#it really feels like he sets us up with an assignment knowing that we're going to fail it in some way and instead of doing anything to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyckstarz · 4 months ago

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breaking the rival code | l.mk

pairing. rival!mark lee x afab reader

word count. 6.1k

genre. smut · enemies to lovers trope · humour

synopsis. Mark had a way of getting on your nerves, to the point you'd even considered shutting him up for good. However, your best friend eventually planted a seed in your head that fucking your rival, and breaking the unspoken code, would be enough to finally end the long-standing feud.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, fingering, use of pet name (baby), choking, oral (fem receiving), haechan as best friend and instigator

A/N. i had this buried in my drafts for months but it had me screaming into my own pillow whenever i read it so, it couldn't stay unpublished for long.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Mark Lee," she's fuming, as per usual. Eyebrows tightly knit and throwing daggers with her hard glare while Mark just laughs, "It's due next week, and you haven't even written up a plan?!"

Mark rolls his eyes, his glasses almost slipping down his nose, doodling absentmindedly in his notebook, "Relax, that's 168 hours of time to work on it, it's nothing."

She sinks back into her chair, crossing her arms in that arrogant way — as Mark would describe it, "Actually, it's less than 84 hours if you factor in sleep, other classes you have to go to, and fucking surviving. Mark, do you take anything seriously?"

Mark rubs his face in frustration, facing her, "It's the first year; none of this counts towards our grade," he goes back to doodling small Spider-Man caricatures but, as always, he can't resist having the last word, "And you're too serious, princess. Live a little."

Small things like that always set her off. She was aware of how she came across but, when it involved Mark, she only ever saw red. She somehow manages to calm herself down, realising they're in the campus library and already earning a few curious, judgemental stares.

"Mark...," she manages to whisper somewhat loudly, leaning in close enough for him to feel her minty breath against his skin, "Can we please get most of this done today? I'd very much like to be free of your presence."

Mark chuckled under his breath, his dark eyes slowly drifting over her subtle features, raising a brow in amusement — the weight of his gaze caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. Finally, he gave in and pulled out his laptop. He began clicking through their assignment brief and taking notes down, surprising even her, who started doing the same. As English literature students, it was a given that they had to read a stack of novels and articles, even for an assignment worth 0% towards their final grade.

Yet even small victories in their relationship were rare. It was a miracle that they were somehow able to work through the tasks efficiently, though that moment was short-lived before they were at each other’s throats, with Y/N starting it again.

"Mark, we're meant to critically analyse, not describe. Do you have any working brain cells in that thick head of yours?" Her fingers twitched, as if to hold herself back from clenching her fists and knocking some ounce of sense into him.

He rolls his eyes in response, jaw hardening as he scowled at her, clearly not in the mood for their usual back and forth, "We need to have a synopsis of the texts, I don't know how else you expect me to include all of the relevant info without having a short paragraph in there."

She simply looks at him in disbelief, shaking her head as if he'd just said the most absurd thing ever, "Mark... do you really think we can afford a whole paragraph just on a summary?"

He just chuckles in response, clearly uncaring. She leaned forward, her fingers digging into the desk and turning white as she struggled to maintain her composure. Mark’s casual smile only fuelled her irritation, but she lets out a heavy sigh, judgy eyes flicking across his face.

"You're like those pretty dumb blondes; the only thing you've got going for you are your looks, sorry to say," she sneers, going back to taking notes, but she internally curses at herself for admitting she found him at least objectively attractive.

Mark pauses, head snapping to her, his eyes flicking over her features, trying to decipher what she'd just said, or if he'd even heard her correctly under the hushed whispers of the library. He spins the pencil in his hand, eyes narrowing at her as a smug expression tugs on the corners of his lips, "You think I'm good looking? I'm flattered."

Y/N gives him an exasperated glance, snorting at his sudden change in demeanour and sitting up to look at him straight on, "I know you took me for a fool, but a blind one too? Damn," she said with a sarcastic lilt.

When Mark doesn't respond, just a cocky smirk widening — his gaze intense — she feels her heart rapidly beat against her chest and, as a way to hide the effect he has on her, she rolls her eyes for the nth time that hour, clearing her throat and focusing back on her task, "If you weren't so annoying, or if you learnt how to shut your mouth and do things correctly, you'd have a lot more going for you," she sends him a glare, "But you don't, so your looks only take you so far, and that's below average in my books."

He mocks in response, "Wow, you read? How surprising."

This time, she couldn't hold herself back. Mark did have a way with getting under her skin, so well in fact, that it led to them being asked to leave the library, only furthering their frustration and anger towards one another.

It wasn't always like this, either. When Mark had first met her, he was a shy, slightly awkward teenage boy and, the first impression she had of him, was cute. He was incredibly sweet and outgoing; it was easy for him to make friends and that meant they easily got close too. The only problem was, they were so alike in all the wrong ways. He was just too competitive and stubborn, always aiming for the top, and so was she. It was only natural that friends turned to rivals, competing with one another over everything. With that being an understatement.

From whom could get to the cafeteria the fastest, to who could submit their assignment the earliest and get the highest grade? It was competition, after competition. Most would get exhausted after the first two or three, but for them, it was thrilling, though they'd never admit that to one another.

"I can't believe your loudmouth got us kicked out of the library," his jaw hardened as he met her intense gaze, "Can't you sit still and take comments with some sort of, I don't know, strength? Because clearly, you're so sensitive over such simple, meaningless words," He slings his bag over his shoulder, already walking off.

Only further proving his point, she chases after him, tugging at his arm so that he wouldn't get away.

"You're the one who can't let things go either, always needing to have the last word, what are you, a child?" she crosses her arms and nods her head with a questioning brow, as if to say, 'go on'.

Mark just scoffs, about to walk off before turning around, his hands moving in frustration as he glares down at her, "You- you're such a pain in the ass, you know that? You really know how to drive me crazy."

He's panting, frustration evident. But it was the way he was looking at her that threw her completely off balance. His narrowed eyes flicked to her lips, brows furrowed as though he were etching her features into his long-term memory. She felt her heart drumming in her chest.

Before she could respond, a familiar yet equally as annoying mutual friend of theirs appears, snickering at the pair and their usual quarrelling, "Jeez, can't you two just fuck already?"

"Shut the fuck up, Haechan" they both say in unison, tearing their gaze away from one another with a scowl.

Haechan only snorts, glancing between the pair with an amused brow, "Clearly there's some sexual tension that I'm interrupting here, it would explain why you look at each other like that," He leans in-between them, as if to reveal the biggest secret in history, "I bet you two dream about each other too — in, you know, that kinda way."

Mark just stands there, mouth agape and in disbelief at the absurdity Haechan was spewing, looking between the two. Y/N just scoffed, grabbing the man by his bag and pulling him away without so much of a word. Haechan waved a chaste goodbye to Mark as he was being dragged off to God knows where.

Someone was going to die today, and it was definitely Haechan.

It was quiet. Way too quiet. The coffee shop was empty, hence for the low whispers of the baristas in the far corner, and a cheeky Haechan sitting before her, happily drinking his iced tea after telling his two closest friends that they should fuck each other. She groans, letting her head fall into the palm of her hands.

Usually, this coffee shop was a place where she could find peace and solitude. It was bright, with large windows that let light in all throughout the day, creating a florescent streak of amber and pink through the thin stickers attached to the panels. The colour schemes could easily brighten one's day as whites and pinks peppered along the walls.

The foliage brought life to what would otherwise seem like a cold, simple design, and the bakery added a subtle hint of beige, creating a natural environment. But the best thing about any coffee shop, was the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, and the sounds of the machine working, or even the quiet conversations. Though, sounds were non-existent today, except for her constant groaning, which started to bother her best friend.

"If you make one more frustrated sound, I'm leaving," he takes another sip of his cool drink, "Is it because of what I said earlier? Just know, I wasn't lying, that would definitely help you two."

She pulls her hands away, pursing her lips as she started twirling her straw, watching the milk mix with the coffee and caramel, "No, it's because I'm... I don't know, frustrated?"

Haechan glared incredulously, "Clearly."

"Not like that, I meant... I miss how Mark and I used to be, how we would laugh at silly jokes, or talk for hours without it having to turn into a competition, but now everything he says or does has a way of getting under my skin," She takes a sip of her drink, eyes twinkling at the taste, "He could just be sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, and I'd I just want to-"

"Want to what?" Haechan asks, ears perking up, waiting for a gotcha moment.

"Well, what I usually do." She shrugs, going back to her drink.

Haechan takes everything she says in, nodding his head slowly, "Anyway, it's sort of funny as Mark said the same kinda thing to me the other day...," Haechan takes a sip of his drink, whining when he finds it empty, "He said he missed the old you, or when you guys used to be friends."

She pauses, meeting her waiting friend’s gaze. Her brows furrow. Mark... missed how they used to be? But she doesn't say anything to Haechan, keeping her thoughts to herself.

The usual smug expression returns as he leans back in his chair, leg bouncing under the table out of habit as he crossed his arms behind his head, "Anyway, as I said, you need to get your frustrations out in other ways. You clearly have a thing for each other. The way you express it is a little... unconventional, but you're both immature, so I'm not surprised."

She simply looks at her friend in disbelief, lips parted as she gapes at him, to which Haechan only grins annoyingly at her. He also had a way with words, just like Mark, except he seemed to understand boundaries a lot better, and was chill enough to not want to fight back.

"What? Please tell me you two at least have moments of either flirting with each other or checking the other person out-"

"No." She scowls, shivering at the thought. Though, she couldn't help but remember the way he'd looked at her earlier, brushing off the thought, "It's hard enough to even look at him without wanting to strangle him."

"Okay, so you're into choking, got it." Haechan chuckles, nodding as if to make a mental note of it.

"No, I'm not into that! Whatever, look, I don't have a thing for him, so just drop it." She looks at him with a serious, intense gaze, as if to emphasise the fact she really didn't want to talk about this anymore.

Her friend only nods, putting his hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, just know Mark would definitely jump you if he had the chance — I mean, which guy would put up with your shit? No offence."

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink in hopes it would be refreshing enough to block out her growing irritation, "Anyway, the sooner I get this assignment done, the sooner I can move on from this Mark topic."

She quickly pulls out her phone before Haechan could drop in another one of his grand ideas, finding Mark's contact and immediately sending him a text. She almost spat out her drink at how fast he had responded.

You: Let's just get this assignment done with. I don't feel like getting kicked out of yet another establishment, so just come over to mine tomorrow or something.

You: *sends her address*

Mark: Fun.

Mark: I'll be there around 4 if that works

You: 👍

She bit her nails anxiously, eyes glancing between the door and the clock on the wall - each tick of the hands signalled it was only getting closer to 4, which was when Mark said he would arrive.

That wasn't why she was anxiously boring holes into the clock, however. She could curse the heavens, the earth and the 12 Olympians, but instead, she chose to curse the lust demon himself, aka Haechan. She buried her head in her hands, tugging at the roots of her hair in frustration. She can't believe she dreamt of Mark last night for the first time and, it wasn't just any dream — which was the worst part. Why did her mind have to be so vivid and make Mark so incredibly sexy? She had no idea.

When a knock came from the door, she stood up a little too quickly, rushing to it and praying that Mark looked far from presentable than he had been in her dream. But he wasn't, of course. She'd never seen him in jeans before and the green hoodie was the cherry on top. She swallowed hard, peering up at him as he adjusted his glasses.

"Are you going to let me in?" He raised a brow, his dark eyes glancing over her features in suspicion, taking a quick, subtle glimpse at her plaid sweatpants and pink t-shirt that didn't do much to hide the outline of her bra. He swallowed hard, tonguing the inside of his cheek in annoyance yet, the only thing that swirled in his mind were thoughts of how fucking attractive she was without even trying.

His annoyed expression grounded her temporarily, falling back into her usual demeanour as she rolled her eyes and held the door open wider for him, "If I catch you slacking once, I'll kick your ass out of here."

Mark gives her a side eye, frowning before kicking his shoes off, "Are you trying to motivate me not to do the work?"

She laughs sarcastically, leading him to her room as she props herself on her bed, noticing Mark looking over her interior.

"I expected your place to be put together, but not drenched in pink," his gaze trailed over her shelf, taking note of the various photo frames and mini ornaments.

She chuckles under her breath, pulling out her laptop and notes, "What, too girly for me?"

He turns his gaze to her, a quiet silence envelops them for a moment, and she takes that time to admire him. She knew he was attractive — objectively — but never had she looked at him in that way. The kind of way that made her heart and mind race.

Mark finally straightens up with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and getting his things out as well.

It felt strange having Mark in her home. If it weren't for getting kicked out of the library, her apartment would have been the last place he would be at. Though, now seeing him sat almost politely at a respectable distance from her, typing away on his keyboard quietly, made it start to feel right somehow.

She opened their shared document, reading the notes he was typing up. Even though he tended to be a lazy ass — or a procrastinator, as he would call it — there was no doubt he had a way with words. When he really put his mind to something, he would always deliver quality work. At times, she'd look back on why they had turned rivals, or enemies, and then she'd see what a complete genius he was. Maybe it was always her. Maybe she was just jealous that, no matter how hard she worked, Mark would always be ten steps ahead.

"I wrote up all the notes," Mark's voice cut through her thoughts, "How far did you get?"

She turned back to her laptop, pursing her lips at the blank screen. When she took her time responding, Mark scrolled down the document to where her cursor was and sent her a deadpanned expression, "What did you say about slacking off...?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or smack him, so she picks the secret third option and scowls, "I did more work than you yesterday."

"That's old news," he sighed, looking through their to-do list, "I thought you wanted to get this assignment done and dusted because... what was the reason again? Oh yeah, you wanted nothing to do with me."

She scoffs, sitting up as she points an accusatory finger at him, "Don't act like you don't feel the same way."

Mark clears out the already completed tasks on the list, colour coding the other bullet points to distribute the work evenly between them, "Oh I do, and I wonder why." He doesn't even spare her a glance.

"Go on."

"Maybe it's because you continuously bitch over every little thing, it's no wonder Haechan is the only friend you have and, it's probably because he's waiting for some kind of green light," Mark's bitter words reeked of jealousy as he spoke through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me?" She shrieks before she leans over the bed and grasps at his hoodie, his hand immediately grabbing her wrist, "That's too far, Mark, even for you."

He raised an unamused brow at her, fingers tightening on her wrists, yet she doesn't waver, "Maybe, but I'm sick of it. All you ever do is complain and treat me like some sort of idiot and, when I give you the same energy, I'm the problem."

His voice is tight, jaw hard as he doesn't break the eye-contact. She pulls him in closer, anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach, "What a joke, you're just as much of a problem as I am and, you know what? Maybe Haechan was right, maybe we need to fuck for us to finally pull our shit together."

The moment those words leave her lips, she regrets them. From up close, he was even more attractive that those words naturally came out. Mark's eyes widened comically and she could almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

His brows furrowed, "Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually suggesting that?" his voice carried a disbelieving tone despite his cheeks growing redder by the minute.

If it weren't for the dream she had last night, or that stupid green hoodie he was wearing right now, she would have laughed it off as a joke or even knocked him out in hopes he'd forget what nonsense she'd just spewed. However, all she could think about in that moment were his hands gripping at her plush thighs, spreading them apart as he lodged himself between her legs, his soft lips parting against hers desperately. She swallowed hard.

"Yes, I am suggesting that," she doubles down, the words more confident now. She knew she wanted him, even if he drove her bat-shit crazy. Even if he'd think she's bat-shit crazy.

It was almost laughable how wide Mark's eyes had gotten, his lips parted in shock, "you're fucking serious, Y/N?" This was too cruel of a joke from someone like Y/N. He knew she would rather curse him out than make absurd suggestions such as sleeping with each other. And the more he thought about it, on top of the intense gaze she carried, the more he believed she was being serious.

She leaned in, her warm breath fanning against his skin. She could smell his musky cologne — it was a scent she felt she could easily get addicted to, "I am serious, Mark," her big, doe eyes peered up at him through her lashes, "Hell, I even dreamt of you last night thanks to that blabby-mouthed Haechan."

Mark suddenly grows flustered, averting his gaze. She dreamt of him? His words practically came out like a croak from the nerves, "H-hey, that's a little..."

She raised a brow, waiting for him to continue his sentence yet he'd only grown quiet, his jaw clenched as he processed the situation. He felt his throat go dry and, the way she was staring at him made him feel breathless - a little too out in the open under her gaze. It was taking everything in him to hold back, but their shared history and his growing annoyance towards her kept him stuck in place.

"What? Mark, don't be a pussy," she scoffed. Despite her harsh words, they had rolled off of her tongue like honey, "Do you want this or not?"

Mark's head whips to her, his brows furrowed, "I am not...," the words faltered on his tongue as his hands came to rest behind her on the bed, his nose brushing against hers. He was way bigger than her, his arms caging her in, looming over her, "I'm not as much of a loser as you think I am, Y/N," the words were bitter; however, he felt like he was falling too deep.

Being this close to her, with her wide, surprised eyes staring back at him, her flowery perfume more prominent at the proximity, and her warm breath... He couldn't find it in him to deny it anymore, "Fuck, I do want this," he muttered, the whispered confession slipping past his lips before he himself could process the words.

At that, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing his nose fully against hers, "I want this too." Her soft words drew him in like a moth to a flame and it felt like the string that held onto his sanity had snapped.

Mark pressed his lips to her glossy, pink ones that tasted like cherry, breathing in her flowery scent, to which she parted her lips against his in response. His hands gripped at the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her in impossibly close. He tasted minty, mixing with his musky cologne and it was like she couldn't think straight anymore, losing her grip on reality and, instead, losing herself in him. In Mark. Her supposed enemy and rival.

It didn't take long for her to pull him on top of her, her back falling against the mattress whilst her leg rode up his side, hooking over his hips. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of her neck, nipping at her skin and down the valley of her clothed breasts. She was going insane, and it was his fault, "Mark, take off my damn shirt already," she groaned in frustration, sitting up.

He didn't waste any time. Stripping off her shirt, he subtly admired her plush breasts which sat pretty in her lilac laced bra, barely leaving anything up to his imagination. As much as she got on his nerves, he couldn't deny the effect she had on him by being effortlessly gorgeous even as her brows were tightly knit. He pushed her back down onto the bed, planting his hands on either side of her head, "Are you always this demanding?"

"Only with you," she mutters, tugging at his hoodie impatiently, to which he chuckles, taking it off. She couldn’t help but gawk at him, sending him a glare for being more attractive than her dreams could ever do justice.

He kisses her again, his hand trailing down the side of her breasts, not giving her time to run her mouth. Then, his hand pulls the bra down, letting her breasts slip out as he cupped and kneaded the soft mounds, groaning into her mouth at how they fit perfectly in his hand. He rolled the nub between his fingers, grazing his thumb over them.

Mark kisses down her body, taking a nipple into his mouth — biting and tugging at it as his hand continued to twist the other between his thumb and index. He relished in the soft sounds that escaped her lips and the way she tugged at the locks of his hair.

He continued to move down her body, his finger hooking under the waistband of her sweatpants as he met her gaze, "I know you beat my ass over this, but you sure this is what you want?"

She deadpanned at him, "You just made out with my breasts, Mark. If I didn't want this, I would have stopped you there."

Mark just rolls his eyes in response, slipping her sweatpants down, "Could have just said yes."

She's about to retort when she feels his hand cup her, finger tracing the clothed slit of her pussy and she has to bite her lip to stop her from making a sound. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction so soon. Didn't want him to know just how badly she wanted him — more than she'd like to admit.

However, Mark was as stubborn and competitive as she was, and he wouldn't hold back until she gave in. He pushes her underwear to the side, leaning in so that his warm breath fanned against her sensitive folds, causing her to whimper.

'Fuck,' she thought.

Mark, without warning, slowly licks a stripe up her slit, his flat tongue drawing out a shudder from her — back naturally arching. Each time, he'd go in for more, slowly bringing up the pace. Her thighs clamped around his head, holding him hostage until he groaned and grabbed onto her plush thighs, pinning them to the bed; fingers leaving marks along her soft skin. Her own fingers grabbed at anything they could, from the sheets beneath her, to the healthy lock of hair on his head, letting them knot around her digits and tug with every wave of pleasure he had given her.

She could feel his cocky smirk as he sucked on her clit, enjoying every moment of her falling apart on his mouth. Falling apart for him. When he pulls away from her, she let's out a frustrated whine to which Mark only laughs at, "Open your mouth."

She sends him a skeptical look, "Fuck no."

Mark's patience wears thin, "Don't be a stubborn brat now."

Surprisingly, she obliged and he pushes his fingers past her plush, kiss-swollen lips. Her mouth suckles on the digits, tongue swirling around them, and he retracts his fingers with a pop.

"Fuck, your mouth really does have uses other than spewing insults and demands," he teases, voice low, tracing her entrance which had her letting out shallow breaths.

"At least it has more use than your fingers-" her words cut short when he pushes his finger in, palm pressed to her clit as he looks up at her with a 'you sure about that?' look.

It doesn't take long for Mark to add a second finger, curling them in search for the spot that would make her see stars. And then, he finds it, and she let's out a sharp gasp which only grows louder when his lips wrap around her clit, continuing his earlier ministrations of lapping at her folds like a man starved.

Just as her dreams failed in visualising just how attractive her nemesis was, it had also failed in expressing how utterly, impossibly, and irritatingly good he was with his hands, lips, tongue-

"Mark, fuck-!" She starts to tense under him, eyes pierced shut as she chases that feeling of ecstasy.

"I believe I'm getting there...," Mark chuckles, the vibration of his voice fluttering against her.

And, just as she starts to see the twinkling behind her eyelids, the light at the end of the dark tunnel, and a glimpse of the heavens, Mark pulls away, leaving her empty, wanting, and embarrassingly needy.

Forget Haechan, Mark was the number one man on her hit list.

In a second, he's over her again, cupping the back of her neck and lifting her slightly up to kiss her. She can taste herself on his tongue, feel the way his lips apply just the right amount of pressure to say he's here, and it's so soft, so gentle, so wanting — it was the perfect contrast, the perfect contradiction to the image she'd created in her mind of him. His thumb brushes against her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair, before he pulls away, forehead resting on hers as he breaths against her.

His eyes flicker open to gaze down at her; warm and oh so inviting. It felt like the Mark she once knew. The genuine, loving and calming person. Though his next words threw her completely off balance, and she was quick to retract her claims.

"I'm going to fuck that sexy, infuriating attitude out of you, baby," he lets the pet name draw out. In every other context, with any other person, she would have cringed at that word, but it felt so undeniably attractive coming out of his lips, that she wanted to hear him say it more than once.

Mark got up off of the bed, pulling out his wallet to fish for a condom that had been in there for God knows how long, chucking it on the bed next to her and kicking off his jeans and boxers in record speed. She barely had a millisecond to admire the sheer length of him before he was on her again.

His deep brown eyes kept their hold on hers and she could see a subtle hint of affection; the space between his brows crinkling in focus as he slowly pushed into her. His calloused fingers pressed along her waist, leaving white marks along her curves, while she could feel every ridge, vein and pulse of his cock.

When he bottomed out, she immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in impossibly close. Needing him closer to her. She could feel the rough planes of his body pressed to her soft ones as he started to rock against her. He gripped her thigh, pushing it further up so he could angle himself better, remembering the spot that had her seeing stars earlier.

Each time he'd hit that spot, she'd clench naturally, rocking her hips to meet his that had him softly groaning by her ear. He smelt so good, felt so good, was so good. She felt her mind start to fog up, jaw slack from the loud, erotic sounds that forced its way out from her throat. It was too much in the best possible way.

That wasn't as far as Mark would go though, he wouldn't stop at just good. He wanted best. His hand snakes up her body, gently wrapping around her neck — thumb pressed to her jaw — as he applied enough pressure to her pulse point. She knew then that maybe she did actually enjoy being choked or, at least, enjoyed anything Mark did.

She throws her legs around his waist, pulling him down, desperate to feel more of him, to reach her release she craved, pride long forgotten, "Mark... Mark, fuck- please..."

Mark pressed a sweet, uncharacteristic kiss to her cheek, "Please what, baby?" he brushed the strands away from her forehead, never halting his movements.

"Need more of you...," She could barely get the words out, but Mark knew exactly what she meant. Without time for her to process, he flipped her onto her stomach, pressing her face against the pillows, fingers tangled in her silky hair as he snapped his hips into her with more strength.

She could have sworn she started hallucinating seeing stars in the room from how deep he was reaching in this new angle, hitting her spot with added ease. Her glossy lips stayed parted against the pillows, drool staining the cotton case as she let out soft grunts.

Mark's head rolled back at the filthy sounds of her and how fucked out she looked. It made him want to carve this scene into the deepest part of his memory, "You're doing so good for me... So pretty like this."

His soft voice did not match the roughness of his fucking, but it made her clench around him, "C-close..."

Mark hummed, grabbing locks of her hair and tugging it back so that she arches against him, "Be a good girl and come all over my cock, then."

She nods eagerly, reaching behind him to grab at his hips, urging him to go faster, harder. She chased that release as if seeking closure from her pent up frustrations at Mark and hers usual bickering and challenges. She sits up to lean against him, knees pressed to the mattress and head rested on his collarbone — his own arms wrapping around her body. Finally, she came, body shuddering in his hold and, at the feel of her convulsing around his length, Mark bit her neck, muffling his sweet sounds as he followed suit.

They stayed like that for a while, panting, hair sticking to their foreheads. She wouldn't be close to exaggerating by saying this was the best sex she'd ever had, but she would also blame that on the sheer tension they carried for years around one another.

When Mark slips out of her, she fully expects him to make some usual smart comment, but he only pulls her with him as he lay in her bed, keeping his arms around her, "Who knew we'd be so compatible?"

She snorts, "I can name at least one person," she thinks of her best friend, the whole reason this night even happened and speeding up the process between them.

Mark smiles, snuggling into her and letting out a soft sigh, feeling sleep catching up to him, "I hope this isn't just a one time thing, though," he says suddenly with a soft voice, "you don't know how long I wanted this for. Wanted you. It drove me insane trying to be... I guess, respectful and casual about it all."

She sat up, turning to look down at him with a playful look of disbelief, "I call bullshit, you weren't respectful about nothing. Not that I'm complaining, it's attractive seeing you annoyed."

Mark rolls his eyes, smirking at her, his cockiness returning, "I knew you found me more than just objectively attractive, you're down bad."

She easily admits it, "Yeah, I am. But you're in way deeper for asking Haechan for advice of all people."

Mark immediately sits up, his face pale from the shock despite his cheeks being flushed, "Dude- Wait, what?"

"We're on dude terms now after you fucked an outline of my body into this mattress?" she scoffs, her crude words making Mark increasingly more flustered than he already was, "The choking kinda gave it away. I just know Haechan threw that in conversation with you."

Mark laughed sheepishly, pulling her into his chest as he pressed a kiss to her temple, "Guilty as charged. Though, I'm proposing we get back at his arrogant ass by not telling him a thing. We'll slowly drop hints to mess with him a little — see how long it takes for him to catch on."

"I'm in," She giggles, feeling sleep overtake her as she nestled into Mark's chest.

Before today, neither of them would have imagined that fucking each others rival would be the secret to finally ending the long-standing feud and breaking the rival code.

#mark lee smut #mark x reader #mark imagine #mark lee #nct mark smut #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #idol au #kpop au #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #haechan #mark smut #꒰ hyckstarz ꒱

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muirmarie · 8 months ago

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mccoy and spock get together towards the end of the five year mission, and spock is very, "obviously the doctor is aware that vulcans do not have casual relationships and almost always mate for life" and mccoy is, of course, "getting that damn vulcan to open up is like pulling teeth, how am i supposed to know how he feels about me" and this causes new and exciting problems when they're trying to sort out what they're DOING after the end of the five year mission

and mccoy is trying to subtly figure out if spock has any interest in being stationed together, and spock is, of course, the doctor is my mate, of course we will stay together, and mccoy gets offered this really exciting opportunity at a cutting edge research station that's still hands on enough with patients that it's perfect for him, and he kind of tosses it out there one evening to spock, hoping to get something from the bastard, and instead spock just skims through and stone face is like "in my opinion you should accept, it is precisely the opportunity you've been looking for" and mccoy sits there after spock leaves, like okay!!! i guess we're breaking up?? is this not even enough of a relationship for him to consider it a break up??? i may have to kill him. no jury would convict me. what! is! he! thinking!, and spock goes back to his quarters and immediately sends them a message like "i would like to apply for a position as well :)"

and mccoy still won't fucjing SAY what he MEANS because he doesn't want to be left vulnerable now that he's convinced himself that spock simply Doesn't Care Enough, and every time he at least tries to get like, some meaningful goodbye moments???? spock keeps blowing him off??? meanwhile spock is like "it is rewarding to know that the doctor wants to spend time with me, but i know he will miss our friends, and as his mate it is important for me to make sure he spends enough time with his friends before we all leave the ship", and then when mccoy says he's going to go visit joanna before he starts his new assignment, spock's like =/ wish he invited me along but I will respect his wishes and says he's going to go to vulcan between assignments, and then it's over! they're saying goodbye! and spock! just! leaves! and mccoy is just. absolutely furious and trying So Hard to Not Care but also!!! so!!!! furious!!!!

so anyway imagine his surprise when he arrives at the research facility for his new assignment three weeks later, and they're like "doctor mccoy!! so nice to meet you! your husband arrived two days ago, and he took it upon himself to set up your shared quarters and your office to your liking, but let us know if you need anything else, we're so thrilled to have you on board!"

and mccoy is just.

"i'm sorry. what did you just say?"

and spock comes walking out like everything is normal, and gives him the little vulcan finger kiss, and turns to the welcome party and says, "husband is a simplification of a vulcan term - we have not performed the human marriage rites, but he is my mate"

anyway yeah mccoy probably tries to strangle him.

they make a great first impression.

#star trek #star trek the original series #st:tos #spones #leonard mccoy #spock #tos writing ref

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javierpena-inatacvest · 8 months ago

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Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.”

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.”

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice, he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments.

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else.

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve.

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using.

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well obviously something’s wrong.”

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?”

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not upset!”

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-”

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him.

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon.

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be.

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?”

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins.

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time.

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you.

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-”

“I didn’t get in.”

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke.

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock.

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?”

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!”

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has.

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand.

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation.

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say.

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?”

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds.

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?”

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.”

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive.

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest.

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to.

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you.

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you.

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed.

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?”

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving.

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.”

“Where?”

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace.

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.”

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for.

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified.

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.”

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home.

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers.

“You promise you’ll come home, right?”

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too.

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness.

“Anything.”

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.”

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did.

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.”

Frankie, Present

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point.

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings.

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you.

Well, he can’t think about you as much.

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him.

He let you take the first shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run.

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you.

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.”

“You barely run the mile in gym class.”

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.”

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you.

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to.

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans.

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day.

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement.

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.”

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings.

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.”

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.”

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.”

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).”

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past.

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible.

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him.

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer.

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school.

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too.

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school.

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble.

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed.

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to.

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him.

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage.

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment.

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him.

August 18th, 2006

Frankie,

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage.

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL.

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person!

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha).

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo.

From,

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line.

October 13th, 2009

Frankie,

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet.

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do.

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie.

Kenzie

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong.

February 4th, 2011

Hey,

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways.

I guess I’ll see you when I see you.

MacKenzie

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business.

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull.

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done?

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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bravehyde · 1 month ago

Text

Ant Tenna Anatomy: What Mike is For Him?

~Deltarune Chapters 3+4 Spoilers~

I'm still working on a post on what equipment Tenna would want, and then I realized...hey, microphones should probably be their own post. This is because of multiple reasons: we have Mike, we have the fact he actually holds a microphone in a sprite, and the microphone is just important! So we'll have our own smaller post for the microphone and the cable he'll need to connect it.

Which one is Tenna holding?

This is the easiest, since it's just figuring out which microphone Toby probably used as reference, and there's one in particular that would fit the bill the best, because it's an iconic microphone model. Everyone has seen this microphone before, it's *the* microphone. This is also the closest match for Photorealistic Mike that I could find, but if someone has a better match they can ID, then by all means go for it.

Tenna's physical microphone is most likely the Audio-Technica AT818 Microphone.

So, just to go over what that name means: Audio-Technica is the company who makes the microphone. They're a Japanese company that's been top of the line for a very, very long time globally and mainly make microphones and headphones. AT818 is the model (AT is denoting that it's made by Audio-Technica, 818 is just the number they assigned it).

This is a cardioid microphone, which means it won't pick up everything in every direction and instead what's in front of it in a heart-like pattern. That's excellent for picking up one person talking. It also has a dynamic transducer, which makes it more precise with what it picks up and records and was revolutionary at the time. The AT818 is a classic for a reason, and stuck around for a longass time.

What's that cord do, though?

That's an XLR cable, and you need it. Some people also call it a cannon plug, but that's less of a thing nowadays. We use these for connecting audio, lighting, cameras, power...it's a very versatile cable and you won't see a set without one. Some microphones don't need to be plugged in for power (they have *phantom power*, which I have worked with for eight years and I still don't know what that means so don't worry about it), but everything has to be plugged in to transmit their audio to the recording device, usually with this. And because I know some people will want to see wires and cords for other reasons, here are some more pictures of them in different angles. First, where to plug it into the microphone.

All XLR cables that we use for professional microphones have the three pin configuration (the pin is that sticking-up bit of metal). There are other configurations for XLRs, they're for intercoms and the like and don't matter to the topic at hand. The other end can have a different shape depending on what it's supposed to connect to and also doesn't pertain to what I'm talking about. For the microphone we're talking about, you need to plug it in at the bottom there, so the cord will come out directly instead of from the side. After that, well, where you decide he has his multitrack recorder is up to your design, really. I was talking about suggestions with other people and i got in the forearm, a holster on the hip, or an ant-like butt that it connects into. Obviously if you need art references for the XLR cable so I'm going to go over what you can't find in a photo reference: how they move and feel.

These things are bitches and they are in charge of you. No, I'm not kidding. They're thick, they're tough, they're heavy, and if you treat them right, they're working for thirty years, but if you don't, not only are they disappointed in you, everyone in the crew is disappointed, because you fucked up the XLR cable. You cannot make them do what you want, you have to go with what they want. If you're drawing these, they'll have a lot of weight and very rarely be straight, since they love to coil in one direction and straightening them out can really screw them up. They're strong and won't ever have a sharp edge to them unless you want the director to fire you. If your Tenna has them bare, they'd also be a great show of emotions since these fuckers have so much personality to them it's a pain in the ass. I hate XLR cables. I went through some videos on cable management and I think this one is the closest to what I was taught in school on how to manage them and also shows how they really move and operate.

youtube

Notice how when you are handling them you have to run your finger along it when you pick it up. He doesn't force it into loops, it decides the loops for him and he goes with it. You physically feel how it wants to bend and follow through on it. If you force it to do something it doesn't want, congratulations, you just fucked up an XLR cable.

That's just what I have for now. I've been thinking about doing something about each of the Mikes since I thought it was funny how they're different microphones too, but I'm still thinking about that one. We needed to talk about his physical microphone while I work on the other bits, so here it is! His microphone. I looked at a lot of catalogues for microphones around this era from different companies just to see if there's a different one he could be using, but the one I said above seemed best. If anyone wants the microphones I was looking at for more options, then send me an ask and I'll post the catalogues I was flipping through.

#ant tenna anatomy #ant tenna #mr ant tenna #tenna #tenna deltarune #deltarune #deltarune chapter 3 #xlr cable #audio technica #microphone #deltarune mike #mike deltarune #deltarune tenna #Youtube

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aurorasgate · 9 months ago

Text

as long as we're together

sephiroth x afab!reader | 3.4k+ words

warnings: an alternate ending to nibelheim, angst/comfort, afab reader but i didn't use any pronouns, pregnancy, he's a little scary and handles you not very gently but overall i wanted to try my take of seph losing his sanity being a mix of things like losing his friends, lack of sleep n water and meds he probably needs to be taking plus some jenova influence (he was really going through it), i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed any tags!

there’s a ringing in your ears, somewhere between a joyful hum and the screeching break of the whole world around you. a perfect mirror to the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling at the moment.

this could not be fucking happening. not right now, at what you would consider quite literally the worst possible time in your whole life. and yet there’s an undeniable happiness, a flicker of light in the darkness.

after all, was it not something so special to have a child with your beloved? the ultimate product of your love. a reason to hope. a lovely addition to the future you had dreamt of together.

but there is nothing simple or ideal about the current situation you’re in. not when you’re in nibelheim with sephiroth and with how.. unusual he’s been acting since arriving and made worse by the fact he’s holed himself inside the shinra basement for more than two days now. reading and reading, never once looking up to answer your calls of his name or touching the food and water you’d left for him.

it was a few short weeks ago, after losing angeal, the possibility of abandoning shinra became a matter of when between the two of you and when he had been assigned this mission, only days ago, he proposed that you leave after nibelheim.

you chalked your oncoming nausea and discomfort to stress. the anxiety of running from shinra and that you had no reason to believe they’d let sephiroth go so easily. the normal life you’ve longed for together almost within reach and yet so far away, with an entire blockade ready to stop you. or more likely, kill you.

but of course that had been a naive assumption and you wouldn’t be surprised if the goddess was laughing at your foolishness now. waiting on her throne of the most vivid greens and enchanting flowers to see how this would all play out.

“- okay?”

zack’s voice pulls you from your thoughts and dulls the ringing in your ears. it’s then you notice too that you’ve made your way to shinra manor and the sun is in its last few moments of setting behind the mountains. by the way zack looks at you, a confused tilt to his head and worried puppy eyes, you think he’s tried to get your attention more than once.

“zack.” forcing a smile you’re sure doesn’t meet your eyes, you find some comfort in his normality and presence. hoping, praying, he could do what you hadn’t been able to thus far. “any luck with sephiroth?”

“no.” his face drops, his blue mako eyes avoiding yours. “it’s like i'm not even there. he just keeps reading and muttering to himself about jenova and what we saw at the reactor.”

your chest aches horribly. what was going on.. what could you do to help him.. how could you help yourself? or the baby growing below your belly? taking in a deep breath of the cool, mako free air, you will yourself to calm. even if only a bit, hoping to lessen what your baby has to feel no matter how scary things were getting.

“thank you for trying,” and you mean with all your heart. reaching out, you place a hand on his arm and try to let it ease you both. “i’m going to go talk to him.”

before your hand can pull away, zack grabs ahold of it, saying your name seriously. “i don’t know if that’s a good idea. sephiroth..” worrying his bottom lip through his teeth, he hesitates. like he doesn’t want to say whatever comes next. “he’s not himself at all. what if..” his grip on your hand tightens. “what if he hurts you? i know you can hold your own but he would never forgive me for letting you get hurt and i wouldn’t be able to forgive myself either. i can -“

“i’ll be fine.” your voice and eyes soften, a gentle reassurance to you both. “really.” no one could talk you from going down there. nothing could stop you from trying until you physically could not speak or move or breath. you believe sephirot would do the same for you. looking down, your next words are a whisper, meant for the life growing inside of you, “i can’t just do nothing.”

“but -“

“no ‘buts’ zack. he’s my husband. i have to.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

night slowly settles in, chilling the unkept manor. the lights sephiroth had never let dim since diving into the records and books lining wall to ceiling are your guide to the one that holds your heart and the only source of warmth besides sephiroth himself.

you pass by the tray of food you had left earlier today before heading to the clinic alone, untouched and now drooping on the plate. the water still completely full, just like every other glass you had tried to get him to drink without success.

your heart is a wicked beating drum, loud enough you don’t doubt that sephiroth can hear it clear as day the closer you make it to him but you can’t stop it when your mind is racing. should you lay the truth on the table? use it to hopefully snap him out of this? or would it only make it worse. could you even do it? neither of you would ever have wanted to use your baby as a bargaining chip, as a means to do anything other than love them and give them the world. but if nothing else, he deserves to know. right..

resting on his knees, sephiroth looks like a man possessed as he hunches over the open book resting utop a stack of dozen or more. there’s an unusual greasiness to his usually pristine hair, dark circles under his emerald eyes that have a sheen of ferality to them that you’ve never seen before. proof that for days he’s done nothing but this and that with every book he reads, it takes more of his sanity with it.

despite knowing he can hear you, your steps are quiet and when you approach him, kneeling down to be level with him, you place a gentle hand on his arm to alert him of your presence but he does nothing to acknowledge it. he continues to read, gliding his finger along the pages as he does.

“sephiroth,” you call his name softly, reaching for his face with your other hand, trying to brush his messy bangs away from his face.

before you can touch a strand of his silver locks, his large hand is wrapped around your wrist, tight and impatient, enough to be a subtle ache and catch you by surprise.

“it’s okay,” you use the voice you had so many times before in the latest parts of the night when nightmares tore him from sleep. a warm promise that he’s not alone and never would be again. “it’s just me.”

for the first time since locking himself down here, sephiroth actually looks at you but the look in his eyes forms a lump in your throat in its unfamiliarity on his beautiful features; a stark contrast to the gentle man you knew him to be. especially towards you.

“seph-“

his grip on you tightens to something more painful and in a flurry of inhumanly quick movements, you’re being pinned to the cold floor of the library, the dusty rug the only thing to cushion the impact.

the stack of books falls at your side, their pages scattered open. his right arm keeps him hovering above you, caging you between his legs and under his board body. the long strands of his hair fall over his shoulders and tickle your skin as he stares down at you with a crazed edge to his features and the thin slits of his pupils. like he might devour you both right here and now.

the most dangerous predator and his sweet, helpless, little prey.

but you weren’t helpless. at least you didn’t think so. he had every bit of physical prowess over you, yes, but it’s one simple truth that keeps you from breaking underneath him no matter how much you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

he won’t hurt me. he would never hurt me. you repeat the words in your mind, knowing it’s true.

“you need to sleep, my love. please.” you plead, not fighting the hold he has on your wrist, pinning it to the side of your head while your other hovers in the space between you. “this isn’t good for you.”

the smirk that spreads across his lips is unsettling and the laugh that follows is as though he pities you. it makes your heart constrict and your skin break out in chilling goosebumps. his voice is distant and low when he speaks, almost as if he’s muttering amusingly to himself. “as if you could know what i need.”

“that's not true,” you try so badly to keep your calm but your voice still shakes. finally you let your free hand connect with him, a soothing press against his chest. “i’ll watch over you and cook you pumpkin soup when you wake up and then we can talk about all of this.”

sephiroths expression turns serious, his smile falling into something almost pained. “i’ve learned the most interesting things about myself.” he says, ignoring your words. again, it’s as though he’s talking to himself, recounting what he’s read. “my mother; an ancient, a steward of the planet. how they found her and exhumed her body from rock and used her to resurrect the ancients, which led to my conception. my.. creation.” the word seems to pain him further, making him close his eyes with force and draw his brows together.

he lets go of your wrist in favor of reaching for his face as if the pressure of his fingers on his skull will help ease whatever it is that’s going on inside of him. it doesn’t seem to last long though. so quickly does it dissipate, the candle light surrounding the room growing brighter, letting you see clearly how his gloved hand is now only hiding a part of his terrifying smile and muffling a manic laugh.

“the crowning glory of professor gasts experiment.”

“you’re not an experiment or a creation!” you’re so quick and steadfast in your reply, refusing to accept anything else. you don’t want to let yourself give into the fear bubbling within you but some of it is so impossible to hold back. you can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks or how your hands tremble when holding his face between your palms, forcing him to keep looking at you. “you are so much more than any of that.”

he doesn’t seem to feel the warmth from your palms, the truth in your words, or the sincerity in your eyes. every moment that passes he just feels farther and farther away.

“you are right about that.” he says coldly. you aren’t sure exactly what he means but you know that he’s not taking your words like you intend, that there’s something more behind what he’s thinking. “and mother..” you watch as his pupils blow wide and shrink back, the mako in his eyes seeming to darken. like he truly is possessed. needing only one of his hands, his fingers coil around your wrists and tug your hands away as if they were nothing more than pestering flies. “she’s waiting for me.”

you have so many questions and no time to try to piece them together or try to answer them. not when it feels as though he’s slipping through your fingers like sand through a sieve. the heat of his body recedes, the weight of him, the aura of darkness around him, starts to lessen on your person but you can’t let him go. you wouldn’t give up on him. you can’t.

“sephiroth!” grabbing onto his coat, you hold on with all your might and try to stop him in his tracks but quickly find yourself once again pressed to the floor, staring into enraged cyan eyes, the glint of masamunes blade shining in your peripheral vision, right next to your head, and the sound of her sinking into concrete like nails on a chalkboard fills the room.

you’re pinned, pressed down by the weight of him and more strength than he had ever used with you before, completely unable to move from the hand that holds you down.

he won’t hurt me. he won’t hurt me.

“don’t try to stop me.” he seethes.

“i will.”

“a truly foolish decision.”

“maybe it is,” you can feel the tears still streaming down your cheeks, how hot the air in your lungs is. you can’t think straight - can never give up on him. “if you want to stop me you’ll have to kill me.” the words come out with all the conviction of your heart, fueled by your tears and never once do you break your gaze from his. a heartbeat passes, his hold on you growing in its strength until you think you’ll have bruises come tomorrow but there’s an undeniable flame in your eyes and it helps to steel yourself to say what may change the course of tonight entirely. “but know, in turn you’ll be killing our child too.. or at the very least leaving us both - is that right?”

“liar,” sephiroth growls through gritted teeth and with an expression you can’t quite make out when his eyes break away from yours and he uses his hair to shadow his visage but it feels like he’s fighting with himself. calling you a liar and yet not wanting to believe you actually are one. knowing you aren’t one.

“see for yourself. the paper with the test results are in my pocket or perhaps that soldier hearing of yours can already hear their heartbeat.”

you don’t really know what you’re saying. for goddess sake you didn’t even know when a baby's heartbeat is able to be heard or how far along you are but you would have done anything to bring him back to you. to save him and your child. to show him that flicker of light in the darkness and take his hand so you could walk towards it, together.

on bated breath you wait for him to move and when he does, he lets go of his sword to take his head in his hand, grunting in more discomfort than before. his hand holding you down grows weaker too but you stay where you are, finding the rug underneath you beginning to warm from your body heat.

it feels like so many long moments but after what was causing him pain starts to ease, his touch changes completely.

forgoing the paperwork in your pocket, the fingers that held you down only moments ago are now a feather of a touch down your middle and takes care when lifting your shirt, helping you lift your back so it bunches and sit underneath your breasts. he slides on his knees to lower himself and uses his other hand for leverage until he’s able to rest his ear on the soft skin of your belly.

there’s so much comfort in the way he lays on you like this and so badly you want to relax as it attempts to wash over you, coax you to ease, but it’s not until both of his arms wrap around you, pressing him further into your stomach and lifting your middle off of the ground, and he sighs do you allow yourself to actually do so and take in your first steady breath.

the mess inside your head is hardly coming back together. some of it left worse as his words start to settle in and only leave more questions but the darkness once looming over you, ready to take everything from you, to snuff out that small flicker of hope, starts to recede. slowly but surely you feel it draw back into the shadows, the life in your womb the source of light forcing it to stay there. protecting both you and sephiroth.

over the minutes that pass while you’re kept in the awkward position your tears begin to subside, every breath a bit calmer than the last. he’s okay. we’re okay. everything else aside, so long as you two were by each other's side, everything was going to be okay.

when sephiroth breaks the silence between you, his shakey words akin to something much more familiar to the man you love and yet laced with a new emotion you aren’t sure you have a name for and raises your anxiety in completely different ways.

“there are two of them.”

“what..”

he holds you ever closer. “two little heart beats..”

in the fully lit basement, there is no telling how much time has passed since sephiroth succumbed to sleep while listening to the beating hearts in your womb. this space on the dusty rug becoming a temporary haven for him to rest at, where he’d be totally and completely safe and where you could watch over him like you had promised.

your hands had found their way into his hair, for hours combing through the tangles and knots that had developed over the last few days and scratching at his scalp gently with the tips of your fingers until they’re too tired to continue and simply rest on him instead. in his sleep, you can hear barely coherent murmurs of your name from his lips and feel the warmth of his breath seeping into your skin as the hours pass.

at some moments, when you let yourself bask in bliss and relief, everything that happened before might have seemed like a bad dream had it not been for masamune still shining next to your face. you wouldn’t have been able to sleep regardless, you’re certain the only reason sephiroth had is because he physically could not stay awake any longer, but the way his sword lingers over you does little to help you in that aspect.

instead you focus on the other side of the door, the hallway you can only see a bit of out from your place on your the ground, books with disturbed dust and others untouched, the outward point of sephiroths nose, his long dark lashes, your fingers threaded through his silver hair and the twin babies resting in your belly below him.

when he finally does stir, he hardly rubs the sleep from his eyes or sits up completely before he’s lifting you off of the ground and into his arms, the defined muscles of his body softer than the rug and concrete below it, warmer, your personal haven where you were safe from anything.

“let’s leave this place - shinra,” he says against the crown of your head, voice thick with tiredness but resolute in his decision.

you could almost laugh from how relief hits you like a train, clinging on to your promise, your dream of a normal life that seems closer than ever. “after you’ve had some water and a meal, yeah?”

“no.” it’s not often that sephiroth denies you and it comes out harsher than he intended but he’s quick to bring you closer, pressing his forehead to yours now, holding you like how he spoke to you, not doing as you wish, might make you push him away. he speaks much more gently now, so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “i will, as soon as we’re far away from here.”

“but seph-”

“forgive me.” you don’t know he means for everything leading up to this or for not giving into what you wanted now. perhaps both.

sephiroth stands, cradling you in his arms and keeping you securely against his chest. wrapping your arms around his neck and ready to hold him to his promise as soon as possible, you only have one question.

“what about zack?”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

zack wasn’t sure how much time to give you before venturing back down into the basement. he hadn’t heard anything or seen the lights change but after so long without either you or sephiroth returning, he didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

the night passes and into the early morning he makes his way back into the basement. not at all expecting to find it messier than before with a rip in the otherwise put together rug, books strewn across the floor and completely devoid of the two people he expected to find.

on the desk, resting below a flickering candle a folded note catches his attention and he’s quick to unfold it, scanning over the words and recognizing his friends handwriting despite the note being unsigned.

‘zack, thank you for everything.’

#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 x reader

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airybcby · 7 months ago

Note

it’s for the married couple event :D

isagi + 🍉 + 🍭

have a great day 🫶

i hope you have a great day too!

an isagi yoichi watermelon sucker

જ⁀♡⊹｡° a dwindling , mercurial high

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event!

♡ content — isagi yoichi x gn! reader, gn! reader, tried to make it as gn as possible but if you see a she/he in there referring to the reader pls lmk!, fake dating, kinda unrequited love, isagi still plays soccer, set in a high school, reader's had a crush on yoichi for a while

♡ synopsis — the plan was to get through this simulation as smoothly as possible, but when you're paired with isagi yoichi, that won't happen.

The marriage simulation program wasn’t just a quirky school experiment to teach life skills—it was a competitive test of teamwork, resourcefulness, and communication. And when your name was paired with Isagi Yoichi’s, the school’s friendly, hardworking soccer star, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Guess we make a good team, huh?” Yoichi grinned, holding up the assignment sheet with both of your names highlighted.

“Sure,” you said with a forced smile, your stomach twisting. Teamwork wasn’t the issue. Yoichi was great—kind, dependable, and endlessly encouraging. The problem was your not-so-tiny, not-so-manageable crush on him, something you’d buried for years.

And now, living with him for a month? Pretending to be married? It felt like walking a tightrope over your feelings.

The first week was easy enough. Yoichi, ever the optimist, took the tasks seriously: planning “dates” for extra credit, cooking dinner together, and even budgeting for pretend household expenses. You played along, keeping a safe emotional distance while fulfilling every assignment.

But things took a sharp turn when Yoichi came up with his next brilliant idea.

“People are talking about us,” he said one afternoon, scrolling through his phone.

“Talking about what?”

He turned the screen toward you, showing a string of group chat messages.

— Isagi and Y/N look so natural together. Are they really a couple? —They were holding hands yesterday during the task. Maybe it’s real?

Your face grew warm as you looked back at him. “We were holding hands because this stupid test required it!”

Yoichi scratched the back of his head, his sheepish grin doing nothing to calm your nerves. “Yeah, but… people are going to keep asking. And, well, if we tell them we’re actually together, it might stop the rumors.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You want us to tell people we're dating? You want us to fake date?”

“Just until the simulation ends,” he said quickly., as if he couldn't get the words out of his mouth fast enough. “It’s not like it’d be that different from what we’re already doing, right?”

His logic was infuriatingly sound, but it still felt dangerous—like inviting trouble into a house already on fire. Against your better judgment, you nodded. “Fine. But this stays between us.”

“Deal.”

The fake dating went almost too well.

Yoichi was good at playing the doting partner, maybe too good. He’d drape an arm around your shoulders during group outings, laugh at your jokes like they were the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and casually call you nicknames that sent your heart racing.

But when it was just the two of you, the act faded into something quieter, something closer to real. Like when he’d sit next to you during dinner, asking about your day with genuine interest. Or when he’d stay up late helping you with assignments, his focus unwavering.

You told yourself it was just for the simulation. Just part of the act. But deep down, you knew you were falling deeper than ever.

Things hit a breaking point during one of the simulation’s final tasks: a “couples’ interview,” where pairs had to answer questions about each other to test their “compatibility.”

“What’s Yoichi’s biggest dream?” the interviewer asked, her pen poised over her clipboard.

“To become a professional soccer player,” you said without hesitation. “He’s been working toward it for as long as I’ve known him.”

You were grateful for the easy question, everyone knew that about Isagi. Yes, you knew almost everything that had been asked so far too, but you assumed it was basic knowledge to know these things about your partner. (it's not, half of the other groups couldn't answer these questions.)

Yoichi’s eyes widened slightly before he smiled, his expression softening. “Yeah, that’s right. And Y/N's dream is to travel the world someday. They're always talking about all the places they want to see.”

Your chest tightened. You mentioned that once in passing, while the two of you were watching a nature documentary.

You hadn’t expected him to remember.

The interviewer beamed. “You two really know each other well.”

You forced a smile, but the weight of his words lingered long after the interview ended.

As the simulation neared its end, the line between fake and real blurred beyond recognition.

“I think we’ve got the highest score in the class,” Yoichi said one night, leaning against the counter while you washed dishes.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual.

He noticed, of course. Yoichi always noticed. “Hey, are you okay?”

You hesitated, your hands stilling under the faucet. “What happens when this is over?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… us. The fake dating. Do we just go back to normal?”

Yoichi’s smile faltered. He looked down at the floor, his usual confidence replaced by uncertainty. “I guess so. That’s what we agreed on, right?”

Your heart ached at his words, even though you’d expected them. “Yeah. Right.”

What did you expect? Isagi Yoichi wasn't the type of person to fall for you.

You were just foolish.

The final day of the simulation arrived, and the apartment felt emptier than ever as you packed your things. Yoichi was unusually quiet, his movements slower than usual as he folded his clothes into his suitcase.

“So… this is it,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Good luck with soccer,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know you’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile faint. “And I hope you get to see all those places you’ve always dreamed about.”

For a moment, it felt like there was something hanging in the air between you—something fragile and unfinished. But before either of you could speak, the program coordinator knocked on the door, signaling the official end of the simulation.

Yoichi grabbed his suitcase and walked to the door, hesitating briefly before turning back to you. “See you around, Y/N.”

“See you,” you whispered.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with an empty apartment and a heart full of questions that would never have answers.

fake dating isagi...yes pls

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #airy answers asks :)#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #yoichi isagi #blue lock isagi

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westsidepetrichor · 2 months ago

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costume party!!

pairing: cassian andor x reader synopsis: you're paired with cassian on a mission for the first time. the two of you try on special outfits for the occasion. warnings: alcohol consumption, fluff, a meddlesome friend word count: 1.4k a/n: the fluff gun shot me y'all. coming up with and describing clothing is hard</3

you were a former actress from coruscant. sick of the corruption, the rebellion eventually found you. and with the rebellion, you found him. cassian andor, a captain that you developed huge crush on. with a stroke of luck, you were put on an assignment with him thanks to your acting experience.

the mission? infiltrate an imperial banquet and gather intelligence. the part you were secretly excited about were the costumes you were going to get! the designer was an old friend of yours from the theater, syla. before the two of you went off on the mission, syla planned a fitting. it was a time for tests, modifications, or to voice any concerns.

a knock came from your door. opening it, your eyes widened in surprise. you saw cassian waiting there.

panic set off inside you. what the hell was he doing here?? you flash him a nervous smile.

"cassian! hi! w-what's up?" you ask nervously. his voice makes you want to swoon.

"i was just coming to get you."

you don't respond.

"for the fitting?" he reminds you. "it was on my way so i figured i'd stop by."

it feels like cold water splashes you in the face. how could you forget?!

"ohhhh, the fitting!! right right, i was just about to head over," you manage out nonchalantly. "let's go then," you say, shutting the door behind you.

awkward silence fills the hallway, the only sounds being the echoes of boots. you try to walk in a way that avoids cassian's eyes. you were certain that if you looked at them, you'd say something incredibly foolish. clearing his throat, he breaks the silence.

"the designer, you know her?" he asks, trying to catch your eyes. they meet for a moment before you flit them downward, pretending to be very interested in the ground.

"yeah, syla. she used to work at the theater back home. my best friend," you say fondly. "her work is amazing. should be on runways really."

cassian smiles. you speak of syla so highly, your warmth seems to melt the ice between you.

"we're in good hands then. that's reassuring," he muses.

"pfffft, good hands? that's an understatement. syla will make you look even more handsome than you usually do," you say confidently.

you stop walking. cassian's eyes widen for a fraction of a second. he tries to push down a laugh but fails. you panic again.

"i'm so sorry, that was inappropriate. please forget that," you try to apologize. but cassian brushes it off, almost glowing at the compliment.

"you don't have to," he chuckles warmly. "really."

your eyes meet his, trying to see if he's just being polite. to your surprise, you can't seem to find a tell that would state otherwise. the door to syla's workshop seemed to appear as a saving grace. you sigh a little in relief, walking inside.

syla's head pops up from her desk. her eyes sparkle mischievously. a suspicious feeling grows in your stomach as you eye her warily.

"welcome!" she envelopes you in a hug and shakes cassian's hand. "i'm so excited for you two to try on your outfits!! here, i have shots," she offers, gesturing to filled glasses.

"where did you get this?" you gawk. cassian snickers. syla shrugs coolly, pushing a rack with two garment bags into focus.

"i got one of the new recruits to smuggle some in for me. some strong outer rim stuff. he was sweating bullets!" she cackled. downing a shot, she unzips the bags to reveal your new attire.

a dark blue dress greets you. silver chains draped the front and a slit ran up the right leg that you guessed would reach your mid thigh. it was gorgeous! you looked at syla in wonder.

"i really don't know how you do it, sy," you marvel. "this is stunning."

cassian takes in your expression, seeing your sparkling eyes. he was curious to see you in it. if syla could garner that reaction out of you, he wondered what he'd be put in...

syla tilts her chin up in pride. "you're too kind, really. but i won't object to more compliments," she jokes. "now cassian, don't worry, i have something marvelous in store for you as well."

another zip and voilà! cassian's costume. it's a matching shade of blue, with a cape and cinched waist. the top dips into a deep v, with an ivory undershirt that makes you frown internally. so much for seeing some of his chest...

you fold your arms and catch syla's eyes. she winks at you. the two of you look at cassian for a reaction. syla clears her throat. cassian snaps out of whatever trance he's in and looks at her.

"ahem, sorry. it looks wonderful. thank you, syla," he says gratefully.

this response appeases syla and she shoves the two of you into separate fitting rooms. before closing the curtain to your room, syla pokes her head in.

"soooo? how do you feel? it's your first mission with him!" she tries to whisper. you shoot her a look.

"sy! a little quieter, please?" you plead. she blinks and a shit-eating grin creeps onto her face.

"awww, don't be nervous! i designed your outfits, so you'll have no choice but to fall in love with each other" she says.

"falling in love isn't the mission," you say flatly, removing your shirt.

"dual functionality, my dear," she singsongs, closing the curtain. "whenever you're ready, you two," she says, taking a seat.

the dress really is stunning, you think to yourself. there's a part of you that doesn't want to come out from the curtain, but the magic of syla's genius pushes you from the fitting room. your hand hesitates before stepping out.

"pass me that shot, sy," you sigh. she laughs, handing you the cold glass through the curtain. you gulp it down, shimmying a little to try and banish your nerves. your hand draws the curtain back.

syla's eyes widen as she takes you in. "wow, i am good," she smirks.

you roll your eyes playfully. "mhmm, very," you smile.

"cassian? you alright in there?" syla calls out. "there's two very pretty women waiting out here for you!"

"just a second!" cassian responds. he fiddles with his cape fastenings and looks at himself in the mirror. an air of confidence fills him. your praises of syla really were true, not that he didn't believe you. he just didn't think he'd look this good. he steps out of the fitting room to a pair of appraising eyes.

you feel your heart stutter when you see him. syla whistles lowly.

"see? what'd i tell you, he looks marvelous. right, y/n?" she waggles her eyebrows at you.

cassian looks at you hopefully, his big, gorgeous brown eyes piercing you.

"you look... wow. i don't think i have words," you say softly. the fucker has you so enthralled you can't even say he looks nice, you wince.

he smirks at your lack of words. "well i do. captivating being one of them," he says as his eyes travel up and down you. "how do you feel in it?"

the level of strength it takes you to not explode is comical. "captivating"... what a word to use. damn you, cass. drawing in a breath, you try and take a moment to really assess how you feel in the clothes.

"hmmm. i feel... strong. striking," you say, straightening your spine. you can't see it, but syla smiles behind her hand.

cassian hums approvingly. "good. we'll need that. the people at these parties love snarky comments. they chip away at you sometimes, it's a power trip. so if you feel strong, then i feel strong too."

you nod in agreement. syla stands and clasps her hands together.

"i'm glad you two feel good in them. you look gorgeous together, you know," she smiles. "but of course, i did design it that way. is there anything that you'd like altered or added?"

"no, this is perfect. thank you, sy, really," you smile.

"i'm good with mine," cassian says, playing with his cape.

"then my work here is done," syla says. "i'll be back in an hour or so, leave you two to discuss things, test out any movement in your new attire. have fun!!"

and with that, syla waltzes out of the room, leaving you and cassian alone. he walks up to you.

"so..." he starts. "your friend is very persistent."

your face slumps into your hands. "oh my god, don't even get me started."

he laughs at that, prying them away gently. "she's funny. but wow, we really do look good together, huh?"

you look in the mirror at the two of you, taking note of how his hand brushes up against yours.

"yeah. we really do."

end note: ASKDJFJ i'm debating a part two for this... lmk if y'all want it. and don't worry my freaks in arms, i will be writing more smut for our lovely captain soon. thanks for reading!! feel free to comment, reblog, or heart it if you liked it:)

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor #cassian andor fluff #cassian andor x reader fluff #diego luna #star wars #andor #fluff #x reader

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tealvenetianmask · 4 months ago

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Why Stolas's Story Is a Neurodivergent Story

And what that means for what's ahead.

Like a lot of fans, I see Stolas as autistic. This isn't a diagnosis post. But yes, something something special interests, dinosaur arms, persistent difficulty fitting in with his own social class, anxiety about social situations, frequent difficulty reading people and/or noticing others' emotions (especially when caught up in his own thoughts), masking, etc. etc. etc.

I want to talk about how Stolas's character arc tells a really well written (and potentially very uplifting) story about what it's like to be neurodivergent.

So what would be in my ideal neurodivergent story? Well I'd rather stay away from true utopia and have it reflect what it feels like to be neurodivergent in society today. So the character would struggle, not because their traits are bad, but because society isn't built for them. As the story progresses, the character might find happiness in unexpected ways and begin to look beyond society's rigid expectations for what a "good life" looks like. And then, hopefully, after some twists and turns, this character reaches a kind of self-acceptance where they are more themselves than ever, proud of who they are, and maybe even able to help change their society for the better.

Stolas's character arc IS this story.

Act 1: It's hard trying to fit into a neurotypical world.

Stolas is taught to mask his true emotions and follow strict social expectations as a child. He isn't living in just ANY neurotypical culture. The Goetia are old and set in their ways, and have rigid expectations for what one does and does not do. He's playing the social game on "hard mode" from the beginning.

I think one thing that helps make Stolas high masking is the way in which his special interests are socially acceptable within his social sphere. Stars and plants? Books? Well he's a nerd, and no one wants to be his friend, but of course a guy with his particular destiny-assigned-in-childhood would like things like that.

Stolas develops a few different types of masks. One is the "I'm fine" mask where he pretends not to be emotionally affected by what's going on around him.

The other is this sort of "powerful" mask. A character who is in control of everything and plays into his society's ideas of how a Goetia should interact with the rest of the world. It usually means acting demeaning toward Blitz in order to preserve the facade of what a powerful prince of Hell is supposed to be. And he's conscious of putting on an act when he uses it.

But anyway, the masks cover up a person who is deeply unhappy in his prescribed role and doing his best to act correctly for others . . . his father's expectations and then his daughter's wellbeing, instead of for himself. I like that HB has him STILL not fit in among the Goetia despite his best efforts. It's an experience that a lot of neurodivergent people know too well.

By the way, I LOVE how Mastermind brings us Stolas doing something truly subversive with this "powerful" mask, playing into his society's expectations in order to, in a small way, undermine their power. BUT that's me getting ahead of myself.

Act 2: The neurodivergent character learns that there are other ways to be.

I think that Stolas has been dipping his talons into this part of his story for two seasons now but has been hesitant to envision himself as anything but a prince of hell. We're going to see him fully engulfed in working through these questions in Season 3 because of his banishment.

Blitz is of course the major catalyst for Stolas questioning his commitment to conformity and acting outright rebellious at times.

I think it's neat that Blitz is so clearly neurodivergent himself. We tend to find each other . . . if you're reading this and are neurodivergent, take a look at your closest friends. And these two share a kind of chemistry and appreciation for one another that most of Hell seems not to see in them.

BUT until he's banished, Stolas doesn't really reach for a situation where he doesn't need to act out his prescribed role. Even when he pursues a relationship with Blitz in earnest, he does so with the expectation that he'll somehow balance this relationship with satisfying the expectations of his upper-class peers.

Act 3: Radical Self-Acceptance?? Hopefully!

Now we can only speculate.

I think that despite realizing that he wants something else, Stolas still fundamentally believes that something is wrong with him. He doesn't understand yet that his enthusiasm for his interests and his emotiveness, for instance, are part of what makes him wonderful. He doesn't see yet that being different might even help him change a society that is deeply flawed.

I can't wait to see Stolas truly have fun in Imp City, and do things there that he's truly proud of.

Whatever happens with his literal powers, he might figure out that he's most powerful when he doesn't act like a "powerful prince" but instead acts like himself and proudly questions his society.

And there's a lot of "The Circus" in this post because @akirathedramaqueen and I had a major brainstorm while we were rewatching that episode. More new ideas about old material to come soon hopefully!

This post is a follow-up on this literal fever ramble from yesterday about Blitz as a neurodivergent character. And yes, I think neurodivergent stories map onto queer stories quite nicely.

#stolas #stolas goetia #stolitz #helluva boss #hb #my helluva meta #neurodiversity #helluva boss analysis #blitzø

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prettyflyshyguy · 14 days ago

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I've been playing too much Fear & Hunger I got tunnel visioned and forgot that the season finale of Murderbot came out this morning.

Let's get this done with so I can get this blog back on track for being more ART and less BLOG (except when Alien Earth episodes start dropping.... I'll return to these large episode discussions inevitably)

I gotta get onto the backlog of art I'd like to draw that's sprung from this show. I forgot to say this last time but: you know the drill.

"Where are my clients?"

"Don't worry about it."

NOT AGAIN HEHEHEHE NOT AGAIN

LOVE that we're seeing the gang in their preferred/home made outfits, the fashion choices are so fun and it really helps add to their personality when we get to see them in smart casual/formalwear.

Love that although this show has a lot of very modern hologram sci-fi interfaces, it still has a lot of the more traditional physical interfaces too. Not everything has to be sleep holograms all the time, I think both is good and this show strikes a really nice balance between hardware being very hard (Gurathin and the need for a direct cable uplink) and also so many things still being hologram based. Buttons and chunky devices and cables and handhelds, but also, soft screens and holographic interfaces that come and go connected to those chunky hardware bases with tactile buttons.

I'd need to re-watch Alien: Covenant but I remember feeling like it went too futuristic scifi (holographs galore) and lost the original aesthetic of the retro-scifi that Alien is defined by. Now I'm always going to love that, it's ingrained in me, but I think this show has more of a fresh take on the visuals that I've really appreciated.

At this point they're just getting AS to be a showoff. "got any neat but useless skills"

"Yeah guys check this out!"

Jokes aside - once again it's using colours in a really fun and specific way and I love that so much of the corporate aligned entities (people, uniforms, technology, locations) ends up being very limited in colour schemes and so specifically coded and associated to those assigned colours.

This entire scene was fantastic and I think it does a great job at highlighting once again how differently the CorpRim operates compared to PresAll - even just down to the majority of the Corp Reps sitting down (bar the Leader) so when Gurathin sit's down and so quietly murmers "we'll buy it" it's this timid but bold display of recognition that business is what they'll listen to. Business is what they understand, and just sitting down at the table potentially opens up that a communication that may be listened to more. It's a really subtle thing but the fact that he makes the move to sit down at the table first I think is very specific.

To then have the Corp Leader join him in sitting down - with recognition of the deal being presented, it's delightful. It's so uncomfortable but such a fun detail. It seems to insignificant on the surface but just the act of sitting at the table carries so much weight in this one moment. In an awfull, nasty and horribble way given the weight of capitalism bearing down on everyone and how painfull it is to have to 'play by their rules' (the corporations).

GOOD COLOURS. GOOD SET DESIGN.

Love how much this little clip of "the station" feels like public transport in australia. Like the big concrete slab walls with vending machines and big screens and arrows pointing places. These guys are authorised officers. If you're a vic resident you'll get that joke. (sorry international followers, I usually like to explain this sort of thing but it'll be a bit too long winded for this post)

UGH the decor. The wood! I don't know enough about furniture/interior design to clock what styles this is referential to or drawn from but I love how much this living space feels like it's a blend of so many things from both oldschool sci-fi series (it makes me think of the round table food scene from Alien, and various common room living spaces from other classic scifi like Star Trek) and modern architecture and design, but the use of WOOD in particular gives it a historical traditional feeling too. Combined with the concrete and the set in LED lights and it's such a wonderfull blend and contrast. Delightfull take on sci-fi architecture that as the cast and crew have said: might be in this world's future, might be in a galaxy far, far away. Who knows.

No but like: why does this look like it was filmed inside Melbourne RMIT???? I'm deadly serious.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUGHHHHHHHH that was a good line. "Then I became more of a customer." just the absolute clarify of the threat. It's always fun when you get a scene where someone's kid or family member suddenly appears and everyone has to pretend they live normal lives to protect the sanctity and the innocence. But no, Gurathin straight up said "I will tell your kid you sold me drugs."

And I love that for him. Just the complete "You had a hand in almost ruining my life. Now I have that power." it's a see saw and it's swung violently up in his favor.

Then the justification. "I thought you could handle it."

I love when a character gets to have a "remember me :) I've changed :) I'm not fucking playing now :)" moment. Especially when we've only known them in the Now, so this gives an interesting glimpse into a past life we're only privy to thanks to inferred information and a handful of comments and small conversations.

GURATHIN I DON'T KNOW IF YOUR BRAIN CAN STORE THE ENTIRETY OF THE RISE AND FALL OF SANCTUARY MOON IT'S A VERY LARGE SERIES

There are some HEFTY implications to this. I mean I'm not just talking about Gurathin - because importing the entire data backlog and effectively personality of a SecUnit is leaving me with questions I'm not sure I want answered - but how will this irreparably change him? How will this irreparably impact MB?

This is also bringing up questions the critically acclaimed videogame SOMA explored with regards to the concept of copies of oneself. I kind of doubt the show will touch on this, and it'll probably be kept fairly straightfoward as the main concepts this show is deep diving are a bit different. But we could have two cakes. Who knows.

Maybe I should just wait and see lol

What in the bold villain medieval torture device is this LMAO

Hi everybody it's me. I'm going to be irreparably emotionally impacted by the choices I made today. I have obtained immense psychic damage.

Bro's just like me on day 1 of AVCON when I threw up on the lawn outside our air bnb

Ok not to be a real weirdo about this but - is Gurathin drinking water out of that cup instead of wine :))))))))))) that'd be real neat if he was

:')

And nice to see it being a subtle thing and not something anyone's brought attention to either.

GOD.

STOP THAT.

Ok we got the "it walks around disguised as a human" but not really in the way that I wanted and I'm devastated. I'm gutwrenched.

I think the ending of it leaving is incredibly poetic and important. But I'm going to be really sad I know it because although I'm sure I'll enjoy season 2, there's things I really wanted to see explored with PresAux and MB after this resolution of sorts that I fear will never be touched on. Alas, do I have to write fic? I fear I will.

It was a damn good ending - in a really fun way it sort of reinforces one of my theories from episode 1 where it was nervous wearing clothes and hesitated and freaked out at being offered a spot in the habitat - because in the moment I interpreted it as being terrified and nervous because part of it deep down wanted to be treated like a person, but it wasn't the right time or moment and for a second it thought about it before leaving. It hesitated. The opportunity presented and it terrified it because it didn't know how to take it and it wished it could in a way, but in a way that people understood it. And now finally it has that chance but on it's own terms. So many times it's been treated almost like a child and not been giving the breathing room, but now it has that chance to discover itself truly. I find this very relatable once again.

Good ending, strong ending, sad is good and important, but I will dearly miss the dynamics and personalities and potential of the PresAux crew if we do leave them behind for the most part for the rest of the series.

I really hope they still play a large part of the show - I want to see them grow as people as much as I want to see where MB ends up.

And yeah if uhhhhhhhh I think I'm going to explode if they don't do anything with "hey you gotta pretend to be a person. Stop standing so stiff. You need to smile. No not like that. Quick put this outfit on so it'll diguise your literal arm cannons." I'll fucking write it myself I'm so frustrated. I need to see them all go on some fucked up heist. Please.

Do you see my vision.

DON'T TELL ME TO READ THE BOOKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just want to see TV show PresAux do it >:(

#shy talks #not art #shy liveblogs murderbot #Murderbot #Murderbot TV #GOD DAMNIT I'M GONNA START ANOTHER UNFINISHED FIC PROJECT BECAUSE OF THIS SHIT AREN'T I #dont worry I enjoyed the episode #i'm just afraid of the untouched potential of the concepts I so dearly desire to see explored in my favourite fiction

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geese-in-a-frock-coat · 1 year ago

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What's your evidence for Watts and Murdoch being autistic? (I totally agree btw)

Hello, internet stranger. Buckle up cause I've thought too hard about this.

Ok disclaimer I have not really sat down and watched the whole thing for a hot minute. Its past nine, you're just gonna have to trust me this one.

Credentials: Mega autisitc

Murdoch:

Does not understand social conventions. Like this ones pretty obvious. He doesn't understand why people keep dogs. Raises his kid in a completely non traditional way. Frequently doesn't get why people care about something that he sees as not being worth it (sports and popular trends and so forth).

Doesn't like small talk

Cares about justice NOT the law. The thing that really makes me think he's autistic is that he cares about things being just and is prepared to break the rules to do so. The main example being he lets that woman out of prison depsite the fact that he could go down for it. He turns a blind eye to Watts and lets Giles go even though they're both criminals in the eyes of the law. And on the flipside he sends George to prison because I think that's what he percieves as justice (if anyone's seen the bridge this really reminds me of Saga at the end of season 2)

Sees through hierarchy. There are so many epsiodes that play out like "I think Mr X is the killer." "But Mr x is extrememly important and influential!" "I don't care he killed her."

Interest in science and inventing. Look I know we joke about stereotypes but like, its a stereotype for a reason. He builds things with an autistic brain. He uses pattern repition through learning about previous inventions and applying them to his own devices.

Visual learner. This is not autism exclusive but he solves cases in such a unique way that it screams ND to me. Murdoch often literally builds a case. They make a joke about clue/cludo but he literally has to make the model of a house to picture where everyone is. He makes all those model of the ladies that were covered in metal. And let us not forget his famous chalk board.

Buzzkill. I say this as a long-term sufferer of leaves parties at 8:45 syndrome. He does 'boring hobbies' which autistic people often have because we don't feel the need to take up traditional ones.

Remember that scene where he attempts to read out his and Julia's book and just absolutely cannot tell that no one gives a single toss about anything he's saying.

Wears the same thing for nearly 20 years. If it ain't broke don't fix it.

Refused to let his wife cut his hair because he didn't want to change from the lady who used to do it.

breather. Part 2: watts.

Cannot read social cues: Frequently insults other station house four people. Pretty sure he called someone's baby ugly but I might have hallucinated that. "You're face is symetrical." Got chucked out of station house because he didn't get on with any of them

Disregard for societal norms: doesn't feel the need to be polite or tactful with anyone or to really follow police protocol. Acts very 'improper' a lot of the time. Only got one shoe shined that one time because that was all he needed. Puts his feet on the sofa, lies on the desk and leans over tables.

Makes limited eye contact.

The man will fidget with anything: Look this is clearly a character decision from Daniel Maslany but its an autistic character decision if ever I saw one. We're talking pencils, cups, fabric, anything. If it is on the set, he will find a way to play with out. And I don't normally like to assign autistic traits onto behaviour implemented by actors but it's basically stimming at this point. I dare you to keep an eye on this man's hands for any scene and I garuntee you they will not stay still.

Disorganised, but not: He always has tiny bits of paper and whatnot in his pockets but always seems to know where everything is. organised but doesn't have to time to be tidy. Same whenever we see his flat, it's equally disorganised. as an autistic person I find things end up all over the place because I don't have the capacity to keep them in order.

Bad handwriting and can't spell

Physicality: Most autistic people will have some sort of problem with co-ordination. He walks uneavenly. He has an odd posture. I always think about that scene where he steps in sick and moves around like a dear on ice. He's clumsy, can't sit straight and has a strange posture.

can't think when being interrupted

can't focus on two things at once.

George realised he'd been possessed by aliens because he was acting normally.

pretzels: dare i say safe food. If not, they're bland, usually the same everytime and take little mental effort to consume.

Strong sense of justic: see william murdoch.

SPECIAL MENTIONS:

Dr Emily Grace: didn't become a doctor becuase she didn't want to adopt a 'cheerful bedside manor.'

Dr Julia Ogden: Married to Murdoch (like calls to like) and sees through the bullshit of victorian society.

Susannah Murdoch: has those two as parents and I have the full confidence of genetics on this one.

In conclusion:

There's probably so much more I could talk about that I just don't remember because there is a lot more of this show than most others. But anyway. Murdoch is autistic because he has to be for the show to work and becuase he often comedic-foils far too close to the sun. And Watts is autistic because there is no way on God's green earth a man who stands like that is neurotypical.

Thank you, internet stranger, I am here all week.

#sorry this is word vomit #there is a reason i shouldn't try and be funny on the internet #murdoch mysteries #cbc murdoch #cbc mm #william murdoch queer icon #william murdoch #llewellyn watts is autistic #llewellyn watts #dr julia ogden #dr emily grace #autistic stuff

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songbirdseung · 1 year ago

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fatal trouble / nishimura riki

synopsis: after a year-long separation, Y/N is finally reunited with their first love, Ni-ki, at a mutual friend's wedding. everything seems the same on the surface – the setting, the people, the familiar laughter – but Ni-ki’s smile no longer holds the warmth Y/N once knew. his profound eyes, once windows to his soul, now seem guarded and distant.

pairing: ni-ki x reader, past lovers

warnings: emotional distress, separation, break ups, change, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.4k

Can't believe, you in front of me Everything is the same

You stand in the middle of the wedding aisle, your hands full of delicate flowers, carefully arranging them along the sides of the path. The scent of roses and lilies fills the air, mingling with the soft melodies of classical music playing in the background. You adjust the ribbon on one of the pews, making sure it is perfectly aligned.

"Need any help with that?"

The familiar voice catches you off guard. You turn, your breath hitching as you see Ni-ki standing there, holding a bundle of decorations. His eyes, deep and expressive, meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. It has been a year since you last saw each other, but the familiarity between you is undeniable.

"Ni-ki," you breathe, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Yeah, I didn't know either. Guess we both got assigned to decoration duty," he replies, his gaze never leaving yours. He takes a step closer, his presence both comforting and overwhelming.

You stand there, in the middle of the aisle, taking in every little detail about each other. Ni-ki's hair is a bit longer than you remember, and there is a new confidence in his stance. Yet, his smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, is just as you recall.

"It's been so long," you say softly, your voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and surprise.

"Too long," Ni-ki agrees, a hint of sadness in his tone. "I can't believe we're meeting again, right here, in front of each other."

You both look around, taking in the decorations, the flowers, the beautiful chaos of wedding preparations. Everything seems the same as it always is at such events, yet there is an unfamiliarity in the air. The distance of a year has brought subtle changes, ones that are now beginning to surface as you stand face to face.

"Everything looks the same," you remark, your eyes scanning the familiar setup.

But you have a different smile Those pro-found eyes

"But you have a different smile," Ni-ki observes, his voice gentle. "It's like… you've changed."

You look into his eyes, searching for the Ni-ki you used to know. There is a depth there, a story untold.

I look beyond them to find you It's unfamiliar, who are you? Where is the one that I love

"And you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "You seem different too. Where's the guy I used to know?"

Ni-ki chuckles softly, a bittersweet sound. "I guess time does that to people. But it's good to see you, really good."

You nod, feeling a mix of emotions you can't quite name. "Yeah, it's good to see you too, Ni-ki."

As you both resume your work, placing flowers and adjusting ribbons, the space between you is filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. The past year has changed you both, but in that moment, standing together in the wedding aisle, it feels like a piece of the past has found its way back into your lives.

Downfall in chaos I'm confused, baby Do I even know you?

As the wedding preparations continue, you find yourself watching Ni-ki from afar. The way he interacts with others, the confident way he carries himself—everything about him seems different, more mature, more refined. You can't help but wonder if this change is real or just a facade he's putting on for the occasion.

During the ceremony, your eyes keep drifting back to him. You notice how he smiles easily, how he engages in conversations with genuine interest. There's a new depth to his laughter, a subtle strength in his demeanor. It's almost as if the boy you once knew has grown into someone entirely new.

But beneath that polished exterior, you can't shake the feeling that there's something he's hiding. Was he putting up a persona for the sake of appearances, or had time truly transformed him? You recall the countless promises you both made to each other, one in particular standing out—the promise that no matter where life took you, you would always remain friends, always be there for each other.

As the evening progresses, you find yourself drifting through the reception, your thoughts consumed by these questions. You watch Ni-ki as he moves through the crowd, laughing and talking with ease. Each time your eyes meet, he gives you a warm smile, but you can't help but notice a flicker of something else in his eyes—something unreadable.

What has changed? Please answer me Am I wrong?

During a quiet moment, you step outside to get some fresh air. The cool night breeze feels refreshing against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. The distant sound of music and laughter from the reception hall drifts to your ears, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your thoughts.

"Hey."

You turn to see Ni-ki standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression softer than before. He walks over to you, his presence once again comforting and overwhelming.

"Needed a break?" he asks, leaning against the railing beside you.

"Yeah," you admit, glancing at him. "Just needed a moment to clear my head."

He nods, looking out into the distance. "I get that. Weddings can be a lot."

There's a moment of silence, and then you decide to voice the question that's been gnawing at you all day. "Ni-ki, have you… changed?"

He looks at you, his eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. "In what way?"

"I mean," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "you seem different. More grown-up, more… distant. I can't tell if it's just me or if you've really changed."

Ni-ki sighs, his gaze dropping to the ground. "A lot has happened over the past year. I've had to grow up in ways I didn't expect. But I'm still me, Y/N. I'm still the same person who made those promises to you."

"Have you forgotten them?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, I haven't forgotten. But sometimes, life gets in the way, and we end up becoming versions of ourselves that we never anticipated."

You look at him, searching his face for any signs of the boy you once knew. And then, in a quiet voice, you say, "I missed you, Ni-ki."

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. "I missed you too, Y/N. More than you know."

As you stand there, holding hands under the night sky, you realize that no matter how much time has passed or how much you've both changed, the connection you share is still there. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to bridge the gap between the past and the present.

Fatal trouble It's getting blurry Your memory It's falling apart

You wake up with a start, the vivid memory of the wedding and your conversation with Ni-ki lingering in your mind. As your eyes adjust to the morning light filtering through your curtains, you take in the familiar surroundings of your room. Your heart still pounds from the intensity of the dream, and for a moment, you struggle to separate reality from fantasy.

Sitting up, you glance around, seeking confirmation. The dress you wore to the wedding is draped over the back of a chair, and the bouquet of flowers you caught sits in a vase on your nightstand, the petals slightly wilted from the night's festivities. It's all real—you did attend the wedding.

But the moment you shared with Ni-ki outside the venue, the heartfelt conversation under the night sky—that was all in your head. The realization leaves you feeling a mix of disappointment and relief. You hadn't had the chance to ask him those burning questions or to see if he really had changed in the way your dream suggested.

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair as you try to shake off the remnants of the dream. It had felt so real, the emotions so raw and tangible. You wonder if your subconscious is trying to tell you something, urging you to reach out to Ni-ki, to bridge the gap that time has created.

Deciding to get out of bed, you head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The cool liquid soothes your parched throat and helps ground you in the present. As you stand there, you can't help but replay the dream in your mind, the conversation echoing in your thoughts.

"Good morning."

You turn to see your roommate, still in her pajamas, giving you a curious look. "You were tossing and turning all night. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, forcing a smile. "Just had a weird dream, that's all."

"About the wedding?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

You nod. "Yeah, something like that."

As you both settle into your morning routine, you decide to check your phone. There are a few messages from friends and family, but one notification stands out—a message from Ni-ki. Your heart skips a beat as you open it.

"Hey Y/N, it was really nice seeing you at the wedding yesterday. Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk much. Maybe we can catch up soon?"

A small smile forms on your lips. Maybe your dream was more than just a figment of your imagination. Maybe it was a sign that it’s time to reconnect and find out for yourself how much has really changed.

You quickly type out a reply, your fingers trembling slightly. "Hey Ni-ki, it was great seeing you too. I'd love to catch up. Let me know when you're free."

As you hit send, a sense of anticipation fills you. The dream might have been just that—a dream—but the chance to rekindle an old friendship is very much real. And this time, you're determined to make the most of it.

Fatal trouble My heart Long-held trust Thеy're coming undone

Later that afternoon, you find yourself sitting at your desk, staring out the window. The events of the previous night and the vivid dream still weigh heavily on your mind. You decide to take a trip down memory lane, hoping to reconnect with the past and recall the moments you shared with Ni-ki.

You open an old photo album, the edges worn from years of use. Flipping through the pages, you see pictures of school events, birthday parties, and casual hangouts. There you are, standing next to Ni-ki, both of you grinning widely at the camera. The images bring a rush of nostalgia, but when you try to focus on specific memories, they start to blur.

You close your eyes, attempting to visualize the past more clearly. You remember the sound of Ni-ki's laughter, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, and the countless inside jokes you shared. But the harder you try to grasp onto a particular moment, the more it slips away, like sand through your fingers.

You remember a sunny afternoon at the park, the two of you lying on the grass and talking about your dreams for the future. You can see the vibrant green of the trees and feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, but Ni-ki’s face is hazy, his voice indistinct. It’s as if the details are just out of reach, hidden behind a veil of time.

Another memory surfaces—walking home from school together, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink. You recall the sense of companionship and the comforting silence between you, but the conversation you had remains elusive, the words lost to the years that have passed.

Frustrated, you close the album and rest your head in your hands. Why is it so hard to remember? You wonder if it’s the passage of time or the emotional distance that has created this fog over your memories. The essence of your friendship with Ni-ki is still there, but the specifics are slipping away, leaving you with a sense of loss.

Determined not to let these memories fade completely, you decide to write down what you can remember, no matter how fragmented. You grab a notebook and start jotting down snippets—Ni-ki’s smile when he beat you at video games, the way he always knew how to cheer you up, the afternoons spent at the local café talking about everything and nothing.

As you write, you realize that while the memories might be blurry, the feelings associated with them remain strong. The sense of belonging, the joy of shared experiences, and the bond you once had with Ni-ki are still clear in your heart. And maybe, just maybe, reconnecting with him now will help bring those memories back into focus, allowing you to create new ones together.

I barely managed to guard you I don't want to lose you But anxiety looms over me

Ni-ki sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the open closet in front of him. Clothes are strewn about as he tries to decide what to wear for his upcoming meeting with you. It's been a year since he last saw you, and the thought of seeing you again fills him with a mix of excitement and dread. He finally picks out a simple outfit, hoping it will make a good impression without seeming too overthought.

As he buttons his shirt, his mind drifts back to the past. He thinks about the times he could have been there for you but wasn’t. The missed calls, the unanswered messages, the moments when you needed a friend and he was too caught up in his own world to notice. Guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of how he failed you.

He looks at himself in the mirror, his reflection showing a man who has changed, yet is still haunted by his past mistakes. "I can't let this chance slip away," he mutters to himself, his voice echoing in the quiet room. The thought of losing you again, of repeating the same mistakes, terrifies him. But the fear of history repeating itself is just as strong, if not stronger.

Ni-ki takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He knows that over the past year, he's grown and matured. He's learned to be more present, to prioritize the people who matter. But doubt still lingers. What if you can’t see the changes he’s made? What if the memories of his past failures overshadow any progress he's achieved?

It's certainly blurred I don't know what to do

He sits back down on his bed, his mind swirling with a torrent of emotions. He remembers your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you were happy, and the countless moments you shared. Those memories are a double-edged sword—they remind him of the bond you once had, but they also highlight the times he let you down.

“I won’t mess this up again,” he whispers, a note of determination in his voice. He knows he has to prove to you—and to himself—that he's different now. He wants to show you that he can be the friend you need, the friend you deserve.

As he laces up his shoes, Ni-ki's phone buzzes with a message from you, letting him know you're on your way to the café. His heart skips a beat. This is it, the moment he's been both anticipating and dreading. He can't afford to let fear dictate his actions. He has to seize this opportunity to make things right.

With one last look in the mirror, Ni-ki straightens his shirt and grabs his jacket. "You can do this," he tells himself, steeling his resolve. "Don't let the past control your future."

He heads out the door, each step filled with a mix of hope and anxiety. He knows this meeting is his chance to start fresh, to show you the Ni-ki he has become. And as he walks towards the café, he silently vows not to let history repeat itself. He won’t fail you again. Not this time.

Surely, there's only one you So now, I'll leave everything behind I'll follow my heartbeat

As Ni-ki steps into the café, his eyes search for you among the crowd. And there you are, sitting at a table near the window, a warm smile lighting up your face as you spot him. Relief floods through him at the sight of you, dispelling some of the nervous tension that had been building inside him.

He approaches your table, a tentative smile playing on his lips. "Hey," he says softly, his voice tinged with both excitement and apprehension.

"Hey," you reply, your smile widening as he takes a seat across from you. "It's been too long."

Ni-ki nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "Yeah, it has," he agrees, his gaze briefly dropping to the table. "I'm sorry for… for everything."

You reach across the table, placing a reassuring hand on his. "It's okay," you say gently. "We both made mistakes. What matters is that we're here now, ready to move forward."

His heart swells with gratitude at your forgiveness, and he squeezes your hand in return. "Thank you," he murmurs, meeting your gaze with sincerity. "I've missed you."

The two of you fall into easy conversation, catching up on everything that's happened since you last saw each other. Ni-ki listens intently as you share stories about your life, your successes, and your struggles. He marvels at the strength and resilience you possess, amazed by the person you've become.

As the afternoon wears on, Ni-ki finds himself opening up to you in a way he hasn't in a long time. He tells you about the changes he's made in his life, the lessons he's learned, and the person he aspires to be. And with each word, he feels a weight lifting off his shoulders, a sense of liberation washing over him.

As the conversation comes to a close, Ni-ki realizes just how much he's missed having you in his life. He's grateful for this chance to reconnect, to rebuild the bond that once held you together. And as he looks into your eyes, he knows with certainty that he never wants to lose you again.

"Thank you for today," he says, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "I needed this more than you know."

You return his smile, warmth radiating from your gaze. "Anytime," you reply, your voice filled with sincerity. "You're always welcome here."

Ni-ki feels a sense of peace settle over him as he stands to leave the café. He knows that the road ahead won't always be easy, but with you by his side, he's confident that he can face whatever challenges come his way.

As he walks away from the café, a single thought echoes in his mind, filling him with a sense of hope and possibility.

"Surely, there's only one you."

As Ni-ki walks away from the café, you watch him go, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Seeing him again after so long brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad. But as you sit there, reflecting on your conversation, you realize that despite everything that's happened, nothing has truly changed between you.

You remember the laughter, the late-night conversations, the moments of shared joy and sadness. Those memories are still as vivid as ever, a testament to the bond you share with Ni-ki. And as you think about the person he's become, you feel a sense of pride and admiration.

You know that Ni-ki has made mistakes in the past, just like you have. But today, sitting across from him, you saw a different side of him—a side that's grown and matured, a side that's ready to move forward. And as you watch him walk into the sunset, you can't help but feel hopeful for the future.

With a renewed sense of optimism, you stand up from the table and begin to make your way home. The weight of the past feels a little lighter now, replaced by a sense of possibility and potential. And as you walk, you know that no matter what challenges may come your way, you'll face them together.

Because deep down, you know that nothing has truly changed between you and Ni-ki. The bond you share is as strong as ever, and together, you can conquer anything that comes your way.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #ni ki #nishimura riki #riki nishimura #ni ki imagines #ni ki x reader #ni ki enhypen #ni ki fluff #niki nishimura #riki nishimura x reader #riki enhypen #riki x reader #riki fluff #enhypen niki

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radioactivepeasant · 3 months ago

Text

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Per the poll, we're going with "half of Spargus casually parents the boys and Jak doesn't know what to do with that"

Some context: this is set within a half-WIP where I was exploring ways to interpret Ashelin's manipulative little "or did the hero I know die in the desert?"

In this universe, Jak was technically clinically dead for almost 90 seconds because heatstroke is no joke and adding eco imbalance probably makes it worse. He was resuscitated inside the city walls, so the Wastelanders shrug and invoke a law as old as the city: "a "corpse" just took his first breath in our city, that makes him one of us by birth." And then he and Daxter got sent to live in the Arena barracks wing meant for younger Wastelanders (he's not loving it)

Jak was in a bad mood. He'd been up most of the night, dealing with flashbacks, and he was tired. He hadn't finished any of the work he'd been handed so far, and he was supposed to report to Damas in two hours for gods only knew what reason. In the three-odd weeks he and Daxter had been here, he'd spoken to the man all of twice. What had he done? They hadn't even let him go past the gate!

"Jak, you done with the-"

"No," Jak snapped. Immediately, he felt a little bad. Running a hand over his hair he sighed. "...sorry, Daxter."

Daxter narrowed his eyes. "You need a nap."

Jak looked away. It wasn't like he didn't know that. He bit down on a sharp retort.

He hated not finishing a task. It made him feel useless. Like a failure. But he was having so much trouble just. Focusing!

Sitting and tying nets back together was as repetitive as scrubbing the floors back in Sandover -- or the prison, occasionally, when the Baron was coming and the guards had to pretend they actually took care of the facility sometimes. It let Jak's mind wander. In the prison, that was a welcome escape. But after his escape, he didn't like letting his thoughts loose. They tipped into bad memories too often, and trying to remember the good ones was hard.

Right now, all Jak could really think about was the nightmare the morning dorm headcount had woken him from.

The image of Samos glaring down at him, hand on the controls of the Chair, was going to haunt him for a while.

The crews of the Looper, Half-Shark, and Black Eel moved along the beach, monitoring the kids from Dorm Five who had been assigned to help them. They were mostly in their late teens, like Jak, but there were a few unusually small ones -- a thirteen year old, a twelve year old boy and his eight year old brother -- given that they had nowhere else to go. There was a reason the other dorms called Five the Orphanage when they thought the matron couldn't hear them.

Most of the other ten kids were already done, or close to done. And Jak couldn't even do something he used to do all the time as a little kid.

"Y'alright there, sprout?" asked a gruff voice.

The captain of the Half-Shark stopped at the end of the pier with his hands on his hips. When Jak scowled and tangled his fingers in the cords, he made a knowing sound.

"One of those days, huh?"

"What days?" Jak growled.

The grizzled man winked and tapped a finger to his nose.

"Got a visit from the night hag, didn't ya? I won't tell. All sorts of dreams'll put shadows like that under a man's eyes in the night. You can take a break if you need."

"I'm fine."

Jak wove another two rows and knotted them in place. Silently, he willed the man to just go away. The last thing he needed was for any of the others to notice that he wasn't pulling his weight.

He'd never been around this many young people in his life. Ten was bad enough, but there were some hundred or more teenagers all told rotating through the barracks. The noise, the way they all knew each other already, it locked Jak's voice down eight times out of ten. They all stressed him out too much to even consider conversation.

Daxter claimed that he had two rivals and an archnemesis already. Jak didn't want to talk to any of them.

They were normal. Most of them had never been forced labor for a sage or a gangster or a resistance. They'd never been imprisoned, or tortured, or consistently told that if they weren't carrying everyone's burdens, they were worthless.

The only ones who had remotely similar experiences were the three who were rumored to have escaped Marauder slave camps. They didn't speak to anyone but each other, but as soon as he'd arrived they'd seemed to recognize the shadows hanging over Jak. During allotted mealtimes or when they were thrown out into the common area during the chaotically unstructured "free time", the two girls and the younger kid had started sitting silently with their backs to him: keeping watch so he and Daxter could eat. And Jak was not about to ask them what they'd gone through after that kindness.

Matron Pax reassigned Jak from room four to room eight within the week, putting him next door to the pale trio. All the "quiet kids" went on the same end of the hall. He appreciated that the woman paid attention to her charges' personalities, but he could've done without some of her rules.

"It ain't gonna do you no good to run yourself into the ground, son," the captain remarked. He folded his arms. "What's your hurry, anyhow? Ain't like you've got to earn amulets yet."

Jak looked up with incredulous annoyance.

"Yeah we do? We're "newcomers", remember?"

Daxter grimaced. "We don't even know how to drive!"

Captain Oaken raised his hairy eyebrows in surprise. Then understanding settled in.

"Ah don't mind them younger warriors. They're just bein' snots because they gotta earn their citizenship, while you're a born citizen."

Jak recoiled. "I think you've been out in the sun too long. I wasn't born here."

"We think," Daxter added helpfully, "We dunno where they snatched you from. Samos is a lying liar who lies, remember?"

Jak elbowed him and shook his head.

"Your king dragged us here half-dead."

"A good ways more dead than just half, remember?" Oaken corrected.

Suddenly, the midmorning sun felt cold. Slowly, he set the net down and stood up to look the captain in the eyes.

"What?"

"They didn't tell you?"

The captain sounded surprised. He scratched his nose and glanced back at the other teenagers. None of the others were close enough to overhear. Oaken lowered his voice anyway.

"Boy, you was dead dead a quarter of a minute before they got you in the gate. No pulse, not breathing. There was gawkers all over the place while his lordship got your pulse going again. Word got around."

Jak felt sick. Dead? He couldn't have been dead! He wasn't sure if fifteen seconds even counted. His brain would've still been active, right? His brain was still active, and he didn't remember any hypoxia.

Of course, he didn't remember much of anything else, either.

Technicality. It was only a technicality.

Calm down. Calm down, you didn't actually die. He's a fisherman. They tell tall tales. Probably thinks that's supposed to impress me.

"You alright, boy?" Oaken gestured to the pier. "Maybe you oughta sit, huh? You're looking pale."

When Jak only stared at him blankly, he patted the boy's shoulder gingerly.

"Don't let it get to you, eh? They brought you back, and it was inside the city walls. That's the part that matters."

Insane. These people were insane.

But...

If it meant he didn't have to fight to be allowed to stay, if it meant he maybe, hopefully, might actually have rights, maybe he could ignore some of the bizarre tendencies of this city that had...rescued? Captured? Conscripted them?

He never did finish the net. He was completely distracted for the remainder of the morning, wrestling with the implications. Eventually, the warrior on rotation as Dorm Five's resident advisor just excused him to report to the tower.

"What?! He's not even done!"

Luka glared at Jak and Daxter.

"Why does he get to leave early?"

The RA rolled his eyes at Luka.

"Because he got summoned. You could've left by now if you weren't goofing around with the fishhooks instead of cleaning the traps."

Luka sulked, but didn't say anything more about it. Jak fully expected the burly teenager to say something snide about it later that he'd probably have to smack him for. Luka, as he had been assured by the little kid, Koda, didn't like new people in the "orphan hall", and always gave newcomers a hard time. So what else was new.

"Ooooo, he's in trouble," one of the girls snorted in a sing-song voice.

Why were teenagers in Spargus so...childish?

____________________________________

Jak ignored them all. He had to follow a map to get to the citadel, avoiding people as much as possible. He tended to stay away from people anyway, but today especially he just wasn't in the mood for hu'men interaction. The one plus side of getting called up to talk to -- or be talked at by -- the king of this place was that it would probably be quiet.

Anything his dorm...neighbors...or whatever they were...said had to be taken with a heavy grain of salt. But Daxter had heard that the king didn't like more than a few people in a room with him at a time. Either he was paranoid about getting ganged up on, or he just didn't tolerate loitering like Torn.

"Hey, hold up!"

Oh now what?

Jak turned slightly to find a woman with a gunstaff approaching quickly. He tensed, ready for a fight, but she had a fairly casual expression.

In three steps she'd reached them, all while patting her pockets for something.

"Geez, I know the Youth Barracks had a population boom, but you'd think Pax would notice the naked kid."

"Excuse me?!" Jak sputtered, leaning away from her.

With an exclamation of triumph, the warrior produced a somewhat grease-stained rag. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she plucked the cap and goggles from Daxter's head and wrapped the rag around his brow and the back of his neck, just like Jak's scarf. When she deemed the result satisfactory, the warrior slapped the goggles back on him.

"Okay, carry on."

Both boys stared at her.

"What was that?!" Daxter squawked, "Did you just put a grease rag on my head?!"

"Didn't have a handkerchief." The warrior shrugged. "Listen, pipsqueaks, Foothills clan learned a long time ago: fur don't save you from sunburn. You'll thank me later."

Jak exchanged a glance with Daxter. It was true that Daxter's skin had been extra sensitive lately. They'd just assumed it was the heat and sweating. Neither had considered that he could get sunburned.

A little chagrined, Jak looked up at the woman and muttered a quick thanks. He waited, assuming she wanted something in trade. Everyone seemed to barter here, rather than pay in paper orbs.

"Alright, scram," the lady said, waving them off nonchalantly. "You look like you got chores or something. Don't ever say Mel didn't do nothin' for ya, huh?"

Jak didn't speak for the next two turns in the neighborhood. Daxter was more than happy to fill the silence for him.

"Is this what it's like bein' you?" the ottsel asked, hanging over his shoulder, "The eyes all the time? Peeps just comin' up and decidin' stuff about ya? Not that I blame em for lookin, but it does start to wig an ottsel out."

He'd once assumed that being the center of attention was all he really wanted. Even negative attention was still attention, and Daxter had learned every way to provoke people, just so they would have to acknowledge his existence. But now he wondered if there was such a thing as too much of a good thing. Because if he and Jak got into trouble, Jak wasn't the one getting all the consequences anymore. They didn't just tack Daxter on as an accompanying afterthought to "help", no, it was much worse. Matron Pax had proved adept at finding ottsel-sized chores to make him do!

On the one hand, he was being acknowledged as his own person, being nagged at to eat at the same time as everyone else, to stay in his room after lights-out, to go to school (or what passed for school here).

But on the other hand, he couldn't get away with rot anymore!

"I never know what these people want," Jak grumbled as the tower finally came into view. "Are we here to work, or are we being patronized? They're watching us, Dax. I know we're being monitored. There's no way people would randomly stop a stranger to make him fix his scarf."

"Or scold us for carrying three ammo crates at once," Daxter added.

"Or drag us off the street at noon to make us sort beads until noon rest was over," Jak agreed. "Nobody just...does that for strangers. Especially not a city where you're either useful or deadweight."

One more person tried to stop them when they got to the tower. Jak actually remembered this guy's name. Watchman Chayne guarded the elevator up to the throne room. He was a pretty easygoing guy, compared to most Wastelanders. Jak didn't mind him so much.

"Hold it," Chayne signed, raising a brow, "What are you two up to?"

"I dunno, ask Damas," Jak retorted.

"Whatever it was, we didn't do it!" Daxter added quickly, "And I have character witnesses!"

Chayne let out a soft, hissing laugh and waved them into the elevator.

"Oh, your turn for newbie check-in, huh? Just don't mouth off and you'll be fine."

"Define mouthing off," Daxter said, steepling his fingers.

Chayne blinked at him slowly, then looked at Jak, then at Daxter again.

"Godspeed, kid."

Great.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #king damas #dadmas #in which Spargus collectively looked at the Demolition Duo and went 'yikes. parental supervision required'#jak and daxter ocs #Wastelander oca #Spargan ocs #98% of my ocs are just there to fill background sets 🤣#jak and daxter vs dorm life #jak failed a psych eval so he's not allowed in the arena until he's had some therapy #with my favorite JnD oc: Brother Tam the Mister Rogers of the Wastelands #jak has never been more confused in his life #meanwhile Onin is having trouble spying on her pawn because of his temporary death so Haven is in the dark #if i continued this it would be very Onin x Consequences and Samos x Consequences #also playing with making Ashelin more of a villain trying to keep Haven afloat by any means necessary instead of how i usually write her #Damas didn't show up in this snip but he's definitely part of the parenting gang 😂#he's the one who resuscitated Jak and sometimes he feels like it's a redemption after failing to save Mar #oh buddy if you only knew #long post #very long post

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obsessivestar · 5 months ago

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'What If It's All A RomCom?' a Ted Nivison x Reader

{{-When you reach the end of this chapter, I'd love to know: who do you think is at fault? Do you think it's evenly split? 30/60 one way or the other? Completely someone else's fault? I'd love to know!-}}

//General Warnings: 18+ fic (MINORS DNI), Reader implied to be afab and under 5'5, She/They pronouns generally used.

//Chapter Warnings: HARSH language, loud arguing, pure angst. Lyrics from Tommy Hanks by Jakey used. This was pain.

Word Count: 5.1k

☆▪︎▪︎▪︎Taglist!▪︎▪︎▪︎☆

@k-k0129 , @callsign-scully , @schlattandcompany & @limecorpse

☆Love You To Death!☆

Chapter 21: All These Lies.

Friday turned to Saturday, which turned into Sunday and by this point I know Ted won't be telling me anything. He isn't gonna tell me shit, and that frustrates me more than the actual secret he's been hiding. I haven't been nearly as chatty and sarcastic with him like I normally am, but he hasn't really shown to be suspicious. I can't tell if he feels the difference, I know I certainly do, but that's not a secret to me.

That's honestly what I don't get, all the secrecy. Sure, I get why Joe didn't initially tell me the truth, he had made a good point about it. No one was expecting Ted and I to actually get together so Joe didn't think it was important to share. That, and I was literally there for that event, I was there when it happened. I was right up on the stage while Ted was escorted out of the venue. I just don't remember it being HIM. That's just...so strange.

Because I didn't want to come off as suspicious, I would still be sleeping in Ted's bed with him every night, having his arm draped around me from behind or with my head laying against his shoulder. As I lay there Sunday night, knowing that Ted's time limit was coming close to an end, I couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like to meet him at that wedding or anytime afterwards. It wasn't technically the first time we were at the same event, we've attended the same cons and are friends with some of the same YouTuber's and yet it took Tanner's final assignment to bring us together. How different would everything be between us if Ted had been able to approach me at the wedding? Would I see back his drunken state and become curious? There would be no secret for him to hide, but considering his girlfriend had just left him that day, I more or less would've ended up a rebound. I don't wanna think about that.

Above all else, I just...I want this to work. Yes, I'm hurt that he's been hiding this and I'm even more upset with how easily he's been able to lie to my face, but there's also a small part of me that...kind of gets it. Not the lying part per se, but I keep thinking back on Ted and Joe's conversation and I can recall how anxious Ted sounded. I get not wanting to bring up old memories, I get wanting to get rid of that wasted first impression, I get wanting to start over and move on...but at least give us that option, right? At least let me decide how I'm going to feel about it. Who knows, I probably would've thought it was funny, it could've become a cute inside joke between us, an old mistake being used to strengthen our bond, but he wouldn't let me have that; let us have that. That's what's fuckin' bothering me, that's what I don't get. Why couldn't he tell me? Why couldn't he let me in?

I have a hard time sleeping that night, knowing that when the morning comes, Ted's time will be over. I know this limit was set by Joe, I don't have to be following it, but we're all packing up and officially leaving on Friday. That's less than 4 days at this point and I wanted to end the project on a high note. I don't want to wait for Ted to choose, not when he's had plenty of time. I'm not about to ruin this project because I'm anxious from all the fuckin' waiting. I still have to pretend to be falling in love with his character.

I manage to get at least some sleep, waking up to Ted's alarm as usual. I move Ted's arm off of my side and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. This would usually be the part where I turn over to Ted and give him a kiss, but I just can't muster it up this time. I feel awful, like absolute dog shit. To my surprise, Ted notices that I've broken a pattern. For the first time since the weekend started, he's noticed a change.

"You feelin' okay?" Ted speaks up, his voice a little hoarse from just waking up, sitting up to lean back against his pillows. I don't really want to lie to him, but I'm not about to be like 'No, Joe told me you kept hitting on women at his wedding and I didn't sleep well', so I just cut that in half.

"I didn't sleep well.." I mumble, moving to stand up off the bed. One thing I'm lookin' forward to after this project is no longer waking up at 5am. I can't believe I've been as consistent with this as I have. I guess it's just been that fun. It was that fun...

"Oh--shit, is that my fault?" Ted asks with a slight frown, beginning to feel his bare chest and under his arms. I furrow my brows at him in confusion, watching as his hand lightly smacks around his body, feeling for...something.

"No, I just..." I pause, my confusion growing as I watch him. "...what are you doing?"

"I'm feeling for sweat. I sweat in my sleep sometimes. I sweat, like, all the time." Ted admits with a small shrug, returning his hands to his sides. "I thought maybe I had sweat on you or somethin'."

"No, I'm...I'm okay." I can't help the small chuckle that escapes me. "You haven't sweat on me.." It's weird to be speaking to him normally. It makes me nervous, making me subconsciously place my hand over my stomach. Anytime I hear his voice, it's a constant reminder that he's been lying to me, keeping something from me. I'm reminded that he's capable of lying to my face. I'm reminded that he's a coward, but then...I don't like keeping him at a distance, either. That nervousness turns into anxiety and I just feel cold and lonely. I'm not just sleeping in his bed to keep the act up, I'm sleeping in his bed because I need to be next to him. I need to feel his body heat next to me. I need to hear his steady breathing as he falls asleep. I need to feel his arms around me, need to see him smile, need to see him gaze at me with those warm hazel eyes. He needs to tell me. Please, God, Ted, just fucking tell me. It's Monday, you need to tell me.

I can see that Ted is still waiting for his kiss, quirking his brow at me with a small smile after he moves out of bed. I know I should probably kiss him, I don't want to take away affection all because I'm upset, but...I just can't.

"See ya downstairs.." I give Ted a little smile and a wave instead before I open his front door and head for my own room to get dressed. I don't even wanna imagine the look that washed over Ted's face in that moment, but at the same time, I hope he's disappointed. If he's finally starting to notice that things are different after a whole weekend, maybe it'll coax him into being honest with me. I don't know how much extra time today I'm gonna give him, but I've just woken up and I'm already getting frustrated.

I know what we're doing today, in fact I know what we're doing for the last 4 days of production. We officially only have 2 more scenes to film and they're both for the fabled ballroom dream sequence that's been hyped throughout this entire trip. I have no idea how it's going to be edited exactly but I know why we're shooting it twice. Ted and I will be slow dancing together, doing one version in our casual clothes with the living room as it is, and one version dressed up in our 60's Era formal wear with the entire living room switched up to look more vintage and old. I've been trying to picture how the final product will look in my head, but Tanner hasn't been giving me much to work with. He's been purposely vague about his plans for this scene and claims it'll be much more impactful that way when we all see the final product on the big screen. I trust him on that.

After I get dressed, I head downstairs to do the usual. I grab some breakfast, chat with Dan, Tanner and Joe and then head to the makeup corner to get all dolled up. I hear Ted come downstairs after a little bit and hear him chatting up the guys as well. He doesn't sound particularly sad or low, but I guess he knows how to hide it. I'm not doing a half bad job at doing that either. I can be secretive too.

No I'm sorry, I'm not gonna let this go. It's constantly running in my head, even now as I'm just sitting here getting my makeup done. My head is spinning. I've got a giant hamster running on a massive wheel in my head right now, I don't fucking know, I'm just getting madder and madder about this. I don't give a fuck that he got too drunk, I don't give a fuck that he was headed my way, I don't fucking care that he spilled wine on Joe's mom or his husband's mom or whoever's mom. He didn't have to lie to me about it. I'm pissed. I can't get over this.

I'm snapped out of my own thoughts when I hear Tanner calling for Ted and I, realizing that the makeup team had finished me up almost a full minute ago and I had been sitting there, staring at myself in the mirror in silence. I let out a soft sigh and move off the chair, moving into the living room to join Ted, Tanner and a few members of the wardrobe team who would be acting as extras. We had a different set of actually hired extras during the first week of filming, yes, but everything that's done is done on purpose, according to Tanner. You're supposed to not recognize anyone in the background. For reasons Tanner won't spill, it's intentional.

God, I don't really wanna slow dance with Ted right now, but I'm doing this for Tanner's project. The second we get some sort of break, I'm bringing my frustrations up to Ted in private. That's how I want to do this.

The first bit of today's scene is done in relative silence. One of Ted's hands rests on my hip while the other takes my free hand, holding it out at our side. I rest my hand on his shoulder, glancing down at my feet to make sure I'm not about to step on him. We have some basic music playing to give us a beat to sway to, but Ted and I are not told to talk at all, everyone's meant to be silent as a moving camera runs around the entire living room, slowly circling us. Ted's warm eyes never leave mine. I can tell that he's not acting here, he is gazing at me with real infatuation and adoration, his soft smile genuine and affectionate. For a moment, I become...lost in his gaze, a small smile creeping up along the corners of my own lips.

'What if it's a rom-com? Baby, we could get away

Be my Meg Ryan and I'll be your Tommy Hanks

I know people die young and your friends fade away

But I'm your Jakey Matthews, Christensen, McConaughey'

I feel Ted let go of my hand to bring his hand up to my face, lightly brushing some of my hair out of my face, his affectionate smile stretching his lips out more. He slowly caresses the back of his finger down the side of my face I...I don't think I've ever had a guy look at me the way Ted is right in this moment. Not ever. I wish the only thing I could feel right now were the butterflies in my stomach and the warmth in my heart, but the burning realization that he's been lying to me with those same eyes creeps right into my soul. I can't let my feelings for him push away my anger.

Tanner gets a few good shots with all of the expensive cameras in the room. He decides to do one more slow go around, encouraging everyone in the scene to talk to each other, claiming it'll add some 'natural-ility' to the scene. That's not a word, Tanner, but I get what you mean. He says we can talk about anything as long as we're a little quiet about it, so after a bit of adjusting, we return to slow dancing. I can immediately hear the room be filled with quiet conversation between the extras, once again keeping my eyes on Ted. I must've made a face at some point between scenes because Ted's no longer looking at me with infatuation. He looks visibly confused, maybe even a little conflicted.

"Are you okay?" Ted whispers to me, his smile faltering slightly with concern. "You've been...different." Okay, so he has noticed a difference and he's waiting until now to bring it up? How has he not connected the dots at this point? We didn't even film yesterday, he had ALL DAY yesterday to tell me the truth, he had ALL DAY yesterday to ask if I was okay, if we were okay. He can't possibly be this ignorant, can he? I can't fucking do this anymore.

'I could be the ten days that you never wanna lose

Be the ten things that they hate about you

It don't gotta be this way, Just rewind the tape back to the meet-cute

View it from the top anytime that you need to, babe'

"No.." I admit in a quiet tone, letting out a soft huff. I know this isn't the appropriate time to talk about this, but I need to get it off my chest. I can't wait for break. "I know, Ted.."

Ted clearly doesn't understand what I'm referencing at first, shaking his head ever so slightly. "I figured you'd know if you were okay or not, princess." Ted gives a quiet scoff, a soft smile once again crossing his blush-toned lips.

"No, Ted..." I shake my head back at him, keeping my voice quiet, but firm. "I know, Ted. I know."

Any and all affection and happiness is completely washed off of Ted's face and his expression slowly drops. His mouth hangs open slightly and his eyes widen. The camera is currently behind him so it doesn't catch his shock, but I do. I get to witness the exact moment of realization on Ted's face. I get to see him grasp the fact that I know he's been lying to me, all while still mindlessly swaying to whatever music we've drowned out.

"...How did you?--" Ted tries to speak up first, but I immediately cut him off, already knowing that the question was coming.

"I overheard you and Joe arguing about it Thursday night.." I cut him off to answer him, my tone cold and serious. "And I made him tell me Friday, around lunch.."

Ted let's out another scoff, not as friendly this time, and he looks away. He gives a slow shake of his head, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He looks upset. He doesn't have a right to look upset. "Okay..." He mutters under his breath and turns to look at me once more, giving me an expression I could only describe as...unamused. "How much did he tell you?.."

"Everything you didn't." I admit bluntly, trying to look relaxed just in case the camera circles back around to show my face. "That you got drunk, talked around with the girls, spilled wine on someone and was escorted out.."

"...Okay.." Ted repeats with another slow nod. He can't even look at me anymore, not directly. Not even 5 minutes ago he had no issues gazing at me, all with the knowledge that he was purposely keeping secrets from me. Now that the cats out of the bag, and he can't look at me? All he can say is 'Okay'?

"Okay? Okay?" I repeat back at him mockingly, still keeping my voice down. It's hard not to look angry. I certainly feel angry. "That can't be all you have to say.."

"Well I-I thought--" Ted let's out another scoff, blinking his eyes a bit more. "I thought I'd have more time.."

"More time?" I repeat, furrowing my brows ever so slightly. "Joe gave you until Monday, I heard all of it. Have ya checked the calendar lately?"

"I was going to tell you, (Y/N).." Ted frowns a little. "Eventually, I just...I'm sorry."

"When? Thursday? Friday?" I scoff. "Over the phone when I'm back in Washington, maybe?"

"No, just--I-I just needed time, I--"

"Time? We didn't even film anything yesterday, Ted. We filmed nothing."

"And?"

"You knew Joe had given you until today to tell me, that would've been the perfect day."

"Oh yeah, right before filming this? Real perfect."

"You had a full fucking day, Ted. That's plenty of time."

"It's not that easy, (Y/N)."

"Not as easy as lying to me, huh?"

"I wasn't lying the whole fuckin' time, princess. I didn't know--"

"Stop calling me that, I'm serious."

"What, did you want me to prepare a speech?"

"Guys?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you want a poem written in cursive, too?"

"Guys--"

"Oh fuck off, Ted, that's not fair."

"I don't know what want from me."

"I wanted the truth."

"Guys!"

It takes Ted and I way too long to see that our argument had disrupted the scene. At some point during the exchange, everyone had stopped and just stared at us. It was Tanner that had started calling out to us, a concerned frown on his face. "What's going on?.." Tanner speaks up again now that he has our attention, anxiously crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What happened?"

"Nothing.." Ted speaks up before I can, giving Tanner a dismissive wave. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not nothing." I step up in a frustrated tone, placing my hands on my hips. "Can we take 5? I need to talk to Ted."

"No, I'm not taking 5. We can finish the scene." Ted huffs, shaking his head at me before gesturing to Tanner again. "How much did you get before you stopped?"

"L-Like half.." Tanner stutters a little, the growing tension in the room causing him to look visibly uncomfortable. "Look, if you guys need to...work something out, we can--"

"We can work it off after you film the other half, right?" Ted asks, glancing over to the camera's. No, I'm not letting him get out of this. I don't care if he's a fucking director. "Just start from back there." Ted instructs the camera man, completely ignoring me at this point. "It's all good."

"No, it's not all good." I strengthen the tone of my voice, moving around Ted to stand in front of him once more. "We need to talk about this."

"We will, when we finish the scene." Ted insists.

"No, you've had all weekend. We're talking about this now."

"It's one fucking minute, princess."

"I wouldn't care if it was 5 seconds. I'm not finishing the scene until we discuss this."

"What is there to discuss? You know now, and I said I was sorry."

"Two words aren't gonna cut a week of lying to me, Ted."

"Are you really doing this here?"

"You won't do it elsewhere!"

"I just wanna finish the fucking scene, (Y/N)."

"I'm not fuckin' touching you until we talk."

"(Y/N), you're not gonna ruin a whole day of shooting when we've only got 4 days left, alright?"

"I'm not trying to ruin anything! I fucking love Tanner, he and Joe are like my brothers! You know this!"

"Yeah? And this is how you treat them?"

"Oh, like you were any fucking better to them at Joe's wedding?"

"I was drunk! I don't even--"

"All because you got dumped?"

I hear a few quiet gasps from some of the wardrobe team from that drop, but my focus is on how pale Ted's face becomes. He looks even more shocked than he did before, and he's not the only one. Dan is covering his mouth with his hand, Tanner looks distraught and Joe looks anxious, but disappointed.

"You what?.." Dan speaks softly, like he's trying to be quiet as to not set anyone off. "That's when she broke up with you?.."

"(Y/N)..." Joe frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose, lowering his head in shame. "Shit.."

"Wait, what? That's-That's not--" Tanner stammers over his words, completely stunned. "That's not what you told us..."

I'm finding it difficult to read the room, furrowing my brows as I look over everyone's astonished faces. I understand why the film crew might look surprised, but why are Tanner and Dan so perplexed?

"What? What?" I shrug my arms out, turning to look at Tanner. "What, like y'all didn't know that?"

"No." Tanner admits with raised brows, shaking his head a little at me. "That's not when he said it happened.."

"No, he said after." Dan admits, nervously clasping his hands in front of his face. "He said it happened a week after the wedding."

So I guess at some point last week, Tanner had asked Ted about his ex alongside Dan, the one that had left Ted at the wedding, but even when it was just the 3 of them, Ted had once again told a lie to save his own appearance, and I just completely spilled the truth out for everyone to hear. Not just in front of our core friend group, no. Everyone. The entire film crew, makeup, wardrobe department and all just heard me air that out.

All eyes are on us, Ted and I. Well, this isn't my fucking fault. How was I supposed to know all of the lies Ted has told? I didn't mean for it to turn into an argument. I didn't mean to disrupt the whole scene. I didn't mean to spout out his stupid secret. All these secrets. All these lies. All these rumors and whispers and eyes. I look at Ted one final time and he hasn't moved from where he's standing. He looks ashamed and pale, like all of the brightness and color has been sucked out of him. I don't care. I can't do this. I can't fucking take this. I need to breathe.

Without addressing anyone else, I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and start marching towards the front door. I ignore any and all calls to me, anyone saying my name, anyone telling me to come back. I put my shoes on and head right out the front door and I just walk. I just start walking forward.

I pass by everyone's parked cars in the roundabout driveway, I pass the fence that acts as a sort of archway into the property, I step onto the sidewalk and I just keep fucking going. I'm not even thinking about where I'm going or how far I'll be going, I'm just huffing and puffing as I stomp across this sidewalk. I take in the fresh air of the midday, wondering if any entitled suburban families are watching me stomp by their house through the front window. I can't fucking believe this. I can't believe it went this far. I didn't want to fucking argue like that. I didn't want to have a spat in front of every single fucking employee of that project. I didn't want to air out Ted's dirty laundry like that. I'm not that kind of person. I don't hurt people like that. I don't use secrets against people. I'm better than that. I'm better than this...

...but he didn't give me much of a choice, did he? Ted didn't want to fucking talk about this, he didn't want to tell me the truth. He told me the truth about his fuckin' girlfriend dumping him but didn't think to tell me to keep that to myself? Or is HE the only one allowed to keep secrets? I don't get it! What did I do that made him think he could treat me this way; that he could lie to me? Was I too easy? Was I too short? Too small? Too innocent? Too infatuated? Too biased? Christ, I know I've only known the guy for less than a month, but he never seemd the type to pull THIS shit. Joe and Tanner trusted him, they had so many good things to say about him, Joe practically gave us his fucking blessing. Joe said we looked good with each other, we were good for each other, we were good together! What the fuck happened?

I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket but I just keep fucking walking. I only deter away from the sidewalk when I come across an empty park that's always in the middle of these family-centric complexes. It reminds me that I should probably find a place to sit, I don't want to go too far in case I don't come back until the sun starts to set. I turn into the empty park and plop myself down on one of the low swings, rocking myself up and down with my feet against the chipped ground. I put my phone on the ground so I can hold both of the rusted chains with both hands and I just...sit, think and breathe. I genuinely can't stop feeling frustrated about this.

There's a part of me that wants to keep finding reasons to blame myself, that this all happened mostly because of how I was or how I acted. Maybe if most of it is my fault, we can move past it easier and stay together. I have no issues with apologizing, I can make up for what I did.

But there's another part of me that wants to put this 100% on Ted. He got me high under false expectations, he lied to my face multiple times throughout the week and he refused to talk to me in private unless it was under HIS conditions, like that fucking worked out the last time. Every step of the way, he was trying to avoid this. How else was I expected to react? How long was I expected to handle his dodging and weaving calmly and rationally?

I don't know how long I sit at this park. By the time I had sat down at the swings, my phone had stopped ringing for a little while. The longer I sit there, taking in those deep breaths, the calmer I start to become. I start to feel ridiculous for coming out here, for storming out of the house the way I did. All I did was walk straight for like 10, 20 minutes. It wouldn't take long for anyone to find me if they came looking. I just...I don't know what to do. I don't know what I should be feeling, how else I should be handling this. I've been trying to get him to communicate with me, we were doing so good before all of this shit, I don't want it to be over. So what if he flirted with a few girls 2 years ago? That's not what I'm hurt over, I'm hurt over the secrecy and the lies. I need to understand why he was so okay with lying, why he felt the need to lie. I just want the truth. I just want to talk to him.

...Damnit.

I put my head in my hands, leaning forward while still on the swing. I'm no longer moving back and forth, completely stagnate. What do I do? How do I fix this? This can't be the end, it can't be. Ted gets a little too drunk and spends the next 2 years essentially waiting for me, and it's gonna end with one argument? If we really, truly can't work this out, that's fine, but...I just need some damn answers. I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him, need to see him. I take in one last deep breath before pushing myself off the swing, grabbing my phone off the ground, then walking back to the sidewalk to return to set. I don't know what time it was when I left so I truly had no idea how to gaugue how long I'd been gone.

...Until I actually got back.

The first thing I notice as I approach the driveway is that most of the cars are gone, including Ted's Tacoma. None of the upstairs lights are on and I can't see any cameras in the windows or anything, despite the curtains being wide open. I take in another deep breath before sheepishly opening the front door, relieved that it was unlocked since I hadn't grabbed my keys. The only people I see right away are Tanner and Joe in the kitchen, looking almost...scared as they gaze down at their phones. The cameras and lights that had been set up earlier hadn't been moved since I've been gone. As I close the door behind me, Tanner and Joe look up from their phones with wide eyes, shuffling out of the kitchen to head to me.

"Did he find you?" Tanner asks with a worried frown, clenching his phone anxiously in his left hand. "Where is he?"

"What?" I give Tanner a confused look, shaking my head a little. "Who? Who's gone?"

"Ted. He left right after you." Tanner admitted, his frown deepening. "He's not with you?"

"No, I came back alone." I admit, slipping my shoes off. "I was just down the street. Why? Where did he go?"

"We don't know." Joe let's out a heavy huff and shrugs. "He just left."

"What do you mean you don't know?" I ask with a scowl. "He didn't say?"

"No, he literally just...grabbed his keys and went, like, a couple minutes after you.." Tanner replies, anxiously scratching the back of his head. "He's not answering his phone. He just...left."

Ted's...

Ted's just gone?

'It's the middle of the night with the morning dew

605 or the 212

Even after I'm gone, what if it's all a rom-com?'

__________________________________

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 (smut) || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 (smut) || Chapter 19 || Chapter 20 || Chapter 21 (here) || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || Chapter 24 (smut) || Chapter 25 (final) ||

#ted nivison #chuckle sandwhich #jschlatt #ted nivison x reader #ted nivison x you #ted nivison fanfic #schlatt #take it easy pod #tie podcast #allaromcom #ted nivison fanfiction

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