#(Still have to get that script working properly it seems...)

[anyataylorjoys]

I just hit 8k followers in January, and I've never really done a celebration giveaway before. And not many do nowadays, but I figured someone out here may benefit from a new action or two!

You are authorized to change or add-on to my actions as you seem fit, but please do not redistribute them as your own work. If you are to take pieces from these actions to create your own and end up redistributing them, please credit this post.

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⭐︎ V1 Basic: Self-explanatory, can be used on just about anything.

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⭐︎ Universal (crisp): Similar to V1 with more contrast. This also looks good on most animation.

[juicebuck]

I could always count on 911 being the type of show that doesn’t drop its storylines. There has been stuff that’s been called back that I didn’t expect to be called back, but the difference is is that back then there are some sort of conclusion? Even if there wasn’t closure, it was sort of concluded in that arc of that makes sense? Hen cheating on Karen. Karen finally being able to tell Eva (Ava forgot her name) that shes always afraid of her disrupting their lives. Athena and finally being able to find the person that killed her fiancé. Like I know this show can properly pick strings back up but when they pick the strings they were at least solid. Do I have too much hope that they’ll revisit the “you think I’m in love with Eddie”? Yea sure but any string they grab will be so flimsy. They couldn’t add something at all to the finale if that’s where they’re taking it?

yeah. and well, i mean the issue is tim and the way he runs this show. and that needs to change. or he needs to take a step back and hand the reins over. because his vision (if we can even call it that) is directly at odds with what people want. and i'm not just talking about buddie. but just, in general. the GA has been just as unhappy with his "creative decisions" as the rest of us. bobby being #1 on that list. but also, eddie and christopher being gone and the lack of normal emergencies have come up in the facebook comments a lot. he's lost what the heart of the show is. and, it's not that that heart is gone completely, it's that he doesn't seem to care to find it again in any real way. we get glimpses of it that ultimately come to nothing. and a lot of the issue is that tim doesn't plan anything. he scraps and changes things last minute, it's literally an in-joke with cast and crew that they have no idea what's going on (script tbd cocktail 😭) because they don't. they get scripts mere days, or the day before shooting. which are insane conditions to work under. he killed bobby off on a whim, even though peter hadn't expressed any interest to leave. ryan wasn't even sure whether he'd be coming back. and all of this SHOWS on-screen. because he drops threads to pick up other ones, to only then drop those and do the same. and on and on and on. and it's frustrating because we know the show CAN be good, the heart IS still there. like, the shake-up the show needed was NOT killing off bobby nash. it was better planning, it was committing to the stories you're telling, it was actually CARING about the characters. and the thing is, there are actually some really good writers on this team that DO care, and it shows in some of the episodes. that's where the heart still is. tim either needs to start listening to people other than himself or take a step back. and well, i do actually have hope for season 9. especially after the mass backlash from all corners over the past few weeks. that things could change for the better. and i'm not going to spend the whole summer dooming. i still love these characters and i still believe that many people involved in the show do too, and that they can come back from this. but things DO need to change.

[toxycodone]

you should most definitely do a ‘dad’ curly body inspection fic,,, I mean whart who said that…

ship. captain curly x favorite crewmate reader

cw. power imbalance, fauxcest, you call curly “dad” but he’s not your dad.

“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

It’s a rhetorical question, really. You know Curly would brush off any protest from you. Anya’s busy with something. Apparently Daisuke slipped, fell, almost sent a nail straight through his foot—you didn’t pay much attention to the excuse. What followed after was what caught your favor.

“And to help her avoid getting behind schedule, I offered to conduct your body inspection in Nurse Anya’s place.”

You remember yours eyes widening in disbelief. It seemed like a joke at first. A weird one at that, but not something you’d put behind him.

“Guess you should call me Nurse Curly, huh?” He winks to punctuate the sentence.

And so it wasn’t a joke.

You’re here now. In his quarters, of all places. It’s definitely bigger than the broom closet Pony Express is legally obligated to provide you with as room and board, but not much so. Definitely less than captain-like.

“So,” He claps his hands together, smile bright as ever. “Shall we get started?”

Your captain’s eyes are bright, shining with enthusiasm. The predatory gleam that hides beneath them doesn’t go unmissed.

You simply nod. You’ve been here before, done this before. Anya’s inspections aren’t extremely invasive. Mainly just to ensure you’re in proper working order. Pony Express doesn’t take any chances when it comes to personal health as they want to avoid lawsuits, but also, any notation you’re unable to complete your tasks gives them excuse to dock credits.

They’re a necessary part of your routine health checkups. Nothing to be afraid of. Honestly, having Curly conducting it is good, right? Maybe even better than Anya, when you really think about it. He’s the most trustworthy one on the ship. The one who’s almost like family. It still feels awkward calling him dad the way he likes, but it’s starting to grow on you. You can trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

“This is just a routine checkup. Don’t think too hard about it.” He’s putting on those blue latex gloves. He must be serious about this. “I know it’s unorthodox for me to conduct this, but it’s a favor for Anya. Captain’s gotta fill in to keep this ship running properly, y’know?”

You hums in agreement. He takes a few steps forward. You never really realized just how large Curly is. His presence is imposing, a stark contrast from his personality. The sheer closeness of him is intimating. You wonder if he notices that too.

He then asks for you to take off your shirt. You oblige. Hesitation shoots through your fingertips, but it’s brushed away by a shake of the head. This is typical. Routine. With shaky fingers, you relinquish the garment.

Curly seems to drink in the sight of the newly exposed skin. Or is he just studying it? Doing his job? That’s it.

Your captain seems to notice the way you shuffle awkwardly under his gaze. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting smile.

“It’s okay to be embarrassed. I know it’s awkward, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

You nod. Then he steps closer, curiously eyeing your chest. His hands reach out to touch you, only hesitating for a split second, before ghosting up your ribcage. You hold back and noises. Anya touches you too, this isn’t odd, per se. However, it’s usually with you lying on a medical bed. And with a medical gown on, at least.

She also doesn’t smile in satisfaction like that. Your eyes don’t linger on Curly’s face long.

He has the audacity to be demure at first, maiming some guise that this contact is supposed to be professional. His hands prod your sides, then your stomach area.

“Is there any pain when I touch you here?” Finally, there’s a line ripped from Anya’s script. “Or any pain elsewhere I should be aware of?”

You shake your head, then give a brief answer. Curly nods, then moves to take a couple notes on the clipboard set on at his desk.

There’s a sense of relief at the back of your mind, happy he’s taking this seriously.

He moves on. Now Curly’s hand move up your ribcage again, cupping your chest, thumbs stroking over your areolas and nipples—causing them to harden at the contact.

Your cheeks flush. Good God, your captain should not be touching you like this. Anya has never done this. And you shouldn’t be fucking enjoying it, either. You jump when he gives one a flick.

Curly seems to notice this. He lets out a soft chuckle.

“Seems your reflexes are in good shape.”

Well, there goes any notion that this is purely professional. He gives a last squeeze to your chest, then removes his hands. Curly takes a couple steps back, then starts to circle around you.

“Your pants.” He makes the request almost sheepishly. “Can’t keep those on, unfortunately…” You want believe his shyness, that he wants to preserve your modesty, but he just can’t. It’s out of his hands. But that would be too obvious a lie.

You shuffle those off too. His presence is behind you now, his eyes definitely glued to your ass and thighs. He is, however, scribbling something down on a clipboard. So he has to be doing some sort of work, right?

“Underwear, too.”

Wait. What?

You glance over your shoulder at him, brow raised in confusion. This isn’t part of routine, and you’re not dumb enough to fall for it. Curly’s still standing there, smiling as if he didn’t say anything remotely weird.

“Just being thorough.” He answers before you can ask. “Do it for your captain’s sake? Please?”

Curly’s choice in words is particular. He doesn’t often feel the need to flex his title as captain, but he’ll pull rank when need be. This is one of those times. An indirect reminder of who’s the one with power here.

And so, you oblige. Fingers link under the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down. You’re exposed fully in front of him now. After a few seconds of silence (which you’re sure is spent by Curly committing your body to memory), he places a hand on your shoulder, urging you towards his neatly made bed.

“On the bed, please.”

You’re sat down before you can protest. Curly pushes you onto your back, slowly guiding your thighs open.

There? Of all places, he’s looking there? Panic shoots through you, and it’s not just because there’s a grown man taking advantage of his role getting on eye level with your pussy. It’s the fact he’s going to notice just how wet you are.

His pupils dilate when he gets full view of you. Your thighs are spread wide open by Curly’s thick, gloved fingers. They’re warm despite the barrier and press into the supple flesh. The way he grabs you is as if he’s trying to restrain himself.

Curiosity beckons him on. Still ensuring your thighs are pressed open, Curly allows one hand to delve between your thighs and explore.

He cups your mound with unexpected gentleness, relishing the warmth. You have to hold yourself back from grinding against his hand. Wetness leaks out of your hole at the contact. It’s sick. Totally embarrassing how you’re dying to felt up by your captain, as dubiously consenting as it is. You close your eyes, an attempt at avoiding any eye contact Curly might sneak in.

One thumb carefully traces up your slit. A breathy gasp is elicited from your lips. Curly’s own breathing, the only sound in the room you can make out aside from the ship’s constant humming, is shaky. His thumb gathers wetness without even needing to press into you. Your clit twitches at the contact, causing your hole to flutter, clenching around nothing.

God, you hope he notices. Hope he slides a finger in. Fuck all the professionalism, the way he tries to mask his feelings for you by constantly infantilizing your and calling you his family. You want to feel those thick digits spreading you open. Then his cock, which you’re sure is far more girthy. Maybe if you took him down to the base, rode him like he deserved, he’d see you for the grown up you really are. Could he still call you kiddo after you made him moan your name and milked him dry? You doubt it.

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” Curly retreats from your form, as if you suddenly combust into flames. “You can go now.”

Huh?

You snap from your fantasies, looking up at Curly. His broad back is facing you now, hunched over as he picks up your clothing. You’re clouded by a mix of feelings—relief, confusion, anticipation for more—but you start to dress as he asked. Something sits wrong in your stomach about all this, but you’re unsure if it’s nausea or butterflies.

“I think we’re all done here. I’m gonna write up that report for Anya.” He ushers you out of his quarters with a sense of urgency. The delusional part of you admires how serious he takes his work, but that unmistakeable tent in his pants alludes to this inspection being cut for less professional reasons.

“See you at dinner, kiddo.”

And you’re back in the hallway, left alone with your thoughts.

[azes-ocean]

Illusion in shattered glass 

An: I promise I’m working on reqs but this was already in my drafts so 💙 I need more Mr. Reca content so I decided to make some! He’s a character with alot of potential 🫶🏼

A dream is just a nightmare you do not want to wake up from.

Inspiration: I can’t find the post anymore but there was a post about someone talking about Mr. Reca erasing his darling’s memories every time he confesses that to try to achieve perfection, if you find it plz tell me and I can add the link 💙 

An: I didn’t reread or review it so it might suck, but I did add effort. First few chapter are skip-able ish if your impatient. 

Summary: A picture perfect love story directed by Penacony’s greatest director.

Except it isn’t perfect.

You don’t remember any bit of this so-called ‘story’.

Because you-

—CUT!—

TAKE ONE 

“I love you, y/n.”

     “!?-Mr. Reca-I-do too…”

    Directors notes: Disapproved! Adding a title in the acceptance just makes there seem to be a distance or unfamiliarity!

TAKE TWO

“Ah. Y/n. I do adore you.”

         “-Reca…? In a platonic or a romantical way…?”

Director’s notes: Disapproved! The way in which y/n still must ask the intent of those words making them seem dense whilst they have much more intelligence then most actors.

TAKE THREE

“Y/n. Will you marry me?”

       “Gasp. I-ofcourse, Reca…!”

Directors notes: Mhmm…getting better! But it should be perfect! Therefore disapproved!

TAKE FOUR

Disapproved!

TAKE FIVE

Disapproved!

TAKE SIX

Disapproved!

TAKE SEVEN

——

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED AND EIGHTY EIGHT

————1—————

Mr. Reca slammed his fist on the table as he re-watched the records for the nth time. “Ugh. Disapproved…disapproved…Y/n deserves only perfection, not this dogwash!” He cried, cupping his face between his hands in frustration, mumbling under his breath. “No…no…no….” He murmured, why was this so hard? He was the greatest director in the world! Why couldn’t he properly direct his own love story,..?

Yes, yes, he had tried all the cliché proposals and confessions, flowers, letters, even using a cat to carry on his letter. So what was missing in his grand vision of this ‘perfect confession’!?

———2———

{{This chapter is to give depth to the reader and extra interactions. Skip it you want though somethings may be a bit confusing 💕}}

“What I think of Mr. Reca…?” You echoed, tilting your head in confusion. This was…not what you had expected your friends to ask you during your truth or dare game. “Yeah! I heard you rejected him before!” They gasped excitedly, one of them bumping your shoulder and giggling, covering their mouth. “No. I never did that. He’s just my boss. Those are just rumors.” You clarify, shaking you head with a shy smile. You’d never reject him. Well, you’d never reject him if he asked! But that was just most likely your brain too full of those telenova romance movies you binge watched over the weekend. You looked down to your hands and shook your head lightly, trying to wipe those thoughts from your brain. “Anytyywwwaaayy…. y/n!” Your friend called, pointing at you, already seemingly forgetting their previous question, “You didn’t answer the last question, so you better answer this one!” They chirped in their usual bubbly manner, happily shaking your shoulder like a needy child. Oh no. They had a mischevious glimmer in their eyes. “Tell the truth…why do you only hang out with us in the dreamscape!?” They demanded, huffing while crossing their arms dramatically. Your pulse unknowingly quickened, but your expression was still positive. “I just am too busy outside of the dreamscape. Nothing secretive. Now….F/N!” You smile and point at your other friend in the same matter as the latter, grinning, “Truth or dare?”

———3———

Mr. Reca sat on his desk, Assistant Director across his lap as he went through script after script after proposal after proposal. How boring. It would be a hundred times more interesting to be spending these wasted hours with you. But oh well. Duty called, much to his chagrin. What an artistic block. Almost all of the scripts these days lacked individuality and creativity.

All but lacking stories with a totally predictable ending, boring characters and poorly suggested visuals. The director eventually ran his patience through, crumpling the paper in his hands and throwing it across the room in absolute irritation.

“Mr. Reca…? Are you alright?” You called, knocking on the door after you had heard his exasperated grunts. “Oh, y/n! Please, please, come in if you wish! of course I am alright!” He called, his mood already being lifted by your prescence and concern. As soon as you opened the door he ushered you in and had you seated on the couch in the far corner of the messy room in a matter of seconds. You glanced across at him akwardly, only given a few moments to settle where you sat before Mr. Reca began talking endlessly about the films he was working on, the potential-less stories and manuscripts he was forced to read and a lot of his day. In truth, most of it went over your head, merely keeping up your part of the conversation with the bare minimum occasionally nodding and throwing out “Mhmm”’s “Er-yes…” and “Totally.”

———4———

“Y/n. How do you feel today?” Mr. Reca smiled, drapping his jacket across your shoulders. Even though the weather in the dreamscape was hardly cold, today felt a bit different. “A bit…cold…” You offer, snuggling into his warm jacket and hunching slightly. You looked up to see Mr. Reca with a sad smile, which surprised you. “Is…something wrong?” You asked, looking at him with a concerned look. Mr. Reca never usually showed sadness, but now his expression also held something you never thought was possible for him.

He looked…in grief?

Before you could open your mouth to ask him again, Mr. Reca looked you straight in the eye, his hands clasping together nervously, “Y/n…I love you.”

Your brain could hardly comprehend that. You stared at him for a while, wide eyed and your mouth half open when you finally remembered to swallow. You looked down and turned to him with a joyful smile, “I do too, Reca.” Mr. Reca returned your smile, though it still seemed like he was thinking of something else. You put a hand carefully on his shoulder and hesitantly kissed his forehead. “Is there…something wrong?” 

You were met with some silence, which seemed incredibly heavy, not something you would expect the atmosphere of a confession to be like. You knew what was wrong. You did. 

But you didn’t remember. 

And you can’t remember why.

“Wrong? No. We are actually following the ‘right’” Mr. Reca finally replied, shaking his head whilst forcing a smile. He pulled you into an unexpected embrace, burying his head into the crook of your neck as his shoulders seemed to sag. “And in the will of fate we can never be together.” 

You stared at him, though you weren’t confused. Yes, because this happened before.

Eight hundred and eighty eight times, to be exact.

This was what the aeons had written in both your destinies.

“Yes…yes…”

“Because you never existed in the first place.”

———5———

Mr. Reca was now hugging his empty jacket, devoid of the warmth it used to hold. 

And he cried.

It had never gotten easier to accept every time that you were a mere memory zone meme.

A fragment of his consciousness and the embodiment of his wish.

Salty tears fell one after the other in a bitter waterfall as Mr. Reca bit his lip, trying to regain his composure as his breath hitched and more tears spilled.

It was an ironic, almost funny thing

The missing piece in his ‘perfect confession’ had always been you.

———

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED EIGHTY NINE

———

[court-jobi]

Alexa, Play...

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24~used w permission))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader

Words: 1.6k

Rating: G~

Warnings: Southern US!GNreader, comfort fic, tooth-rotting fluff here y'all, established relationship, language barrier, dancing-in-the-kitchen level self-insert

Summary:

Izuku comes home to spot your grocery list on the fridge written out in your native language- something he sees just as rarely as hearing you speak it. Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek, a laugh thrown his way... or -like now- when you chat over the phone in an accent he never gets to hear. He wants to hear more so badly, and asks for it so sweetly.

A/N: a short n'sweet one today, folks, bc I was missing writing for this sweet green bean. I have yet to see MHA: You're Next, but have no one to see it with ughhhhh so off to writing fanfic to soothe the pain~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

You're on the phone with your mom when Izuku finds your sticky note for shopping on the fridge. His mindful shut of the door was appreciated by your mouthed apology, but let him know that he'd best occupy himself solo for a bit while you catch up. The time difference between your home country and here leaves your windows to chat limited, so he’s happy when your schedules align like this. 

If you'll be on a while longer, he thinks he can take a quick drive and pick up these few things for you. Inspired by the idea, he plucks the list out from the magnet’s hold.

You've got nice handwriting, a blend between printed letters and a tilted, cursive script. Personality shines especially near the end of a word, when you're rushing to move onto the next thought. 

Painter’s tape

bananas

white vinegar (stupid drain line)

It's so simple, but when it's written in your native language by default, it feels like a secret to be reading even something so simple as a list like this– scribbled out in the way as it appears in your head.

For most formal paperwork, your kana characters are decently executed, though it's always going to be harder when you grew up speaking Japanese rather than filling out lines and lines of bellwork in the kanji style. This isn't to say you've not been trying:

Over the course of your courtship, you've bonded with young Eri as an extension of Izuku's life and have inherited some of her early learning textbooks. You happened on them by accident, when you were helping her paint her room a few months ago. It sounded elementary when you expressed the interest to read and write Japanese better, and the sweet girl was so enthusiastic to help! 

She lent you her books, but of course you weren't becoming an expert overnight. However slow you’d pace yourself, Izuku was plenty proud of you for making the effort. He'd allow you as much grace as he could spare– especially since your notes were still so cute to find here and there~

Across the room, pacing along every other tile on the floor like stepping stones, you look up catching Izuku staring. You’ve been deep in conversation for only about an hour, but give him a wrench of your nose in jest, and begin wrapping up the call explaining that he’s home and you’d like to greet him properly. 

Izuku calls out a quick 'hi’ and ‘bye' to your mom when he motions to go on speaker; you're not one to refuse him, as he well knows. 

You seem pleased on more than one front when he asks to talk to your family, so he continues to do it. For one, you’re touched by how spirited he is to even want to interact with your mother, and his dropping of formalities and reverting to English to speak to her means a lot to you. Neither point is lost on sweet Izuku, based on how your smile brightens when he jogs over to you to be more in speaking range. 

When you hang up, you're quick to pop up and kiss him as a welcome home. Izuku hangs onto you a little longer than usual, thumb rubbing into your cheek as he savors you several times in quick succession. 

Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek or a laugh thrown his way. 

“‘Zuku, what's that look for, babe?” 

In your sentimental bliss, you're still surprised to get such adoring treatment from him almost a year into a relationship. 

“Nothing,” Izuku chimes back, “I just forget that you're this American sometimes~”

“Whaddya mean, ‘you forget’?!” the concept sounds hilarious to you. 

“I do!” Izuku offers to take your phone to plug it in nearby, “I have to remind myself that Japanese isn't your first language, until I see you on FaceTime with your mom. Out of nowhere, I'll just hear you sound so different, like: ‘byyyye~ talk to y'all later’!”

You snort at his attempt at a southern accent– stiff and stuck on the wrong vowels. Clearly this succeeds in amusing you, because you hop up and down on the balls of your feet like you've discovered a new game:

“Oh my God, ‘Texas Smash Deku’ is the stuff of my fantasies!– oo!! say, ‘I’d like a honey butter chicken biscuit’~”

“WHAT?? N-no!!”

“What YES!! Please??”

Both doubled over in laughter, you're entertained over his thorough embarrassment, but you're both smitten and carefree: holding onto each other despite nearly buckling at the knees.

Izuku tries his best to catch his breathe first, determined to explain himself,

“I can't do it right! It's like- you say things- I don't know how to describe it! It's not just the flat, movie star accent.. It's–"

“What, a-- ‘drawl’? ‘Twang’?”

Izuku snaps at the realization.

“Yes!! That!! The country kind, like that chef you watch!”

You've rolled your eyes, stepping out of his kind hold in favor of checking out what takeout he brought home. 

“-Hey, no, come back!”

“‘Makin’ fun'ah my accent, I outta smack you’.”

You're far from really mad as you tote around the kitchen getting silverware and soy sauce, but Izuku follows you around like a shadow regardless. Eyes full of that puppy love, he does try to block you in from the pantry closet,

“I’m sorry, honey~”

“No you're not.” --but you're grinning out of forgiveness anyway.

Izuku sneaks a hold on you, reeling you in. It’s cozy in your shared kitchen, alight with just the right amount of overhead lighting and enough space for you two to stand and share tasks.

“I do like hearing you talk like that,” he shares contentedly, “It’s nice to listen to that side of you, especially when you have a lot to say.”

“Yeah well,” you turn into his arms, rather than away, “I'm sure you've noticed already, it comes from her side of the family. Guess I can't really ditch the accent whenever I switch back. The more I think about it… I'm gonna be happy if I can keep sounding like her as I get older. Lets me keep something of hers- even if my ‘dashing hero’ of a man over here thinks I'm being cheeky."

“No, I'm not teasing now! I mean it,” Izuku presses into you, “I only meant, you don't hold back or anything when you're chatty with her.”

He wonders if it stems from shyness, your avoidance of using too much English here at home. If you’re jamming out while doing chores -presuming you’re alone- you’ll switch the station once you know you have an audience.

“Not trying to hide it with you! I'm just out of practice here. No one else in our circle really uses English, so it doesn't come up, I guess.”

You make the point with a wistful aire. Occasionally you'll sub English classes as a favor to Izuku’s effervescent coworker at UA, but not often enough to get too much exposure. He's always been impressed with your Japanese diction, and thinks you could very well go into teaching if you ever wanted a career change.

Still, whether its for work or play, it’s a sound that’s intrinsically you, and there’s a magic to it that Izuku finds himself chasing. A secret power of yours, if he could only unlock it.

“--Plus, I don't think a lot of the slang translates over?” you get comfortable in his arms, locking your fingers behind his neck with no intention of leaving as you muse, “You guys have your own here, and that’s hard to figure out anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Tenderly, you run your nails through his hair, a thoughtful look up to him, 

“Do you want me to use it more at home? Lay on the sugar for ya?”

A chance to hear you at your core? Watch your handwritten notes come alive?

“If you want-” Izuku softens, “-if you’re comfortable.”

“Can you understand me though?”

“I can hear you. It only gets hard when you get excited, ‘cuz you talk fast.”

You fuss back at him, “Oh, as if you don't.”

Caught under your hypocritical eye, he can only offer an honest chuckle back, “Fair~”

But for all of your feeling put on the spotlight, you seem to hold a soft spot for the way Izuku makes his requests:

“ ‘I guess I can indulge ya, since you asked so nicely.’ ”

–and it’s enough for him to try his hand to give you a linguistic sparring partner right back:

“ ‘Say something else.’ ”

All English flies out the window when he's looking at you like this, as you fall under a fit of nervous laughter, “What am I supposed to say?!” 

“ ‘Sing me a song, my love. Something 'twangy'.”

You giggled, "'Twangy', good Lord…” 

Izuku could write novels on everything from your finest features to even your most pensive insecurities, romanticizing each of them into a beautifully imperfect anthology. He does so in his mind, at least, when you’re barely lucid on the edge of sleep but still trying to engage him in meaningful conversation. He’ll do so in the notes on his phone, when he learns of yet another favorite token of yours, and wants to add it to the list of comfort measures he can refer to when you need it most.

And when you prompt Alexa to play your newly revealed ‘Karaoke hours that will never see the light of day’ playlist -the one that’s chock-full of female power ballads which you begin to sing your own rendition to-  Izuku is certain his mind nor fingers nor heart can catalog how much more he can possibly love you… though he’ll dance in place with you as he listens and soaks it all in.

[vi-gilante-1010]

Since this is apparently still a point of argument for people, I wanna make something really clear, at least for where I stand. When people criticize Caitlyn for 'trying to shoot Isha' in s2e3, it's not because we think she's literally aiming for Isha on purpose. I don't know where people are getting that from. Pulling up the scripts to 'prove' she's not intentionally shooting Isha doesn't actually negate what we're saying, which is that her disregard for Isha's life is a bad thing.

Caitlyn is trying to shoot Jinx, not the random child present. That's obvious. But during this fight, she's not only already missed once, but due to the arcane lashing out, her gun isn't working properly and she's having to actively fight with it while in battle. Then a child runs into the fray to try and save Jinx, clinging to her so tightly that their heads are right next to each other. Had Vi not stood in the way, one of three things would have happened:

1- Caitlyn manages to miss both of them entirely due to the gun acting up. Best case scenario

2- Caitlyn successfully kills Jinx, right in front of an extremely young child, most likely getting Jinx's blood if not more splattered onto said child.

3- Isha, a child flailing around and trying to hold onto someone actively trying to push her off, is shot by mistake because of her movements and/or the aforementioned gun acting up. Regardless of intention, Isha is now dead or seriously injured.

Personally? I have no problem with this characterization. I think it's a really interesting way to show how narrow-minded Caitlyn's grief is making her, and serves for a good moment for her corruption arc in the first half of the season. But it confuses me when some people online seem desperate to find any way possible to justify why the bad things Caitlyn does are actually completely okay and/or why disliking her for those actions means you don't have media literacy. People disliking a character for their actions is allowed. A character doing bad things for what they perceive to be a good reason doesn't negate that what they're doing is bad. I don't understand how this is still an argument. But I guess that's my bad for scrolling on tiktok again

[cheralith]

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24

word count ; 8.5k

notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!

parts ; one two three four (tba)

THREE YEARS AGO

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.”

Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasn’t too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place. 

Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. “We choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so don’t be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.”

Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his position—a new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as “family.” A loose term, Miguel often thought… very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didn’t sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.

At least in his case.

“I’ve greatly admired your work in the past,” you said almost robotically, “so I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishments—no matter how big or small.”

Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed… flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm. 

Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. “Well, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,” Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part. 

Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.

“And don’t forget, we’re all family here!” he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.

Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily. 

“Did they tell you to say that?”

You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expression—wide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jaw—and swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head. 

“W-was…” you started, “was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. “Don’t listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. I’m sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.”

Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before it’s replaced with another stiff nod. There was no user’s manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wanted—for you two to maintain distance—then so be it. If anything, it’s easier to breathe this way for both parties. 

And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didn’t issue any room for intimacy because it wasn’t needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didn’t even bother getting each others’ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like air—both parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldn’t certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, he’d do the same to you. 

It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.

That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reports—work that didn’t allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.

“If it’s an urgent matter, Mr. O’Hara, I don’t mind taking on some of the workload,” you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. “I’m your assistant, after all. It’s my job to help you out.”

Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, “You’re my assistant from 9 to 5 only. I’m not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,” he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. “Go clock out, (Y/N). I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed. 

“Um, there’s no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,” you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. “So again, I don’t mind staying late…”

Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right… you were still rather young and didn’t seem the type to have a family yet. “No boyfriend? Or girlfriend… I’m not one to judge.”

“No, Mr. O’Hara.”

“No parents?”

“I moved out, so no.”

“Not even pets?”

“None.”

“... perhaps friends of sorts?”

“...”

Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What he’d do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didn’t think you’d detach yourself this much from the crowd. 

You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. “Please let me assist you, Mr. O’Hara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.”

Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.

He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The other—his house key. 

“Take these,” he said and gestured them to you. “I’ve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now I’m entrusting you to my daughter.”

Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, “Your… your daughter?”

Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasn’t even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he can’t say he’s too surprised at your reaction. 

“Yes, my daughter,” he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. “Her name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. I’m gonna call up the daycare and tell them that you’ll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just… just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. I’ll take a cab home… I dunno.”

Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you should’ve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.

A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that you’re not sure aren’t even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.

“Do not… let anything happen to her,” he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, “Not a single scratch, yes?”

It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out, 

“Yes.”

Miguel lets go of your wrist like it’s a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his desk—praying that you’ll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.

And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question he’d contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriella—whose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someone—eventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if you’ve been there since her birth.

Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how she’d tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or she’d randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. She’d slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words. 

“Miss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isn’t it pretty?” 

“Oh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.”

“Can you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.”

While you weren’t always present around the O’Haras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were. 

There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply, 

“I want to be like Miss. (Y/N).”

Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didn’t make sense.

“Like, do you wanna work for Daddy when you’re older?” Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father. 

Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in… a pink dress? “Nuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.”

Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course she’d still believe fantasy and magical things—she was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. “Miss. (Y/N) is a princess?” 

“Yep, she told me herself!” Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. “She said she used to be a princess, but she ran away ‘cause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!” 

“I think it might’ve been a dragon, mijita,” Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.

“Nuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!” she retaliated stubbornly.

“Well,” he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. “How come you don’t wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? They’re princesses, too, right?” 

She shrugged. “I like them. But they’re not Miss. (Y/N).”

Something unnatural began to seep into Miguel’s chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didn’t expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every word—to him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess. 

But in his daughter’s eyes… 

“Why? What’s so special about (Y/N)?” Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella. 

She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. “You gotta say Princess (Y/N). I don’t have to ‘cause she said it’s okay.”

He sighed, “Okay, fine. What’s so special about Princess (Y/N)?”

Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips. 

“Well, she’s really pretty… like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,” she praised, making Miguel’s brows rise at the sudden compliment. “She’s really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do… and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.”

Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadn’t even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriella’s eyes, you were more than just her babysitter—you were literal royalty to her. He shouldn’t be one to complain though—he’d take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were… sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didn’t think so.

“She’s super smart too—like you, Papá! Maybe even smarter,” she retorts, making Miguel twitch. “And I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.”

“Oh?” Miguel questioned, “¿Y, qué canción es esa?”

“I keep forgetting the name and words of it…” Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. “But it went somethin’ like…”

She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film he’d seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a child’s lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him. 

“Ya gotta marry her,” his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. “So that way, I can become a princess, too.”

Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. “Sweetheart, I’m not a prince, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” his daughter replied without missing a beat. “But you know what you are, though?” 

Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldn’t tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent. 

But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as him—a parent—something seeds inside Miguel. He doesn’t know what it is or what it will grow into, but there’s one thing he knows for sure. 

The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not. 

Gabriella’s smile grew wide before she happily announced,

“You’re her knight in shining armor!"

PRESENT

If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.

Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldn’t help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that he’s only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber. 

You’re talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that he’s seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows he’s been graced with in full; so it’s truly no surprise that there’s a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as you’ve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least there’s been somewhat of an improvement—you’re actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as there’s a third party.

Yet he still hasn’t been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.

But beggars can’t be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what he’s offered.

The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguel’s devices at long last. Like a flower’s petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.

A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasn’t every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small. 

You can tell there’s an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriella’s babysitter for tonight—a blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort. 

“I should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,” you splutter with a dry mouth. “I forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and I’m sure she must be bored out of her—”

Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces. 

He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. “I’m sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,” he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicately—he doesn’t know if he’s earned that privilege, or if he ever did. “Gabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldn’t distract her.”

Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguel’s makes you swallow thickly. 

“Ah,” you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguel’s disappointment. “Right… Never mind then.”

And suddenly, he’s back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, it’s thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didn’t find it uncomfortable. 

A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. “I hope she’s okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you. 

Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguel’s being from the fact that finally… finally you’re the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, you’re beginning with something bold, even if you don’t realize it. Despite the fact you’re rather unconscious of what you’re saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that you’re worried about Gabriella in the same sense… that he is.  

That a parent is.

He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. “Mrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, I’m sure that she’s definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,” he says seemingly nonchalantly. “Gabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.”

A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, “She is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.”

“She has her moments,” Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriella’s temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.

Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. It’s abrupt, but it’s short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. “All children do from time to time. But she’s definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.”

Miguel thinks you’re right; it wasn’t often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so he’s one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time. 

But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Even if Miguel wasn’t aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of. 

And then it hits him.

It comes all of a sudden—his senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.

It’s not a good realization by far. If anything, it’s the very opposite, one that’s one the other end of the spectrum. It’s a deathly epiphany and one that he doesn’t like to acknowledge but is forced to.

Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

You’re quick to take notice of your boss’s current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you murmur, leaning toward his figure. 

Miguel’s mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? You’re not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but you’re still significantly young that you’ve got your whole life ahead of you that you’d need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.

What if you didn’t even want children? 

It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.

Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, “Mr. O’Hara, are you okay?”

It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.

The worst case scenario infects Miguel’s thoughts—you standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughter’s birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.

This time, however? He wouldn’t be the only one with a shattered heart.

A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. “Mr. O’Hara? Can you hear me?” you declare a little louder than the first two times.

Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. “Yes, I-I’m fine…” he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.

You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows you’ve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. “Are you sure?”

He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right… the annual celebration gala… with you… to make up for the date that never happened.

His mind is a mess. It’s an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mind—young Gabriella’s drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguel’s frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughter’s first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed… you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving them—

Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur. 

“Mr. O’Hara,” you start as you also stand up, “Is everything alr—”

“I need some air,” Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if there’s anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.

A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.

He attempts to reason with himself. 

Clearly, you don’t mind being with children, and obviously you don’t mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. She’s not simply a job to you that you’re forced to work with—you’ve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. You’ve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.

Now there’s the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings haven’t changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if he’s with the right person, he’s sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadn’t had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his life—don’t mind it took him three years to notice it. You’re worth putting that effort in.

Finally… there’s the possible chance that you reject Miguel’s proposal of being Gabriella’s secondary caretaker.

…

Miguel attempts to process it in a more… positive light. One that won’t send him spiraling. 

But it’s nearly impossible.

How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least… satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriella’s happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?

His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like they’re sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more. 

Would he be able to cope with such a—

A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesn’t take Miguel long to know what’s happening.

He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening. 

A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyed—that included raiding everything in his personal lab—an urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself. 

Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax. 

Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.

There’s still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying you’re safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headed—towards the garden.

“(Y/N)!” Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you don’t hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.

He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizard’s humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside. 

A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where you’re headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit that’s about to topple on you to Miguel’s horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom. 

You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate might’ve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesn’t stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it. 

Miguel barks out and grabs your arm that’s now scathed with slight scratches. “The hell are you doing?!” he exclaims worriedly. 

You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. “M-my boss… he’s inside the garden,” you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. “I need t-to know if he’s safe…”

Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column. 

Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. “Hey, you need to get out, now. You can’t be here, no one should be,” he urges.

The shake of your head concerns him—right, you’re too stubborn for your own good. “I’ll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.”

“Not when you’re about to get killed,” he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance. 

You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once again—you put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside. 

“You don’t understand—” you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. “Please… I need to know if he’s alright—he h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to him—just please let me go!” you wail.

He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered “one of the saddest movies in existence”, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him. 

Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. “Just let me check if he’s alright,” you just barely whisper.

He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. “I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”

“What if you don’t?” you accuse with furrowed brows.

“I’ll bring him home safe and sound,” he says firmly. “You said he has a daughter, right? I won’t let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I won’t.”

Your gaze doesn’t falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.

“How can I trust you?” you ask dryly. 

“Because,” he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk. 

“... I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement can’t seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in. 

A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word must’ve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home. 

The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.

With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. You’d be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.

You’ve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because there’s a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute. 

“I-isn’t there some sort of shortcut?” you ask the driver hoarsely. “I don’t care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. I’m begging you. I have a child that’s waiting for me.”

His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.

It’s nearly an agonizing hour later off the road—it would’ve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main road—but you thankfully make it to the O’Hara’s residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.

She grasps you tightly by the arms. “My goodness, thank heavens you’re alright,” she murmurs quietly. “That must’ve been quite a scare… are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” you gasp out tiredly. “But how is she? Gabi, I mean… d-does she—”

Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. “She fell asleep a while ago, she doesn’t know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?”

Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguel’s texts ease your worries. 

Hey I’m alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope you’re safe. I’m omw home. 

You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. “I’m assuming that’s him,” she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. “What a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.”

A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.

“That’s alright,” you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. “I have plenty of others to use in the meantime.”

The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, who’s still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. That’s a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.

She’s still small enough that you’re able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when she’d pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.

You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.

A titter escapes her lips. “You look like a…” Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness. 

“Like a…?” you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.

“Like a…” you can tell she’s trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. “Like a princess, I think?”

You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.

Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriella’s side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguel’s return.

Miguel…

His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.

Miguel…

Miguel…

“I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.” 

Spider-Man’s familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguel’s name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or… he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because… that’s just how Spider-Man is? 

Or, was Miguel actually Spid—you shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. That’s impossible…

… you know in your heart that it just is.

Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your boss’s name was Miguel… that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had. 

Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and that’s what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasn’t even your business to prod around.

At Gabriella’s visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroom’s window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguel’s bedroom sat just right next to Gabriella’s, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complex’s fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible. 

Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriella’s lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. You’re careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguel’s bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the O’Hara residence.

The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.

There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look… and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you. 

a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.

thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)

[bun-z-bakery]

(Repost from my abandoned account) these are just my personal head canons for dogday. this is a survivor au

(All characters are over 18 btw)

-dogday sometimes has dog like tendencies, like growling, barking etc.

-he doesn't remember a lot about his life as a worker but will share stories he remembers of his human life once you two become close.

-man is like a love sick puppy. First you save him? Give him legs? AND a home?! And his friends are here too?! You really are his angel.

-he's very protective of his angel. He can't have anyone take them away or even hurt them. Plus all those years locked away, he can't loose you, you're his hope.

-this man will most certainly plan his confession, script and all. Maybe you're away at work and this is something he's been working on for a while. He's always bringing you little gifts on his hunting trips (depending on if you like to collect rocks and such) but this dude went out of his way to find the best of the best. Even somehow found flowers beautiful enough to almost rival your beauty, keyword: almost.

-he enjoys spending time with you, poppy and kissy, he enjoys playing outside with you three, even if you guys have been out of the factory for years already. They still enjoy the outside world.

-I know bro is huge, like dude is taller than an American door way (according to some measurements fans have made, hes 9'5) if you're a shorty (like me 5 feet even😭) he will most definitely pick you up and carry you like a dogtoy. He likes the feeling of carrying his angel, it gives him a sense of pride doing so. Even if you accidentally hit the ceiling or he needs to really get down so you don't hit the top of the doorframe, he will always apologize or joke about it.

-he's a cuddler, he LOVES cuddling! He has his own giant dog bed in your shared room, but he prefers to sleep on your shared bed. If you're away from work and he's eepy, he'll pass out on your bed because it smells like you. Your scent keeps him at bay until you come home. Poor guy will shoot up and push anyone out of his way to be the first to get to you! He sits there on the floor waiting for his mandatory headpats and kisses as soon as he hears your keys.

-it takes his brain a few minutes to properly turn on. After all those years he finally gets proper sleep, I can imagine you waking up first and getting ready for the day to prepare breakfast for the group and you poke him, trying to wake him. He'll mumble some random stuff about not letting rats do taxes then fall back asleep only to be woken again by your pokes still talking nonsense. I can also see him sometimes waking up confused, you know like when you wake up your parents and they're mad for no reason asking what's wrong while gasping for air? (Just me?) I can see him being THAT dead asleep bhahsha

-my take on the survivor au is more of a modern take (as in yes the factory closed years also but reader is possibly in early to late 20s sometime in 20xx / non specified year) so they weren't an employee but probably knew someone like a family member who worked there or was dared to enter the factory (we'll see if I ever post my fanfic haha as these hcs kinda tie into that story) so dogday being alive in the 80s or 90s he probably has like the old school idea of love and attempts to swoon you as such. The flowers, cheesy pick up lines.

-I can imagine because he's not up to date with the newer terms and he might be confused while trying to seem cool haha. "Angel what does rizzler mean?" (Poor peepaw)

- Personally I love the theory that DogDay is an ex worker aka Rich. Which is probably why he was the leader of the smiling critters. Because he was mature enough to make sure everyone was in line/well behaved, I also think some other workers were turned into the mascots too (obviously) but maybe they trusted Rich more so they just threw him into the dance circle and hope that he'd be a good leader.

- this one ties into the first one btw! I like the think that maybe he was one of the mascots when he worked there. Like a guy in the costume who worked with the kids (hence the zipper, how else would the workers get into the bigger body suits?)

- I like to think DogDay likes when Angel calls him by his old human name. Maybe once he opens up more about his human life (or at least bringing up some of the memories he still has) he just randomly brings up his name when talking about a memory and hearing Angel repeat his name back, he'd probably like hearing it. It might make him feel like less of a monster in a sense. Granted I think he wouldn't care about what Angel calls him but he would most definitely prefer for them to alternate. Like you know when someone makes you mad and you use their real name instead of their nickname? He'd hate for his Angel to get mad, especially at him. But when living with 3 other people it can get a bit hectic.

"DogDay! Did you bring mud into the house?!"

"N-No!... "

*silence*

"RICH, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

*footsteps are heard and DogDay bolts out the door*

- Now this head canon I have can go either one of two ways, right? Hear me out. Listen up, listen carefully, and listen closely. (Lmk if you got that reference) ok so back to the zipper! I think the zipper just opens to his organs tbh like the zipper was just left functional in case he needed to be "repaired internally". BUT another thought, I also can see there being some sort of barrier! You know those stuff animals who have their stuffing blocked by a barrier so it doesn't fall out but the zipper opens to a compartment where you can store items? I kinda think that's whats there tbh, I mean it makes sense. What if one of the kids opened the zipper by mistake? Surely there would be a barrier just in case.

- as I mentioned in the last hc post, I can see him trying to swoon Angel in the old romantic type of way. I can see him pinning after Angel hard, at first they wouldn't get the hint, they'd probably think he's thinks he's indebted to them for rescuing them and giving the 3 of them a better and new life. But quickly they realize bro is in love. Of course poppy teases him about it too at some point lol. He doesn't really try to hide it either. I can see poppy and kissy thinking it's sweet and first then they get annoyed once you're the only thing he talk about lol.

- You're married. That's all! No but I can see in his mind you two are basically married. He'd probably want to have new custom star collars made for both of you or maybe even a ring for you and a matching collar or something for him to wear and propose. Of course it will bother him a bit because he can't go out with you, take you on dates or show you off but he trusts you (even though he gets jealous when you smell like someone else) he basically tries his best with what you guys have (If only there was a holiday that came once a year where you guys could go out dressed in customs without looking like freaks).

- He looks like the type of guy who would love pasta. I'm not sure why or how this even came into mind but I just feel like that's what he often wants for dinner. Poppy would probably eat fruit for dinner, kissy isn't really picky, but Dogday would probably be asking for either pasta or meat. Also I think Angel would be hesitant to feed certain foods to Dogday because you know, he's a dog (not really but hear me out) but because he acts like one at times I could see Angel being like haha nope you can't eat this!

*Angel eating chocolate cookies*

"May I have some?" *cutely pouts*

"I don't want you dying, love."

"You know I'm not actually a dog...right?"

ok ok you got me there" (they just really didn't wanna share lol)

- tbh this is more of a general head canon for the toys but I seeing as they had to resort to c*nnibalism. They clearly need food and water to survive. I think catcap was probably keep Dogday alive as a "lol now look at you now, look at me" (yes that's a BP reference) moment but only feeds him when he felt like it, since food is basically scarce in that place. I think that their human organs were transferred over but little things like veins, teeth, tongue, blood vessels basically anything that's not a major organ was made artificially and connected in a sense to those major organs making them function as such.

Yeah that's kinda it lol, there might be some more parts to this if I can think of anything else! But yeahhh that's kinda my hc and rambles lol (I tend to ramble a lot especially when I have to give context, I apologize!)

[laurelwen]

Daddy Issues in Like Minds: Sally and Martin Edition

As a fandom, we have extensively discussed Alex and Nigel and their daddy issues from a number of different angles. The other day I was considering this central theme and the post I made about it here: The Sins of the Father.

It occurred to me that both Sally and Martin are also caught in the same trap, unable to escape the legacy of their own fathers.

Martin McKenzie:

By inheriting his profession from his father, he is in some ways simply a copy of his own dad, following the same path and attempting to follow his dad's moral and professional code. At the same time, he also inherits membership in the Order and the expectations that come with it. When Dr. Forbes presses him to release Alex, those expectations come into play. Dr. Forbes chides him for not following along with the script, as his father would have done. Martin asserts that his father would have done his job properly, abiding by the rule of law. In the end, it's not clear which of them has the correct assessment of Daddy McKenzie, and given what we know of the Order, I think either thing could be true--or both are.

While Martin chooses to adhere to his faith in his father's sense of duty to the law, either way he chooses, he's still caught up in Daddy McKenzie's legacy--and perhaps, his sins. Ian's confidence that Martin would help a fellow Brother indicates that this IS a standard practice among members of the Order. The way he phrases it even suggests that he personally knew Daddy McKenzie and perhaps had examples of Dad's past behavior as his basis for the assumption and the belief that Martin would behave similarly. Martin might have an idealized version of his father up on a pedestal when it is entirely plausible and even probable that the man was guilty of bending and breaking the law to aid the brotherhood.

Is Martin upholding or subverting his father's real legacy? Can Ian presume to know the son by the actions of the father? In the end, Martin renounces membership in the Order, but does he actually escape his father's sins? Isn't he just as willing to bend the law to suit his own purposes? He takes an immediate disliking to Alex, decides that Alex is guilty, and charges him with no solid evidence to avoid having to let him go. He calls Sally in and pressures her to "find him culpable". This is a gross undermining of the due process of law. He won't break the rules for the sake of the brotherhood, but he has already broken them extensively for his own purposes. He has deluded himself into a self-righteous belief in his own ethical rectitude, but he merely repeats his own father's sins in the service of a different cause. Perhaps that IS his father's true legacy...and sin.

Sally Rowe:

We're given much less material to work with pertaining to Sally and her father, but the key piece of info we do get feels very illuminating. When Sally is trying to go home and her car won't start, she opens the hood herself and tinkers with what seems to be the distributor cap*. From her lack of hesitation and confidence in pulling the cap off, we can guess she's had this problem before and fixed it herself. Dr. Forbes offers assistance and they have a brief exchange in which she explains that she inherited a passion for difficult cars from her dad.

Sally's dad imparted both a knowledge and a love of cars, including a particular fondness for types that are prone to frequent mechanical problems. She doesn't just have an interest in these cars, it's a "passion" for them. One can surmise this was a pastime they shared as a bonding activity, Sally shadowing her dad as he fixed the latest problem in his favorite car. One might be tempted to say that Daddy Rowe's legacy then was one of empowerment for his daughter, encouraging her to occupy traditional male spaces and giving her the skills to solve issues that most people need to pay a skilled professional to handle.

I think this trait gives us a window into Sally's psyche far beyond just an automobile hobby. Her passion for "difficult" cars--cars that break down frequently, cars that are tricky, unreliable, and temperamental, cars that can turn on you and leave you stranded a hundred miles from home--feels like a character trait that applies to more than just cars. It gives us a window into the inner forces that led her to choose a career in forensic psychology. Her job duties entail a careful examination of "difficult" people in order to diagnose problems and offer an assessment to law enforcement to determine legal next steps. Sally is effectively opening the hood and tinkering around with the complex human mind to determine the functional status of each patient.

A piece of advice from a practicing forensic psychologist to those who are considering the career:

You have to be able to convey your thinking into well-written, well integrated, and professional reports that will be read by judges, attorneys, clients, and other professionals involved in the case. You need to have a complex understanding of personality adjustment, psychological assessment, the law and the legal process, the relevant literature, and be attuned to one’s limitations in forming opinions.

I find the last portion particularly relevant here. While her instincts led her to choose this profession, they also present a type of limitation to her ability to objectively assess patients. She doesn't just want to fix a car when it breaks, she has a "passion" for the ones that break down often. Most people would want to get rid of a car that had frequent issues, deeming them more trouble than they are worth. But Sally is drawn to problematic cars--and people. There is a subjectivity inherent to her interest in the cars/people with frequent problems which drives her to remain attached when others would give them up as a lost cause.

This trait underlies her entire interaction with Alex, and I think it plays a major role in her downfall. In this post, I examine all the ways that Martin and Alex are very much alike. I would also suggest that their similarity is why Sally was/is drawn to both of them. We know Sally and Martin were previously in a relationship, though that has ended prior to the film's events. Regardless, Martin demonstrates that he at least still knows Sally well enough to push her buttons and enlist her help with his cause. Upon meeting her, Alex immediately starts to probe this woman in an attempt to find her weak spots so he can manipulate her for his own ends. Sally has a similar reaction to both of them, essentially conveying that she sees through their patently obvious attempts to influence her. Her ability to recognize their problematic behavior doesn't actually stop her from caving to their wishes--she cannot resist the "difficult" cars.

It seems likely that most others in her position would have given up on Alex after hearing even a part of his frankly preposterous claims, deeming him beyond the point of any repair. Sally is blind to her own limitations - the tenacious to a fault need to figure out the problem and fix it - and this impedes her ability to remain objective. Her satisfaction at solving the problem is on display as she presents her analysis to her peers--she basks in the pleasure of diagnosing this complex psychological dynamic and preens at the recognition she receives for it. And with poetically perfect timing, while she stands at the highest point in her professional career, Alex reveals that she has been deeply deceived. All her satisfaction at having solved the problem and "fixing the car" comes crashing down in the realization that she was so very wrong. The instincts instilled by her father, rippling outwards from this simple hobby into her personal and professional life, are what cause her downfall.

In Like Minds, there is no escaping your father's legacy.

[*Distributor cap source: I was raised in a family of mechanics including my own father, and I have pulled off a distributor cap to check the cap and the spark plugs when my car was having trouble starting. Feel free to look up pics of the distributor caps to verify my assertion (you won't).]

[Like Minds Masterpost - Main]

[ultimateloserboy]

GIANT FLUFFYBIRD POST

@onlyballs i saw in my phone notifs you sent me an ask but tumblr isnt showing it. HOWEVER. I believe you asked for fluffybird, and of course I will deliver!

i suggest searching the fluffybird tag on my blog if u want more thoughts. because i have said a LOT of stuff. but of course ill always talk about my guys!

BUCKLE UP BROTHER ITS A LONG WAY TO THE BOTTOM!!!!

to kick things off let me explain their characters and relationship. duck sees red as his absolute best friend, the one person in the world he truly gets along with. he loves red very proudly and openly. when it comes to the world and its horrors, duck doesnt much remember but also doesnt quite care. why would he? he has his best friend right there with him! he also loves yellow very blatantly even if he doesnt show it properly. theyre his family, and this is his house, so why would he want to change things or leave? even when hes aware of the pain that he (especially) experiences— he STILL doesnt want to leave— because as his bigger boy self says “this is as good as it gets!”

red sees things completely differently. red obviously does care for duck, but the majority of the time he will deny it. even at ducks FUNERAL red denies caring for him. red is so obsessed with coming off as the calm and collected one he ends up making himself look apathetic to the point of cruelty. duck can also be very cruel, but hes very blatant about the people he loves whereas red will deny ever loving anything. duck isnt afraid of love, but red very much is.

when it comes to the world, red remembers a bit more than duck does. yellow actually seems to remember things too, but his batteries keep his thoughts fogged so he cant properly articulate them. red can remember AND articulate things from past episodes. its not perfect, and he absolutely doesnt understand whats going on— but he DOES remember— and unlike duck, he actually HATES it. theres an argument to be made here that duck doesnt remember because he simply doesnt care to. duck doesnt care so he doesnt remember, while red cares A LOT so he remembers more. but i digress.

red wants to get out of the torture of the house, but truthfully he wants to be a different person altogether. he wants a new life not just because this one sucks— but also because he dislikes himself. he just wants something different. hes restless. even if the house was perfectly safe hed most likely still be running. he’s desperate to find a place that feels like home— but until he accepts his own differences he wont be comfortable anywhere. he refuses love from anyone that isnt his perfect made-up family because duck and yellow are “weird” and if he accepts their love that makes him weird as well, which he fights to not be.

if you really look at red, he doesnt actually want to be loved. he wants to be someone else and have everyone love that guy. but it just doesnt work that way.

duck loves red as he is now. or as he was yesterday, and who he’ll be tomorrow. it comes naturally to duck— he doesnt remember meeting red or developing a relationship with him because he never had to. he was put into the world already prepared to love red. its what he was designed to do. the three of them were designed to be a family, and duck is happy to comply with that script. although he doesnt see it as a script and sees it as his own choice to love them— which isnt technically wrong! i feel the house doesnt give them feelings— only puts them in a situation. so while they have no choice but to live together forever— its their choice to enjoy that life. duck chooses to.

red isnt happy to comply with a script at all, but he was also designed to live with duck and has his entire existence. theres a point at the funeral where red slips up. he refers to the plates on the ground as “our plates” while arguing that he doesnt know duck at all. theres an intimacy in sharing everything down to plates. they also share a room and bathe together (shown MULTIPLE times!) so no matter how much red denies it— he is extremely close to duck. he has no choice but to be. i feel thats one reason why he denies it so much— because he sees it as forced, and he doesnt want that. but i think duck would choose him anyway even if they werent forced to live together and thats why it works.

duck doesnt see it as forced because hed love red no matter the situation. no matter if they were chained to each other or free to go— duck would stay right there. but red wants that freedom. so he presents himself as if he dislikes or doesnt know duck to give himself the illusion of freedom from their shared cage. he doesnt think hed miss duck fully if he was gone. he even gets excited at the idea of living apart in transport.

but its all denial. because he would also choose duck if they werent stuck together! when theyre in the dark and red cant see him— he realizes he WANTS to look at duck. he WANTS to talk to him. he would CHOOSE to do so if he wasnt forced, and he HAS chosen to do so throughout the entire show, whether or not hes realized it. red gets more comfortable at the idea of spending time together because, yes, they are technically forced to share the house. but it doesn’t have to be that way! not in their hearts. not in their minds. thats the way duck sees it, anyway.

they might not always agree on things, but when they do it sometimes devolves into something terrible. There is a point where red guy gives up. he starts to give into the lessons because its easy. because sometimes he DOES enjoy them. sometimes hes just too tired and falls into the pattern he hates because its simple to do so. and maybe after years of being beaten down into submission he starts to agree with duck and see no hope of escape. thats when, at least from how i see it— they evolve into bigger boys.

its not shown how the boys get bigger but its obviously a progression. a slow ascent into madness. i think it starts with them becoming hopeless, and then finding hope in the lessons. theres nothing else to latch on to— so they latch onto them with everything they can. they learn everything they possibly can. they grow and grow and get higher and higher until theyre dangerous. until theyre more self-centered and cruel than theyve ever been. eventually they become too knowledgeable to be taught anything. they become a part of the house rather than occupants of it. soon theyre pulling the strings and torturing smaller creatures for their own enrichment. it gives them a sense of power over themselves knowing once they were in that creatures place. they finally feel in control of their lives but at what cost?

all of this is done with them completely glued to the others hip. despite getting more self-centered they just cant let go of each other. theyre tangled together like weeds. they love each other and they cant let that go— but they cant admit that or indulge in proper companionship because thats vulnerable, and theyre too BIG now to be vulnerable! so they sit across the room. never quite separate but never quite together. its better to be 10 feet apart and never look at each other than to be without each other. loneliness was always their greatest enemy and even while being trapped in close proximity forever they cant seem to escape it.

but there is a smaller version of them, a small moment in time where theyre happy together. where they can sit and have a conversation without fear of judgement. theres no stage-lights on them and the darkness hides their shame. they can actually tell each other how they enjoy the others company. they can be honest and vulnerable.

to duck its normal to tell red he appreciates him (in his own way) but for red to say so is shocking. duck is surprised. but hes happy. and they can spend time together being completely honest and loving each other without it being a big deal at all. without any worry. but those are the moments that always go first. the moments in their memory that deteriorate the quickest. maybe if that moment lasted— maybe if their walls were broken for long enough— they couldve started to get better. they couldve grown to be kinder. they couldve grown to be happy together. but they never have the chance to keep it long enough.

they live everyday as close housemates. they slip into a domestic life that comes naturally to them even when they may not realize. but when they actually start to think. as soon as a song comes on its so much more than that. and neither of them really want it to be— or they do but they dont know in what way or how. they dont know how to explain things to each other. they dont REMEMBER enough to discuss it. so it festers until it ruins them. every single time

tldr fluffybird is like this:

i cant keep reliving the same day every day. I cant bear to forget it all again. even when im too tired to fight ill still have the belief deep inside of me that theres somewhere out there better than this. that theres a version of me out there better than the one i am. i hope to find it some day and i hope to have you with me. i wish i could leave without you but im too much of a coward. This cant be all there is and i will prove it to you someday.

im fine reliving everything as long as its with you, exactly as you are. as long as youre willing to listen when i repeat myself. this IS all there is and im alright with that. an organ or two is a small price to pay to live forever with my family. youre ungrateful for wanting to run, think of all weve done together! but i know you will anyway. so ill be waiting to say “i told you so!” and then we’ll walk home. it might tear us apart but its still our home. this is as good as it gets.

RANDOM FUN FACT AND FAVORITE SCENE TIME!!!!

easy one first— RED is ducks favorite color! which is made even more fruity with the context that duck enjoys specifically LOOKING at red guy!

red and duck have matching pillows! theres two green pillows that you can see in the living room. sometimes theyre together on reds chair and other times theyre split between his and ducks chairs! theyre also in the webseries on their beds— but ONLY on theirs! yellow doesnt have one of these. at least i dont remember so. might be wrong but from what i can tell these pillows are always for duck and red only. at least most of the time if yellow does ever have one!

there are multiple pieces of concept art of 1: them being silly and 2: them being closer than in the final scenes. the original concept for the big boys shows them sitting MUCH closer and their arms intertwined, whereas in the final shot theyre not touching each other at all and duck is moved completely across the room (they are fucking ginormous irl tho to be fair)

some of my favorite pieces of concept art tho are this little selfie of duck and red with his little peace sign and their arms wrapped around each other in front of a mountain <333 AND THEN DUCK DOING REDS HAIR :DD

one of my favorite scenes of them is in jobs when red is rambling about his lanyard and duck says “what have they done to you?” it sounds so genuine and its a really nice line. it really points out that as judgmental as duck is he worries when red isnt acting himself

speaking of jobs theres a running gag of duck disliking when red is clothed starting with this episode (ironically the first episode) when he walks into reds office he asks “what are you wearing?” and laughs at him. its obviously not about the suit itself because duck also wears a suit— so its easy to assume duck is mocking him because he looks silly in any clothes at all. red isnt supposed to wear clothes— and he also feels uncomfortable in them. its not HIM and duck thinks he looks like an idiot for trying to play someone else. he also gags when red wears denim in friendship which is honestly foul of him 😭. no matter the reason tho he canonically prefers red naked.

on a similar topic— there arent many dirty jokes in the show but when there are they almost ALWAYS come from or are about duck. but occasionally red will get caught in the cossfire. the CONSENT teacher shows up after something duck says in the big room. conveniently a room they share without a yellow normally there. thats then followed up by a rock teacher appearing which is a bit awkward considering duck has “private business” with a rock in transport. then to make matters even worse in the bigger room yellow tells them to “experiment on each other”(?!!?) to which duck turns to red and goes “would you be keen?”(😭⁉️)

(the scene where duck looks red up and down in the car is debatable but ill mention it anyway!!)

its hard to ever truly confirm this one because it was never recorded but the reason fluffybird kicked off so hard back in 2022/23 was because a producer on the show during a qna told everyone to continue shipping red and duck! there were multiple people from around different corners of the internet who went to this qna and all had the same story, so i dont think its a lie but i still cant tell you we have full proof. i know becky and joe repost and encourage fanart of them tho, and thats basically the same thing so. anyway

when dhmis won comedy awards they held the trophies together <333

do i even have to mention the fridge scene? well i am!! theres something to be said about how their little confession happens in an episode about and titled “electricity” when electricity and “sparks” between people is a very common trope/phrase in romance. this one is sort of a stretch but i think its neat!

i dont know if becky joe and baker terry had any intentions back in the webseries days for them but the LOVE episode and the way red and duck were left alone at the picnic (mirroring the fridge scene!!!) looks gay as fuck with hindsight bias

when duck comes back from being dead and red is surprised to see him i think the way he says “oh.. hi!” and duck says “helloooo :DD!” is really sweet :(( not to mention the whole argument at the funeral itself. absolute messy ass gay ppl. i dont want YOU i want my BEST FRIEND !!!! and duck was going to leave red his diary… yes it was empty but its still his DIARY!!

the way they email EACHOTHER during computer day is so fucking cute theyre so fucking stupid i love them 💔

the way duck reacts in the food episode isnt talked about enough!! he tears down EVERYTHING to find red. he literally knocks over a camera!! he literally broke reality because he was so desperate to answer the phone. he missed red more than anything and was doing everything he could to find him :(( not to mention how he had to fight his OWN memory in order to remember who red was in the first place! hes always loved him in whatever way :((

the way red laughs when theyre picking on yellow together.. its fucked up and also red is a hypocrite but duck made him laugh and thats something!

the way red tried to comfort duck in the beginning of electricity when he starts to freak out and worry about yellows behavior. he wasnt doing a good job and you could argue he was doing it for selfish reasons and not to actually comfort duck but i really feel it was both. just trying to calm the both of them down.

speaking of electricity again… the way hes washing dishes while duck does a crossword makes me wanna throw up. theyre literally a family. its one of my favorite scenes in the entire series. just in general. i love yellow here too its not abt him rn but i love my son :(((

alright there’s definitely more but im really tired lol so bye fluffybird nation hope this post was fun!!!!!!

EDIT: OH MY GOD I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT TO MENTION STAIN EDWARDS! In death red molds someone else into being duck, looking like duck, sounding like duck— all because he cant let go of him. yellow goes out to dig him up but red doesnt think its possible so he just makes a new one. and you can hear how desperate he is to make sure hes JUST RIGHT. even stain edwards asks him if he has “issues he needs to work out”… which clearly he does. i cant believe i forgot to mention this cuz this is some insane levels of homosexuality. off the fucking charts

[riverashifts]

I know you are probably focused on Siwan but how did you and Jay come together?? Yes, I'm asking for both y'all's love.story cause you both seem iconic-

EEEEEE i LOVE talking about jay and i's story so this is gonna be a LONG one

okay so . it all starts when we first meet in i-land—mind you iland works a little differently in my dr but it doesn't affect our story that much. i'm known as the "monster trainee" because i would always dominate monthly evaluations — and now, since the female and male trainees aren't evaluated together, jay (and the others) didn't really know what to expect. so when i absolutely blow everyone away with my entrance performance (i still haven't decided what it'll be cause im indecisive..) jay gets a little intimidated

meanwhile,,,, he and sunghoon perform the seventh sense and im like ???? oh so this is what they're bringing to the table. and i am ALSO intimidated but mostly because i have Issues and compare myself even more to the guys cause . yeah Why Wasn't I Born A Boy — oh i did not mean to get into That right now but anyways

so we're two people who are intimidated by each other and incredibly stubborn so that evolves into us hating each other for no legitimate reason lmao😭😭 and this goes on during the entirety of part one of iland like we CANT STANDDDD each other, we always argue about the dumbest things and even have to be seperated

and then we're selected to move onto the second part of iland alongside the six other selected members, so now we know there's a high chance we debut together and we DONT want to mess up our own chances, so we try to be civil.

for the first test in part two guess what... we get paired to do a duo performance of on by bts 😐 amazing song! less favourable partner.

but we get through it and kinda distantly realize that "hey the other isn't so bad" but yes again we are Stubborn and won't actually reconcile like normal human beings, so we kind of start ignoring each other from that point forward

UNTIL. at the end of the third performance jay got a lot of criticism so he was scared of being eliminated and taken out of the group. so, he wrote all those letters. and when i saw he was giving people letters, i didn't actually expect him to give me one, but he did.

i decided to read it while i was alone in the kitchen while everyone was asleep, and erm i started crying lol! cause jay apologized for how rude he was and all his bad behaviours and ended it with "in another life, i hope we can start over and be friends" and what do you know jay walks in while im crying into his letter...

so then we spend the rest of the night (we have a day off the next day) basically just talking and getting to know each other, properly "restarting" our relationship—and we realize we actually get along quite well when we're not off in our own worlds of assumptions

fast forward we end up debuting together and everything is fine and wonderful until i'm like Oh. i Like him which is fine and wtv cause i scripted i don't get awkward 🥸 (i realize my feelings in like january-february 2021)

then in the summer of 2021 during one of enhypen's breaks, jay and i are the only ones who stay at the dorm (a week long break) (no that's not how breaks work in this reality but i DONT CARE)

anyway we don't really interact much cause we're relaxing and wtv but then he asks if i want to order food with him, and how can i say no to free food??? so we end up eating together and then watching a movie and then Wabam something in the air happens that we kiss 😱😱

but then right as we pull apart jake comes back to the dorm 😒 so we don't really talk about it and just go to bed

and then the next day i spend it at the studio cause im Awkward and can't face jay after That but he ends up coming to my studio and we actually just work on music basically all day (we write young (og cix) which will feature on the dimension : answer album)

after we finish the song (the demo) jay kinda just goes "so... we Kissed ." and that kinda starts a conversation which leads to him confessing and then i confess to him and Yeah 😁

sorry this is so long LMAO i hope the explanation was clear cause i kinda just ranted without plans

[good-beanswrites]

Silly LCSyS piece after Kyanako pointed out I was just picturing Deep Cover drabble part 2 when I was making up my headcanons about her new restraints 😅A bit of Kotoko's serious thoughts on them, but this is mostly me having fun and procrastinating my other au writing asfsadf

Kotoko peered out into the hall. Once, twice, and a third time before she finally stepped out of the dressing room. She should have known someone would still find a way to sneak up on her. And of course, out of everyone, it had to be Mahiru – the one person she’d been trying to avoid since the new scripts went out.

She could only hope her glare offset any panic Mahiru had seen while scanning her new restraints up and down. 

“Kotoko-chan…”

Though ready to spit that she didn’t need any of the woman’s pity, the words caught in her throat seeing how her cheeks were flushed.

“You look… Well…” Her eyes ran over the different pieces, beginning with the uniform belts, then down to her leg guards, then finally back up to the muzzle that she was scowling through.

Still blushing, Mahiru’s expression twisted to a deep pout. “It’s no fair! Mahiru should be there!”

“Eh? You should be where?”

“In the prison, silly! Who’s going to help you with the things you need?” She raised her hands to cup Kotoko’s cheeks. “You need someone like me to help! I can help comb your hair in the mornings, and feed you meals. Things like that!”

Why would she want to do any of those things? This new uniform only proved it with its animalistic elements and preparation for violence. She looked like a rabid dog – the very rabid dog that had killed Mahiru. Being stuck in this facility must be driving her stir-crazy…

“Tch, like I would ever let you do that.” 

She only giggled in reply, tapping a finger to the end of the muzzle. “Oh, but that’s just it! You couldn’t stop me~” 

She said she had somewhere to be and left quickly, but not quick enough for Kotoko to try and fail to sputter some kind of protest. She remained frozen with her jaw hanging open from the interaction. 

In her bafflement, she forgot to return to her hiding spot of the dressing room. Mikoto spotted her as soon as he came around the corner.

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She tried to ignore the similar shine in his eyes. “Have you seen Jackalope?”

“Break room, I think.” He gestured his hand vaguely to her. “While you’re at it, can you ask him if I can get one too? Man, if I got to put on something like that…” Where did Milgram find all these weirdoes? Didn’t they understand the gravity of what she was wearing? 

“This is the last thing you’d want. It’ll only make everyone stand around to gawk at how dangerous you are.”

“And…?” 

He seemed intent on gawking a bit himself, which she had neither the time nor the patience for. With a huff, she left him. 

She resumed her creeping through the facility. She thought she would succeed without another incident, until she spotted Muu and Yuno coming out of the break room toward her. 

Kotoko offered a solemn nod to her fellow guilty prisoner. Muu also had something in the way of her face and shuffled along with her feet impaired. Instead of responding to the camaraderie, however, Muu’s eyes were flicking frantically away. 

“O-oh! Hi, Kotoko-san…” 

Yuno, too, was making a face. Why had she even expected anyone to react properly to the sight?

“I… I like your uniform.”

“You like it?” Kotoko’s fists clenched inside her sleeves. “Why does everyone keep looking at me like that? It’s supposed to make me look scary – like a monster! It’s evil and villainous and you should want to run from me! It’s supposed to make me look dangerous!”

“It’s working alright,” Yuno mused. 

She lowered her voice to a growl. “Then why aren’t you running?”

Muu shook her head, able to look condescending even to those older than her. “Haah… you’re always so dramatic, Kotoko-san.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your outfit suits you well.”

Kotoko wouldn’t call this an “outfit,” but she let Muu continue. 

“It makes you look dangerous, sure, but that’s because it makes you look strong. Capable.” She heaved a sigh. “Now, as well as making Muu jealous, you’ve made us late.”

She and Yuno continued down the hall, unaware of the strength they’d put into Kotoko’s stiff step. She still planned on hurrying back to her room to tear off the restraints as soon as possible, but the thought that it wasn’t wholly scaring people off gave her confidence to at least walk into the break room with her head held high. 

Inside, Jackalope was speaking to Fuuta, who was trying on his new accessories and taking long sips from his drink after a long recording session.

Kotoko stood as tall as she could in the doorway. She cleared her throat.

Jackalope received a faceful of sprayed water.

[perfectsunlight]

05 ━━━ I DO

warnings: angst, crying

word count:

synopsis: your ex-wife receives an invite to your wedding, but will she let you say "i do" for a second time?

previous | masterlist

soyeon couldn’t stop crying. she didn’t know if it was because of the pain, the reality of her situation, or the overwhelming mix of both. 

she stared at the elegant script on the invitation, her hands trembling slightly. it had been years since the divorce, and she had convinced herself that she had moved on. but now, with you about to walk down the aisle again, soyeon couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and regret. 

the invitation felt like a cruel twist of fate, reminding her of everything she had lost. she knew she should be happy for you, but instead, she felt an intense desire to intervene. was it out of love? or was it because she couldn't bear the thought of you finding happiness with someone else?

it didn’t take her years to figure out that she was the reason your marriage ended the way it did. it was her fault, and she knew that from the moment you two ended things all that time ago.

it was currently 3 in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. the ceo had spent all night tossing and turning in the bed you once laid in. she gently tossed the invitation to the nightstand next to her, ignoring the scattered photos from your early days of marriage that littered the bedroom.

she clutched one of her pillows to her chest, her mind racing with thoughts of you. the room felt emptier than ever, the silence only amplifying her anxiety and regret. she had tried to convince herself that attending your wedding was the right thing to do, a final act of closure. 

but the truth was, she truly couldn't bear the thought of seeing you marry someone else.

right after you two divorced, soyeon bought several bottles of your perfume and sprayed the sheets with it in an effort to help her sleep better at night. and now, even in her current state, all the ceo could think about was your scent in someone else's sheets.

the former idol buried her face in the pillow, tears soaking the fabric. never did she once try to move on with someone else. you had been the love of her life, the one person who had understood her like no other, even after the bitterness of divorce. she couldn't bring herself to replace you, or to even try to.

the thought of you moving on, finding happiness with someone new, pierced her heart like a thousand needles. 

she imagined your laughter, your touch, and the intimate moments that now belonged to someone new. it was a pain she had tried to bury beneath layers of stoicism and distance, but tonight, it surged through her with an unbearable intensity.

but she knew she had to make a decision—either let you go for good or fight for what she believed was still there between you.

before she knew it, she had to start getting ready for your wedding. the minutes seemed to slip away, just like you did. she never thought of you getting remarried, let alone receiving an invitation to witness it firsthand.

she did her best to do her makeup and conceal the fact that she hadn’t slept properly since receiving the invitation. as she applied the finishing touches, her hands trembled slightly, betraying the nerves she fought to keep at bay. her mind replayed the vows you once said to her, your words echoing in her thoughts. 

“jeon soyeon, my heart is forever yours.”

could it be possible that you still loved her, too?

when she arrived at the venue, the first person she saw was your cousin. yuqi was shocked to see her former leader there, but nevertheless she greeted the shorter woman with a warm hug. 

“unnie! i can't believe you're here,” yuqi chuckled, her surprise quickly giving way to a genuine smile. “it's been too long.”

soyeon returned the hug, finding a small measure of comfort in the familiar embrace. “it's good to see you, too. how have you been?”

yuqi's eyes sparkled with warmth. “busy with work, as always. but enough about me—how are you? how have you been holding up?” her gaze turned soft, understanding how difficult it must be for the woman in front of her.

soyeon forced a smile, not wanting to delve into the complexities of her emotions at that moment. “i've been managing.”

the taller woman looked over her shoulder as her name was being called elsewhere. yuqi smiled and put a hand on the ceo’s shoulder. “i’ll see you later. i gotta run.” however, before she left, she leaned in to whisper something to her former leader.

“third room on the right.”

soyeon's heart pounded in her chest as she watched yuqi walk away, the cryptic message lingering in her mind. 

she knew what she had to do. 

gathering her resolve, she made her way through the decorated venue, her steps growing more determined with each passing moment.

she reached the hallway and counted the doors, finally stopping in front of the third room on the right. her hand hesitated on the doorknob for a brief second before she took a deep breath and turned it, stepping inside.

there you were, standing by the window, lost in thought. the room was quiet, the noise of the guests and the ceremony preparations fading into the background. you turned at the sound of the door opening, surprise flashing in your eyes when you saw her.

“soyeon?”

the shorter woman closed the door behind her, her heart racing. she couldn’t help but feel a mix of hope and fear. taking a deep breath, she stepped further into the room, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“i had to see you.” she whispered, noticing how you weren’t throwing her out of the room. at least, not yet. 

you stayed silent, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. years had gone by, and you had waited for her to come back to you forever now. but right when you were about to move on is when she decides to say something? 

“why now, soyeon?”

she swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “because i realized i can't let you go. i thought i could, but i was wrong. seeing you with someone else... it made me understand that i never stopped loving you.”

you sighed, the conflicting emotions warring within you. soyeon wasn’t good with her words, much less her actions. but you knew if she was saying something, it was for a reason.

“do you have any idea how hard it’s been? waiting for you, hoping you'd come back, and then trying to move on?” you whispered, eyes tearing away from hers and moving to look at the floor. “and now, on my wedding day, you show up with this?”

soyeon took a step closer, her hands trembling. “i know, and i'm so sorry. i was scared, and i thought it would be easier if i just let you go. but it wasn't. every day without you has been a struggle. i can't imagine my life with anyone else.”

you looked at her, the sincerity in her eyes stirring something deep within you. “he’s a good man, soyeon.” you replied as you felt tears welling in your eyes, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

“but do you love him?” soyeon interjected, hands shaking at her sides. “if you say you love him, truly, then i will leave right now.” she said quickly, ignoring the racing heartbeat pounding in her ears. 

your breath caught in your throat as you looked at her, the question hanging heavy in the air. you knew he was a good man, kind and caring, someone who had brought stability and warmth back into your life. but did you love him the way you had loved soyeon?

the silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. soyeon’s eyes were locked onto yours, desperate and hopeful all at once.

“yes,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “he’s been there for me when i needed someone the most. he hasn’t put me second, not even once.”

soyeon’s breath hitched, her eyes never leaving yours. “but do you love him? the way you loved me?”

you closed your eyes, the memories of your time with the other woman flooding back. the laughter, the dreams, the shared moments that had defined your love. opening your eyes, you met her gaze with a mixture of pain and resolve.

“no,” you admitted, the truth finally spilling out. “i don’t love him the way i love you.”

tears streamed down soyeon’s cheeks as she took a step closer, her voice trembling with emotion. “then come back to me. let’s try again.” you felt a tear slip down your cheek as you took a deep breath. “what if we fail again? what if it all falls apart?”

soyeon reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, familiar box. your breath caught in your throat as she opened it to reveal the ring from your previous marriage.

“this ring,” she began, her voice trembling, “was a symbol of our love and commitment. and i still believe in that love. i still believe in us.”

she dropped to one knee, her eyes never leaving yours. she had many regrets in her life, so many that they sometimes haunted her dreams, but this moment was her chance to right the biggest wrong of all.

“i know i’ve made mistakes,” she continued, her voice cracking with emotion. “i’ve been selfish, afraid, and i let that drive us apart. but losing you has been the greatest regret of my life. i’m asking you to take a chance on me again. i promise i’ll do everything in my power to make it right this time.”

tears streamed down her face, her vulnerability laid bare before you. the weight of her words, the sincerity in her voice, and the love in her eyes stirred something deep within you. you had waited for this moment, for her to finally acknowledge the love that never truly faded.

“i even told the company i was retiring the moment i saw your invitation.” soyeon added, her voice trembling with a mix of determination and relief. “i knew i couldn’t let you slip away again. i had to try, no matter the cost.”

she met your gaze again, irises full of love and yearning for you. everything she was feeling right now, was all for you.

“song y/n, will you marry me again?”

the room fell silent, the weight of her proposal hanging in the air. tears filled your eyes as you looked down at her, the woman you had never stopped loving.

“soyeon, this is crazy,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “the wedding starts in 20 minutes. i can’t just call it off.”

soyeon’s gaze never wavered, her expression earnest and pleading. “i know, and i’m sorry for putting you in this position. but i had to take this chance, even if it means risking everything.”

you took a deep breath, feeling torn between the commitment you had made and the love that had endured through the years. “i don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i love you, soyeon. i never stopped loving you. but this isn’t fair to him.”

“then let’s run. let’s run away from here. we can catch a flight to hawaii tonight and we’ll start over, together.”

the suggestion hung in the air, both thrilling and terrifying. you glanced towards the door, knowing that beyond it, your wedding awaited. the thought of leaving everything behind, of abandoning the plans and promises made, filled you with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt.

however, your love for soyeon felt more overwhelming than any other emotion. it always has been, even since the beginning.

“okay,” you whispered, moving your hair off of your neck and turning your back to her. “help me take this off.”

soyeon moved closer, her touch gentle as she began unfastening the intricate buttons and clasps that held the dress together. with each soft click and release, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet intimacy that had defined your relationship for so long.

as the dress slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, you turned to face soyeon. her eyes traced over you, a mixture of admiration and love shining through.

“you’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice filled with warmth and adoration. “even more so now.”

you smiled, feeling a rush of affection for the woman who had always seen you, truly seen you, beneath all the layers and expectations.

“here, put these on.” soyeon grabbed the nearby loungewear you had draped over a chair. the soft fabric felt comforting against your skin as you slipped into it, the weight of the wedding gown now a distant memory.

soyeon brushed a strand of hair away from your face, her touch gentle yet loving. “we should hurry. they’ll come looking for you soon.”

nodding, you gathered your belongings, still in disbelief over the whirlwind of events that had led you here. “check the hallway, we can go out the back and run to the parking lot. did you drive here?” you asked while slipping into your slippers.

soyeon nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. “yes, i parked in the back. let’s go.”

together, you stealthily made your way through the hallway, your hearts pounding with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation. as you reached the back exit, soyeon peered cautiously through the small window before opening the door just enough to slip through.

outside, the night air was cool against your skin as you hurried across the parking lot, hand in hand. soyeon led you to her car, a familiar and sleek car tucked away in a corner. the sound of laughter and music from the wedding reception echoed faintly in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet intensity between you.

once inside the car, soyeon started the engine, her movements swift yet controlled. she glanced at you, a soft smile on her lips. “are you ready?” she asked while beaming at you.

you hummed before leaning over the center console and grabbed her face before kissing her for the first time in five years. she tasted exactly like how you remembered. her hands moved to cup your face gently while yours moved around her neck. everything felt so familiar, felt so right. but it took everything in you to pull away, but you knew you two had somewhere to be.

“more than ready.”

all the other woman could do was smile and take your hand in hers, the touch grounding and reassuring. turns out you did say “i do” for a second time, not at an altar with witnesses, but in the quiet intimacy of a car speeding towards a new beginning with the only person you had ever loved.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝.

a/n: FINALLY FINISHED THIS.

[gdbatbitch]

Hello there! I am making this video to give everyone an update on where I’m at and how I’m doing. Short answer: I’ve been better. Those of you keeping up with me through my social media or my GoFundMe know that I’ve been sick for the last year and a half, going on two years. I’ve also recently lost my job because they said they could not accommodate my illness and need for more time off and protect my job. I am disappointed about that but not angry. I will say that they did give me a lot of leeway before we got to this point. 

So to briefly recap the road so far, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in October of 2023. In that same month, I had a total thyroidectomy. So far, all is clear and there doesn’t seem to be any cancerous tissue lingering in the area. I still have to have checks every few months for the next few years to be sure it doesn’t come back. This was actually the easy part. 

The recovery has been far harder than I could have anticipated. Everyone I’ve talked to that has had thyroid issues has had a different experience so there’s not a clear path for recovery. For example I have had issues with getting my T4 and TSH levels regulated. I just got an increased dosage on my Synthroid last month, and so far it’s not really doing the trick. 19 months and it’s still trial and error. 

And that alone would be enough to lay most people out. If you have a thyroid that works properly, be thankful. You have no idea how volatile that tiny little gland can be to your well being. I was so much worse off this time last year. I spent months in pain, freezing, sweating, nearly hallucinating and unable to eat or rest. I was in and out of the ER feeling like I was dying. I’m straight up terrified of ever feeling like that again.

I know I don’t need to, but to give a broader picture, here’s what I’m dealing with. Obviously the thyroid issue. I also have type II diabetes, autoimmune issues like psoriasis, psoriatic arthritis, and neuropathy (which causes numbness, nerve pain, and other neurological issues). That’s the physical side.

On the mental side, I have major depression, major anxiety, CPTSD, and ADHD. These are all official diagnoses. I first got diagnosed with depression as a child, and I have had several therapists, medications, intensive therapy programs, etc to try to manage them. I say this because I don’t want to hear that I’ve been self diagnosed and therefore invalid. Which is a terrible attitude to have toward someone dealing with this stuff because not everyone can afford a “legit” diagnosis. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was terminated from my job. I can say that my employers tried to work with me as much as they could, but since FMLA, which provides job protection in situations like mine, doesn’t go into effect until a year after the date of employment, they had no legal obligation to keep me on. I understand it, but it still sucks. 

So now I am trying to navigate applying for disability. I qualify for unemployment benefits, but they are not sufficient to cover my bills. So I am here again, asking for help. I absolutely hate this. I want to be able to handle things on my own, but that’s not possible anymore when I barely have the energy to make it through a day. 

If you can’t tell, I am reading from a script because I go off on tangents if left to improvise. So to keep this from going too long, I would appreciate any help I can get to keep myself going until I can get myself secured with disability or…something. Thank you to everyone that has been able to help so far, I would not be here now if not for all your help. 

Link to the GFM is here: https://gofund.me/e0640a1e

And if you don’t want to use this link, you can also donate via my Venmo @ Dextra-Hoffman (last 4 of my phone is 6036) and my PayPal is under dextra.hoffman at gmail .com. Thanks. 

[jasper-unofficial]

Asking this as someone who has very limited knowledge on autism as my interaction with people with autism has been purely theoretical or online... has Gun's portrayal in Leap Day gotten better over the episodes? Or worse? What do you think should be done differently?

ok so i want to preface this by saying that i am only one autistic person and others might disagree with some of my points or simply place more importance on other parts of the character. that said:

to me, it's very hard to talk about gun's portrayal in terms of good/bad or accurate/inaccurate because it is - to me - inaccurate at its core. because gun is playing this adult autistic man as a child. i personally think that at this point in the series this is an undisputable fact. the way that ozone is presented, his dynamic with day (down to the way day scolds him in a way one would only scold a small child), that fucking multiplication table on his wall, and countless other things point to it. not to mention that gun himself always calls ozone a "special kid" in interviews, and i doubt that particular phrasing leaves much room for interpretation.

now, i do want to say that allistic (<- non-autistic) people's portrayal of us in media is often strikingly mocking, which i do not feel from gun while watching the series. it feels like he is approaching the role with seriousness and respect, it's just that - unfortunately - the character himself is an inaccurate image of an autistic adult, which leaves us with a strange mix of a respectful portrayal of something that is inaccurate and is actually very harmful in its inaccuracies.

we could have a whole separate conversation as to why it is harmful, but - in basic terms - the idea that autistic adults are child-like and therefore cannot make decisions for themselves, require constant supervision, cannot be allowed to participate in adult activities, etc. is both entirely inaccurate and extremely dangerous. it creates problems both on the personal level, with many autistic adults ending up in abusive relationships (very often with their parents, who wish to continue controlling their now adult children the same way they did when they were minors, and excuse it with autism), and on the legislative level, with adult autistics in many countries not having the full legal rights of adults.

i honestly don't think most of this is on gun himself. he is working with what he was given, but what he was given is not great. the issues in the script, the directing, and even with the prop department make it kind of impossible for me to even tackle his acting on its own. i can't just take it in a vacuum and say anything about it, as if it's not built on a foundation that is just completely wrong. which is why it bothers me so much when allistic people praise his portrayal to heavens, because what is even being praised? do you think he is playing a 21+ year old autistic man accurately? because that's certainly not the case. again, that's not necessarily his fault, but that doesn't mean we can toss that fact aside entirely.

and even if we imagine that ozone is like... 12, which is kind of what i've been doing to make it through the series, it's still a mixed bag and again mostly due to the script and directing. for example, i think gun's portrayal of what i assume are supposed to be meltdowns is quite good, but then the meltdowns are treated almost entirely as if they are identical to panic attacks every single time, because the writers seem to have done next to no research on them, so i am again struggling to properly evaluate the portrayal of them as a whole because of the core inaccuracies. the way gun portrays ozone's investment in his special interest feels solid as well, but the fact that the only person getting any sort of "communication" about the curse is ozone also makes me feel like the series is mythologising autism, particularly because he is "communicating" through his autistic special interest. and trust me when i say this, autism gives you a total of zero super powers, or i would already be communicating with vincent van gogh in the great beyond (shout out to my oldest special interest).

now, don't get me wrong, some things i have enjoyed and even found charming. for instance, i find the way gun portrays our way of not making eye contact most of the time fairly relatable. i also love the way day approaches his special interest. but even then, as i say this, i think back to the way that ozone is infantilised and fear that even that genuinely heart-warming detail has something to do with it. when you are a child obsessed with something specific, it's cute. when you are an adult obsessed with something specific, it's creepy. trust me, i've felt that change in other people's attitudes as i was growing up myself. (shout out to my family for ruining my trip to the van gogh museum in amsterdam, because i was apparently too weirdly into it for a sixteen year old). so, once again, it's as if most things that i do initially think of as positive still come back to the core issue i keep talking about.

essentially what i am trying to say is that the "portrayal" of something on screen is not just down to the acting and therefore not just down to the actor. it is also in the script, in the directing, even in the things that the character is surrounded by, the things they are holding while speaking, etc. and many of those things are such a colourful variety of wrong when it comes to ozone that when we do get to gun's acting, i am at a slight loss as to how to even evaluate it.

it's like if someone was portraying - say - a thai character who was supposed to be born and raised in a thai family in bangkok, but they spoke french as their first and only language and everyone around them was acting as if that's just what thai people do. it would be kind of weird to comment on, i don't know, whether they prepared tom yum the way a native thai person would, when they were speaking french and acting as if that's a thai person's first language the whole time. does that make sense?

all in all, i don't want to place much (if any) responsibility for any of this onto gun. my main issues are with the writers and the director. my only advice could go to the very top and it would be a very simple "do your fucking research", which includes extensive conversations with actual autistic adults every step of the way. in fact, it's something of a compliment to gun that i cannot think of anything to say to him specifically. once again, he was given something and he is doing what he can with it, while being entirely uneducated on it himself, which leaves us with ozone: a 21+ year old adult autistic man who is - in some major ways - offensively unrelatable to yours truly, a 23 year old adult autistic man.

[yallthemwitches]

Part 2 (with lovesick James POV!) Merry Christmas you filthy animals

“Call me what you want, Evans. I deserve it,” he pants, “But then I’m going to need you to make my Christmas wish come true a few more times because – Merlin– I’ll do anything for it.”

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

(please keep in mind throughout this fic Remus is like this v (because he is otherwise not present))

The only thing more mortifying about kissing the girl you fancy and not being able to reciprocate properly is having to stand in front of a bloody crowd after said kiss and not look like you are about to fucking implode. 

It had taken everything to pull him away from her—and he meant everything. His heartbeat had clanged in his ears, the smell of her cinnamon shampoo encircling him like some predatory snare--nevermind the fact that she had kissed him just meters from his bed where he had spent the past four years thinking too explicit thoughts about her to ever put on paper. 

Then, after all that, he was expected to stand next to his bloody parents ?

James watches as his dad finishes a rousing speech about ‘goodwill to all men’ and other Christmas adages before pulling his mum in for a sweeping kiss. Typical. But the crowd cheers in applause and James joins them because–of all nights–this is the one he promises to be good. It’s Christmas for Merlin’s sake, he owes it to them. 

But he can’t hold back the twitch in his jaw and knows that, if left unattended, he will grind his teeth into little stubs from the anxiety of it all. His parents, their friends, the wandering classmates might as well be speaking in monotonous droning noises—all he can hear is the delicious mantra of Lily Evans kissed me. Lily Evans kissed me. LILY EVANS kissed me.

“Uh. Prongs.” 

His nickname breaks through the void. Turning slowly, he finds Peter standing next to him, offering some sort of ruby red liquid with a defenseless, apologetic look. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” 

James blinks at him, unable to comprehend. The chant is entering and exiting all orifices and licking his lips, he swears he can still taste her on him. Somewhere from behind, one of his mum’s coworkers grabs his bum and he doesn’t even care. 

“Didn’t know what?”

“Uh–I mean,” Peter searches for words, knowing a trap when he sees one. “You and Evans just seemed to be pretty friendly, you know.”

Friendly. Suddenly, something cuts the mantra from his brain like taking scissors to a ticker tape. Friendly—a friend.

Lily Evans was–is his friend. He knows so because she has said it many times. How much painstaking work had been done to get to the point of even being just amicable with her? Years worth, at least a solid 365 days if not more. That’s not to say he wasn’t chuffed by the advancement: pathetic git as he was, nights at Hogwarts had delved into anticipation of just sitting next to her, smelling her beautiful hair during their library sessions and maybe (if he was lucky) getting an arm brush against his as she leans over to write some bloody adorable comment in the margins of his parchment, only to be obsessed with her curly, cramped script for the next hour…

It hadn’t not crossed his mind that maybe things were starting to turn flirty. When he was lucky enough to get her to throw her head back in a laugh, she had started to grab onto his forearm for support. Then of course there were the letters. Merlin, how many had he written? Perhaps more than he had ever written to Peter or Moony in his life– and this was just one holiday. Hours of doting on each word, striking the right balance between friendly, maybe a tad flirty, but not overbearing, and if his glasses were working correctly, hers came back just as amicable, perhaps even enthusiastic. 

But would some stray arm touches and jovial letters really equate to a kiss? 

“Do you think we should throw punch in his face? I think we should throw punch in his face.”

James blinks again to find Sirius standing in front of him, hands on his hips while Peter sports a nervous look. 

“You ok, mate? You kind of just…were out of it for a second,” Peter squeaks, eyes roaming and nervous.

“Yeah, fine. Brilliant,” James responds automatically, not sure if he really means it or not. 

“Well,” Sirius butts in, “Now that your mum’s lot have got tired of your sorry arse, can we actually have some fun around here. Flea says I can be in charge of the music as long as I keep the bumping and grinding to a minimum.”

“Right, yeah. Sure.”

James’ mind drifts again, all his thoughts slippery like black ice. Warm lips, so soft, tasting like gin and cinnamon…

“Oi,” Sirius snaps his fingers right between his eyes. “If you took some muggle drugs without me, I swear Prongs I’m going to be so upset.”

“Lily was in his room earlier,” Peter blurts out, then clasps his hands over his mouth as though to stop any other incriminating thing from exiting. 

“Groovy, Wormtail. Really subtle,” James mutters, and shifts his eyes just in time to watch Sirius’ ears practically perk upwards in interest. 

“Oh.” Sirius says in a curt, knowing tone. “Oh, I see.”

“Nothing happened. She got lost on her way to the loo.” 

Sirius smirks. “Yeah, bet it is really hard to find the loo when you are too busy using your mouth to–”

“Sirius, fuck off and drop it—Really, nothing happened.” 

He hears the pain in his voice and for some reason it surprises him. They had kissed hadn’t they? But now even that fact was starting to get murky—like all of the pieces leading up to it didn’t make for a greater whole. Maybe it was a mistake, she had just leaned too far in and his lips were just there to catch her. Or maybe she was just drunk?

He could spiral around the thousands of reasons why she could have possibly not meant to kiss him, but the one thing that he knows for certain is that Lily is his friend. Full stop. And friends don’t try to snog friends, do they?

It didn’t feel fair for a teenage boy to have to wade through such emotional traps–especially on Christmas. 

Sirius does drop it, though not before arching an eyebrow with a sly look and the boys wander away from the older crowd towards the throngs of Hogwarts students who all have slowly commandeered the front of the bar area. He can’t help himself but to look past anyone who isn’t Lily—wondering if she took his words literally and was still leaning against the edge of his desk where he left her. 

“Hey stranger.” 

A small hand grasps his forearm. Sofia beams up at him, silvery blonde hair charmed into perfect ringlets around her face like a china doll. 

“Alright Sofia?”

She gives a small smile. Telling by her eyes she’s had a few drinks and is feeling good, the liquid confidence equating to her ever grasping hand on him. 

“Just wondering if you were going to hide all night.” 

“Wasn’t hiding. Just doing my duty as a good son and host for one day out of the year.”

He shoots her a grin, one that he uses to get out of trouble and he feels her hand tighten against his bicep, fingertips pressing in like trying to commit the feel to memory. 

“Well, would you have time out of your busy schedule to be a good host to me?”

There isn’t much subtlety there. From behind her, Sirius makes a shrugging expression at him, tilting his head in a way that means your mess . 

From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of red hair reenter the room. Lily steps out of the hall, looking a bit bleary-eyed and nervous. Bee lining her way through the crowd, she completely ignores his gaze, calling for a double gin and tonic and joining Mary and Marlene a few clusters away from him.

Merlin, she looks lovely. 

“James?” 

James snaps his head back to see Sofia still standing there, a crease in her brow from his lack of response. 

“Er–sorry. Uhm, lemme just do some rounds then I’ll come find you.”

The fact that he said almost the same thing to Lily puts a heavy weight in his stomach, but Sofia's smile brightens and she gives an enthusiastic nod, finally relinquishing her grip. 

Not knowing what direction to take, James stocks off back towards his room, the party starting to feel like a real drag. 

* * * * 

During the beginning of holiday, Lily had sent him a letter that he must have read a thousand times.

Dear James,

I hope your holiday is going well too—though I can’t say we have had much time to do anything seeing as it’s only the second day. 

To respond to your last inquiry—no, I will not write your Potions essay for you, though if you send it along maybe I can write some choice words in the comments to add flavour ( choice words meaning horrible insults that will no doubt earn you a T…)

I was watching a bit of telly yesterday (box, glowing screen, moving pictures—you have heard of one right?) and I saw a program where this bloke made the exact same stupid voice you make when trying to imitate Professor Binns. I was so caught off guard thinking that you had entered the room, I practically fell off the sofa, then proceeded to laugh at how incredibly thick I was to think that you would just apparate into my home to do something as stupid as that. 

Anyways, I don’t know why I am telling you this (perhaps a symptom of my absolute boredom). Maybe it’s to say that if you feel like showing up at my house to work on your impressions before next term, I wouldn’t be mad about it. 

Hope you’re well. And sorry Sirius ate all the Christmas cookies.

Lily

It was dumb really. She had even said in the letter that she had written it completely out of boredom, but rereading it even now, his breath catches in his stomach by the implication that she would want to see him, that she had even been thinking about him in the first place. At the time, he probably wasted a hundred rolls of parchment trying to come up with the perfect response that would encapsulate his absolute earnestness to actually visit while not coming on too strong. In the end, he responded by changing the subject almost entirely, too afraid he was getting the wrong impression of her friendliness. 

He sits on his bed clutching the letter. Downstairs, the music changes to a rock beat of Sirius’ doing and a whoop from the younger guests signals that dancing is probably picking up. He rereads the letter again, focusing on the way she curls the J in his name. When had she started calling him James? Did he really let such a monumental switch happen unnoticed?

“Uhm. Sorry.”

His eyes snap away from the parchment. Like some beautiful ghost, Lily wanders into the doorway, hands tugging at the sides of her dress. 

“Mary’s curfew is coming up and I offered to go back with her.”

“Oh, yeah. Ok.” The feeling of sinking weighs heavy in his heart.

“And Sofia is looking for you.”

“I told her I would come find her later.”

Lily’s face twists into something resembling pain, her eyes becoming glassy. 

“Yeah, well. She seems to think it’s later.”

Lily crosses the room and takes a hesitant seat next to him on the bed, letting the end of her dress fan out against her thighs. Well that’s all you're going to think about for the rest of your sodding life. 

“Is that…my letter?”

Too busy letting his teenage mind work in overdrive, he hadn’t put down the parchment. She leans in, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder to read the text.

“Oh god. I’m completely mental. I can’t believe you even kept this. I sound like an absolute nutter.”

He turns to her, frowning. 

“No you don’t. I think it's brilliant. I love that—”

Oh for fucks’ sake. Why did I use that word? 

Lily recovers for him, pulling the parchment out of his loose grasp and giving it a closer inspection. 

“You really should have heard it though—it sounded just like you. Like—” 

She makes this low droning voice that doesn’t even remotely sound like Professor Binns or his terrible impression of him. James can’t help but laugh, a loud booming one that she’s been able to pull out of him more and more. Small droplets of tears start forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Godric Evans, please don’t go into acting— Here, let me do what you just did.”

He replicates the same gravelly voice, giving it an extra dash of absurdism. It's her turn to laugh, head falling back and lips gleaming as her peals cut through the room. Before, he only speculated that it was his favorite noise, now he is sure of it. 

“I didn’t sound like that,” she squeals, giving his arm a tug. “Do the real impression again so I can compare.”

“Nope, sorry. I’ve forgotten how to do it actually. Your rendition has obliviated it.”

“Fuck off with that—c’mon do it.” 

She gives him another playful tug and this time he lets his hand go loose under her grip so their hands remain attached, falling limp into her lap. 

“Sorry, Evans, maybe next year,” he says quietly. He can tell she is feeling the same vibration from their tangled hands that he is, both of their eyes zeroed in on the clasped fingers.

Did friends hold hands when they laughed? Suddenly it was incredibly hard to remember.

“Look James,” she says, eyes averted out towards the room. “I’m sorry—about earlier. I’m not trying to blow this whole thing up, I know we are mates now and–”

What. In under a millisecond, the past three hours of his life had been reduced to pure idiocy. He hadn’t imagined it. They had kissed and it had been intentional. 

“Please. Wait–just stop.” 

She recoils and he can feel her hand start to tug away from his but he adds more pressure, resituating his fingers so they thread with hers. 

“Lily— ” he stammers. Her eyes lower to speculative slits. It’s now or never Potter. Grab the snitch or get off the pitch. 

“You didn’t ask what I want for Christmas.”

Her eyes crinkle, mouth turning downwards. 

“What?” she sputters, incredulous. “What are you talking about, Potter?”

“You know,” he pries, “From before—I asked you what you wanted but you didn’t ask me. So go on, ask.”

Lily looks at him. Ever since their kiss he had felt like a storm cloud raining on the Christmas cheer, but sitting here with her has returned him to form, eyes glinting wild and expectant.

“Ok, fine,” she huffs. “ What do you want for Christmas, Potte–”

He crashes his lips down on hers before she can even finish the question, not holding anything back. Unlike earlier where he had been too shocked and guarded to reciprocate, he goes in full force this time, lips frantic and hungry. Everything starts to feel charged, the softness of her lips and the sweet smell of cinnamon revitalizing him and urging him forward. 

When they pull away, their lips are swollen and breath shallow, their fingers unraveled and on his cheek, the small of her back. His hand contracts against the warm skin, keeping her in place as if with the slightest movement she will vanish into the night. 

“I had wanted you to kiss me then, and I want you to kiss me again now.”

A smile breaks onto her face so wide it tugs perilously close to either ear. 

“We’re idiots. Absolute sodding—”

But his lips are back on hers, mouth already open and breathing deep into her. She coils her fingers through his hair, letting the hard lines of their bodies press flush together as he crowds in further, pulling her so close that he doesn’t think he will feel anything as cozy as her body heat against him ever again. 

“Call me what you want, Evans. I deserve it,” he pants into her, “But then I’m going to need you to make my Christmas wish come true a few more times because – Merlin– I’ll do anything for it.”

She laughs again, but this time he catches it with his mouth, letting the sound develop into a satisfied moan. She tangles back into him and somehow he needs her closer, needs her more . He doesn’t know how he has even survived off of so little for so long. 

“What about Mary,” she gasps, pulling back just enough to speak. “She’s got curfew…I told her…” But even as she says it, her arms pull his neck tighter, her soft lips dragging their way across his jaw to his ear. 

He silences her with a kiss to the neck and a bubbling sigh escapes her, now for certain the most beautiful sound to ever exist. 

“Tell her to live a little—it's too cold to leave now,” he murmurs, not wishing to waste any more time. 

“We’re busy with a bloody Christmas miracle.”