Engie had to physically restrain himself from saying "hot" in response.

"Heheh, yeah, I bet it might. I'll uh. See you later then," He coughed out, moving to put his dispenser into compact mode and pack it back into his toolbox.

When he stood up with it resting on his shoulder, however, Medic was standing right in front of him, nearly causing it to slip out of his hands.

Medic barely stifled a laugh at his shock, gently removing his hardhat and leaning down to give him a kiss on the forehead.

"It's a date then," He hummed cheerily before putting Engie's hardhat back on his head and making his return to RED, leaving Engie with his hat slightly askew and his face moderately flushed.

And that's when if hit him. A date. He had just asked his actual, literal enemy who had shot him in the head about 30 minutes ago, on a date. And he said yes.

He didn't know if he wanted to scream, punch something, or throw himself off a bridge. Probably all three, if he was honest.

Despite all that, he practically forced himself to turn around and begin making his way back to BLU, readjusting his tool box every so often so it wouldn't slip out of his hands. What the hell was he doing, breaking contract like this? He means sure, he wasn't particularly one for rules anyhow, he's pretty sure he's committed more than a few atrocities against the heavens in his lifetime, and the Admin wasn't always on his case for every little infraction he'd ever made anyways. But between her and God, it was the Admin he feared more and he knew that if there was one rule that the she enforced, it was that cross faction relations were NOT tolerated and were more than a warrant for termination.

Termination of contract or termination of your life? Depended on how nice she was feeling that day.

Needless to say, he was very frustrated with himself.

But then he remembered how drop dead (haha) gorgeous Medic was even when he was bleeding all over Engie's shirt and the way hearing his laugh had made him felt and the way that glint made it look like he had stars in his eyes and...

...Aw hell, if he was going to get fired (or die! both was very possible) for this he might as well go down after having had a good time.

Now all he had to do was make it to Saturday. While also not giving anything away.

Piece of fucking cake.

[eastendies]

So y'all know I have an Antisocial Personality Disorder!AU and I'm writing the first chapter so I got bored and instead decided to write smth I had in mind a bit farther on, Ben and Callum actually being in a relationship and Callum trying to get Ben into therapy.

So here is a blip of Chp. 5ish as Ben confronts Callum for being a jackass, and for once it actually devolves in a way that doesn't involve hate sex. Okay, maybe a little.

---

It hit Ben like a freight train. His heart was torn under the wheels, his ears screamed with the whistle of blood, everything breaking and crashing as he looked up Callum, his boyfriend. The person who swore he could trust him. The one whose eyes, previously concerned and twisted into the most genuine fear he had seen, flicked over his face as the realization boiled his mind into something new--blank, preparing for war. That there was enough proof of guilt that Ben could have stormed out and never spoken to Callum again. But there was no guilt in his eyes. And it drove him crazy. 

It came out softly. “You manipulated me.”

Callum’s mouth opened, but to his credit, he had enough respect to close it and reconsider whatever lies he was about to say next. Ben could see the wheels turning in the taller man’s head as he bit his lip. But he didn’t deny it. 

“You tricked me into seeing your therapist. Into thinking I was crazy.”

At that Callum’s blank face changed in some guarded, hurt way Ben could never name. “I didn’t make you think you were crazy--”

“Because you think that I am crazy.”

“No I--having a disorder doesn’t make you crazy, Ben! Needing help doesn’t make you crazy!” Whatever tactic the sociopath in front of him wanted to take broke down as anger shown through, and Ben knew, at the very least, that much was genuine. “You weren’t acting normal, and--”

“And what?! That gives you the right to control my life?” Ben took a step back when his boyfriend stepped towards him, and the world was becoming dizzy and horrible and filled with the shifting lies from the angry eyes of the man he let himself care about. Value. “I don’t need to see a fucking therapist, and I don’t need you to decide what I need or who I am or if I’m fucking crazy!” Ben’s eyes searched wildly around the room for his coat; he needed out. The walls were closing in. 

The other man must have sensed his intent to leave as alarm was laced into his voice, stifled with a suppressed bewilderment and frustration. “Ben, you can’t deny that you have issues--”

“We all have issues!”

“Most of us don’t go around being a criminal, Ben! Or staying with an abusive dad who treats you like absolute garbage,” utter hatred and contempt filled the sociopath's voice, and Ben felt bile rising in his gut as he felt a small push to blindly defend his father. He shoved it down, gripping onto the couch. “You have a lot of issues, a lot like when I first started seeing treatment.” Callum’s voice became softer, and it hurt. It dragged nails across his skin and pierced his heart because his voice never sounded that true and real and like he mattered. That this mattered. His boyfriend stepped closer, just a little bit, and Ben let him. Because if Callum wanted to manipulate him, he wouldn’t do it like this. “You know how much it helped me. I’m not exactly the pinnacle of mental health,” Ben’s lips flicked up at that, and a bit of triumph stuck in Callum’s eyes (it was soft, not a prize), “but I can stay around people. I can help them. I can think of them as people. My dad…” Callum's voice choked, and Ben knew he had tried to push too far. He let the other man gain his breath back. “It helped. And I knew it could work for you. And I know you’re hurt and you’re hurting and you need help, don’t pretend that everything is okay.” More authoritarian now, the previous frustration showing through. If Callum didn’t care, Ben reasoned, finally meeting the other’s mangled eyes, he wouldn't have put so much effort into seeming sincere. He could see in the way his shoulders tensed how much Ben’s outrage baffled him right now. 

“And that makes it all okay?” He tried to be quiet. He should have been louder. Not sound like the weaklings Callum sometimes talked about. 

“I--”

“Why even do all this?” His voice was sharper now. “Don’t pretend like you care. I know you don’t. You’ve told me. Your stupid therapist told me.” Bitter, biting. His arms were crossed, tight. 

“Because I fucking VALUE you!” Ben jumped out of his skin as Callum almost screamed, frustration and anger riddled and bored into every surface of how he gestured on, like he wanted to shake Ben until his brains were scrambled enough to understand. “Just because I don’t feel empathy doesn’t mean I don’t fucking CARE about you! Do you think I would do all of this,” he gestured throughout the room, “or even be your boyfriend if I didn’t think you were worth it?! Because I do, and I did, and I try to do all this caring stuff that doesn’t mean anything to me because I want you to be happy! Because that makes me happy.” Ben’s eyes stayed widened, words beating in his ears over and over. “This--maybe--” Callum had to regather himself, gesturing near his head, “I reasoned that you being in therapy would mean an overall enjoyment of happiness, and yeah, its crude math, but it makes sense and it’s all part of this cognitive empathy I’m trying, so you can say a lot of stuff about what I did,” Callum pointed towards him, towards his heart, “but don’t fucking say it was because I didn’t care. Alright?” Quieter, and the rare vulnerability that flashed on his face blinked out as Callum gained control over it, breathing heavily. Blank.

His arms hurt from how his fingers dug in. He could hear Callum’s words beat in his heart and in his brain and in his ears, and he had to hold onto his previous anger to stay alive. 

Because that was the first time Callum said he cared. In his own, different way. In the Callum way. 

“You still manipulated me. You lied.”

“And?”

“I don’t like that. You know that,” Ben bit back, voice a bit exasperated. “We said no lies.”

“You lie to me sometimes. Said you’d get milk yesterday.” Ben had to fight back the flick of his lips. No.

“That’s not the same.”

“I know.” There was a second of pause, the second in which he knew Callum was trying to process what to say. “I know that makes you feel hurt,” it came out slowly, like he hadn’t practiced in a while, “and I’m sorry you’re hurt. Like I said, big fan of happy Ben, me.”

Ben opened his mouth, but instead he broke out into the smile he had been fighting back, and sat down on the couch he had been next to, hands interlaced and gripping each other. “I think that was the most healthy conversation we’ve had in weeks.”

“Maybe months.” Callum’s voice didn’t change, but Ben didn’t have to look at Callum to see he was approaching this cautiously. That he wasn’t too far away, but close enough to pounce. To touch. “But we can still have hate sex if you want,” Callum offered, head knocked to the side and eyebrows raised in that stupid, dumb way he did to make himself seem serious. God, he really could manipulate him without even trying. But he still didn’t come closer. Waiting for the verdict. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know how hot you look when you’re angry,” Ben flirted back, maybe on habit, but his voice was still exasperated, looking at Callum with a raised eyebrow. 

Everything about Callum screamed, ‘what does that MEAN,’ but he still managed a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Of course, men and women alike are lining up to make out with a pissed off sociopath. Really turns them on.” His nose scrunched. “Nevermind, that’s probably an actual fetish. Is that why you started dating me?” His voice was a bit too hopeful for Ben’s taste, but he swallowed it down; he wanted to keep this blip of sanity.

“Yeah. The other half is your cheekbones.” Callum’s head ducked in a smile, in a more sincere, gentle way. (He could tell it was real because it was about Callum, that glow always stayed with him with compliments. Narcissistic bastard, right?) Ben looked downward, studying Callum’s floorboards. 

“So?” The other man couldn’t take it anymore, suspense and some impatience lacing his voice. “Are we...okay?” Like he couldn’t wait for this all to be over and done with. 

“No. Not anywhere close to okay.” Ben made sure to meet his boyfriend’s eyes as he said it, breathing steady and eyes serious. Callum didn’t fall apart at that news ( as Ben knew he himself would have). But his face did close a little, more blank, eyebrows straighter. “You lied to me, severely, and I’m gonna need time. To process.” Callum nodded, hands still in his pockets, though his head hung a little. “And I’m still mad at you. Just because your intentions were not...completely self motivated, doesn’t mean I am just okay with it.” Frustration blipped by, as Ben knew it would. But Callum still stayed silent. Until he didn’t. 

“And the therapy?” Ben could practically hear him trying to push him towards the end result he still wanted, so this tangle of emotions wasn’t a huge waste of his time. But, at least to Callum’s credit, he tried to hide it. That respect was something he and Ben and to build up with mortar and bricks and time, so Ben took the small victory. Softer, “It can help, Ben.”

“I know that!” Callum’s face closed up more. The shorter man had to look down at the floorboards again. “I’m--I’ll think about it. But I’ll do it on my own and reach my own conclusion; you’re not involved in this anymore.” Because Callum cared about him. Valued him. Wanted to him to be happy. Wanted to spend time with him. Wanted Ben to be Ben, just for him. And there was no way his sap of a heart, having won a war, could not be a bit lenient in sentencing. Yeah, it was messed up, but so was he. So were they. “Okay?”

Callum looked at him, really looked at him, for a second. He could tell that he was bewildered, frustration knocked on the floor, but patience lingered in his eyes when Ben tore their gaze apart. “Okay,” the softer voice came, and Callum stepped towards him, sitting next to him on the couch, far enough apart for Ben’s walls not to come crashing down, crushing them both, but close enough to whisper through the prison windows. There. 

Because dating a sociopath was kind of hard. It wore down his defense and screamed in his ears and held him at night, but Callum was still there, eyes waiting for him to look up, and as Ben rifled through the options of life (was Callum right? Was he crazy? Could he breathe anymore?) that’s all he really ever wanted. 

[thestudyfeels]

🎨 Graphic made by @indiaisstudying​: India is brilliant my pals, and I recommend checking her out for studyblr/artblr inspiration. My girl tHIRIVES.

The singular takeaway from this post: Do a creative binge. Much productive than a Netflix binge. Period.

Two months ago, I reached my peak when I coined the term ‘bood day’ (a bad to good day, in my article How To Flip A Bad Day By 180°). Today, puppies and kittens, I present to you— a creative binge.

*crickets chirping, that one dude in the audience scratches his nose and turns away* 

…This one actually works but okay, we get it, y'all are bitches. But gonna do my job anyway– if you're a creator reading this, please do a creative binge at least once every two weeks.

I started doing these binges two months ago, and I've seen a VAST improvement in my creative energy. I feel my commercial voice coughing and saying hello to the mic, so before I start listing side-effects for a sponsored pill, let's dive into the basics. 

🍵 Quick PSA — 

↪ JOIN MY TAGLIST? If you aren't on this yet, please get on it, it'll mean a lot to me! By joining, you get a new article on lifestyle design & productivity every week.

100 Days of Sweat: This challenge starts TOMORROW (10th of April), so if you wanna hustle on your bod this year, join us! Accountability does crazy things.

Ever questioned your life, experienced writer's block, painter’s pain or blogger’s… block? (Narrator: aaaand she's back to advertising.) A creative binge helps deal with fixing exactly that.

“A creative binge is based off the equation of quality in = quality out.”

A lot of creators feel that they're supposed to magically create out of their head, and that's just ridiculous. It's ludicrous considering you don't know shit, read shit, do shit and watch shit.

Even to write fiction, my pal, you'll have to expose yourself to the world to know its ways, read great books and take tips (not to mention stock up on coffee, and prepare to cry a lot) before you start cranking out the pages. Everything you create is ultimately inspired by the Ways Of The World. (And that's a fantastic novel title)

So in short, you’ve got to consume content, to make content. And in a creative binge, you conscious choose content that'll help you create. Genius, I know!

Okay, but what if I'm not a creator?

Brilliant question! Wanna become more valuable and leave the people you interact with better? Take a creative binge.

Allow me an elaboration: Take a janitor and a neurosurgeon. The said janitor is paid much less than the neurosurgeon. Why is that? Is the neurosurgeon a better person? That's debatable. Is the janitor less efficient at his work? Again, debatable. The primal reason lies in the neurosurgeon acquiring more valuable skills than the janitor. Society rewards them by paying more since there are less folks who can do what the neurosurgeon does.

To recap: In order to be indispensable in the role you play (whatever it is, a student, calligrapher, CEO of the Janitor Club), you HAVE to become valuable. Grow your curiosity & know more than yo’ buddies (also bring more value than anybody else). And to become valuable, you consume value. Tada!

(And if you still ain't convinced, I'll pull out the Netflix card. You'd really rather watch shows? Or binge YouTube? Than learn a new skill, or develop existing ones? Question your priorities, my friend. Victims love entertainment, victors love learning.)

Cool, you're joining in then! Not that creative binge is NOT an entertainment binge. It's a value providing binge. What you ‘consume’ has to bring you something in return— whether that's creative inspiration, motivation or skills. *Swing arms* yup! We’re one gay, productive household. Someone remind Hallie to buy the groceries though, the Cheerios are going mouldy.

By my dictionary, a creative binge is a slot of time, 1½ to 3 hours I'd say, when you watch/read/listen to some good stuff.  Basically, binge content. 

THE 101 OF A CREATIVE BINGE 

🌿 Basics:

I conduct one every week (usually Wednesday mornings), lasting around 1½ to 2 hours.

I'll also keep a notepad and a pen nearby, to take notes and jot ideas as they come. Again, this is NOT an entertainment binge, even though it's a chill job.

Sometimes I'll get passive things done (like wiping my desk, eating breakfast and taking out textbooks) while watching. We maximize our time. 

🌿 What Do I Watch: 

The stuff I watch falls into 3 categories: creative/humor (for inspiration), business/skills (for skills) & motivation (for, um, motivation). Fair warning though, a lot of the stuff these folks make overlap, but that's alright. This is just a rough demarcation. 

Creative/Humor: some YesTheory, maybe some MacDoesIt, sprinkle in some Ryan Higa, perhaps an episode of a show with an amazing script, some stand-up comedy from my favorites. Or maybe trash that and just watch Sherlock. (Geez, Netflix, I hate you, I love you.)

Skills: Gary Vee, some artist channels, that random video on how to thrift shop even though I don't shop.

Motivation: Be Inspired, Tom Bilyeu, Mel Robbins and random videos which look nice.

🌿 What Do I Listen To: 

Oof, I love music tremendously! If you're a pal, you know it's time to RUN when I come around being like, “soo, I was wondering what's your favourite–”.

Yet, during a creative binge, I'll only listen to stuff that 1) inspires me, or 2) is creative in a way I can't explain. Some recommendations! 

Hype music:

The Score

NF

Imagine Dragons

Creative music:

Billie Eilish

Lana Del Rey

Sleeping At Last

Lorde

Conan Gray

Harry Styles 

🌿 What Do I Read: 

Usually the book that I'm reading at that point if I'm being lazy.

POETRY: It's my belief, but poetry is a writer's most powerful device. There's a novel to be said in a simple sonnet.

FICTION: I dig great fiction. PS, please read (and sob over) Away Childish Things, by @letteredlettered. It changed me as a person, changed my entire perspective about kids. I'm much kinder and softer now, and my pimples are gone. I'll literally never get over drarry too, so thanks lettered, love you.

ARTICLES: Bookmarked psychology, productivity & fitness articles on Medium. Maybe check out James Clear's & Gary Vee’s blog for new posts.

Because I wanna drive this home, here's what I did in my last creative binge as a concrete example —

Care to Note that:

All of the stuff I consume is pre-planned.

I add videos throughout the week to my Creative Binge playlist on YouTube, download albums from Amazon Music and articles for offline reading.

DON'T leave this to the last moment, you'll more likely pick entertainment vs learning then. 

Watched–

Why I'm done trying to be "man enough"

Redecorating my room 2017 (I wanna decorate my room this year so)

How to Squat Properly (I’m trying lmao)

Giving a 9-Year-Old Her Dream Job for 24hrs!! (I stan YesTheory so much)

How To NOT Be A Starving Artist (A mood. I love Sorelle)

Couple more, I could go on & on, but you get me.

Listened–

Every song on YouTube by Bruno Major

Born to die: paradise version (album) by Lana Del Rey 

Read–

Articles from James Clear's blog — (x) (x)

Articles from Gary Vee’s blog — (x) (x)

HIIT workouts for beginners

All of this birthed–

Ideas for future articles, titled: How To Be Great & Solomon Letters #2: Question Your Faith, Not Your Dreams, among others.

A small poem about faith– posted on my IG, check it out!

New content ideas, like value chains (upcoming!)

Bunch of other small rants for everyday posting

Some business and life advice that might be useful later.

Gotta say goodbye now! (literally too... but post about it coming on 12th so wait for it) Try this one out, and let me know how your binge goes (tag it with #team conquer). Mine usually end with a bucketful of philo notes, a recharged left (right? psychology? idk) brain, and a fresh perspective towards the rest of my week. 

This is the #1 strategy I've adopted to sustain creative energy when it's sapped all around by negativity and school & I promise it helps. No side effects, no sponsored pills needed. Thanks for reading!

Related: How To Get Back Into The Creative Process (if you're in a blogger's block or experiencing painter's pain)

Have something to say? I treasure all feedback! If this post inspired you to do something, or you wanna throw some love/constructive criticism at me— hop into my ask box, or reply to this post itself!

Thanks for dropping by! Major articles, like this one, come out every Thursday! Join my taglist by to read them when they do. I also post daily wins, journal entries, rants & photos of my plant babies throughout the week, so follow me if you’re into conquering life. I vow to be the loudest cheerleader. ✧

Sending you love and good energy, talk soon. 

Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ 

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[amelatonin]

Shame

Pairing Florian Munteanu x black reader

Warning profanity, mentions of smut 

Summary You wake up a bit confused.

A/N It’s Big Nasty time! *finger guns* 😂 This started as a relatively quick read. lol Let me know what you all think!

***

The warmth you felt to your left and draped across your abdomen encouraged you to roll over. Eyes still closed, you stretched a little before snuggling into your heat source. Cozy. Much more firm than your favorite comforter and it was… breathing? Your eyes shot open. Oh my god, you thought, I fucking slept here? You felt slight panic, embarrassment, and soreness? Your body ached. Some spots more than others, but a good kind of ache. All the memories from the night before came flooding back. You two were filthy. It started in the club and continued on to his condo. You may or may not have had some fun in the car too. He had you on his shoulders, and wrapped around his waist while pinned against the wall, and ass up with your face pressed into the sheets, and many more unspeakable positions. Even your neck was a bit sore from being choked. And the things he said- he’d never been that vocal. You felt chills just thinking about it, but you also felt dirty. This wasn’t the first time you slept together, but it was the first time it had gotten so heated, and you’ve never spent the night. That was off limits in your FWB bylaws. You gently touched the area of your neck he had gripped tightly some hours earlier. I have to get out of here. You rolled back to your previous position, staring at the ceiling, begging the universe for a smooth escape. You took a deep breath and slightly lifted his arm which was draped over you. It was heavy, just dead weight on your body. His breathing hitched causing you to hold your breath as well. He relaxed. Thank god. You slid his arm to his side and he grabbed the pillow still sound asleep. You gently inched your way out of his bed. Dammit. Where were all your clothes? Dress on the floor. Thong on the lamp shade. Bra? MIA. And you could only find one shoe. Fuck. Walks of shame were not your thing. This is why you had rules. You bent over to pick up the one pump you could find.

“Leaving so soon?” god dammit. You tried not to look as guilty as you felt. You looked up at him on the bed, how was he still so attractive waking up in the morning? And his morning voice was enough to bring you right back to your knees. Not to mention he was also naked, just a gold chain around his neck and the white comforter covering the part of him that you gagged on before it nearly split you in two the night before. Looking like a piece of renaissance art.

“Yes. You know I wasn’t suppose to sleep here. It was suppose to be a nap. That you agreed to wake me up from,” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, “if you were so tired what did you expect from me?” he had a point. He rolled out of bed and strolled over to you, “And it was nice… sleeping next to you,” he lifted your gaze by raising your chin, “don’t you think?” His eyes searching yours for concurrence.

“Yeah Florian, it was fine,” you dismissed him shaking off his gentle grip on your chin, trying not to make too much eye contact. You resented the affection, that’s not how this relationship was suppose to work. “Where’s my other shoe?”

He looked hurt. His eyes really said all. “Uh it’s probably out in the living room.” He said, his eyebrows still furrowed.

You backed away toward the bathroom trying to cover your front half with the dress, thong, and shoe in your hands. How does it still look so mouthwatering while soft? You couldn’t look, you turned around. You needed to splash your face with water and put on your clothes. 

You heard him leave the bedroom as you looked in the mirror. He was going to have to pay for your next silk press. Your brown skin had faint bruises in various places. He was hungry for you last night and the hickeys on your hot spots made that evident. You thought of the things you did to get them and how much you enjoyed it causing you to shudder. This rendezvous wasn’t even planned. You had no idea he was back in L.A. You just ran into each other at an industry party and he caught you off guard looking as fine as ever. He whispered something along the lines of ’that dress is sexy. It will look really good on my bedroom floor’ in your ear and you couldn’t say no to that. You sat at the edge of the bathtub to gather your thoughts. Only to get up again when you heard the bedroom door open and rummaging in the drawers.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “I have a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts if you don’t want to put the dress on. You can keep them. And I found your bra and your other shoe. Your handbag is on the bed. And here’s towels if you want to take a shower.“  

You cracked the door and reached your arm around to grab the items. "Thank you.” You shut the door again. You could tell he stood there for a minute before walking back out of the room.

Most of your time in the bathroom, you sat contemplating your life. Why were you so caught up. You slept over so what? No big deal. He isn’t a stranger. This wasn’t a one night stand. He is a friend. A very sexy, very generous, very sweet- Fuck. Were you catching feelings? Nope. You shook your head as you stood up. Wash it off. Wash it the fuck off. You’re just dickmatized. Right? You rummaged the drawers finding a claw clip you could only assume was from some Hollywood booty call, distancing yourself from such a title. You found exactly what you were looking for but still managed to rile yourself up by conjuring up it’s potential origin story. You shook your head attempting to rid your mind of the thoughts and pinned up your hair before hopping into the shower. The water temperature was much cooler than you would usually go for but you needed to freeze the sap out of you as soon as possible in any way possible.

You came out the bathroom about 20 minutes later. Florian now dressed in gym shorts.

“Y/N, I can’t let you leave here mad at me. Can I at least make you breakfast first? You’re hungry, right?” a tinge of guilt in his voice and concern in his eyes.

You were but you couldn’t do it here. You had food at home. Not to mention Florian had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was not a chef.

You raised an eyebrow, “Flo, you hate cooking. And I’m not mad or hungry.” Your stomach snitched.

His face lit up, “I’ll cook for you,” he grabbed your hands, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. Butterflies. It was damn near impossible to say no to that smile and those eyes, “breakfast food isn’t hard to make.” His eyes were hopeful that you would say yes.

“Fine,” you sighed.

“Yeah! You still can’t say no to Big Nasty, huh?” he winked giving you a smug grin before leaving the room.

There was something so adorable about his excitement and something infuriatingly tantalizing about the hint of cockiness. He was good at playing both sides: cute and cocky. You were 100% sure you would be fucking him again before you left this morning. This is, if your body could take it.

—

A/N: So I may or may not have a thing for men cooking for me 🙃 Imma switch it up with my next fics. lol I hope y'all enjoyed.