#all will fall into place with time and numbers

[neonbonded]

Right Here, but Still Too Far

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: emotional distance, soft angst, quiet longing, domestic disconnect, subtle heartbreak, husband-core devastation ♡ a/n: You live together. You sleep in the same bed. You share meals,kiss each other goodnight. But sometimes? Love gets quiet. And all it takes is one soft, honest “I miss you” to shatter the space between.

Caleb

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter.

The sun’s already gone down, but the lights are still off—just the stove hood casting a soft yellow over the counter, catching on the steam from the pasta pot.

Caleb’s moving like a machine. Quiet. Efficient.

One hand stirs the sauce, the other balances the baby monitor against his shoulder. He hasn’t sat down in hours. The front of his shirt is wrinkled from being used as a napkin. His hair’s a little damp at the edges like he forgot to fully dry it after his three-minute shower.

You��re watching him from the table.

You’re not fighting. There’s no coldness. No tension.

But something’s… distant.

Like you’re living next to each other. Not with each other.

He hums to himself softly—some melody you can’t place. He opens a cabinet with his foot. He says, “You want cheese?” like it’s code for love, but he doesn’t look at you when he asks.

You smile anyway. “Sure.”

He grates it. Sprinkles it. Passes you a bowl.

Then goes right back to moving.

The baby monitor crackles.

A timer goes off.

He starts unloading the dishwasher.

And you just sit there, soup cooling in front of you.

You’re still staring at him when it happens—when the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Soft. Honest.

Like breathing.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t turn around right away.

His brain doesn’t process it at first. He’s too busy checking the time on the oven clock, flipping dinner, wondering if the laundry’s dry.

Then the words echo back in his chest.

I miss you.

His hand stills on the spatula.

“You…” He turns. “You what?”

You shrug. A little too fast. “Nothing. I mean—you're here. I know. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the pan down—burner still on. Crosses the room in three strides.

“You miss me?” he asks again, slower now. Like he’s scared of the answer.

You nod. “You’re always doing stuff. For the baby. For me. You never sit down anymore.”

He swallows hard.

“I didn’t realize I stopped.”

You smile, just a little. “You didn’t. You just… drifted.”

He sinks to his knees in front of your chair, rests his cheek against your belly like he used to before the baby was born.

“I’ve been right here,” he whispers. “But I’ve been so focused on taking care of everything—I didn’t realize I left the part that mattered.”

Your fingers slide into his hair.

He lets them.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. “So much it hurts.”

You bend down, rest your forehead against his.

And for the first time in weeks?

He breathes.

Really breathes.

Xavier

You don’t even realize how quiet it’s gotten until the microwave beeps.

Xavier is still standing where he’s been for the last five minutes—staring blankly at the digital numbers. Not opening the door. Not speaking. Just… existing.

He’s like that lately.

He’s here, technically. He tucks you in at night. He leaves lights on when you fall asleep on the couch. He still makes tea for you in the morning—even if it’s lukewarm by the time you notice.

But it’s like you’re in the same room, and still a world apart.

You don’t blame him. Not really. He’s always been a little detached, a little distant, like his thoughts are off somewhere else.

But lately?

He doesn’t come back.

Not all the way.

You shift on the couch, blanket pulled up around your knees. “The tea’s cold,” you say, just to say something.

He nods without turning. “I’ll reheat it.”

Silence again.

The microwave keeps beeping.

You don’t mean to say it. You’re not even thinking about saying it.

But then—

“I miss you.”

It comes out soft. Small. A little raw around the edges.

And it lands.

Xavier blinks. Slowly.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just… stands there.

Then the microwave beeps again, louder this time.

He opens the door. Reaches for the mug. Stops halfway.

His hand is shaking.

“I didn’t know,” he says finally. Voice low. Controlled.

You shift on the couch, throat tight. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I thought I was being present.”

You shake your head. “You’ve been nearby. That’s not the same.”

He turns, tea still in hand.

When he sees your face—really sees it—something in his own shifts.

He walks to you. Kneels down in front of the couch.

And offers the mug like a peace offering.

You take it. He doesn’t move.

Then he says—soft, barely audible:

“I didn’t realize I was missing you too.”

And for the first time in days?

He lets himself stay.

Rafayel

It starts with him in the kitchen—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, music playing in the background, something herby and over-complicated simmering on the stove.

He’s singing. Loudly. Off-key.

You watch him from the kitchen table, head resting on your hand, eyes half-lidded. You’ve been watching him for twenty minutes—gliding back and forth across the tile like a tragic chef-prince in exile.

He narrates everything he’s doing. Dramatically.

“The rosemary must be coaxed, not crushed!” “Where is the sea salt?” “Oh, my darling olive oil—don’t burn me now—!”

You should be laughing.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Because this is the third night this week he’s filled the space with music and dancing and noise. Third night he’s performed affection like a monologue—but hasn’t touched you once.

It’s not cold. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

Like he’s afraid that if he slows down, he’ll feel something he doesn’t want to.

You look down at the pasta cooling in front of you. Your voice comes out softer than you expect.

“I miss you.”

He stops mid-stir.

Just stops.

Spoon still hovering in the air. Sauce bubbling behind him. Frank Sinatra cut off mid-note.

He turns around slowly. Frowns. “I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“You just watched me kiss a tomato with more passion than most romance leads.”

“I know.”

He stares at you. Blinks once.

And then you see it—the panic. The way his whole body falters. Like he’s realizing something very, very important too late.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh no.”

“Raf—”

He crosses the room in three fast steps, kneels beside you like you’re about to fade.

“You miss me? I’ve been serenading you with pasta and praise! I told the eggplant it was regal! What have I done?”

You reach for his cheek. “You’ve been everywhere but here.”

He leans into your touch like it hurts.

“I thought I was making things brighter,” he murmurs. “Turns out I was just making them louder.”

You smile, a little sad. “I don’t need louder. I just need you.”

He lets out the softest breath. Presses a kiss to your palm.

Then: “I’m going to burn dinner, aren’t I?”

You glance at the stove. “Probably.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Then let me hold you while it burns.”

And when he pulls you into his arms on the kitchen floor—flour on his sleeve, sauce on his collar, guilt in his throat—you finally feel him come back.

Zayne

It’s 9:07 p.m.

The kitchen is spotless. The baby monitor is on. The dinner plates are in the dishwasher, stacked in perfect symmetry. Zayne’s at the counter writing something down—something for tomorrow. Groceries, probably. He doesn’t say what.

You’re still sitting at the table, legs pulled up under you. Watching him. Quiet.

He’s been like this for weeks now.

Present. Helpful. Perfect, really. Except you can’t feel him anymore.

You speak without looking at him.

“I miss you.”

His pen stops moving.

The silence hits hard. Sharper than you expect.

“…What?” he says. Not defensive—just confused. Like the words didn’t compute.

You repeat it. “I miss you.”

He turns around slowly, brows drawn. “I… don’t understand. I’m here.”

You offer a soft smile. “I know. But you feel far away.”

He frowns—deep. Like the idea physically bothers him.

“I make dinner,” he says. “I do the morning routine. I check in. I—” He stops.

You don’t interrupt.

Zayne runs a hand down his face, dragging it over his mouth like he’s trying to hold in something sharp.

“I thought I was doing everything right.”

“You are,” you say. “You’re doing everything. You’re just not being with me.”

That lands harder than you meant it to.

He grips the counter edge. Shoulders tense. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

Then, voice quieter:

“I didn’t know how to come back.”

You step up behind him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Feel the tension in his spine.

“You don’t have to fix everything to be enough,” you whisper. “You just have to let me hold you.”

He exhales, shaky. Eyes closed.

“…Okay.”

And for the first time in weeks—he lets go.

Sylus

He’s on the couch with his boots still on.

One arm stretched across the backrest, the other holding a glass of something dark, untouched. He hasn’t said much since dinner—just grunted in response to your “long day?” and slipped into his usual, quiet brooding comfort zone.

You’re curled up on the opposite end of the couch. Close enough to touch him if you reached. But you don’t.

Because lately, it feels like when you do, he flinches—emotionally, if not physically.

You glance at him now, the sharp angle of his jaw softened by the warm lamplight. He’s not tense. He’s not closed off.

He’s just… somewhere else.

You turn your head away before he can catch the way your face folds a little.

And you say it.

“I miss you.”

The words hang there. Casual and devastating.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just blinks. Breathes in slow.

Then, softly:

“…I’m right here.”

You nod. “I know. But it still feels like I haven’t had you in a while.”

He sets his drink down.

Stares at the floor for a moment. Then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to clear static out of his head.

“You think I’m pulling away.”

You stay quiet.

He glances over—just once—and when he sees your expression, something shifts in him. Less defensive. More wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, lower now. “I just… get stuck in my head sometimes. And I guess I thought being in the same room counted for something.”

“It does,” you say. “But it’s not the same as being close.”

He leans back, scrubs a hand down his face.

Then mumbles, half to himself:

“God. You’re gonna make me talk about feelings, aren’t you.”

You smile. Barely. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you again—longer this time. Like he’s really seeing you. And that’s what finally gets him to move.

He scoots closer. Wordless. Slow.

Then pulls you gently into his side, your head tucked against his shoulder. One hand over your thigh, grounding. Solid.

You feel him exhale.

“I do miss you too,” he says eventually. “I just didn’t realize it until you said it first.”

You nod.

You don’t need anything else right now.

Just this.

Just him.

[luvseisagi]

—s. across the wrong universe.

chapter 14. canon event i: the loss.

(🕷️) smau + narrated ch.

content. cussing. yn is stressed rin is desperate and isagi is frustrated lets say

the only sound that echoes in your apartment when you finally arrive after a very long morning is the metallic clatter of your keys falling haphazardly onto the small table in the hall, and a long, weary sigh rising from the depths of your chest. you don't even bother picking up the jacket you just threw on the floor, the backpack you left on the side of the hallway —all you can think about right now is crashing on the couch, cuddling your cat, and closing your eyes while you pretend you don't have two more finals tomorrow.

but saespidey isn’t on her usual spot on the sofa, and the moment you call for her, there’s no answer. no familiar thump of little paws, no soft meow. suddenly the apartment feels too quiet.

you check under the table, by the window, in your room —calling her nonstop in case she’s hiding somewhere or she’s gotten stuck behind a piece of furniture or something —which is a very common thing for cats to do, apparently—, but you get nothing. 

there’s only one place left you haven’t searched in yet. you stand at rin’s door.

for some reason, you hesitate before stepping in. it’s as tidy and sterile as always —clean black sheets, grey painted walls. one single picture of rin and his brother in the desk, near the dozen of polaroids of you two, sticked to the headboard of his bed. there’s a long forgotten skateboard in the corner of the room, a football in the shelve, his clothes hanging neatly from the rack. 

there’s something weird in the air, though, weighing on your shoulders. you look at his desk chair, empty. rin probably hasn't sat in it in weeks — but he’s in his room again, you lied to chigiri everytime he asked. he’s stressed lately, always holed up there.

you’ve said it so many times you could almost believe it yourself. but now, standing in this empty space, painfully his and strangely unknown, it feels like you’re a ghost haunting it. or maybe it’s him. you’re not sure anymore.

you back out slowly —after confirming that the cat isn’t there—, thumb hovering over your phone, ready to text chigiri or kunigami —maybe she slipped downstairs?

the text is half written when a loud, clinky sound startles you.

tap tap tap.

your head snaps toward the sound, and your instinct kicks in. you grab the first thing your hand finds —rin’s abandoned skateboard— and edge toward the living room, your heart pounding.

you're so startled when you turn your head and see someone standing on the other side of your window that you accidentally drop your skateboard to the floor. the shock is such that you can't even scream.

it takes you a few seconds to realize it's isagi on the other side of the window.

“yn!!” he shouts, hand grabbing the metallic frame of your window, breathless. “i came up as i saw your apartment lights turn on, i was waiting—i was on break in the cafe and i saw your cat jump out the window a while ago and-”

“what-” your brain short-circuits. you don’t process the rest of the words that fall out his mouth “what? how the hell do you even know how my cat looks? and if you knew why didn’t you- i don’t know, why didn’t you tell chigiri as soon as it happened?!”

“chigiri’s shown me more photos of your cat than of anything else in his life,” he says, like that explained everything. “and he told me you’re neighbors, so obviously it’s your cat if i see it run out your window. also, today’s his day off. i don’t have his number, and no one answered downstairs, so... i waited for you.”

you blink. right. of course. nagi’s streaming today and they club is at his house. kunigami works mornings. rin is somewhere in the city, overworking as he’s been for the last whole week. 

it is just you here.

“come on,” he offers, already reaching for the railing. “i’ll help you look.”

“why are you helping me? and don’t you have work?”

he shrugs. “my shift ended a while ago, i told you i’ve been waiting for you. and i’m the one who saw where she’s gone, of course i’m going to help you. we might still catch her.”

you don’t think it twice, though, as suspicious as all the situation can seem. the panic for losing saespidey, the literal light of your life, is greater than anything else. 

so just like that, you're moving. the skateboard abandoned on the floor. your phone forgotten on the couch—because you didn’t even realize it when isagi shot a thin spiderweb to your hoodie’s pocket, quietly taking it from you and tossing it onto the cushions when you weren’t looking.

you don’t even think about it —you’re out the window, following isagi without a second thought. you forget about telling rin, telling chigiri, telling anyone you’re gone.

the only things in your mind are your cat, and isagi at your side.

rin is going to lose his mind.

he’s already circled half of new york twice, rooftop to rooftop, alley to alley. his hands are shaking under the suit after hours of searching for you, and not just from the adrenaline or the cold wind rushing past him as he moves too fast to think.

he left your phone home, in case you came back and saw all his messages while he was away. but the had been no response, no call back, not even a fucking “i’m okay” after almost ten whole hours.

he tries calling you again, just in case, and, to no one's surprise —no answer. 

he doesn’t even care if reo or nagi or chigiri reach him and hear him cursing under his breath anymore. he’s already ditched them half a dozen times today—they keep trying to trail him with a fucking camera on hand like he’s not about to rip the city apart. 

he’s been trying not to think about it, but he can’t get it out his mind —if the green spiderman has touched you, if he’s done anything to you- if he’s even looked at you-

he swears he’s going to kill him.

after trying to follow a meditation exercise on youtube while hidden in an alley and, of course, ending up even more anxious than before, he decides to swing back toward the apartment. it’s not even because he wants to rest —he just needs a cold shower. something to snap his brain back into focus, to cool the sick feeling coiling tight in his chest.

of course, he has every intention of heading back out the second he changes.

rin has just one foot out of the shower when he hears it —and he swears that simple, almost inaudible click of the front door has managed to completely silence the irregular heartbeat that had been aggressively kicking his chest the whole day.

he doesn’t think, doesn’t even dry off properly. he just yanks the towel tighter around his waist and bolts out of the bathroom —barefoot, hair dripping, heart now in his throat.

and there you are. your hair is messy, your eyes swollen, and there's a grey stripped hair fluff in your arms. you seem tired, but also relieved, as you walk in laughing beside someone he doesn’t know.

rin stops dead in the middle of the hallway.

you’re standing there, in the middle of the living room, giggling like you haven’t been missing for hours, like you didn’t almost give him a goddamn heart attack. and you’re next to some guy he doesn't know. he has black hair, a bright smile, and he's wearing a jacket too big for him over the café’s apron, like he’s trying too hard to look casual.

that’s isagi, he concludes. the new waiter who had guessed your usual order on your first meeting.

“gosh, rin,” you say, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s half naked, standing there like some deranged phantom. “you have no idea what kind of day i’ve had. i’ve been chasing saespidey all over the city. thank god isagi helped me-”

“how the fuck do you forget your phone at home, yn.”

his voice is sharp —it cuts through your sentence like a blade. isagi frowns instantly, his gaze flicking toward you protectively.

“i don’t know, i just forgot it, i’m sorry,” you say, hands up in a placating gesture. “i was freaking out about the cat, i didn’t even think…”

rin interrupts you again.

“i’ve been looking for you. all fucking day.” the look in his eyes is dark, deep teal like a void. however, his voice cracks, just barely, when he says “you can’t even imagine how much i-”

he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, echoing that same gesture isagi saw on the rooftop a few weeks ago. it’s a tic of exhaustion. or helplessness. or both. 

rin lifts his gaze to look at isagi.

“and who the fuck is this-”

“i told you about him,” you cut in, a little stern now. “he’s the new guy at chigiri’s café. don’t be rude.”

rin shuts up, but his eyes snap toward isagi like he’d burn a hole through him if he could. he takes a step closer, shoulders tense, jaw clenched —his height is intimidating already, but nothing like the lethal look in his eyes.

isagi holds his ground, holds his gaze. 

however, looking at him closely for the first time, spiderman suit off, the only thing he can think is this is him. this is rin. fuck.

in his universe, he would never believed you’d like someone like this, whose vibes are so different to his —but still, he feels intimidated by him.

he’s beautiful and terrifying and seems to suck the air out of the room just by existing—like a black panther watching from the shadows, or a marble sculpture standing tall inside a temple.

isagi doesn’t avoid his gaze, though, and rin doesn’t hit him. he doesn’t yell.

instead, he turns. then walks past him, toward you and the cat in your arms.

two seconds pass, it seems like the air freezes.

he reaches out first —soft, almost reverent— and pets the animal gently. you swear his hands are still trembling. 

and then, slowly, he lifts his hand again, toward you.

it hovers near your face. like he wants to touch you. like he can’t believe you’re here and needs proof you’re real —but he stops halfaway.

his palm settles awkwardly on your shoulder instead.

“don’t. never. never ever in your life scare me like that again,” he breathes out “god, i even texted the fucking reo.”

you smile, suddenly tender —you may be the only person in that room who's noticed, but there's a dull glimmer in the turquoise in rin's eyes. tiredness, and relief— “don’t worry. i won’t make you go through that again.”

you keep looking at him for a few moments, as if reminding him that you are there, that you haven't gone anywhere —and he understands. you can tell by the way he allows himself to blink again, to exhale a sigh. 

you turn to isagi.

“thank you so much for helping me,” you say, beaming at him. “if you let me, i’d like to invite you to dinner…”

rin clears his throat.

“…another day,” you finish. “somewhere else. as a thank-you.”

isagi’s breath catches. he wants to say yes so, so badly —it reminds him of how you, back in his world, had asked him out first. how nervous you were. how he said yes without even thinking.

but this isn’t his timeline, and you aren’t his at all.

“no, don’t worry,” he says, forcing a smile, voice light. “i’m fine just knowing you found your cat.”

and then he turns to leave, feeling rin’s sharp eyes heavy on his back the entire time.

chapter 13. ✦ masterlist. ✦ chapter 15.

author's note. sorry for the slow updates ive been busy lately :( also! be ready for the next chapter..

tags (closed) ౨ৎ @levihanmyotp @inojuuy @blu3-l0v3r @rohfulike @inosukehana @cruziival72 @kuromixheartzzz @koko-77 @kurona-theshark @yoichiin @elliehenry24 @kuronarnze @sugarcor3 @ranzess @lovingmayday @vinzcoke @soph1sticatedly @l0v3ly-st4rs @milkteeboba @ilovewonyo @mivqko @beepbopzlorp @thatmf-jay @angelhqlo1111 @jnkosstuff @ssngkk @c4ttheart @risagichi @neeeooon @emicatz @chokifandom @n0tbelle @veyyluvezcats @saekisserfr @scoosh4you @ihsoti @nana7nana777 @sillymil @tnt-kokoo @miss-aesthetic-13 .ᐟ

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

[imyourbratzdoll]

Give me the most angsty fic you’ve ever written about Steve Rogers specially him being mean to reader or cheating 😭

I’m on my period and i wanna cry 🤭

hi! I'm so so so sorry for taking so long! I hope you like this.

summary - after thanos, yours and steve's relationship had begun to crumble.

warning - ANGST! and cheating.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips.

Eventually, 

You stopped trying,

You stopped hoping,

You stopped believing that things would get better.

Everything seemed to change after Thanos, the man you had fallen in love with was no longer there. Well… Not towards you at least. Steve Rogers had become the bully, and you didn’t know how to stop it. 

You had woken early one morning and looked beside you only to see Steve wasn’t there. It had been like this for months now, sometimes you wondered if he ever slept there anymore. You slide out of bed and head out of the bedroom, thinking that he may just be busy somewhere else in the house. But as you ventured throughout the home the two of you shared, all you noticed was how cold everything felt. Like the life had been drained out of the place once filled with love and happiness. 

You wrapped your arms around your body, hugging yourself as you find the house empty. You head back to the room and grab your phone, unlocking it, you find Steve’s number and press the call button, putting it up to your ear. You listen to it ring, and ring, and ring until it goes to voicemail. You try to call again and instead of ringing this time, it just goes straight to voicemail again. 

Dropping your phone onto the bed, you let out a sigh. What had you done for him to start treating you like this? 

You head to the bathroom and strip from your clothes, hopping into the shower. You try to let the water wash away all of the stress and thoughts. You get out after standing under the water for thirty minutes or so, as you wrap a towel around your body, your ears perk up when you hear a sound outside of the bathroom. 

With the towel secured around your body, you exit the bathroom and immediately spot Steve. Something felt off, you didn’t know what exactly, but you felt it deep within. His hair and clothes seemed dishevelled, you watched him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey… Where’d you go?” Your hand curled around your towel, holding it close to your chest as you wait.

“Just for a run. Why?” His answer was short, cold. A lie. 

“No reason, I was just wondering… You didn’t pick up when I called and I wanted to make sure you were alright.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you were never this nervous around him before, but everything felt different now. 

Steve turned around, glancing at you. His eyes scanned your towel-clad body with disgust. No longer filled with love or lust, what changed?

And that was when you smelt it… 

It was subtle but there. 

A hint of perfume… One that didn’t belong to you. 

Your already cracked heart, shattered. 

“What?” His voice was harsh, and you subconsciously flinched from it. 

You weren’t looking and you don’t think he intended on you seeing it. Your eyes landed on a part of his skin that was probably supposed to be covered by his shirt and there you spotted a faint hickey. 

Steve must’ve noticed where you were looking because he lifted his hand and fixed his shirt, hiding the hickey that was meant to be hidden before. “Can you stop?” He snapped. 

Your eyes met his, where was the man you fell in love with? The one who chased you around like a lost puppy? The one who would bring you breakfast in bed or surprise you with flowers? Where had he gone? The man you were looking at felt like a stranger. He wasn’t the man you fell in love with. 

You clear your throat, blinking away any tears trying to surface.

“Who is she?” 

The room fell even more silent than it was before, as if time froze after you uttered those words. 

Steve scoffs, rubbing his chin as he looks around before his gaze falls back onto you. “No one.”

Was it possible for your heart to shatter twice? 

You watched him for a few moments before quickly turning around and heading back into the bathroom. The moment you closed the door, you slid down it and covered your mouth with your hand as tears began to fall. 

Who was this man? He wasn’t your Steve. 

You didn’t know how long you were in the bathroom for, you had heard Steve leave again a while ago without checking on you. You eventually stood back up and got dressed, feeling numb and broken. 

You left the house, deciding that you needed to get some air so that you could think more clearly. Every step you took felt as heavy as your heart did, you couldn’t wrap your head around any of it. 

Just as you were about to cross the street to one of your favourite coffee shops, you stopped. Your feet froze, heart dropped, and pain erupted throughout your body. You swallowed as your eyes locked onto the scene before you. 

There stood Steve with his arms wrapped around another woman and a soft smile on his face as he looked down at her. A smile he hadn’t given you for a long time. 

You felt stuck, frozen… It felt like your whole world had crumpled from right beneath your feet. 

Without saying anything, you left. You walked in a different direction from the place that you once called your home. You left without grabbing any of your belongings, leaving everything behind as you stepped onto a bus. You didn’t turn back, you couldn’t. You didn’t want to become someone else because the man you loved didn’t love you anymore. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You slide into one of the seats with a sigh, a tear falling from your eye as you close them.

You hoped that your absence bothered him,

You hoped that when he hears your name, he feels regret and guilt.

You hoped that when he looks up at the moon, he questions why he hurt you that bad.

You hoped that when he looked at her, he would think of you.

You hoped that not being there makes him as upset as you are.

But it won’t.

He won’t miss you.

He doesn’t even care. 

And eventually…

You would stop hoping because you loved yourself more.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[imsogonesposts]

Starcourt Aftermath

|| ao3 || steve masterlist || requests are open!! ||

summary: Steve doesn't think anyone will come pick him up after the Starcourt mall fire, but you're there to take care of him and take him home. (wc: 1111)

warnings: mentions of steve's bad parents + everything he went through in s3

Steve hadn’t really expected anyone to come pick him up. He figured he’d either have to walk home, or ask Joyce, Nancy, or Robin for a ride home, after all, his parents couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone after the ambulance had tried them four times to tell them Steve had been involved in a fire at the mall. It was too late for him to ask the paramedics to call you without him feeling guilty that he would be waking you and your family up at this hour. So when the paramedics asked if there was anyone else they could reach, he shook his head no and said he’d get a ride home with one of his friends. He could only hope someone found his damn car keys before he started asking around for a ride home. Maybe the walk wouldn’t be so bad, though Steve didn’t know if he could handle that cold walk home, alone after everything he and Robin had endured. The needles, the drugs, the beating, he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“There you are!” He heard you exclaim from his side. Steve could only blink repeatedly, half expecting you to be a figment of his imagination, proof that the drugs never fully left his body yet. But no, you were there, standing in front of him before pulling him into a tight hug, one he easily reciprocated– he hadn’t realized just how badly he needed the hug, needed someone who made him feel safe and loved to hold him in their arms. 

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?” He quietly asked, words mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see you, to be in your arms, to feel your skin against his. 

You pulled away from the hug just enough to look at him, your eyes trailing over his face taking note of every cut and bruise that was there. “My mom was watching the news and they said the mall caught on fire. She told me, so I came here to check on you cause I knew you were working today. Are you okay?”

Steve felt like he could melt on the spot from your words. It shouldn’t be completely mind-boggling that his girlfriend would care about him enough to drive to the mall and ensure he was okay from the fire, but he regularly found himself falling in love with you all over again anytime you did the smallest things for him. Anytime you so much as hugged him, kissed him, even held his hand, Steve felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. 

“Yeah, honey,” he said softly, cupping your face with one hand as he moved to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he pauses, “okay-ish.”

“What happened to you?” You ask, gesturing to his black eye as you lean into his touch. 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he promised, “I’d rather not think about that right now.”

You nodded your head yes before glancing around your surroundings, taking note of everyone that was affected by the mall fire. “Are your parents in town?” You asked, noticing their absence in the crowd. Despite dating Steve for almost a year now, you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen his parents due to their frequent business trips. 

He shook his head no, “business trip,” he muttered. Of course.

“Do you want to spend the night at my place then?” You ask, taking Steve’s free hand in yours as you begin to lead him to your car. 

He shook his head no again, something he probably shouldn’t be doing so much as it was only adding to the growing headache that was beginning to form between his temples. “No, no, I wouldn’t want to impose, sweetheart,” he replied as he seated himself in the car. 

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” you tell him, starting the car and pulling out of the mall parking lot, already on the route to your home, “I want to be with you right now, anyways.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a smile. 

“Yeah,” you quietly reply. “I was worried I was gonna get here and you wouldn’t be okay… I kinda need to be with you right now,” you tell him, eyes never leaving the road.

Steve feels his heart warm at that as he places a hand on your thigh, “I’m okay, baby,” he softly tells you. 

You nod noncommittally, continuing the drive to your house in silence, with the exception of the radio softly buzzing in the background. 

A five-minute drive later, you’re helping Steve up the stairs of your house and into your bedroom, setting aside a pair of clothes for him to change into. 

“You sure the paramedics cleaned your face up?” You ask as Steve begins to change into the sweatpants and hoodie you set out for him, the very same hoodie and sweatpants he had thought he somehow lost. 

“Yeah, I know what the paramedics did to me, babe,” he says, voice slightly muffled by the hoodie as he puts it on. 

You nod, already under your bed’s sheets, waiting for him to join you. “Just making sure.”

Steve smiles, moving to give you a quick, soft kiss as he tells you, “and I appreciate it, baby. Really. But you don’t need to worry so much, okay?”

You want to tell him how you have every right to worry, how you hadn’t heard from Steve since the day prior, and that when you heard about the mall fire you swore you felt your heart stop for the briefest of seconds, how when you saw him sitting alone with his face battered and bruised, you didn’t know whether to cry tears of joy or sadness. Joy for him being alive, or sadness for him looking as if he had barely escaped with his life. 

Instead, you nod your head yes, telling him a soft “okay,” as he kisses your forehead, getting under the covers next to you, arm already draped over your waist as he pulls you closer to him. Almost as if he knew how badly you needed to be in his arms after the scare. Or maybe he needed to feel you in his arms just as badly as you did. 

“Is it fine if I leave the lights on?” Steve softly asks. 

You nod your head yes, “course it is, baby.”

He smiles at your response, whispering a small “thank you,” as he somehow pulls your body even closer to his. 

[zillychu]

Crossovers absolutely have a place in the main tag for sure, I completely agree.

However, there's a threshold an AU can hit that just becomes unreasonable, and upsets a huge portion of fans. I created a huge AU for Gravity Falls (Transcendence AU) many years ago, and for a time, it began to actually overrun the canon tag. The second GF fans started voicing their displeasure, the Transcendence AU fans all collectively decided to stop posting in the main tag. Our content was still easily found, interaction didn't dwindle at all, and everyone was happy. A bunch of us even found it freeing, honestly! No one felt guilty or nervous about flooding the canon tag, cause we had our own tag now.

It's a bit exclusionary yes, but looking at it from a harm mitigation standpoint (or, discomfort mitigation. annoyance mitigation?), asking fans politely to exclude an AU that's overtaken a canon tag has been common courtesy since the beginning of Tumblr. It's not a slippery slope, and it doesn't cause harassment. It's a tried and true method that keeps the biggest number of people happy.

Because truly, what seems most fair to you--Kicking an existing fandom out of their tag? Or asking fans of a specific AU to please stick to their AU tag?

And it's important to remember that there are still ways to discover DPxDC--The search function (separate from the tag) would still populate DPxDC alongside all canon DP content. Looking into individual blogs (which is how Tumblr is made to be used in the first place). You can also search for the tag directly after running into it on other sites like AO3.

I'll admit it's not a perfect solution for everyone, but it's the best we have. No one is saying this "because it's easy"--if it was easy, I would have said something years ago. I get that you're rightfully upset about the prospect, but a huge chunk of the fandom is rightfully upset, too. The tag has become unusable even with blacklisting. It's not a minor thing to brush aside, it's actively been keeping a lot of fans (like myself) from even participating in the fandom anymore. And that's really sad, man.

Can we please politely push for DPxDC content to not use the main DP tags?

An AU overtaking a main tag is a fairly common fandom thing to happen, and when it does happen, this is generally how it's dealt with. There's no solid guideline of when to do it, but at some point, an AU becomes so widespread that blacklisting doesn't really help.

It's also simply not fair, nor logical to shove a fandom out of its tags and into a different tag or community. What about new fans who peek into the main tag and see nothing but an AU they weren't looking for?

(This is a great place to also remind people that only the first five tags on a post get sorted site-wide. Anything after those are purely for your own organization in your own blog. So you can still tag your stuff with canon tags after the first five!)

I really think DPxDC stuff needs to be posted in a dedicated tag/community. I really don't want to have to start blocking individual users, but after waiting for... what, three years, I think? In hopes that fans would self-govern and use a bit of common courtesy I've seen in other fandoms? I'm unfortunately almost there. Not to say that this is deliberately rude! I'm not sure the fandom at large has really talked about it enough for DPxDC fans to catch on, so I don't blame any party here.

I just think this is something we could very politely ask for more. Be kind, be patient, and see if we all can't make this fandom space a bit more comfy for everyone, yeah?

[sumplys]

bordersz — a. donaldson

Just like the ocean, you change what I see.

You find yourself falling deeper in love with Art Donaldson, a daisy-fresh Formula 1 world champion.

warnings: x reader, art x patrick implied. [0.7k words]

main masterlist

Art pressed the arch of his foot into the accelerator, wrists straining as he fought the over-steer.

He slammed a fist into the steering wheel, triggering his onboard radio, "Fuck this guy! Tell Zweig to fuck off of my rear wing!”

A car dressed in an identical navy blue drove Art towards track limits, forcing him to swerve back into place.

"Copy," his race engineer replied, unamused by his temper.

You pressed your dress against your thighs, running your smooth skin over the pattered linen, as you watched Art's onboard camera tremble.

Art Donaldson had proved himself as a fierce competitor on track. After over three dozen podiums and sixteen race wins over the span of his career, this season he was closer to a championship than he had ever been.

You knew how badly he wanted it—his whole world revolved around the glory. You watched his cerulean eyes sparkle after every race, every point gained. To him, it was all a step towards his destiny; a destiny that had been placed upon him from the very moment his hands wrapped around the curve of a steering wheel.

Your fingertips grazed the worn edges of his childhood portraits, each one a photo of blonde and beaming Art with a shiny racing helmet.

It was the kind of incandescent craving that—if unchecked—could burn you both alive.

Patrick Zweig was his only notable opponent. With a similar cocky attitude, Zweig had accumulated two world championships— with Donaldson being the runner-up each time.

The competition between them was problematic. Art's hotheaded deportment and Patrick's arrogant philosophy bred quandary, and everyone knew it.

Journalists often complained of the unbridled tensions between the drivers; the complexities of their relationship becoming one of the sport's greatest spectacles.

The boys had grown up together in hotels away from their parents. Everything that they knew they had learned simultaneously; swimming in Palmariggi, table manners in Sakhir, jerking off in Hasselt.

You knew he missed Patrick, though he would never bring himself to admit it.

Under the veil of passion in which he kept himself, you knew a sensitive man with an aching desperation to be great.

He edged himself past the chequered flag, an exasperated exhale escaping through his gritted teeth.

Your hands shook as you pressed your headphones further against your skull, the weight of his accomplishment seeping through your race tanned skin.

Art eased himself out of the mould of his car, hands shaking as he lept towards his team members.

He stumbled from his car, dropping his helmeted head into his hands as he knelt before his car, kissing the number that splayed over the livery.

Journalists gathered around him as he peeled his gloves off of his fair fingers.

"Donaldson, do you have anything to say about the car today?"

You were pressed between team members— engineers, managers, fans—leaning over shoulders to read your boyfriend's lips.

“Obviously, I’m pleased. It means a lot to me to finally win a title. It’s every racer’s dream, and with a race as close as this, it was special to say the least.”

His gaze fell over the crowd, excited hands moving up the barrier as his eyes met yours.

“Thank you—excuse me,” he waved, eliciting a deep roar from the grandstands.

Formula One’s golden world champion.

His dark helmet was a stark contrast against his flaxen hair, his golden curls peeking out beneath his visor.

"You did it," you whispered tenderly, your voice hardly audible over the rowdy crowd.

His fingers found the dips in the carbon fibre to pull his helmet over his head.

His blonde tresses were messy and glistening with dampness as sweat clung to each strand.

"Baby..." he murmured, falling into the curve of your shoulder.

"Good job, baby," you cooed, and Art nearly choked on his exhale.

Calloused fingertips found the slope of your jaw as he forced your gaze to meet his.

His cheeks were stained pink from the firm pressure of the foam lining his helmet, and you couldn't help but get lost in the romance of it all.

There was something so tender, to you, about you seeing your winner—your champion—so disheveled and doe-eyed.

His lips parted, his hands finding the stretch of skin that your backless dress left accessible, and he eased forward to kiss you.

A vehement hunger ate at you as his mouth grew eager and sloppy against yours. The classiness of it all was beneath you, apparently, as you forgot the swarming crowd.

An exaggerated sigh fell from his mouth, “Fuck, I love you.”

[nikito0x]

Time Travel Crack(-ish?) TGCF AU

Xie Lian accidentally travels to the past, taking over his own younger (child's) body.

He opens his eyes and he is very confused for a hot second, recognizing all his surroundings and wondering what in his husband's lovely name is happening, when, suddenly, he hears familiar bells and light is engulfing him.

Less than five minutes after arriving into the past, he has ascended. As a child.

Luckily he manages to mostly understand his situation and get himself together for long enough to consider his options and what he should do next.

Gods - gawking, whispering - surround him, child-like emotions overtake him and his rational mind comes up with the best solution he can think of on such a short notice.

Xie Lian jumps from Heaven back to Earth.

He will be known as the first child to have ascended. His legend will spread throughout the land. And, while mortal again, his prowess with spiritual energy will be unmatched. But that is for later. After he finishes crying about his missing husband.

When he lands back down to the mortal realm, tears running down his cheeks and a babbled explanation at hand about too many strangers surrounding him, the people and the heavens assume the poor kid didn't really know he ascended to godhood. In his eyes, he heard an earsplitting ringing of a bell, then got struck by what looked to be lightning, and finally got surrounded by a bunch of gawking strangers. Of course the poor kid got scared!

Everyone seemed a little dismayed at the misunderstanding, knowing that now he has jumped down he cannot go back to heaven unless he ascends again. But that's impossible... Right?

In the next years to come the prince would ascend a couple more times... And he would continue jumping down to the mortals... Again and again. But this time with a sack full of excuses.

"Doesn't heaven need their gods to be more educated before they are given this great responsibility?" He would question, three years after his first ascension, at the age of 10.

"My people need me more than heaven needs another god," He would declare, another three years after his second ascension, at the age of 13.

At his fourth ascension at the age of 15, the young prince would just groan in annoyance, turn around and stomp off towards the exit, chiding heaven itself, "I still have work to do, damn it! Leave me alone!"

The people of Xianle make a parade for each time the prince ascends, wondering when he will accept his rightful place. Temples are built in his name. Tales of his character and good deeds spread like wildfire.

With each ascension, Xie Lian's spiritual powers also grew to match. He could hear prayers, though he wasn't officially recognized as a god.

Jun Wu... Jun Wu is flabbergasted to say the least...

Xie Lian, in the meantime, prays for patience from his husband that isn't quite himself yet.

And little Hong Hong-er suddenly wakes from a deep sleep, quite confused, "...Patience??" He goes back to sleep.

What about the gods? What do they think of all this?

One thinks, "The prince's sleeping robes are quite exquisite. I should take note and acquire similar wears for myself!"

Another ponders, "How is the bell still whole if it falls every couple of years with his ascensions? Can a bell be in love with a living being?" The civil god starts researching.

A third one pathetically tries to spread rumors about the prince because he is jealous that this youngling ascended so young when he barely managed it in his 40/50's. He fails miserably.

A fourth one is tired of trying to chase him down so the prince would finally take over his godly duties. How do they miss him every time!?!?

A martial god wants to fight him to test her battle prowess.

Most of the rest? Well, they are deluded they'll manage to convince him to marry them once he ascends again and finally decides to stay.

Hong Hong-er suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to slaughter some gods. What is that number that floats around in his mind? 33? 35? Maybe he's imagining it...

And Xie Lian? He misses his husband. Feng Xin and Mu Qing think he's a good person & friend if a bit eccentric, praying to his non-existent husband and all...

As for Xie Lian's parents... Well. There is an old saying. If you cannot assuage the tide, then follow its current.

In other words. If you can't beat them, join them.

TBC?

[seaouidbabyx]

SUCKER || Dealer! Chris x Maneater! Reader

chapter three.

notes: sorry guys, I got carried away. I might split this into two parts. Also, sorry for not updating regularly, ive been swamped at work :(

warnings: swearing, smoking weed, mentions of drugs (no use, just dealing),

Jayden was... nice. I was currently sitting across from the boy with neatly styled hair, a pressed, clean shirt, and a suave smile. He had the balls to come up to me while I was out at the cafe near my apartment, he told me I was gorgeous, and that he would love to show me a restaurant for dinner if I liked this place. He was too nice, and the more that the conversation went between us, the more I felt like I was sitting in a lecture. A lecture purely on him. He spoke about all the houses his family owned, how he graduated with honors in Finance and Law. I don't think I've gotten a single word out this whole date besides the greeting when we first walked in.

The restaurant was great; it was a neat little Italian place a few blocks away from where I lived. He also offered to pick me up, but I politely declined. Sure, why don't I just let you see where I live, random man I've never actually had more than a single convo with? I sat with my little red dress, the long sleeves covering my arms as they crossed each other. My hair was in a classy, mid-bun with curls falling out, and my fingertips were tapping against the stem of my wine glass. My knee-high boots tapped against my folded leg as my foot played along to the song in the background. I don't think I've heard this man say anything even remotely interesting. My thoughts wondered to a certain brunette boy who would've given anything to see me smile.

I nodded with a tight lipped, polite smile as Jayden had started another story about how his grandfather took him for polo lessons as a kid. I looked around the resturant, looking at the people who were having actual engaging conversations. There were red and white plaid table clothes on some of the wooden tables, some wicker basket chairs after some of the booths. I actually really like this place, but god was Jayden making it feel like it was claustrophobic. His big head was taking up about half the room with his ego. "It was rather lovely, the fields were always green when we went in summer-" I zoned him out, when my phone lit up next to me. It was an unknown number, so curiously, I picked it up and opened it.

"you're enjoying your date over there, princess?" My heart raced, I instantly started looking around. How the fuck, did this drug dealer fiend get into a place like this. Then it dawned on me, what if it's some random? I looked around, trying to spot a certain brunette triplet, even going as far to lean out of my seat a little bit, but I couldn't see anyone. I was about to text back and ask who this was, when no other than Chris walked up to our table, one hand in his pocket and one hand holding a takeaway bag. His loose curls were free of the backwards cap, but he looked good. He swaggered up and had a smug smile on his face, looking like he just spawned out of nowhere. I sent him a sharp, what the fuck glare, which he just winked at. I was almost, almost about to get angry, but I knew that deep down I was breathing a huge sigh of relief. He stuck out like a sore thumb; his casual attire really did not match the vibe of this place. He casually just dragged a chair from the table next to us, placed it next to me and spread himself leisurely across it.

I think this was the first time that Jayden had actually just stopped talking. I looked at Chris, Jayden looked at Chris, and Chris just lazily smiled back up at me. "What are you doing here?" I finally asked, looking at him expectantly. Jayden looked pissed, "Yeah man, what the fuck? Who are you?" I rolled my eyes at that answer, my god. I know this wasn't convenient for him, but no need to be a dick about it. I sent a sharp gaze over in Jayden's direction, not impressed, but he didn't seem to care as his focus was all on the boy sitting next to me.

Chris leaned over, picking up a piece of bread from the basket in between us and started peeling off pieces and shoving them in his mouth. "'M here to save her from this god-awful date." Chris muffled through a mouth full of bread, and I was so shocked at his answer that I actually let out a laugh. I put my hand in front of my mouth embarrassingly so, which Chris just cheekily smiled at. Jayden then looked at me, back at Chris, then zoned in on me once again. "Did you set me up?" He seethed, his face turning flush with anger and I looked at him with an 'excuse me?' look. "You're just a fucking stuck up bitch, why couldn't you just tell me you weren't interested?" He shouted, slamming his hands on the table, acting like a toddler. I placed my hand on the table, leaning in to not cause any more of a scene then he was. "Look, I had no idea this man was even here, but you've done absolutely nothing but speak about yourself, I mean do you even know a single thing about me? If he can see that this is a terrible date, then I have nothing more I really need to say, now do I?" I smiled sweetly at him, reaching for my purse and throwing a 50 on the table, standing up and pushing the chair back with an awful screech.

"Here's for my wine, and next time you think about taking a girl on a date, give her a chance to fucking speak." I spat, grabbing my purse and tapping Chris on the back before making my way over to the entrance of the restaurant. Chris grabbed two more pieces of bread out the basket, before saluting Jayden and followed close behind me. He walked out next to me, "Hey! Slow down woman! Are you okay?" He asked, following in my footsteps.

As soon as we were a few walking steps down the sidewalk, I stopped, turned to him and let out a belly laugh. God, I can't believe this is happening to me. I placed my hands on my hips, breathing in big deep breaths in between laughs. I heard Chris nervously laugh along too, probably looking at me like I was crazy. I wiped the tears from my eyes, "Did you see the look on his face! God, what a stuck up, asshat. How did you know I was there?" I shouted and questioned, placing a hand on his shoulder, softening my giggles. He shrugged at me, "Oh you know, I just saw this pretty girl who looked bored out of her mind when I came to get see what they have for takeout. Thought she needed saving." He smirked down playfully at me.

Chris stood next to me with a big smile on his face, still shoving peeled off pieces of bread, I smiled up at him. "Oh, so that's why you're out. Totally not stalking me or anything." I teased, falling back into step with him. He rolled his eyes, passing his extra bread roll over to me without even looking at me. I gently took it, peeling pieces off as he did and started nibling. "Where's your car?" He asked, seeing as were almost about a block and a half away from the restaurant. I shrugged, "I took an uber, but its not far from my place, I don't mind walking." I ripped another piece, placing the soft bread in my mouth. He stopped, dead in his tracks and looked at me with a wild and absurd expression. He then rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before grabbing my forearm. "Not a fuck am I letting you walk. I mean, have you seen the type of dudes out here? You were just on a date with one!" He lectured, pulling me across the street and a little further down. I rolled my eyes, "I can handle myself, thank you very much. It looks like youre fucking kidnapping me right now!" We continued walking and I really was not complaining, before Chris stopped in front of a BMW 5 Series. I looked up at him and back at the car, and he huffed, rolling his eyes once again. He opened the door for me, holding my hand as he helped me into the car.

"Wow, a thug and a gentleman, who would've guessed?" I teased, sarcastic, as he made his way into the driver's side. He rolled his eyes as he got him, pushing the 'push-to-start' button, and putting the car into drive. "How do I know you're not one of those weirdo's out here to kidnap me?" I sassed, turning to look at him. He looked at me with a blank, 'really?' look. "Listen, I've got shit to loose, if anything, I'm scared you're going to kidnap me." He chirped back, shaking his head and looking forward, pulling out of the parking space and creeping up the street.

"Kidnap you! You're lucky I don't have my hands around your neck. I'm flattered you're scared of me, that's what I was aiming for." I said, crossing my arms, looking outside. He smirked, a ghost of a smile behind it, shaking his head at my reaction once again. "Alright, you prissy princess, where are we going?" I looked at him, with a skew look. "Um, my house?" I argued. He stopped at a red light, "C'mon, you got all dressed up and pretty and had a shitty date. How about this, I've got some to do some runs, but after that, I can show you what it's like to go on a real date." He rambled, talking animatedly with his hands as he drove. The way he acted, really didn't show that he was a drug dealer.

"Are you fucking joking? You want me to come on runs with you? I am not some thug accomplice Chris!" I said, turning my body to face him fully. He rolled his eyes at me, "I'm not hearing a no?" He huffed, smirking slightly at my reaction. I crossed my arms, looking out the window. "I did dress up really nice," I murmured, softly. I heard Chris let out a laugh, tapping my thigh gently with his big hand. "Atta girl, lets go have some fun." I smacked away his hand once again, missing it already. I heard him whisper to himself, "God, you're so dramatic." I gasped and pushed his shoulder. He put his hands up in surrender, "What? It's true!"

We eventually started driving through some random neighbour hoods, some with large, high houses, others with simple flats. He was nice enough to let me play some music, so I started shuffling through and decided to settle on some Pouya songs, which I could see he appreciated. Conversation flowed between us, naturally, and the more I got to know Chris, the more I started to realise that he was different. A good different, one that made me want to learn more about him. We had just talked about the basic things, where we grew up, our favourite shows, but he gave me chances to speak about myself, like he was actually interested. The last house we pulled up too, was a small, single-story flat. Its fence was not up to par and the streetlights were not all working, but the garden was neatly kept and the patio didn't look half bad. It had peeling green paint on the outside, and the rusted golden number showed '7'. Chris pulled out his phone, silently parking outside the house, phoning someone.

A man, in a black hoodie and some sweats, quickly opened the door to his house and made his way to Chris's window, with a huge smile on his face. He leaned down; Chris rolled the window so he could meet him. "What's up Chris? Thanks for coming dawg." He spoke, and as he leaned down, I locked eye contact with him. He had some face-tattoos, his hair in dreads. He smiled at me, gold grills on some of his teeth. I smiled politely, before looking at Chris, not knowing what the fuck to do in this situation. "Huh, Chris has got a girl with him, I ain't never seen that before. And she's hot as fuck. This your girlfriend Chris?" He teased, placing a thick wad of cash into Chris's hand. He kept looking between me and Chris, but continued to speak like I wasn't even there? What the fuck is going on? I was gobsmacked, most of the people just came and took their shit, this man doesn't seem to care.

Chris reached over to me, pulling open the cubbyhole, and pulling out a couple baggies, some had green leaves, and one had white powder. One bag even had some small, multi-coloured capsules. I blushed when I felt his arm press against my legs. "Something like that," He replied, clearly not interested in conversation with this man. He closed the cubbyhole, handed him his stash and sent a wink flying my way. I looked at him confused, but my heart beat increased, and I felt my face flush. We bid this man goodbye, Chris rolled up his window and drove off down the street.

He looked at me, clearly irked. "Sorry about him, he just doesn't know when to shut up." I shook my head, "It's no problem, I just didn't know what the fuck was even going on." I chuckled softly. He smiled in return, "Alright, that was my last run, no more scary people." He cheesed, looking at me with lazy eyes. "You hungry, Princess?" I smiled, a small one, trying to refuse how hot he looked. I nodded, "What do you feel like getting? Anything you want," He said, leaning back leisurely in his chair, his gaze flicking to me and the road.

I thought about it, looking at him with a teasing look. "If I'm being totally honest with you, I'm really craving some greasy fast food." I said, a little unsure. He smirked back at me, "Some chicken nuggets, for the finest lady?" Teasing, patting a hand on my thigh once again. "You have to choose where we go, though." I stated, cheekily smiling at the brunette. He nodded, pursed his lips. "I got it," he said, driving away from the suburbs.

He had pulled us into a Burger King, and my eyes lit up. I grabbed his shoulder and shook it excitedly, "Yes! This is my favourite! We have to get matching crowns too Chris." I said and turned to look at him. He had a grin on his face, parking the car. "Let's go get those crowns." He came to my side of the car, opened the door for me like the gentleman he was. I smirked, "Aren't you scared it's going to ruin your whole criminal look you've got going on?" I said, placing my hand in his and getting out of the car. He tutted, "I can still look swag as fuck." He gloated, pulling out a flex of his muscles, which made me fake gag in return. I followed him into the restaurant, walking besides him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, smirking down at me. "You know, I was not expecting to come to Burger King for our first date."

I shoved him off, placing a hand on my hip as we walked inside, "Who said anything about this being a date." I quipped, returning his smirk. He placed a hand on the base of my spine and walked us to the counter. He ordered for us but leaned down to me again. "We both know it's a date, sweetheart. Get off your high-horse and just enjoy it." He snipped, making me want to swipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"Fuck sakes," I mumbled, feeling a heat run through my chest. I blushed, looking away as he continued with the cashier. Chris grabbed the takeout, before asking the cashier for two of the paper king crowns, grabbing them and stopping me before we made it to the door. He placed the food on a table nearby, grabbing my waist and making me stand straight in front of him. He maneuvered the paper crown, folding it together, before he gently grabbed the underside of my jaw, and placed the crown on top of my head. I smiled up at him, scrunching my nose, as he gently took my hair behind my ear for the crown to sit properly.

He placed his own crown on his head, looking down at me with that, upside down smile, the one that looks like he's trying not to smile, but he just can't help it. He placed a hand on the base of my spine again, grabbing the food and walking us back out the car. He opened the door for me again, helping me into the car, placing the takeout bag on my lap, before heading to the driver's side. I handed him his burger and fries, taking out my own, and placing the chicken nuggets in between both of us on the centre console, so we could share. He sent me a charming smile, taking one of the nuggets and placing it in his mouth. "You know what would make this even better?" He spoke with a mouth-full of food, which I grimaced at before looking at him curiously. He reached into the side of his door, pulling out a freshly rolled joint. I cheered, "Okay, maybe this is like my dream date or something." I mumbled, quickly shoving some fries in my mouth. He looked over at me, placing the joint between his lips. He moved to fix the crown that had gone slightly askew on my head with a gentle touch. "Princess, this is the bare minimum. I thought you out of all people would know that." I shrugged, "I don't need expensive things to like you." I uttered out. He looked a little shocked, but smirked, nonetheless. He lit the joint, taking a drag.

Once he had puffed it a few times, he gave it over to me. We were both facing each other, the night lights and the interior Led's giving us a soft glow. I looked at him, big, aspiring eyes, before taking the joint from his hand. I took a few drags, blowing out away from his face, before handing it back. There wasn't much said, just two people enjoying each other's company. The lowered music in the background, my heart thundering in my chest. I looked at him again, but Chris's blue eyes were already on mine. I moved to hand him back the joint, but he grabs my wrist, pulls my hand over his shoulder and closer towards him, his left hand slithering towards my waist. We were inches away, so close I could smell the weed off his breath. He placed a soft hand on my neck with his right hand, his thumb just below my jaw, looking at me with hooded eyes. "Such a pretty girl," he said, almost a purr. I looked up at him once again, through my eyelashes. I could not show that he was making me blush, but I'm sure he could feel the heat from my neck. "You gonna do something about it?" I teased, to which smirked at, rolled his eyes, before speaking almost against my lips, "Do you want me to?" His eyes were now fully lowered to my mouth. I started to grow frustrated at this game, so I pulled my head to the side, "Don't waste my time, Chris." I said, more meaning than what I had intended.

Frustrated too, Chris's other hand reached up, pulling my face into his again. "Stop being so fucking dramatic," He whispered, eyes fire-y. And with that, he pulled me in for a kiss. It was full of emotions; his lips were softer than I expected to be. I gasped into the kiss, gripping his sweatshirt like my life depended on it. He asked for entry with his tongue, to which I allowed. We kissed each other, ferociously, our tongues exploring each other's mouths. The weed, him, the kiss, his hands, it was all making me dizzy. So dizzy in fact, that I had dropped the joint somewhere between. He pulled away first, but almost chased my mouth for another kiss, making me smile. "Mm, I think you could use a little more kissing lessons," I grabbed his chin, teasing him, looking at his soft, pink lips, now swollen slightly. Fully joking, knowing this was one of the best kisses I've had to date. His hooded eyes followed mine, before lazily smiling back up at me. "Only if you're gonna teach them." He muttered, placing a hand on my thigh. I let out a small laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.

Who is the sucker now?

A/N: YAAAYYYY THEY FINALLY KISSED WHOOOO

tags -> @chrispycremedonut @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @iluvchr1s @passionfruitchris

[boyfriendtodeathconfessional]

Did Ren view Strade as a father figure? I don't just mean as a sugar daddy or provider but as an actual replacement for his own father?

Ren grew up fatherless and claims the rest of his family hates him. It's already been speculated that his beastkin community had enough of his human father intruding on their way of life and decided to quietly kill him. Ren has never known a father figure until he meets Strade, who kidnaps him, collars him, and keeps him under complete subservience. But why did Ren allow this for so long?

As many of us can attest to, it's hard not to get swept up by Strade's charms.Strade is friendly, attentive, and charming. He was able to lure Ren in by making him feel heard and letting Ren go on about how miserable his life is. When a person is feeling low, having someone who has their life put together giving them attention is comforting. And when we look at Strade, we see he's the quintessential man's man. He has looks, a house, a steady income. He's respected in his community, and he's skilled at barbecuing and building. He's confident, and he has every reason to be.

So when someone like this shows up for Ren and not only treats him better than most but also gives Ren purpose? It's understandable why Ren would fall for him. Yes, Strade abuses Ren, but anyone who has been in an abusive relationship will sympathize. The lows may feel fucking awful, but in comparison? The highs feel incredible. "You don't know him like I do..." It's why Ren would stick around, especially if he had nothing else going for him. A successful guy like Strade demonstrated that he needed Ren, even if it was for terrible reasons. And Ren adored Strade because of it.

With all that being said, if Ren was able to remove the shock collar, would he have stuck around? My belief is yes. Strade gave Ren closeness, intimacy, gifts, and purpose. The collar was a psychological tool more than anything. It not only reminded Ren who was in charge, but it also gave him plausible deniability. "Yes, I'm helping this man do awful things, but... I'm being forced to. I don't have any other choice!" It's why he won't help MC in BTD1. Helping one person escape means he could have helped any number of people escape, and his conscience can't bear that guilt.

Above everything else, for the first time in his life, Ren actually has a father. Strade is willing and able to provide for him and show him the ways of the world. He's there to provide an image of masculinity for Ren to follow, and in TPOF, we learn that's exactly what he did. In essence, he took up the 'family business' and adopted Strade's mannerisms, taking after his dear old dad.

So if Strade was a father surrogate, why did things play out the way they did in BTD2? Why did Ren let him die? According to Freud, when a son is born, his first rival is his father. A son is not only jealous of the affection his mother gives his father but also the father's place in the world. Ren loved Strade deeply, for sure, but Strade was also in the way of Ren creating his own identity. He was the only thing really preventing Ren from 'growing up'. You're skeptical. I can see that. It's fine! Please at least consider this:

In one route of BTD2, when Ren explains his backstory and expresses guilt for his actions, he spirals. He laments to the MC, "I was wrong for doing this... you're nothing like him..." Right there, he admits he was hoping his captive would be like Strade. The final piece of evidence he would need to 'grow up' would be reversing the roles of captive and captor. To prove to himself that he can also be a provider and be a much better one than Strade ever was.

It's why Ren switching clothes based on the MC's actions was such a great choice and why I think this all may have been intentional. If the MC acts meek and submissive, like Ren was, he is encouraged to act more like Strade and will don Strade's iconic jacket. If MC acts aggressive, then Ren will 'regress' to an earlier stage in his life and wear his shorts and tank top.

He's not completely sad about regressing, as it's what he's familiar with, and it gives the MC one of the few opportunities to earn full affection with him if they say they want love. Ren's original purpose is renewed, and he is elated by it, stating, "You mean you actually want to be with me?"

Conversely, when he acts more like Strade, he has no idea what he's doing. He doesn't know how to use the nailgun, he needs to use a gun to intimidate MC, and when he watches Strade's snuff films, his excitement comes off as fake.

I hope it goes without saying that Ren's only way forward is to forge his own path. Something truly original that he can call his own would be best for him. He has to walk that tightrope of finding his own identity: away from his meek self in the past and away from merely copying Strade.

At least that's how I picture it! I would love to get the rest of your thoughts! -☢️

.

[loudn-mcyt]

SBK Season 2 Superhero Builds (Pt. 2)

Time for the second post on the new superhero builds for Skyblock Kingdoms 2, this time with Legundo and Nukeri! Part 1 with Piepie and Nature can be found here, and part 3 with Skyelre, Devon, and Quillbee can be found here. The masterpost with all season 1 and season 2 builds can be found here.

Let's get into it!

First up, we have Legundo, the survivalist. The colors here were taken from the colors of his coat and his eyes.

If there's one thing Legundo is known for, it's adapting to and surviving in any situation he finds himself thrown in. Hardcore, 100 days survival worlds, scenarios, strange modpacks - Legundo is adaptable, and given time to prepare, can handle most things the world throws at him. Additionally, I thought it was fitting to have Legundo in the position of someone who could be just another human, but is always just a little ways outside of what you thought was possible.

To represent that, I've designed him with two complementary powers to form the core of what he does - Adaptable, which gives him a limited number of skill points he can shift on the fly to make sure he's always up for what he needs to do; and Prepared, which allows him to set up gear for most things he might need so long as he has a little time to access his supplies (as represented by the 'slow' modifier). Neither of these are particularly powerful, but they do offer him a phenomenal amount of versatility in the kinds of problems he can address.

The other two powers he has are designed to give him options even in those situations where he is caught off guard - his crossbow is his main offensive option, helping him hit quite accurately (and being a little nod to Dominion's piglin!legundo), and his body armor is a subtle addition to his defenses, which are overall balanced to make sure he is ready for anything.

His advantages and skills are also chosen to complement this versatile, adaptive approach. Evasion and Uncanny Dodge make sure he never gets caught flat-footed, while Assessment and Skill Mastery (Insight) let him get a solid read on a new situation. Leadership and Teamwork complement his skills as a team player, and the last few advantages round out his combat flexibility. His skills focus on the things he's likely to need most often: combat skills, insight and perception to see threats coming, and persuasion and stealth to avoid fighting in the first place, with the Adaptable power covering whatever else might be needed.

Finally, there is his complication. Legundo, like all other former members of Dominion SMP in this AU, was a subject of Project Dominion, an organization using human experimentation to combine the dna of extraplanar creatures with that of humans to manufacture super-soldiers. Legundo is their proudest achievement, and until he was set free a short time ago, he was their most effective agent...and the things he did may catch up to him sooner or later.

Next up, we have Nukeri. For him, I chose the color of his eyes and of his halo. I also gave him the superhero name of Nephilim - Nephilim being in some interpretations the children of humans and fallen angels, mixing in both the Project Dominion narrative and Nuke's habit of falling far more often than someone with wings might be expected to.

His abilities and powers are all pretty straightforward, build around creating Nukeri as a divine (or semi-divine) being: high strength and stamina, immunity to a variety of poisons and environmental effects, healing powers, and of course, some big beautiful angel wings. Notably, part of this is that I did not give him the safe fall power. If his wings are restrained, he'll hit the ground hard - after all, it wouldn't be Nuke if he couldn't fall.

Nuke is pretty balanced both offensively and defensively; his high strength lets him hit quite hard, while his balanced defenses coupled with his impervious toughness let him shrug off lighter blows and avoid heavier ones.

His advantages focus on giving him options to work together with others (and represent his general charm), as well as just a little bit of extra luck and drive. His skills are mostly focused on interaction, with some extra little bits to make sure he was ready for a fight.

Finally, there's his complication. As mentioned above, Nukeri, like many others, was experimented on by Project Dominion. Though he has now thrown off their control, he still has to deal with the effects of their meddling, most notably that he has now been plunged into the deep end of divine politics with no preparation or information.

[justafewberries]

What if Beetee's arena destruction plan succeeded?

They would have died. It would have been, as Katniss calls it, like shooting fish in a barrel.

There was nothing to continue the momentum. There’s mention of the districts being in unrest toward the end of the novel due to the sheer number of tributes reaped, but that’s not a collective, panem-wide rebellion. It’s skirmishes at best.

In mockingjay, the rescue mission doesn’t go according plan. They barely had enough time to escape with Katniss, thus why they left Peeta behind. But they at least had a plan in place to catch the fall out. Unlike in sotr, they had a place to go.

There’s no mention of a rebel hovercraft, no afterthought of what happens. The arena blows up, sure, but then? Nothing. They don’t have 13. They don’t have an army:

“Luckier, or with better timing. Having an army at their back wouldn’t hurt.”

D13 is heavily militarized for this reason. They either don’t have an alliance, or they don’t know about it. Either way, there’s no “army at their back”.

They acknowledge this in Mockingjay almost verbatim:

"It's not that simple," he shoots back. "We were in no position to launch a counterattack until recently. We could barely stay alive. After we'd overthrown and executed the Capitol's people, only a handful of us even knew how to pilot.

Even if blowing up the arena worked, Haymitch would have no where to go. They chased Capitol escapees all the way to d12. Besides, Haymitch still has his tracker.

There’s nowhere to go. There’s no escape. There’d be no escape for any of them. They all would have died. They need a winner, so they’d likely choose the most loyal tribute, and figure out what to do with the rest of them.

As for the rest of the rebels? Death. It’s like throwing a rock in the air and being surprised it comes back down. There’s no movement to catch the rock. There’s no one to take on the burden and continue harnessing the unrest.

It would be the Order 66 moment we see between Catching Fire and Mockingjay. Clearing house. And there’d be no organized army to fight back.

There’s no possible way it would have succeeded.

[ilovesoapandnotthebar]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚141 Foundations- A Rocky Foundation ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Omg i did it, this shit is 1,730 words, that's a fucking lot for me and i really hope you like this chapter of 141 Foundations, There's two chapters left, omg the endings going to be so sweet.

cw- feelings of sadness, and depression, but there is a lot of fluff so don't worry.

Okay have fun reading and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

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As you were standing there watching them Graves kissed you on the cheek—barely—and grabbed his keys. “Early site meeting,” he mumbled, tapping his watch like he had somewhere so important to be. “Gonna be a long day. Don’t wait up.” You offered a tight smile, the one you’d perfected over the years. “Text me if you need anything.” He didn’t answer. Just adjusted his collar, gave himself a once-over in the hallway mirror, and was gone.

You watched them for longer than you meant to. From the doorframe, sunlight spilling over your bare feet, you took in the strange serenity of chaos—bulldozers groaning, gravel shifting, muscles flexing in time with each swing and lift.

One of them caught your eye first. Not because of his mask—that in itself was startling—but because of the way he moved. Precise. Quiet. He didn’t waste a step, his strength coiled rather than flashed. The name stitched in faint thread along his vest read Ghost. He glanced up once, locking eyes with you just for a beat too long before turning away.

 Another tanned, cocky, hair shaved into a ugly ass mohawk (not that you cared though) hauled lumber into place with a grin that screamed trouble. Soap, according to the back of his belt. He cracked a joke to the others, voice bright like the sun, then flung his shirt off over his shoulder, showing off far more than just confidence.

 The one leaning casually over blueprints near the truck had a beard as commanding as his voice. Price. You hadn’t spoken to him yet, but there was a kind of old-soul weight in the way he gestured to the others—someone used to be followed, but never needing to raise his voice.

 And then there was Gaz, whose name was scrawled on his thermos in blocky handwriting. He offered you a small nod when he saw you watching. Not flirtatious. Just real. Grounded. The kind of man who wouldn’t let a fence post fall crooked. You stayed there another moment, heart strangely full. Then you stepped inside—and all that warmth evaporated at the sight of your phone.

 It was blowing up.

Not with messages from Graves. He rarely texted unless it was about bills or dinner reservations. No—these were from another number entirely. Unknown, but the pictures were clear enough. In one, Graves was laughing at a bar you’d never been to. In another, his hand rested on the thigh of a woman younger than you, her lipstick nearly identical to the smear across his collar in the wash you saw yesterday, that you had brushed off. So that’s where he was. So that’s why he’d been so eager to leave the house while the project was underway. You didn’t cry. Not this time. You dropped the phone onto the counter like it had burned you and steadied your breath. Out the window, Soap was balancing a plank across his shoulders while Ghost adjusted levels nearby. None of them knew. None of them saw the flicker of pain that passed across your face like a shadow before you pressed it down where no one could reach it.

By noon, you stepped onto the porch with a tray of cold lemonade and clinking ice, your bare feet brushing the warm wood. You’d made it strong and tart—just the way your mother used to—and hoped it would hit like a breeze.

Soap was the first to notice. His whole face lit up.

“Holy hell,” he said, tossing down a plank and jogging over. “Is this for us, or did I finally start hallucinating good karma in this heat?”

You smirked. “Guess you’ll have to be nice if you want a second glass.”

“Oh, I’m always nice,” he said, taking a cup and brushing his fingers against yours just enough to make it deliberate. “Just… selectively.”

“Is that what you call it?” you teased, arching a brow.

Soap leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “With you? It’s my Sunday best.”

You gave him a pointed look, but your smile tugged upward anyway.

“Don’t mind him,” Price muttered as he stepped up behind. “He flirts with his own reflection when no one’s watching.”

“That mirror loves me,” Soap said proudly.

Price took a glass with a quiet, “Cheers.” His fingers were rough, his nod small—but the appreciation in his gaze felt solid, like rebar in concrete.

Gaz arrived next, sweat slicking his forearms, and accepted his glass with care. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You didn’t have to tear my yard in half,” you shot back.

He chuckled. “We’re being gentle. For now.”

“Gentle, huh?” you said. “That’s new.”

“Only when it counts,” Gaz replied, and his eyes lingered a little longer than they had that morning.

Then, last—though you suspected he made sure that Ghost walked over.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just took the cup, his gloved hand brushing against yours, and tilted his head slightly.

“Thanks for the lemonade,” he said, voice low and gravel-worn.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sweet. But it landed.

You blinked, then gave a quiet, “You’re welcome.”

Soap was already halfway through his drink, but he caught the moment and pounced.

“What’s this?” he called, eyes wide in faux surprise. “Ghost finally saying words again? Must be your charm.”

You laughed, soft and warm. “Don’t get jealous, Soap.”

He gasped. “Jealous? Never. But if Ghost gets to talk to you, I’m filing a complaint with HR. I demand equal flirting privileges.”

“HR’s just a folding chair and a cooler,” Gaz added. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’d still win my case,” Soap said confidently, then turned back to you. “Though... just to be safe, I’m gonna keep laying it on thick. You deserve a proper distraction.”

You tilted your head. “From what?”

Soap’s grin softened, just a little. “Whatever’s weighing on you.”

And for a moment, nobody spoke.

Price cleared his throat and broke the stillness. “Concrete goes in two days. She’ll be solid.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

Soap chimed in before Price could answer. “If it’s not, I’ll make it one. Solid. Stunning. Stubborn, probably—but I like that in a woman.”

“Stubborn’s generous,” Gaz murmured to Ghost, and you caught the glint of amusement in Ghost’s eyes even as he stayed quiet.

Soap had already flopped down near the porch step, stick in hand, sketching lazily in the dirt again. “You know what? Forget the recliner. I’m building you a whole throne.”

You laughed—genuine, this time—and they all seemed to pause at once. Like your voice hit something soft inside each of them.

“Thanks,” you said, quieter now. “Really.”

The moment settled like dust, warm and unspoken. And somewhere in that stillness, you could feel it—each one of them carrying a different version of care for you, even if no one dared name it yet.

Price ran a hand over his beard and glanced up. “You need anything inside?”

“Just a break from all these egos,” you joked.

“Mine’s the lightest of the bunch,” Gaz offered.

“Speak for yourself,” Soap said. “I’ve got just the right amount of confidence—and an unused back porch swing with both our names on it.”

You tilted your head. “That right?”

He grinned. “Give me ten minutes and one power tool, I’ll make it official.”

You shook your head, smiling into your glass. But something in your chest felt easier now. Lighter.

For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, you weren’t just holding it all together.

You were being seen—flawed, funny, maybe even beautiful again.

And as they drifted back to work, calling to one another and moving like the practiced unit they were, you stayed on the porch, watching and wondering:

Which one of them was going to break first?

And if it was you… would that really be so bad?

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Yipeeeee, you made it to the end, i hope you enjoyed if so please like and reblog, and see you in the next chapter pretty ✦ʚ♡ɞ✦.

Taglist- @beautifuleaglealpaca

( btw look at me two uploads on day. )

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

last week i went to a graduation after party and got so shitfaced drunk that i was apparently listing all my favorite yaoi pairings to my sober bsf from the backseat of her car

[isolatednights]

"just 'cause we're in a confined space doesn't mean you can't leave me," lord knew there were plenty of ways to avoid one another, as she'd been subtly doing to him over the last few days. and while she wanted to trust what he was saying, it would take action and time to prove them to be true. still, it doesn't stop eyes cracked open to look at him - searching for any lie within the words. once satisfied with her inspection, lids flutter shut - but not before a hand flops forward and fingers wiggle, clearly demanding his own to grasp. as if demanding he start proving it right then and there. "can see why they paired us together," she murmurs. "and that scares me."

"pretty sure i could use this to lock the others out, so if you ever wanted this place to yourself, the options out there," he quips, pointing to the tablet with a small grin. perhaps there is something genuine in the offer, but silas knows that he'd have difficulty truly doing so. they might have all joined this little expedition from differing walks of life, but now? this? it put them all on even playing ground and he wouldn't take that from anyone.

"unless you tell me something really absurdly out there, i don't think i'll laugh." lord knew the rich and famous he'd meant had plenty of odd tastes and preferences - many of whom he later came to avoid - and he couldn't see the woman beside him falling into a similar category. silas listens in rapt attention, already knowing there's bound to be movies stored away somewhere within the artificial intelligence system onboard - and even if he's unable to provide her with the junk food, perhaps he can still make some sort of experience out of it. "i get it. the putting on a face to try and fit in - how exhausting it gets? i didn't come from money and some of the things people said or did... it was just... odd. i'd smile, act as if i wasn't phased but the number of days i just... stayed in my apartment, alone?" a recharge away from everything. "here... with all of us. there won't be a social pressure. no need to act. just be you.." a shoulder shrugs awkwardly. "bet we could find a white sheet. hang it up over one of the windows or from the ceiling. get some blankets for the grass. snacks. movie nights in the park sort of thing, you know?"

the protests and tension in her frame only lasts a minute before she's easing entirely against him. it reassures him in his decision and offers some relief - he wouldn't have been overly thrilled with the idea of being stuck within a closet a majority of the evening while she slept off the alcohol in her veins. "you don't wanna sleep in there," he remarks with a snort, adjusting her slightly in his arms as he begins up a set of stairs. "you'll regret it in the mornin' if you do. a proper bed would be better, but we'll settle for whatever they've got in the med bay." cots - likely not the most comfortable think in the world, but better than a horrid crick in the neck.

he's quiet after her comment about liquid courage - the realization about how stupid they both seem to have been smacking him sharply in the face. releasing a harsh sigh, he nods. "yeah, i'll stay til you're awake. then we can see how you feel about me in the morning. you still want me to stick around then, then, well..."

"no sweetheart, never teasing, just trying to take care of you, and make sure you feel even a tiny bit better when you wake up." he didn't understand a word of turkish, he had no idea what she was mumbling about, but it didn't change that cade sat and listened regardless of that. he sat wondering how he might be able to find a book or something on turkish, maybe get the artificial intelligence to help him learn some basics, do something to prove he really was serious about trying to make them work and learn anything and everything about her.

"we're on a space ship, flying for years and years.. you don't gotta worry about me going anywhere, i wouldn't up and leave, not only because i can't, mainly because i'd never dream of it, i wouldn't want to leave you, i'd not go anywhere." he smiled a bit softer, watchin her snuggle in, even moved to dim down the lights real low. "i'd stay, because i want to stay aiyla. promise."

"so for today, and tomorrow.. we quite literally have the sun on a string?" and yet she'd be quite happy, with tonight and tomorrow, then they could share it.. because it meant that something on this ship for even a small snippet or time, belonged to them. something to remember, when everything else had been ransacked through.

"no no no, you'll laugh at what i miss." there was a bit of a groan but then, there it was.. something that made her smile, reminiscent, but given she thought this room was the sun on a string, did she not realise part of it's warmth was already in her? somewhere deep down, when she wasn't thinking about it.. it was there. "the movies." she admitted, then moved her cup down to briefly hide her face in her knees. "it's for such a stupid reason to, or a few.. like.. like it sounds silly if you don't get it, but i used to like having something like that where i didn't have to.. speak?" she sighed, ran her hands over her face. "i didn't feel so much social pressure going to see a movie, i didn't have to keep up and act or, anything like that. i couldn't take a break from trying to be what people expected me to be, just to be more likeable. i liked not having to talk, i liked that it was dark.. i loved horror films so much, the cheesy kind. you know what else i loved? terrible theatre popcorn and nachos. those huge sodas. terrible, but terribly delicious, cinema junk food."

"no no really! really i'll be- you'll-" she couldn't help the squeak of a noise that left her when he got to his feet, had her cradled right into him and she shouldn't be blushing as much as she was but he'd called her sweetheart, and maybe it was the wine but she was so locked into the heat of his chest and how... how nice it was. she could've stayed right there and slept this whole thing off, forgot all about the wine, about everything. for a moment or two she was stiff and then she just.. eased, right into him, hooked her arms around and rest her head right into his chest, right over his heart. there was this noise, this relieved breath that left her in a soft sigh. ben would have liked him, the little thought crept in.

"but you'll stay, right?" sober, she'd never dare ask, or say anything she was staying. "you'll stay? 'coz... well 'coz what if i wanna sleep right here?" she half mumbled that, like she really could sleep like that. "i want you to stay and i can't tell you that normally, wine courage. plus i think i'll be too busy dying form embarrassment tomorrow morning to say anything."

[marsneedstherapy]

so it goes and mastermind are the philas anthems if you care

[dashikilover]

Hi I'm Neil, and today we're doing the Neil Quit Your Job Challenge!