#just. gesturing vaguely. mimicking. i guess

[arcade-confetti]

Honestly haven't actually watched Miraculous Ladybug since like season 2-3, but ah, I still do really adore the design potential! And it's always so much fun to suit up characters

So here's Jason Todd from DC with some of the miraculous! I think both the cats suit him, though personally I imagine the tiger fits him a bit better, both in colors and powers! Not sure what personality the tiger looks for though

Man, wild to realize I make colors more saturated than a kids cartoon somehow, color theory was fighting me here and I didn't fight back. His skin feels so bright against everything here-

Edit: More Tiger Todd :]

Heres,, alot of extras of the black cat! I put him in layers and I wanted to see them all

My design inspo was a vague mishmash of his various Red Hood suits, stuff I think he'd wear, the Arkham Knight helmet, and pre-crisis Jason's first suit + Flying Todd clothes

Man, I wish there were more crossover fics for DC/Batman where a batman character left the universe instead, or more crossover fusions, yknow?

[meeraonpole]

Kisses That Last Forever : OP81 X Y/N

Summery: Reader always kisses oscar mole and he finally asks why

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows across the room, illuminating the peaceful stillness of the night. Oscar lay on his back, one arm resting behind his head, the other loosely wrapped around Y/N’s waist as she nestled against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was soothing, a steady lullaby in the quiet of their shared sanctuary.

Y/N, content and sleepy, traced idle patterns on his skin, her fingers ghosting over his collarbone before they wandered up to his neck. She shifted slightly, propping herself up just enough to press a soft kiss against the little mole in the middle of his neck. Then, as always, she moved to the second one just above it, leaving another gentle peck there before settling back down against his chest.

Oscar let out a small huff of laughter, his lips twitching into a smile. “Okay,” he murmured, voice laced with curiosity, “why do you always do that?”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. “Do what?” she asked, playing innocent as her fingers now traced over the fabric of his t-shirt.

“This.” He gestured vaguely towards his neck before he mimicked her movements, pressing two light kisses to his fingertips and tapping them over his moles. “You always kiss them.”

A soft blush dusted Y/N’s cheeks as she hid her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

Oscar chuckled, tipping her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What was that?” he prompted, amused.

Y/N sighed, her expression softening as she reached up to gently touch the mole on his neck. “I don’t know… I just think they’re really cute,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Like little constellations on your skin.”

His eyes flickered with something warm, something tender. He hadn’t thought much about them before, but hearing her describe them with such fondness made his heart squeeze in the best way possible.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, shaking his head, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed the fondness in his voice.

Y/N grinned. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling her even closer until their noses brushed. “Unfortunately for me, I do.”

She giggled, pressing another lingering kiss over the mole on his neck before whispering, “Can’t help it.”

Oscar let out a content hum, burying his face in her hair. “Guess I’ll have to live with it,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her.

The soft intimacy of the moment enveloped them both, as the world outside seemed to disappear. Oscar felt the warmth of her presence against him, the steady beat of her heart matching the rhythm of his own. It was as if nothing else mattered but the quiet, tender connection they shared, the little things that made their bond unique.

Y/N, feeling the same sense of peace, closed her eyes, her fingers still gently tracing the outline of his shirt as she let the weight of the night settle around them. She was content, more than she could express. The simplicity of their love, the way it was made up of these quiet, unspoken moments, felt like home.

“I love you,” Oscar murmured, his voice thick with affection and something deeper, something lasting.

Y/N smiled into his chest, her heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her words floating between them like a promise, gentle and unwavering.

And as the room was filled with the soft hum of their breathing, the world outside still and silent. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s arms, content in their shared solitude. The night stretched on, peaceful and full of the quiet assurance that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

This is the moles on his neck i was refering to

Alsooooo the blue banner was from @bernardsbendystraws

not the one with the hearts i cant remember who the hearts are from but ifyk plz tag them

[estcaligo]

A silly thought

Soundproof?

-Sebek x reader (Prefect/Yuu) -Suggestive -Sebek is a Dorm Leader

So, later, Sebek becomes the Dorm Leader and moves into his own private room, which, of course, means his human often stays overnight.

But the first time was beyond embarrassing.

"Are you sure it's okay... here? I mean... you can be pretty loud, Sebby" you hesitated.

"WORRY NOT, HUMAN!" Sebek declared, puffing out his chest.

He took his magic pen, performed a vague gesture, and a faint shimmer rippled across the walls of the room.

"What was that?"

"A soundproofing spell! I've mastered it, at last! Now there is no need to fear bringing dishonor upon ourselves by producing the natural sounds of lovemaking!"

"O-Okay, okay! I mean, that's... great! You're so talented..." the human stammered, cheeks flushing.

"Shall we, then?"

[Black screen cutscene]

The next morning, everyone seemed... off. At the morning greeting (or a roll call), nobody dared to meet Sebek's eyes. Some of his dormmates giggled, their faces pink with suppressed laughter. There was definitely some awkward tension in the air.

Sebek was utterly perplexed. What had happened?!

As soon as it was possible, he stormed up to the Diasomnia's Vice Dorm Leader, still confused.

"Silver! What's going on? Why do our dormmates lack their usual spirit today?!"

Silver hesitated. "Mmm... Sebek, I understand you had a busy night..."

"Pardon me??"

"Well… I guess I heard everything so clearly because my room is next to yours, but, um…"

"What are you implying?!"

"We all heard you. You and the prefect. It was... very loud, I must say."

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? I CAST THE SOUNDPROOFING SPELL!"

"You did? Are you sure? Did you perform the gesture?" Silver mimicked the motion with his hand.

"OF COURSE I DID! DO YOU THINK I'M AN IDIO-?!"

"And did you inscribe the runes on the walls?"

"...What? The runes?" Sebek blinked in horror.

"Yes. You need to inscribe them on the areas you want to soundproof. Ah, I suppose that explains it... Well, next time, try to be more careful."

"SHUT UP! WHO SAID THERE WILL BE A NEXT TIME?!!" Sebek's face was bright red at this point, sweat starting to gather on his forehead.

"There won't? Oh, I see. That's a shame. You sounded like you were having a great time."

"SHUT UP!!!! IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!!"

Meanwhile, Yuu just lay curled up in the corner.

[aberrationaldyke]

smack a jack

sevika x black fat dyke gnc reader

game night w pookie + a dyke with sum freek plans and their undeterred partner // regular setting

“alright, alright then…” sevika brings out a deck of cards from a drawer nearby, watching you search through the fridge. their movements slow a bit. “then…just the brew you made then. nothin’ extra.”

your surprised reaction is hid, face nearly stuffed into the refrigerator. “told you those were experimental. and i don’t have any.”

a hum comes from sevika, the package of cards tapping tentatively against their metal prosthetic as they walk closer to your bent over figure. “no, i know you. somethin’ bein’ experimental doesn’t mean you don’t have it.” they brush past you, side-eyeing your ass. “and you hide things in the back of the fridge. guess what i know what’s usually in the back of all that mess?”

soft clinks emerge just as your fingers touch a bottle’s cap with a bit more force than necessary, cutting into your rebuttal to sevika. your position turns into a kneeling one, hands maneuvering the two bottles from the depths of the fridge.

blinking, sevika’s gaze drifts from you, then back, then away again, sights settling on the cards in their hand. their journey to the living room is halted by your stance returning to a standing one.

“see.” sevika gestures to the clear glass bottles filled with an inky, dark purple liquid. “also putting things behind items that can be moved or seen through doesn’t make them hidden.”

now a proper rebuttal can be made, graced by a face-to-face reunion; you match sevika’s expression, mimicking their stance in the same moment before you say, “see,” you copy their tone. your normal voice returning, you continue, “and i don’t know who invited you into my fridge. snooping is not a good look for you.”

sevika’s prosthetic reaches for the bottle you’re offering as you make your way to their awaiting figure in the middle of the walkway, their free hand rubbing across your back while you both walk back to the living room. they let you in front of them to circle the worn but sturdy coffee table, their touch lingering on your baggy clothing.

“sure was for you. thank you very much for your thorough and successful search.” sevika watches you sit down before their own body comes right beside yours. they open the package holding the cards, sliding them out and into their left hand, tossing the empty container to the edge of the coffee table. “do you know you have more plants and plant food than actual food?”

you put a coaster in front of yourself and sevika, fighting back a smile. “my stuff is in freezer. savin’ up for a second fridge for projects.” taking your bottle, you snap open the cap, a lavender mist escaping as you do. “oooouu.”

this earns chuckle from sevika, their shuffling of the cards a subconscious feat while they look at you. then their gaze goes to the bottle and a brow quirks. “as much as i applaud and appreciate your work with these experiments, i don’t think i like you near the edible intoxication part—you got a lil too much goin’ on.”

“why don’t you jus’ flip the cards and pass ‘em out so i can claim my victory?” a small sip of the concoction is taken by you. “what is this one we’re doin’, smack a jack?”

sevika follows along with your action, settling the cards in their right hand while their left opens their bottle. they subtly move closer, processing your latter statement and laughing when they do. before the tip of the bottle touches their lips, they motion vaguely with it in their grasp. “yeah, smack a jack.”

the simultaneous swig of the herbal elixir brings a hum of delight from you and a suspicious, curious grunt from sevika, alongside a mirroring comment, “sweet.”

scoffing, a lopsided smile grows on sevika’s face. “why the hell are you surprised?” their thoughts wander. “you…tested this before you bottled it, yeah? the reason you even have to save up for another fridge is because the last one exploded. which is…i’m still tryna wrap my head around…because you don’t even sell weapons.”

another sip is taken by sevika, despite their apprehension, an evident coolness coming from the recently refrigerated drink. they wince slightly when the frigidness of the beverage sustains the temperature even in the depths of their stomach. setting the bottle back down on the coaster, sevika returns to shuffling the cards a few more times before passing them out to you and theirself.

you hum, putting a hand on sevika’s knee while you take another swig of the drink. “you know so much, yet so little.” the same hand raises to their chin and nudges it lightly. “baby, you gotta pay attention more.”

sevika absentmindedly follows your touch as your hand departs from their chin, a faint grin on their lips as the warmth rushes to their cheeks. they resume to pass out the cards to the piles in front of you and theirself, finishing quickly. they grab their deck of cards, licking over their bottom lip slightly before lightly gnawing on the inside of it.

"ain't a problem for me. i can give you all the attention you want." they reach for your legs, right hand slipping toward the inside of your thigh before gripping and lifting it, setting it over their lap; the motion is repeated with the other, their touch lingering on your calf.

taking your deck of cards into your hands, your eyes flit to sevika's hand before looking at the side of their face. they cast you a side-eye before turning their head to hold you in focus while their brow quirks. with swiftness, the surface of your dark brown skin is peppered with goosebumps while your lower abdomen churns with desire.

"attemptin' to distract me." you point to sevika with your deck. "with those eyes. i know you."

an airy chuckle leaves sevika, their gaze returning to the coffee table. "then let me focus because i don't want these eyes to be part of the rant later when you lose. you don’t even know the right name of the game—it’s slapjack.”

“nine, ten, a big fat hen. smack slap. i don’t care. watch me work.” you clutch your cards tighter, features showcasing your determination.

their bottle is in their hand again for a quick swig, a soft laugh passing through sevika’s nose as they indulge, suspicion of the beverage still high. now on their fourth swallow of the concoction, sevika’s brown skin prickles, the hairs standing at attention. a prominent pulse echoes through their body and your scent is suddenly amplified. the coolness nestling in their stomach is met with a natural heat that makes them squirm in their seat slightly, their gaze flitting to the apex of your thick thighs and the fabric draping across your pudgy stomach.

“ha!” you smack down the first card on the coffee table.

sevika brings their attention back to the game, movements robotic as they put the next card down. they watch your hand jerk out, anticipating. the tenseness in their body dissipates at your reaction, a couple blinks clearing the fog of desire—or at least attempts to.

another card is put down by you with the same force, your more alert state still no match for sevika’s slightly altered one.

snatching the cards up, sevika tosses a glance your way, your impending response omitted as you take a mighty gulp from your drink. patting a very high point on your thigh lightly, sevika says, “take that in slow, baby.”

you quickly depart the bottle tip from your mouth, eyes widening as an idea comes to your mind. “take a drink if you lose the round.”

sevika raises a brow. “that a challenge or your punishment? you’re already down one.” their eyes dart to your moistened lips, heart thumping with anticipation.

feigning a frown, you hold a laugh back, trying to maintain a leveled demeanor as the brew works its way deeper. your response is put on hold when you see sevika slowly leaning toward you, their hand that remained on your thigh softly kneading the flesh. with a grip still on the neck of your bottle, you raise your fist to sevika’s chest, barring their advances.

“you just called me a loser,” you start playfully, “and think you can start rubbin’ on me?”

sevika’s gaze searches your face, seeing if you’ll put the presumed facade aside but comes to a quick realization and diverts their eyes as they begin to think. they smooth a crinkle in the fabric of your pants, the soft leisurewear running along their palm. “just offerin’ a little encouragement is all.”

you relent a bit, letting sevika close in as you watch a small smirk of victory build on their lips. affectionate irritation builds at the sight, the force of your fist against their chest returning, gently stopping them from advancing just when you can feel the warmth of their skin breathe onto yours.

gray eyes stare into yours with a questioning essence while a silent plea beams through the glimmering sights. sevika’s left hand joins the coaxing, caressing your right calf lightly.

“you put the card down next or it’s me?” the smile is evident in your inquiry.

a slight downturn comes to sevika’s lips, an ever-present hunger for the touch and feel of your skin gnawing at their senses. no help from whatever you cooked up and poured into the bottles, the processing elixir mixes with your natural scents, wafting through the air and heightening their yearning. reluctant with the action, sevika straightens and plucks a card from their deck setting it on the table to resume the game.

nearly ten minutes later, it is a surprise to you both that the deck you carry presents itself with a prominent thickness, indicating your multiple triumphs. pity building for your partner quick after the drinks had to be taken after your wins, you brushed off the challenge, taking the swigs along with sevika.

after returning from a bathroom break, you walk back to the living room, the trek slowing as your gaze travels the lengths of sevika’s body, their large, broad figure relaxed against the couch, head laid back. you creep over, watching their steady breath, a smile growing on your face. you position yourself right in front of them, eyeing their spread out legs with a particular interest.

“tappin’ out?” you murmur, looking down at sevika with your arms crossed, confidence overabundant. you study your nails with fake interest, the gloating continuing, “yeah…i would too. how many you got left in your stack five? seven? ain’t no comin’ back from that.”

sevika opens one eye, looking you up and down before the other opens. silently, they straighten up, a low grunt of effort emitting as they do. they reach out and brush their right palm along the side of your thigh, adjusting theirself to scoot closer to the edge of the couch so their face nearly meets your lower torso.

“c’mere,” sevika mutters, their left hand nearing your other thigh before both circle around and smooth over the underside of your ass. they look up at you, gaze soft.

a protest fails to emerge, your arousal heightening and making your dark brown skin spark with more heat than what is already present. it’s those damn eyes. your mouth parts as you nod slowly, taking a step forward toward sevika.

still focused on your face, sevika speaks low, “you win. i give up.” they guide your legs to settle on either side of them, your straddle earning a sigh of relief as your warmth seeps into their body. they take a moment to adjust your posture, their right hand staying on your thigh with a soft grip while the other circles around your waist, pulling you closer.

pliant, your breaths are slow and heavy, fingertips grazing sevika’s jaw. the wordless command earns their attention, their eyes ceasing their venture of your body before meeting your heated sights.

“now you want me? hm?” sevika’s hips adjust under your weight, angling them to feel your heat more.

“you wanting to take a bite a minute into smackjack is no one’s problem but yours,” you retort, tilting your head.

sevika’s lips press against your bottom lip, their thumb slipping past your waistband and rubbing your hip, the ridges of your stretch marks traced lightly. your eagerness kissing back brings a soft moan from their throat, their hold on you tightening as if they would be able to meld your bodies. the motion in your lower body earns a raspier groan and a stutter of their own hips to meet the movement.

a breath is taken, the taste of the elixir and one another lingering on your tongues. “it definitely is my problem. and trust me, i’ll take care of it.”

just injected u into an oc like them avatar machines dew

kinda obsessed w shoola and sevika time to munch

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Old School

****

Buck didn't know what to say the first time someone asked him. It didn't make any sense - he was in a same-sex relationship, that was the whole point. What did they mean by "which one of you is the woman?"

Casual homophobia wasn't something he had prepared himself for when he and Tommy started dating. He'd braced himself for outright hatred, for angry confrontations, but these casual, almost friendly questions caught him off guard. The comments that people didn't even realize were offensive.

One particular incident was at a badge and ladder bar near the 118. Buck and Tommy had been on opposing shifts and were excited to see each other, so maybe they got a bit zealous with their hellos.

"Which one of you is the chick in bed?" a drunk man in an LAFD hoodie asked, stumbling closer to their table.

Tommy was usually so even-keeled. That's what made his reaction all the more startling to Buck.

"You think it's okay to talk about people's sex lives?" Tommy asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Sorry, man," the drunk firefighter slurred, "but you guys just don't seem fruity."

"Oh fuck," Buck thought, recognizing the calm before the storm in Tommy's expression.

"Fruity?" Tommy repeated, still maintaining his dangerous calm. "So because I'm not prancing around in a rainbow tutu, I don't fit your narrow view of what a gay man should be?"

"Dude, I'm sorry, it's just weird to me. I like the ladies," the man said, swaying slightly.

"So does he," Tommy said sharply, pointing to Buck. "Sexuality isn't a black and white thing. But you're too drunk to have that conversation, and I'm too annoyed to try."

"Whatever, man," the drunk firefighter said, waving his hand dismissively. "Enjoy making out."

"We will," Tommy replied, pulling Buck into a deep kiss. When they broke apart, he kept his eyes locked on the drunk firefighter. "And we'll enjoy a lot more than that too."

Buck couldn't help but grin, both at Tommy's response and at the man's reddening face. He wrapped an arm around Tommy's waist, pressing closer. "Much more."

The drunk firefighter muttered something under his breath and stumbled away.

"Sorry about him," another man said as he approached their table. "He's not homophobic, he's just an idiot."

Tommy and Buck exchanged a look - they'd heard that before.

"If he's not homophobic, what would you call those comments?" Tommy asked, his earlier calm now edged with frustration.

"He's just old school, you know? Not used to seeing two guys together. Especially not guys like you." The man gestured vaguely at them.

"Guys like us?" Buck's voice was sharp. "You mean firefighters? Or do you mean guys who don't fit your stereotype of what queer men should look like?"

"Look, I didn't mean—"

"No, you did mean," Tommy cut in. "Look, I appreciate you trying to apologize for him, but casual homophobia is still homophobia. And 'old school' isn't an excuse for intolerance. Neither is being drunk."

"Hey, sorry we're late," Bobby called out as he approached with Hen, Chimney, and Eddie. His eyes quickly assessed the tension at the table. "Is there a problem here?"

The other firefighter shifted uncomfortably. "No, no problem. Just heading out," he said, retreating quickly.

"Just some drunk guy making comments about me and Tommy," Buck explained, his jaw still tight. "Then his friend trying to excuse it as him being 'old school.'"

Hen raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess - 'you don't seem gay?'

"Bingo" Tommy deadpanned.

"But apparently it's fine because he's not homophobic, he's just an idiot," Buck finished, mimicking air quotes.

Chimney let out a low whistle. "No wonder it looked tense over here."

"You two sure you're okay?" Bobby asked, studying both of them with concern.

"Yeah, we're fine," Buck replied.

Hen let out a dry laugh. "You should hear how many people refer to me and Karen as 'besties' even after I introduce her as my wife. Like they just can't compute it."

"Tell them about what happened at Harbor last week," Buck said to Tommy, shaking his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "One of the guys thought he was hilarious, and called Evan my 'little wife' when he brought me lunch."

"Like bringing food to your partner is somehow a gender role thing," Buck added.

"As if every relationship has to fit into their narrow little box," Hen agreed.

As their friends sat down, the tension slowly eased. The night shifted into something better - trading stories, sharing drinks, laughing together. It wasn't perfect, Buck thought, watching Tommy joke with Eddie about something. These moments of casual prejudice would keep happening. But having people in their corner sure made it easier to handle.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Question...? pt.4

↳ Masterlist

This is part four, here's part one, part two, part three, and part five (Completed Story)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing:  Jenson Button x pop star!Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The after-party of the premiere was buzzing, an intoxicating swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations. She stood near the edge of the room, cradling a glass of sparkling water, the golden light from the chandeliers reflecting off the delicate beading on her dress. An actress she vaguely knew from other events was talking to her, recounting a story about a mishap on set, but her words barely registered.

Her gaze kept drifting over the crowd, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She wasn’t looking for him—at least, that’s what she told herself. And yet, the hope of finding those piercing blue eyes was a constant pull, even though the thought terrified her.

“Still not much of a drinker, huh?”

The familiar voice came from behind her, smooth and warm, and her heart jolted. She turned sharply to see Jenson standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. He held a glass of champagne, but his posture was as casual as ever, the same ease she remembered too well.

“Jenson,” she said, her voice betraying her surprise.

He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “Just… wasn’t expecting you.”

He took a sip of his bubbly, his gaze steady on hers. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here either. Thought I’d come say hi again. It’s been ages since we’ve had the chance to talk.”

She nodded, though the tightness in her chest made it hard to respond. “It has,” she agreed, her mind drifting again. He has no right looking this good.

There was a pause, just long enough for the unspoken history between them to creep in, before he broke it with an easy chuckle. “So, what’s it like hearing your song on the big screen? Must be surreal.”

“It is,” she admitted, grateful for the safe topic. “I’ve always loved film, so being part of a soundtrack feels… special.”

“Well-deserved,” he said earnestly, and his sincerity made her stomach flip. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

She looked away, fiddling with the edge of her glass. “Thanks.”

“So,” he started, his tone light, “did you come alone tonight, or…?” He let the question hang, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

Her breath caught, but she kept her voice steady. “No, I came alone.”

He nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face, subtle but there, and also got just barely closer. “Oh. Thought maybe you’d have brought someone.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at him, “my boyfriend isn’t really into these kinds of events. He’s not much of a public figure.”

For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or disappointment—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a polite smile. “Ah, I see. That’s probably for the best. These events can be… a lot.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what his expression meant, unsure if he really cared, please care.

He gestured toward the crowd. “Still, you seem to be handling it like a pro. No nerves, no awkwardness—you’re a natural.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head slightly. “You’d be surprised.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade.

“And you,” she started, her intrusive thoughts winning over reason, “did you come with someone?” She kept her tone light, mimicking the same casualness he treated whatever they were—friends, strangers, ghosts of something more.

Jenson arched a brow, clearly catching the shift in her question, but he didn’t falter. “No,” he said easily. “Just me.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I guess I’m still not the ‘plus-one’ type.”

She let out a quiet laugh, though it felt hollow. “Single, then?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Wouldn’t be here alone if I weren’t.”

Ouch. The words settled awkwardly between them, heavier than they had any right to be. She dropped her gaze, suddenly regretting asking. That was it. She interpreted, or perhaps overthought, that what he had said just confirmed they had been nothing, just some casual sporadic encounters.

“That’s surprising,” she said, aiming for neutral, though her tone wavered.

He shrugged, taking another sip of his beverage. “I guess some things just don’t stick, you know?”

Her stomach tightened, the weight of his words brushing against something she didn’t want to revisit. She forced herself to nod, her voice quieter now. “Yeah, I guess.”

For a moment, silence threatened to drown their conversation, neither of them meeting the other’s gaze. He cleared his throat, as if realizing the shift.

“Well,” he said, his voice lighter, though not entirely natural, “it’s probably for the best tonight. Less to explain to anyone, right?”

The comment lingered uncomfortably, and she couldn’t tell if it was meant to cut or simply acknowledge the elephant in the room. She pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond, and took a sip of her sparkling water instead.

“Anyway,” Jenson added, stepping back slightly, as if sensing the need for space. “It’s good to see you here, really. You look…” He hesitated, then smiled, his tone softening. “Happy. That’s what matters.”

She wished she had the guts to correct him, to say something—anything—but again, why?. She gave him a faint smile, hoping it was enough.

“Enjoy the party,” he said, his voice quieter now, and before she could respond, he disappeared back into the crowd.

She stood there for a moment, frozen in place, the noise of the party rushing back in like a tide she couldn’t escape. I am a damn fool, a joke, a bad joke in a very cruel unfunny comedy, gosh. Her eyes felt the weight of an imminent storm. She had no right feeling that way, nevertheless, she did. She felt rage, against her past self, her past self who did not stop when she could. But she was not fooling herself, she would have fell for him a thousand times without learning the lesson.

The tears did not fall, she just returned to the conversation with that actress, as if nothing had happened, as if her heart had not just been shattered in a brutal yet unnoticeable way. The party had dragged on, the hours blurring together in a haze of small talk, polite laughter, and forced indifference. She moved through the crowd as if on autopilot, her mind replaying fragments of their conversation. Her chest felt heavy, her stomach hollow. But she smiled, laughed, nodded—everything expected of her.

Two hours in, she excused herself from yet another meaningless exchange and made her way toward the restroom. The hallway was quieter, the muffled sounds of the party distant, almost like an echo from another world. She pushed the door open, washed her hands, and lingered at the sink, staring at her reflection.

Her eyes looked tired, her face carefully composed but betraying the weight of something deeper. She took a breath, straightened her posture, and stepped out into the small anteroom that separated the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms.

Jenson entered just as she exited, his pace relaxed, his tie loosened slightly, his demeanor so effortlessly at ease it only heightened the contrast to her own state.

She didn’t notice him at first. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts somewhere far away. The soft click of her heels against the polished floor was the only sound as she moved to pass him.

“Hey,” he said gently, stopping in his tracks.

She froze at the sound of his voice, her head snapping up as if waking from a trance. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression guarded, almost unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he added quickly, his tone softer now, cautious.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. She hesitated, glancing away, as if deciding whether to stay or leave.

“You okay?” Jenson asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, her voice lacking vigor or conviction.

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable now. “You just… look like you’re a million miles away. Thought I’d check.”

Her jaw tightened, and she forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Pretend,” he said simply.

The word hung between them, heavy and unspoken in so many ways. Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“I’m not pretending,” she said finally, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He stepped back slightly, giving her space but keeping his gaze steady. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice almost too gentle. “If you say so.”

She looked down, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But as she moved to step past him, his voice stopped her again.

“You know,” he said, his tone low but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. His gaze lingered on her, searching, almost vulnerable. “Some things don’t really… go away. Not completely.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the noise of the world seemed to stop. The weight of his words unwavering, their ambiguity sharp and cutting.

Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “You think I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft, but the rawness in it betrayed her. “You think it’s been easy?”

Jenson’s expression shifted, surprise flashing across his face. “I didn’t—”

She shook her head, the frustration bubbling up. “No, of course, you didn’t. You never did.” Her tone was bitter, a sharp contrast to the music faintly playing in the background. “You just left it… undefined, unspoken. Like it was easier that way. Easier for you, maybe. For me? It’s been…” she did not finish, her last word implied, sighing tired.

The words hung in the air, too honest, too raw. She immediately regretted them, her hand instinctively brushing her temple as if to physically erase what she’d just revealed.

Jenson stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “I didn’t know—”

“Exactly,” she cut him off, her tone sharp now, her composure slipping. “You didn’t know because you didn’t ask. You didn’t care enough to ask.” She took a deep breath, her voice trembling but still steady enough to make her point. “You don’t get to show up now and say things like that without an explanation, without a label for whatever the hell that was. You just… don’t.”

Her words faltered at the end, her exhaustion seeping through. She looked away, her expression distant, as if gathering the shards of her composure.

“Let’s just not, okay?” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Jenson's gaze fell to the floor, his usually sure demeanor crumbling at the edges. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between them heavy and fraught. Please put up more of a fight. Then, softly, his voice broke through.

“You’re right,” he said, his tone subdued, almost hesitant. “You’re completely right. I didn’t ask. I didn’t handle it the way I should have.” He looked up, his blue eyes filled with something raw, something she hadn’t seen in him before. “And I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

Her chest tightened, her instinct to push him away warring with the weight of his sincerity.

“I was…” He paused, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together. “I was a mess back then. I didn’t know what I wanted, or how to be the kind of person you deserved. I thought leaving it undefined would hurt less, that I wouldn’t screw it up if I didn’t try to define it. But that was selfish. I see that now.”

She didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, but her throat tightened, and she hated, yet loved, that his words were clawing at old wounds.

Jenson stepped closer, the movement tentative, as though afraid to cross an invisible line. “And I get it if you don’t want to hear this, especially now,” he continued, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “But I can’t deny I’ve really felt something” He stopped, exhaling shakily, as though steadying himself. “And I also can’t deny, and honestly wanted to tell you before you mentioned you were taken, that I still feel something, quite a lot, actually.”

She felt almost guilty for snapping at him, perhaps she was the one wrong for asking, rather imploring, for questions when she had a lovely boyfriend. His words felt unreal, the whole situation did, as unreal as his blue eyes.

How much is quite a lot? She wanted to ask, although at that very moment she just wanted to feel home by kissing those very soothing lips that would, momentarily, erase all the pain and uncertainties. Jenson’s gaze lingered on her, his words hanging in the air like a fragile truth neither of them could fully grasp. She blinked, her throat tightening, the weight of his confession pressing against her chest.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice trembling. but it wasn’t directed at him.

He frowned slightly, unsure of her meaning. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. I swear, I wasn’t going to say anything when you mentioned you were with someone. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

She nodded, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “I know.” Her gaze dropped to the tiled floor for a moment before flicking back to him. “I’m the one who… who asked for questions, for explanations, even though I shouldn’t have. I have no right to ask for answers, not when I’ve moved on.”

His expression softened, a flicker of guilt and something else—something deeper—passing through his eyes. He stepped closer, his movements hesitant but deliberate, and her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat. “I’m sorry, really,” he said softly, his voice heavy with sincerity. “For not giving you what you deserved back then. For not being the person I should’ve been. And for saying this now, when it’s probably the worst time.”

She bit her lip, her emotions warring within her. “It doesn’t matter, Jenson.”

His eyes searched hers. “Did you really moved on?” he asked, the words slipped his lips, the question had already been implied with her previous words, as she would not have been so affected if she had truly done. “Are you really happy now?” he added.

She froze, his words hanging in the air, raw and cutting through her defenses. Her mouth opened, a response on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak, he shook his head gently.

“You don’t have to say it,” Jenson said, his voice steady but laced with something almost fragile. “I already know.” His gaze bore into hers, unflinching, yet soft in a way that made her chest ache.

She pressed her lips together, her heart pounding in her chest, the truth threatening to spill over. He stepped closer still, the space between them shrinking, his presence overwhelming.

“If you break up,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper meant only for her ears, “please call me.”

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in the charged silence between them. She wanted to speak, to tell him it was unfair, cruel even, to say something like that. But he didn’t give her the chance.

“And honestly,” he continued, his voice softer now but impossibly earnest, “I really hope you break up.”

His words should have stung, should have felt tasteless or selfish, but instead, they carried a quiet sincerity, a bittersweet hope that made her chest tighten. The vulnerability in his gaze made her want to both cry and walk away.

“Jenson…” she whispered, her voice unsure, flickering between a warning or a plea.

He smiled faintly, a sad curve of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “But I mean it.”

The silence that followed felt deafening, the weight of their history and everything unsaid between them pressing heavily in the air. She took a step back, her body screaming at her to flee before she said or did something she couldn’t take back.

“I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You probably should.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: I will do part five ASAP. And in case it was not clear, the cursive is for her thoughts, hence the first-person narration. This part is way longer, hope you don't mind.

English is not my first language. I hope you liked it <333

[mcsmtxt]

okay so. i’ve been filled with mcsm thoughts lately but have found little time to share them in a way that feels … i don’t know, meaningful? i’ve also been in an insecure spell recently where i believe every thought i have is subpar — yet i’m going to ramble regardless. starting off with silent jesse.

i should preface and say that i do think jesse is a talker! canonically, he is someone who talks fairly often. even when it’s just to reuben in private, or a vague comment on something ( which admittedly is mostly choice protag disease ), there is an element of talkativeness from jesse. even with his group dynamic, there is an obvious sense of ‘oh, jesse is the leader, aka someone who olivia and axel turn to often to have the final say in choices / to give pep talks’. like, there is no world where jesse is mute or anywhere close to it! it does not ‘work’ … but i have a vast fondness for jesse and his quietness anyway. i do not think he is necessarily unnerved by bouts of silence and can fall into quiet easily, like second nature, if certain things aligned. i do like the vague implications via olivia and axel that jesse does have his silent spells — and they have mostly learned to navigate that, with olivia’s interpretations and axel speaking for jesse if the situation calls for it. i don’t think jesse’s nonverbal! just … he has his moments. and is very skilled at silent treatment lol. and, i mean, why wouldn’t jesse be good at being quiet? at not saying anything? he isn’t interested in the sound of his own voice and has little to say about himself unless talking to someone … he is not one to share thoughts unless asked, or unless it’s dire, and his feelings matter even less so.

i also think it circles back to his admin past as well … i genuinely think jesse’s world was very nonverbal and not super english. to me, steve and alex did not speak, but instead mimicked things around them ( mostly for fun and in an attempt to communicate with others ) and adapted to nonverbal communication. there was no ‘hurdle’ for them to overcome, no need for sign language, because they existed as is : in a world that didn’t thrive on words or phrases. i think in many ways this bred a very tight closeness that isn’t easily replicated in the more modern mcsm world nowadays … steve and alex knew each other instinctively, down to their bodies, and could act accordingly without a single word shared — or even without a look on occasion. there was a reply my partner did with lukas, where they wrote :

he’s reduced now to grunts and moans and gasps, the language before languages, the most ancient one.

and this tickled me greatly because. well. yes. i do view that as the language before languages, the most ancient one … i have more thoughts on steve and alex but. yes. they did not need words for their day-to-day and operated more freely without them sometimes. there was no miscommunication via words … no insults that dug deep to cause insecurity … *gestures*

jesse has always possessed the capacity to ‘speak’, even as an admin. but i’d imagine it wasn’t really speaking at all … and more of a telepathic thing? he had no need to move his body, so what use was his throat or mouth? the end poem is a thing hardly understood by steve so there’s an implied language ( or reality? ) barrier. i also believe the end poem as we see it was the encounter transcribed into english over the years — hidden somewhere, perhaps, in the mcsm universe … so there’s things that were awkward in translation, or there were guesses that were wrong ( this is how i’d explain the inconsistency / falsehood of markus and julian, who didn’t exist. and also the heavy emphasis on ‘gendered’ titles that, again, were likely just english interference and aren’t truly accurate to the ancient text ) … point is : jesse’s interest in words were slim to none, and while this has changed in years and through transformation, i think some of those quirks remain.

him conversing with reuben and seemingly understanding him is very telling to me! it’s not because reuben has a real voice ( seeing as nobody else understands him as thoroughly as jesse does, not unless reuben displays his intent via body language ) but jesse can listen to his squealing and just know. is he some legend at pig talk? no. he’d be better at deciphering than most but it is less that and more about jesse’s eternal bond with reuben ; him knowing his companion in this deep way that goes beyond bones and meager flesh and, in turn, language or silence or whatnot. jesse is different despite being in a universe full of ‘best friend animal havers’ because unlike isa and stella he does genuinely talk to reuben in a way that’s not ‘pet-like’ … reuben also demands to be seen as an equal, to which jesse obliges, and i think that’s where the weirdness of their dynamic comes from. jesse and reuben do not let language barriers or even different body languages get to them and it’s very pointed to me! it is ‘weird’ but only because nobody understands it, or that type of intimacy … besides, perhaps, jack? due to nurm? ( eh! )

anyway. jesse’s nonchalance with vocalizing things perfectly or at all does go hand-and-hand with his grip on his emotions. his distance was made on the throes of dehumanization and, in turn, his silence and disregard for speaking up himself for himself. could also explain why jesse’s dialogue is so ‘laid-back’ and ‘normal’ appearing despite his infinite wisdom, maturity, and ability. i think jesse mainly learned how to talk from observing and, also, from olivia and axel … it is common for tight knit friend groups to share phrases, tones, etc. but jesse took that a bit more extremely and has based most of his dialect around those two + reuben. he is a loser because he was brought into being one </3 not to say he doesn’t have his own unique quirks! he does! there is only so much copying one can do, but jesse has his perpetual snarky tone and his favoritism of the term ‘nuts’ … before axel and olivia, jesse spoke, sure, but there was mayhaps a stop to most of his sentences and a lot of looking, eye movements, brow furrowing, and so on back then.

( jesse and lukas, eventually, falling into a similar ‘steve-alex’ situation of communication, of just knowing, is very romantic and sexy to me … they will always talk, but i do think jesse and lukas would find so much charm in not saying a word and just communicating everything via their bodies and looks … to be together in a deep and special way that isn’t easy to replicate )

this dichotomy of being able to speak and having no qualms about talking plus being more naturally attuned to silent communication also leads to some missteps relationship wise. like, i could see why jesse wouldn’t really ask for clarification on something in his relationships, and would be more prone to assuming. he would maybe believe something to be true and obviously stated via actions that the idea of properly discussing it, in depth, would fly over his head a smidge. it’s less that jesse is scared or too immature for such conversations, and more about an oversight in general. i guess it’s safe to view talking and speech as an opportunity jesse seizes when presented to him, and it is usually presented to him repeatedly! but if it isn’t ( for example : petra not telling jesse about her more brittle and hurt feelings, even if jesse knows something is amiss ) jesse is very likely to not comment. not due to a lack of opinion or lack of something to say! more so because he simply does not think to comment / has already assumed his intentions and thoughts are well known through actions and things previously said. or something of the sort anyway.

[cee-grice]

writing accountability, day 10

rahhh we're in double digits lol. felt kinda ill, so I didn't go out with family for the first half of the day, which gave me plenty of time to get in my daily words lol. honestly, I'm kinda in the rhythm now, so I feel like I'll be able to keep going at this pace for quite a while (don't jinx it don't jinx it don't jinx it)

today's word count: 752/700

wrote today about developing crushes lol. it's not really that relevant to the story but I just kinda felt like it, it'd feel incomplete to write about student life without including some Relationship Drama lmao

snippet for today:

“Sorry, my diet’s too regulated to go out for food or drinks.” “Oh.” She wrung her hands before gesturing vaguely to her mouth. “Is it because of, uh…” He mimicked her gesture. “Yes.” Besides Yvrina that first day, no one else had yet asked Quilin what his venemagiknesis was about. They all looked, yes, and doubtlessly guessed amongst themselves, but asking about a venemagik’s condition was considered rude. Or something. No one asked him whether it truly was, either.

ah, social norms. it's all made up

see y'all tomorrowwww

[hadesjournal]

Another unfinished short story

The last thing Cassian remembered were the bright lights of the car coming towards him. This of course was followed by intense pain, the kind that, if he were not already dying, would make him want to kill himself. He recalled the vague wail of sirens in the background, muddy in his ears, all of it fading in and out of focus as he attempted to not move. After that it was just black, he assumes, he didn't really have any memory past the pain. He was dead, or so he thought, except if he was really dead then why the hell was he conscious right now? That didn’t really fit in with his other assumptions, and so the only logical conclusion is that he wasn’t, or is no longer, dead. Squinting against the harsh lights flooding his senses, Cassian glanced around, eyes flitting across the blurry landscape. He seemed to be in a graveyard, tombstones and memorial plaques were lined in neat rows on plush green grass, dotted here and there with vibrant bouquets of flowers. which didn’t really make sense because last he remembered he was lying on a dark, wet stretch of road, but one issue at a time. Facing forward he noticed a pair of scuffed up converse. Attached to these converse were legs, clad in black jeans, leading to a torso in a baggy deep blue sweatshirt, and finally, his eyes fell onto the utterly horrified face of a boy, or more accurately, a young man. The boy seemed to be staring at him, mouth agape and eyebrows raised so high they blended with his hairline, as if he had done something exceptionally exceptional. Which was not really fair, as, in the given situation, Cassian had no real idea of what he had done. Standing to his full height, on very shaky legs, Cassian said the only thing he could think of, “What the fuck?”. His voice was scratchy and deeper than he remembered, a slight itch tingled at the back of his throat. Perhaps lack of use was the culprit, but given that he had no real recollection of how he got to where he was, it was anyone’s guess. At this, the boy jerked back.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’? Do I look like I have any more clue about what is happening here!”. He gestured wildly around, mimicking what Cassian imagined a hysterical octopus might look like, his slender hands flying through the air. As he spoke (more like shouted) the boys face morphed from shock to disbelief. This outburst, while entertaining, helped Cassian in no way, and in fact left his ears ringing slightly. Weathering the boy with an unimpressed look, he crossed his arms across his chest, noting what seemed to be a fine layer of dirt on his shirt and arms, and asked, “How do you not know what is happening? you're not the one just waking up with a random guy staring at you like you’re some kind of freak”.

“I sure as hell am not the freak here. You’re the one who LITERALLY rose from the dead”, the boy retorted, running his hands through his inky black hair, the fine curls sticking up on the ends.

The boy seemed to take some sympathy on Cassian then and pointed behind him to the ornate grey tombstone behind him. Cassian’s full name, birthday, what he had to assume was his death day, and the words “a loving brother and son” were etched in neat lettering across the very bottom of the stone. The center of the grave was taken up by the inscription “GAME OVER” and a coin slot carved just below it. A pang ran through Cassian’s chest, his eyes stinging at the edges. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the boy, processing what he had said. “I’m sorry, I did what now?”. The kid, whose name he still did not know, began pacing and chewing on an already disfigured nail. “Rose from the dead. Like a zombie or something”, he muttered. Cassian sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. This was not the type of sigh that a man who had just risen from a grave should do, but Cassian had never been in this situation before so he gave himself grace. He opened his eyes, taking in the dull grey of the sky, heavy with rain clouds. Rain was his favourite weather.

“And when exactly did this happen?”.

“Like 5 minutes ago, come on dude, you were there”.

“Oh I’m so sorry, is the slow processing of my UNDYING keeping you from something? ...And what even made me rise from the dead?”. At this, the boy looked a little less shocked and a little more guilty. He avoided Cassian’s gaze, suddenly overly interested in his shoes, and knotted his fingers into the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I put some coins into your grave and -”.

Cassian’s mouth dropped open, his turn to gape like a fish. His eyes bulged out and he pointed an accusing finger at the boy's chest.

“You put money into my tombstone?”.

“Well yeah, that’s what it told me to do”.

“And do you regularly take instructions from tombstones?”.

The boy bristled, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that he was arguing with a dead man, and shot back, “Give me a break dude, I didn’t know you were actually gonna come back to life”.

“Well congrats, cause here I am”, Damien sarcastically stated, throwing his arms up in exasperation, droplets of dirt raining down around them.

The boy was still resolutely avoiding his gaze, using the tip of his toe to trace patterns in the soil, like a child in trouble or a girl who was attempting to flirt. Except who was to say what girls actually meant when they did that, as girls are not the easiest people to read. In fact, in an excerpt from a humanitarian book from Ethan Vanderwhal, he described females as “The type of mammal to which you should be very afraid, as they are impressively good at using the same gesture to convey multiple emotions, only distinct from one another by the tone used. And to misinterpret this tone could be the difference between life and death”. However, dear Ethan was unmarried so what did he know? This analysis of the females gesture is completely unimportant in this situation as neither Cassian nor his companion seemed to be female, and so, once again (the previous instance a whole situation of which I do not have the patience nor time to get into), Ethan did not help in the slightest.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

TONY TALKS. LIKE REALLY TALKS TO HIM.

A reminder that hits him that Tony had pointed out within the last several day was something that they really would not have done this before. That this level of opening up would not have come up if Clint was not going sober; and he could have guessed where and how this conversation would have started than ended.

IT'D BE SHORT AND CURT. They could have tried to talk about this; may have gotten somewhere but Clint thinks that perhaps because he has had to be so unguarded, vulnerable and raw because he's so freshly sober; that Tony is being unguarded, whether intentional or not, to match the fact that Clint was. SO HE WOULD NOT FEEL ALONE IN THAT FEELING.

❝ But like, of course it's your own shit; that doesn't mean you shouldn't be feeling it, or torn about this shit. Like, it's not related and all, but I'm pretty sure you'd tell me I got all kind of right to feel, if say like Edith appeared, and was alive; and wanted to apologize or make up for Harold or life I had after they died. ❞ HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN THIS THE RIGHT AWAY. In the past that would have been where he gave up, took a sip of beer and said better wisdom would come at the end of the bottles he was drinking. Now he's trying more, not giving up on listening to Tony.

Show him he's listening, show him that he cares and if Tony wants it; he'd work through this with him. HE RECOGNIZES THAT'S WHAT SOBRIETY WAS DOING. Getting sober, being sober; the nightly meetings, rehab, and than therapy was doing. It's processing things, having conversations.

❝ Okay, so here me out ⸺ you aren't the original you, but isn't like one of your whole things about you is reinventing yourself, reinventing the wheel. Didn't the company Pepper run Resilient ⸺ pretty sure I saw recording in the archives ⸺ wasn't starting fresh from all other Stark companies, not rooted in weapons at all; and... ❞ He does a vague hand gesture in front of him, Brandy mimicking him as Clint's really trying to say something profound here to help Tony; but than he's realizing something about himself.

❝ You know I haven't felt very real or sure of who I really am in awhile; and going sober... admitting I'm an alcoholic, and all this... ❞ The same vague gesture as before. THIS IS A BIG TALK FOR THEM.

❝ That's starting fresh with myself; kind of, right? New me, with the decision to incorporate as much or little of the old me ⸺⸻ Doesn't that kind of apply to you and this whole thing you got going on, like okay; so you got all the important bits about who you were and are; and you just decide who and what, and so you can just say you are real and Tony Stark; regardless of any ⸻ hold on, Brandy don't listen to these words ⸺ ❞ Clint goes to cup her head, cover her ears with her hand and tries to make a funny face to relax her that he's doing this.

❝ Regardless of any bullshit; can't you just decide the same as me, and what I'm doing now; like what's what; but frankly, personally, fuck Arno. Like fuck that guy's argument; plus like whose judgement is better here, MINE or HIS, the guy who like known you longer and going through whose his own discovery of himself; or whatever the fuck a guy name Arno's deal is? ❞

CLOSING STATEMENT; an additional point that Tony could simply defer to Clint's opinion on this matter to which than Tony was the same Tony, regardless of other arguments or points to bring up.

DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. Clint wants to scoff at that, because when has that statement ever deferred anyone. Than, of course Tony adds he knows he'll just bring it up with his therapist (of which clint knows he has his own list of things but he's still apprehensive about this new guy so he doesn't know what progress on that lit would happen).

The fact of this matter was now he kind of realized they had a deep adult conversation, and his skin wasn't exactly crawling over something like that. It was weird, and there is a point to this sobriety thing; that this was what it was all about. I JUST WISH I WASN'T SUCH A FUCKING MESS. Clint goes to cover Brandy's ears again. ❝ Humor here, Stark, humor; I'd drink to that ⸺⸻ we're in the same boar, I wish I wasn't a fucking mess either ⸺⸻ and it's not lost on me, that I don't think either of would sit here and talk about stuff like that; if we both weren't sober, if we didn't care for trying. ❞ IF IT DIDN'T MATTER. There's more on that.

❝ That, I'd rather be sober, than drinking. . . so I could talk like this, with you; especially, specifically. ❞

OH. GEEZ; and tonight he was going to talk at the meeting tonight. His positive, silver lining, would be recognizing that he could have this kind of conversations and that's owed to not washing everything down with whatever liquor he could get his hands on.

❝ Hear that, Brandy, we're the best ever; we'll kick so much butt. ❞ Don't tell Kate.

Tony was really glad that Clint was facing away from him. With him facing away, it felt a little easier to talk about these things. He wondered if it was like Catholics going to confessional. No eye contact and anonymous while you unload about how terrible you are.

He's staring at the back of Clint's neck as he tries to get his thoughts together. He hadn't really been thinking about any of this except during moments of guilt for cancelling dates and then rescheduling because he felt bad. "She's really good. I don't know. I think it's just all my own shit. Amanda is here. She's my mom. She loves me and wants a real relationship with me. She gives me all the things that I never got growing up, and sometimes when it's happening, it's the best feeling in the world. And sometimes I don't know how I'm supposed to feel so I feel uncomfortable. And then sometimes and often after we're apart, it just feels like I don't deserve it, or I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then I've got Arno on the other side who I did actually bond with really fast because we both both two sides of the same coin growing up, and he's so fucking smart. We were on the same page for ages and then I died and he just turned on me. And now he's saying that I'm an AI, and AI's shouldn't have rights because they aren't people and if they don't have rights they don't get companies. So yeah - that's helping with me thinking I deserve anything that Amanda is offering because if the brother I was never actually related to is saying I don't get to have the company I built up because physically I'm not the same person as before when it's still me in here -" he tapped his head. "Then how can I be her son when that is only a bond of physical and I'm physically not who I was?"

He sighed. He'd dumped this all on Clint before, back before Arno had got really pushy about Stark Industrial. And he knew Clint would just say he was really him. And he knew all that. He knew it. But it still didn't help the intrusive thoughts when he couldn't figure out why he felt smothered or underserving or just needing some space.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the back of Clint's neck for a moment and just let himself breath in the familiar scent of him. "The guys a complete sociopath. I don't think he'll care much for your opinion on anything."

He pulled back again and looked at hm. "Don't worry about it. I think maybe I just needed to say it all out loud. I'll put it on the list of things to talk to my therapist about. I know that Arno's a dick and his opinion is stupid. I know Amanda is a good person who has my best interest at heart. She's good. I like her being in S.I. because Bethany and Pepper both tend to do things based on how it makes the company looks and what will make it money. Which is good, I need that. But Amanda does things based on what she things I would want, and she's pretty good at being about to guess what that would be. I'm glad she's there. I'm glad she's in my life. I just wish I wasn't such a fucking mess."

He smiled when both Clint and Brandy looked up at him. "Heck yeah. The best crime fighting duo ever."

[milfgyuu]

Double Dare Pairing: Lee Chan x Fem!Reader Tags: 1.5k, FWB2L, Humor Prompt: “We’re too old for this” + “I’m not going in there” + “You scared?” @dinoshii​​ Summary: two idiots and one creepy house. 

Lee Chan can get you to do pretty much anything. 

Anything but this.

“Come on,” he pokes at you, your irritation growing every time he gets through your defense to poke you again and again, “Don’t be a big baby. It’s just an old house.”

Yeah, just an abandoned old house that has sat essentially untouched and probably condemned since you were kids. It’s covered in thick vines and layers upon layers of grime. The iron gates swing off the hinges, shutters hang from the second story windows. It’s just - old and creepy and gross. 

You’re not doing it. 

“I’m not going in there,” you reiterate attempting to walk away from him but Chan latches onto your arm and drags you right back in front of the house. “We can stand here and freeze our asses off all night, but I am not stepping foot in Pennywise’s Penthouse.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” Chan slides his hands down your arms and sidles up behind you but you’re not falling for his shit. 

“Mhm, yeah,” you grunt, throwing your weight to remove him from your backside, “Keep me warm at home if you want. We’re not contracting rabies, scabies, or any other ‘bies’ tonight. Lets go.”

You try to walk, again, and Chan loops his arms around you. “Wait, wait wait wait wait-”

“You love ghost stuff! Remember the story Linc told us about the old woman in the window?”

Vaguely. Also, Linc is the same guy who said he was almost mauled by a yeti when he was skiing a few winters back. You don’t put a ton of stock into the stories he shares. 

“He made that up,” you counter with an eye roll, “It’s common knowledge that woman passed in the house and it’s not ghosts I’m concerned with. The house is decrepit and disgusting and quite frankly…we’re too old for this.”

Chan just looks at you and then smiles because he has a secret weapon. 

“Double dare.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re really doing this?”

He nods. His stupid, pretty, floppy hair bouncing along. 

“Fine.” The faster you go in, the faster you come out. 

You have no idea what is inside this house that’s worth him cashing in the favor you owe him but the stipulations were clear. Anytime, anywhere, and no backing out. All he had to say was ‘double dare’ and it was done. He could have literally used it for whatever he wanted so he’s either an idiot or there is something in this for him.

You uncross one arm and gesture toward the door. “You first.”

Chan’s proud little smirk wears on your nerves because he’s so attractive when he’s feeling cocky and confident but it’s at your expense so you’re just as tempted to kiss him as you are to trip him when he takes the first step up to the front door. 

With tentative hands, he pushes at the door and it swings open much easier than it probably should. He jerks his hand back and then tries to cover it up, turning to laugh even as you glare up at him from a few steps down. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

You sigh and walk past him into the house. “Or the house is basically falling apart,” you pivot left and move into the kitchen, mindful of debris underfoot. “You ought to be careful. Wouldn’t want the weight of your big fat head to make you fall through these old wooden floorboards.”

You can hear the sound of him mimicking you because he doesn’t have a comeback. Your lips twitch up in satisfaction.

The house is cold and the draft still manages to make its way inside, biting into your sweater. You shine the light from your phone over the cabinets, frowning at the graffiti that some punk kids must have spray painted. They’d even been so disrespectful as to leave the cans right there on the floor knowing no one would be coming after them. It was a shame - this was someone’s home once.

There is a big gust of wind and then, ‘SLAM!’

You and Chan both jump at the loud, cracking sound, wild eyes searching the empty room before realizing it was the front door that had made such a noise. You chuckle at yourself but Chan is still clutching onto your arms like a petrified cat. You pat his hands. “It’s ok, tough guy. It was just the wind.”

He very slowly removes his hand but doesn’t step away from you. “Uh, yeah…I knew that.”

“Yeah…okay.” You still take slow, deliberate steps in case there really is a loose or rotten floorboard because you’re not going to the hospital with a broken ankle and then getting hauled off to jail for breaking and entering. Chan stays close, his hand constantly reaching for your own before he hesitates and pulls it back.

You search the rest of the ground floor and don’t really find much. Nothing crazy happens aside from eerie sounds echoing through the empty rooms or twigs brushing up against the glass windows to make Chan’s eyes dart around suspiciously. 

It’s not until you test the first step of the staircase that he decides to speak up. Leaning for the second step, Chan grabs your wrist. “I’m not sure we should go up there.”

You furrow your brows at him. “You’re the one who wanted to come inside so badly,” you huff out a laugh and turn to walk up again but he doesn’t budge and you look over your shoulder. “You scared?”

Incredulous, he stutters, mouth opening and closing. “O-of course I’m not scared! It’s just a big old empty house!”

You smirk and take another step noticing he doesn’t let go. “If you wanted to hold my hand you could’ve just asked,” you tease him, slipping your wrist free to lace your fingers with his properly, “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble to make a move.”

You make it safely to the second floor and then Chan’s pressing you against the wall - confidence seemingly renewed when he beholds the shocked look on your face. “You and I both know I have no problem making a move,” he taunts, nudging his leg between your knees and tilting his head, “I will admit that I really like holding your hand though. It’s a nice change of pace.”

You avert your eyes, unable to withstand the heat in his gaze. 

“I kind of like it too.”

Your voice is small but it’s so quiet that he hears you just fine and when he slips his hand against your jaw and pulls you in, it feels a little different than usual. It’s not wild and rushed or inherently passionate but it lights you up from the inside out and you push a little closer, grip his jacket a little tighter. 

It’s still hard to find the courage to look at him when he pulls back and smiles at you. 

“We are so not hooking up in here,” you finally say, mirth dancing in your eyes.

Chan tips his head back and laughs. “Can’t a guy take a girl to a haunted house without it being a hookup?”

“Is that not what we do?” you narrow your eyes. 

That kiss told a different story.

Chan licks his bottom lip and looks at a spot on the wall above your head. “I mean…yeah…but maybe we could do…I don’t know…other stuff too…like go on dates to non-haunted places?”

“Are you asking me out? Like…officially?”

Chan sighs. “Do you hate it?”

You snort at the fact that he’s assuming the worst already. 

“No,” you start and his hands slip away, “No, I don’t hate it.”

‘THWACK!’

This time the sound comes from a room to your left and there isn’t nearly as noticeable a breeze in the upper half of the house. You look to Chan and both your eyes are wide with panic. “The ghost might have other feelings about it though…”

“Yep. Time to go.” He grabs your hand and quickly pulls you down the stairs and toward the front door. Thankfully, despite the ungraceful way it had been shut earlier, it opens just as easily and the both sprint down the front steps until your clear across the street. 

Your lungs heave with the effort and you stay hunched over for a moment, hands braced against your knees. Chan lays a hand on your back, not in much better shape himself. “Are you okay?”

You nod eyeing the old house warily. “Maybe Linc was actually onto something this time.”

Chan takes your hand and starts leading that way home when he notices something move in the upstairs window of the house. “Maybe we should go home before we actually see something we shouldn’t.”

You refuse to turn over your shoulder, even as the wind and rustle of leaves taunt you.

“Choosing to be blissfully unaware.”

Chan nods in agreement as you both walk a little bit faster. “I love not knowing things.”

“Ditto.”

Halloween 2022 | SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfgyuu, 2019. ©️

[velvetcloxds]

MEET THE MIKAELSONS| D.H.

Pairing: Derek x Fem! Reader, Teen Wolf x The Originals (requested) 

Word count: 1962 words

Warning: none, just fluff

Summary: Reader takes her friends and her boyfriend, Derek to visit her family home where they find out that she’s related to the infamous Mikaelson vampires.

“Just don’t touch anything,” I command calmly, Stiles pausing mid air as his hand hovers over one of Klaus’s paintings and everyone allows for a soft laugh, Derek kissing the side of my head as his hand remains inside my back pocket.

“This place is beautiful,” Lydia notes, looking around slowly as her eyes move over the various features of the compound.

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug, walking deeper into the compound as I mimic her actions, mentally comparing the way it looks to the pictures Rebekah sent me with her letters and I can’t help but smile when my eyes settle on the Mikaelson crest, fingers reaching out mindlessly as I trace the carved wall numbly.

“What does it stand for?” Derek asks, moving behind me where he wraps his hands around my waist, face resting on my shoulder. My smile grows due to the gesture, free hand finding one of his.

“Mikaelson,” I note softly, memories of our family suddenly speeding through my mind like a slideshow, things I’d told myself I’d forgotten completely proving to be embedded into my brain.

“Like the ancient vampire family?” Scott asks, having disappeared to the bathroom for a minute as soon as we got here.

“More vampires?” Stiles asks from behind me, and I nod.

“Yeah, they’re the first of their kind,” I explain, though my attention is far from this conversation, a feeling similar to the one I felt when I explained this to Derek, him being the only one knowing not only who I truly am and where I come from, but whom I was running from. “The Originals,” I add, and Derek gives me a slight squeeze, turning me around in his arms, probably picking up on my dazed state.

“Cool,” Is all Stiles offers as a reply, taking Lydia’s hand as Scott follows them to explore more of the house.

“You okay?” He whispers, leaning towards me. I nod in his hold, hands moving to his arms.

“Just a little weird being here, I guess.” I look up to him, smiling slightly when our eyes meet. “I thought that when I finally got to see this place in all its glory, they’d be here with me, waiting maybe,” Derek nods with understanding, smiling sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” He loosens his grip, leaning back to get a better look at me. “We can leave if you’re not comfortable,” He offers sweetly and I shake my head with a smile, kissing his lips quickly.

“No,” I tell him though I can’t hide the slight rise in my tone, his brows furrowing as a result. “We need to let things cool down in Beacon Hills and no one will bother us here,” I pause, sighing softly as I move my hands over his bare arms. “Besides, there’s a literal coffin around here somewhere with my name on it.”

“Wait really?” Derek asks intrigued as he looks around the room pointlessly. I nod, not fighting against the smile on my lips.

“Yeah, a dagger too, but I doubt we’ll find that just laying around,” I pull away from him briefly, taking his hand in mine as I guide him towards the hallway by the staircase where Stiles’ is excitedly gesturing towards the wall.

“It’s her!” He announces loudly, eyes moving over the painting that Klaus painted of our family, and I subconsciously tighten my grip on Derek’s hand, his thumb moving up and down against my skin to soothe me.

“It’s not her,” Lydia argues with a roll of her eyes, arms folded as Scott simply watches the scene unfold. “It’s far more likely to be a relative that looks remarkably a lot like her,” She reasons and Derek bites back a grin at my side.

“She’s a vampire, right?” Stiles ask, looking to me for conformation and I nod, seeing no need for the question as he literally walked in on me sipping from a blood bag a few months ago. “And she’s been annoyingly vague about her family and her history, right?” He asks, question directed at Scott and Lydia this time, they both nod. “And she brought us to her family home, which has paintings of the Mikaelson family which Scott saw in the bestiary, where he also read that the Mikaelson family also have a long-lost hybrid sister who hasn’t been spotted in years…” Stiles nods eagerly as he waits for the pieces to fall together, Scott and Lydia looking to me as it does.

“Are you a Mikaelson?” Scott asks, hands in his pockets as he shifts on his feet, I release a shaky breath before offering a mere nod as reply, Stiles almost jumping up and down with the conformation of him being correct.

“Holy shit,” Stiles begins and turns to me, eyes sparkling with excitement. “That is so cool, like literally the coolest thing you’ve ever told us about yourself,” He informs me, and Derek shakes his head at my side, glaring at the boy as he continues to grow more excited.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Scott asks hesitantly, ignoring Stiles who is fiddling with his jacket sleeves as he takes a closer look at my specific painting. “Didn’t you trust us?” He adds as well, and I shake my head quickly.

“Of course I trust you,” I begin, and Derek squeezes my hand again, reminding me to breathe as I think of the best way to explain this. “I wanted to tell you all, truly I did, but our family has enemies around every corner, and I didn’t want to bring you guys into that,” I look over all of them quickly before turning to meet Derek’s gaze. “I love you all too much to create unnecessary collateral damage.“

“So why tell us now?” Lydia questions with a raised brow and I notice the added heartbeats filling the room behind us before I could fathom a reply, the gushing wind of their entrance still swirling around us.

“Because you’re in need of our assistance,” A familiar voice explains, and I close my eyes for a second in preparation before turning to face my older brother.

“Elijah,” I whisper in acknowledgement, the words barely leaving my lips before he’s picking me up into his arms, twirling me around in a welcoming hug that causes a childlike giggle to erupt from my lips. “I’ve missed you too,” I confirm, hands on his shoulders as he sets my feet back on the ground and I take a moment to center myself. “And you,” I say when my eyes meet with Rebekah’s, happy tears tugging at her eyes and I release myself from Elijah’s presence to pull her into my arms, her arms folding around my neck as she holds me close.

“It has been far too long, Y/n ,” She whispers, laughing lightly through her tears. She squeezes me tightly before pulling away, hands moving to comb back the hair that’s been ruffled through our hug and her hands still on my cheeks as she takes me in. “My little sister, even more beautiful than I remember,” She notes, which earns a scoff from both my lips and Elijah’s.

“I look exactly the same, Bekah and you know it,” I muse, taking the handkerchief from Elijah’s hands to hold it out for Rebekah . “Though, I’d never turn down the compliment from the beauty of the family.”

“Oh, I take great offense by your insinuation, love, ” Klaus announces, and everyone turns to the entrance, where he leans against the wall, watching the interaction. “Welcome home, Y/n,” He notes with a large smile, and I know as far as greeting go, that’s quite the scene from the hybrid.

“Thank you, Niklaus,” I offer in the same and my cheeks practically hurt form the pure excitement rushing through me at seeing them all again, the nerves and discomfort from earlier slipping away almost completely, until Klaus’ eyes meet Derek’s and suddenly reality sinks back in. I take a few steps back, smiling up at Derek before rejoining our hands, my other hand snaking around his upper arm to keep him close. “I should introduce everyone,” I note with a nervous smile and Derek simply nods reassuringly.

“I’d begin with the creature you’re so eagerly latching onto,” Klaus announces, happy tone from earlier replaced with the all so familiar big brother voice.

“Play nice, Niklaus,” Elijah instructs, accepting my grateful smile before silently commanding me to continue.

“This is my boyfriend, Derek,” I begin, looking up at the man as he extends a hand towards Elijah inducing the longest handshake I’ve ever had to endure until Rebekah clears her throat, the two men pulling away from each other. “Then there’s Lydia, Stiles and Scott,” I add, releasing a small huff of air as I gesture to each of them individually.

“It’s good to meet all of,” Rebekah speaks up, catching my gaze with a warm smile before she looks to my guests. “We’re the Mikaelsons,” She explains, and I nod lightly. “Elijah, Klaus and I’m Y/n’s personal favorite, Rebekah,” She declares simply, mimicking my gesture until everyone has extended an acknowledging nod.

“We should talk business,” Klaus commands suddenly, standing from his leaning position to walk towards us. “You bunch are here for a reason, aren’t you?” He muses with a slight wink my way and I roll my eyes at the remark, knowing that only he would take this opportunity to take a jab at my decision to leave them.

“Don’t start, Niklaus,” Elijah offers with a tight tone and I would’ve laughed if the room wasn’t so tense, a sense of familiarity filling me at the little group dynamic that’s remained the same through all these years.

“I’m not starting anything, Elijah,” Klaus replies, hurriedly pulling his leather jacket straight. “I’m simply trying to remind our dear sister that she is here on what she called a family favor and that we wouldn’t want to waste her precious time,” I’m too late to stop the soft laugh that escapes my lips, Klaus turning towards be in slight shock.

"Honestly Klaus, it has been centuries and you're telling me that no one has yet to remove that stick from your ass?” I mock and Elijah steps forward, fully prepared to stop the interaction when a smile traces the hybrids lips.

“Little sister,” He muses and then shakes his head, pointing at me. “You have booked yourself a long dinner,” He announces and pats Elijah on the shoulder to invite him to leave the room with him. Elijah spares me a brief smile before following.

“That went better than expected,” Rebekah notes and I smile at her, nodding with relief as Klaus and Elijah begin discussing the diner plans on their climb up the stairs. “Why don’t I show you three your rooms,” she says and motions for Scott, Stiles and Lydia to follow them, pausing to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before leading them away as well. I turn to Derek with a smile, his eyes already waiting for mine as I do.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he tells me, making my heart swell as I lean into him. “I’m very proud of you,” He adds, and I feel a blush creeps onto my cheeks.

“I couldn’t have done it without you at my side,” I say simply, resting my chin against his chest as I look up at him. He hums lightly, shaking his head as he lifts his free hand to gently push the hair behind my ear.

“You definitely could have,” He muses and gently kisses my forehead, sending a welcome rush of pure bliss through my veins, I smile as he lingers close. “My brave girl.”

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad.  Mxx.

Masterlist

[bexsua]

sua can't imagine they'll run out of room, so she mentally prepares herself to be smelling a whole lot of scents and oils. she scrunches her nose up already. she knows it'll be fun, but she's not looking forward to how raw her nose is likely to feel after sniffing things all day. sua reaches up to thumb at her nose thoughtfully. "i'm sure we'll be fine," she mumbles thoughtfully.

"i wonder if they use the little...what are they called, the stick-- wand things." sua waves her hand around vaguely in gesture, holding something close to her nose and mimicking smelling it. "the ones you spray on. probably, right?" it would make sense if they did, but maybe they have something even better than that. part of her wonders if they're going to be doing something along the lines of chemistry, but she guesses they'll figure it out once they get there. "as long as it doesn't smell awful, i'll call it a good day." sua decides.

"it's usually mixed in, i think. it always has other stuff with it. come to think of it..." sua trails off, thinking. "i don't think i could figure out what it is on it's own. well," she shrugs. "we'll just have to try and see. there should be one up ahead, yeah?" squinting, sua pushes on her tiptoes as if that would help her locate it faster. "there's definitely a couple of other places in the area that offers classes on...something. incase we hit a dead end. they're always advertising stuff around here."

"that was exactly my thought as well! i mean i feel like those one-day candle making classes are more popular." it was unlike chaerin not to plan completely ahead, but she didn't want to stress over schedules and whatnot. if the perfume making class was full, they could very well head over and do something else instead.

she hasn't given the actual scents much thought herself. chaerin was mostly interested in the act of trying it all out instead. "i'm sure they'll let us test it before actually throwing it into our perfume bottle, so maybe you can give it a try and see what you think? plus, maybe the instructors will throw in some advice as well," she stated with a chuckle.

most of her perfumes were light as she wasn't a huge fan of heavy scents, but she was curious to know what would be available for them to mix and match together. "i'm pretty sure chamomile is one as well, though i'm not entirely sure if i remember what that smells like in a perfume."

[gragam]

things about my unnamed robot guy (pictured below) sorry its long. ive never used a read more link this is so exciting

-in the future where the us military is just starting to experiment with fully autonomous android soldiers. the first generation are deemed unfit for practical use for various reasons

-no particular protocol for disposing of them so once the second generation is under way the majority are scrapped or deconstructed for parts but some are kept around military compounds as free labor or whatever

-my guy came from a base in arizona where he was being used for menial tasks, the people at the base liked to fuck around with him because he would do whatever they wanted

-at some point this led to his tracking system being broken so when he finds his way out (details unclear) they arent able to find him and apparently deem it not worth pursuing further (do not care about the implications of this not my problem)

-he ends up in a little desert town thats slowly dying (like figuratively), and mostly everyone there who hasnt already left is content to die with it. some time ago it was a factory town but since then there hasnt really been any reason for anyone to move there so its just been slowly deteriorating for decades upon decades

-he arrives in the middle of the night and the only person still out and about is an 18 or 19 year old girl walking around smoking a cigarette who sees him and thinks hes the coolest thing ever because hes a cool robot and she kind of monologues to him about her situation and the state of the town as they walk around together

-basically she lives alone here with her cat and she hates that the town is the way it is and that nobody wants to do anything about it but she cant afford to leave so she just spends her time outside of work wandering around daydreaming or whatever

-he understands spoken and written english but he cant speak, and he doesnt have much of a personality at this point so he doesnt react much beyond vague gestures (plus he doesnt really know that much about the world so he doesnt totally get it anyway) she likes this about him since everyone else just pities her. she also says he reminds her of a cat but he doesnt know what a cat is, this comparison becomes important to him as a symbol of the first time someone treated him like a person

-she takes him back to her house and he lives there for like a year and a half. at first he only communicates through vague gestures but over time she teaches him asl which she knows because her mom was deaf. when shes not working she takes him around town with her and teaches him things (she likes to dress him up when she takes him out), people dont seem to mind since nothing interesting happens there so everyone just knows him as the robot that hangs out around town with that weird girl. at this point robots are uncommon in day to day life but they do exist, nobody in the town has ever seen one in person but theyve heard of them so its only shocking because nobody would have ever expected to see one in a town like this

-he takes a liking to cats and starts wearing clothes and doing things on his own, through his interactions with people he starts to develop more of a personality and even emotional responses to things

-for a while he questions whether or not his inner world is authentic and meaningful or if its just his ai mimicking traits of people hes met but in the end he decides it doesnt matter either way because its real and important to him (sitcom awe sound effect)

-at a certain point the girl starts acting sort of distant but he doesnt have the emotional intelligence to understand that anything is wrong, and one day she just disappears without a word. nobody else knew her and she didnt have any family so nobody cares to look for her (kind of a parallel i guess). he stays in the town waiting for her and taking care of the cat for half a year but the cat is already old and eventually it passes away. he had learned about the way humans honor their dead from the girl and he gives the cat a proper burial

-he wanders around the town for weeks not sure what to do, he sort of starts to revert back to how he was before he met the girl because without her to talk to or the cat to take care of he feels like hes lost his connection to the human world. people around town start to notice that hes different and over time they reach out and help him recover, he starts to reconnect with other people in town and he goes around helping them out with whatever tasks need to be done (this time of his own accord as like a parallel to what he did at the military compound)

-eventually he gets a place to stay and once enough time has passed he gets another cat and names it after the girl, not as like a replacement for her but as a way to honor his memory of her. i dont have anything planned after that i think it would be weird if the girl just came back. i was also trying to think about how to deal with his battery running out i feel like that could be used to touch on mortality but i didnt know how to incorporate it plus im literally making this up as i go. so sure maybe that would happen eventually

to be honest im a little embarrassed to be posting this ive never taken writing seriously at all and ive never really been into making “““ocs”““ beyond like fun character designs but ive been thinking about this all day and i thought maybe it would be fun to actually do it. i dont plan on making this into anything btw and also i still dont have a name for him or the girl or the cat or anything and ive only drawn him twice (or 3 times if you count the roblox mouse drawing or like 8 times if you count the doodles of his head from different angles at various levels of detail in my philosophy notebook)

oh and a special little detail for people who read the whole thing or who clicked the link and scrolled past it anyway: he has a rotor inside his chest that spins faster when hes happy and it makes him sound like hes purring :)

[aohendo]

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag, @on-noon!

My words were miss, assist, guess, issue, and mess, which turned up some fun results (you nearly got the full montage of Prince Martarez Nazvili declaring things “messy,” and the other princes mimicking her intonation of “messy” to varying degrees of accuracy).

Chucking this at @daisywords, @whimsyqueen, @houndsofcorduff, and @havendearest, as well as anyone who’d like to hop in!

Your words are: strike, light, fight, might, and bite.

Miss          

“Well met, Yphant.” Kaar gestured down the hall, vaguely in the direction of the Princes’ quarters. “Permit me to walk with you, that I should catch you should illness strike.”

The overwhelming urge to purposefully miss a step rang through Kiris’ conscience.

Assist

“You seem to have suffered a fundamental misunderstanding of what I am trying to offer to you, Boyar Trosk, as well as a lapse in manners.” Kiris continued over Trosk’s protests, “I make no play at power. Although it may be difficult for someone so long-retained as your esteemed self to understand, I believe being Vakon—having no affiliation to any principality—allows me the greatest ability to assist in situations such as this. My lack of tethered boundaries is my title. Use it properly.”

Guess

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Nelovskevouk said, shaking his head. “There’s nothing I can do, na Suem. Not without upsetting the entirety of tradition.”

“Right.” This time, Kiris snuck several pieces of cured pork into his pocket. “And because it’s tradition, that makes it right. You might kill a bandit for threatening to steal a circlet—but I guess that’s tradition, too. You wouldn’t so much as threaten a prince for doing the same, even if they waved it in your face.”

“There is nothing I can do.”

Issue

“You don’t understand,” Kiris whispered, quickly. “No Scholars, no Temples, no one who’s studied the Other Realm. You don’t understand what they’d do to me.”

Aris bore no expression. Nothing in the tilt of his features, or the shift of his stance, or the brush of his clothes in the cool night breeze half-blocked by the curtains. His wrist was warm.

Stiffly, Kiris released him, drawing back and folding his hands over his arms. “It isn’t a health issue. It isn’t anything for you to worry about.”

“My Prince,” Aris said, just as carefully, “your eyes were gilded blue.”

Mess

Prince Duvutriok Vuun, Cysev, the Curator. Kiris didn’t know who in the Other Realm he had pissed off recently, but he must have done a stand-up job. There were only three things in his favor at present: one, Duvutriok didn’t know Kiris was lurking just yet; two, the truce was active for another seventeen hours; and three, if Duvutriok did decide to collect his head, Kiris was fairly sure ni Musyr would revenge kill Duvutriok for messing with her entertainment.

[localwebslingers]

The question was enough to make him pause what he was doing, Peter blinking at his lap where everything was, "Uh, probably around lunch time? A little before I got to the lab today?" he was guessing on that, but he knew at least that he'd had breakfast and something before he'd reached the lab on campus later, "I guess I got too focused and didn't really notice it earlier, I left there and went straight into patrol and..." he shrugged, not really needing to explain it passed that.

Of course, now that attention had been brought to it, the starts of hunger pains in his somach were much more easily recognized. He tried to push them off again to focus on the lock being made. There were carts open late, he could grab something from there later.

A glance was given at the clarifying question, catching the gesture Harry made towards his face that still felt almost too familiar at times, and then the rest of the space. Peter shrugged a shoulder and shook his head softly, he said he wasn't going to press Harry for specifics if he didn't want to give them. As he listend, a sympathetic smile was offered before he nodded and looked back at what he was working on, "Yeah, sounds about right...for what it's worth you seem to be managing pretty well with all of it."

As well as anyone could.

Peter stripped a few wires and started winding them together before looking over again as the question being returned to him, "You mean with this," he gestured at Harry vaguely and then around the room, "or this?" he mimicked back, smiling a little and his voice light to make it clear he was teasing. Trying to lighten the air a little before looking back at his mini project, "Alright...right now I'm most worried about Kraven being back. Last time he was here for me, and I dealt with him, but I don't like not knowing why he showed up again. Or how."

The make-shift tool kit was gotten into for a different one as he went on, "Overall? I've been worse, a lot worse, I'm trying not to stress myself out about it. Chased him out of New York before, I'll do it again." he had to, because he was Spider-Man and that was what he did. Peter didn't hate that, he actually liked being the masked vigilante the city knew, it just came with things like eagle drones speeding through the air sometimes.

He'd rather look out for the city all day and night, than let guys like Kraven run wild in the streets hurting people.

\\ @inhcritance \\

He didn't bother hiding the sigh of relief at the confirmation that FEAST had not been attacked. It didn't mean they were fully safe, it didn't change how the hunters might choose to target the people there, but so far it was something.

And, after a few moments, as Peter moved to sit atop the bar, Harry considered following his example. It was not a very long bar, but if he sat at the closest end to him... yeah, maybe he could manage. So, after some consideration, he took the bag from the stool nearby, then perched himself on the bar as well and took out one of the juice boxes.

He didn't know how much time they'd have, nor how much time he'd need to get used to everything, but in the end that was out of their hands. And while he was curious about how Peter was planning on building the lock, he didn't dare approach just yet.

At Peter's offer, moreover, he nodded. Any information could be useful.

"I appreciate it." He replied, before looking at him for a long moment, watching him work. And then, he spoke again. "You've been moving non-stop for hours. When was the last time you ate anything?" He asked, albeit gently.

Because he'd learned enough about him over the weeks to know they both needed the occasional reminder to take care of themselves, and right now worrying about Peter was easier than focusing on everything else.

Because everything else was, at this point, a bit overwhelming, and at Peter's question all he could do was laugh, soft and low and short, more of a darkly amused huff than anything else.

"You mean this," he began, gesturing at the patch of scales in his face, "or this?" and now he gestured at the walls around them.

But he knew what Peter meant. And so he exhaled, in the end, before he offered Peter a small shrug.

"I'll manage. It's just been a long day." He settled for. "Kraven, your spandex hobby, this place..." And then he shook his head. "I'll manage."

All he could offer was a tired smile, and some very visible stress. But it was not as if he could just admit he suspected he'd been fighting his best friend.

"How are you holding on?" He asked instead.

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