#and exhausted because I’ve had zero help with being an adult or even being fucking RAISED like I’ve been running this shit since I was about

[itsokbbygrl]

x

[tomatoluvr69]

useless complaint post literally you don’t have to bother reading this it will just help me to rant a bit

This is sooooo not a real issue I’m just in the throes of pmdd but like I have a bunch of semi-expected (but way earlier than I’d thought) unemployed time so I’m using its alignment with the warm weather to go backpacking/live out of my car in [nearby national park and national forests] but right now I feel zero enthusiasm and I really hope it’s not gonna suck bc my heart’s not in it…like if I’m kind of doing it out of obligation bc it’s unusual to have such an extended span of time off when you’re an adult, then am I going to have the drive to get thru the parts that suck, like the exhaustion of steep trail days, the days when it storms so hard you have zero dry gear, etc. but really the part that I’m the most trepidatious about is the loneliness. But it’s so weird bc I’m struggling socially here and I really think some extended alone time would help?? But it’s always hard and I don’t want to lololol. Honestly what would help this the most is to just wait until after my fucking period. But as it is right now I feel like I’m just going thru the motions. If I could fucking live in my house for the equivalent amount of time without my social life encroaching I absolutely would but I’m so burnt out from my close friends leaving and from my last dear relationship here being at times really tough (it’s one that feels like my well-being rides on it— when it’s good, I’m on top of the world, when it’s not I’m hurt and confused and crawling out of my own skin). I still have a community here but it feels like it’s my roommates’ world, and I’m a guest whose presence is like…anodyne at best? And I really think I’ve just latched onto the idea of my trip as a vague mental escape hatch and haven’t really grasped the idea of the fact that I’ll still be present in my ailing brain and treacherous body when I go on the trip— I’m not just taking a nap from my (admittedly spoiled little baby) problems. And when I did the same thing for 3 or 4 weeks last summer I was dropped off & picked up, which created a really nice incentive to stay on trail— to leave, I’d have had to somehow communicate & coordinate with the relatives who’d agreed on a set date to come pick me up, i.e. effectively trapping me in the woods so I’d stay when I got all grumpy or sad or began semi-hallucinating human voices or was ready to throw it all away to get my hands on a slice of pepperoni pizza and a big old kombucha lol.

Anyways this is such not a real problem but me ol’ paranoid ass is convinced a whole passel of my irls have this blog’s url so I can’t freely complain about what’s really bothering me, which is that I’m starting to see harbingers of the devastating dissolution of my closest relationship. Or, even worse, my relegation to a much more distant connection. And I’m trying desperately to convince myself I should stay in this fucking town, because I’m suuuuuuuuper prone to just fleeing when I start to feel [inaudible], which is a super unsustainable way to live my life and o know it’s not [city] I’m trying to flee but myself which scientists are telling me I can’t physically do…but is that the truth?? Or is the truth that I actually do need a clean break from [redacted]…or is that just a convenient lie I’m telling myself so I can flee again. Or is THAT a convenient lie I’m telling myself so that I can keep my head in the sand and keep [redacted]. It’s so cool how you can’t trust your own heart and mind and you might just suffer from uncertainty forever and you’ll die chasing happiness with the grass always greener but also like pmdd and I don’t really want to go on this trip but I think I must. I think…

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

I hope your doing okay💕

Why dont we shift your focus. It helps me when I get overwhelmed.

So I had this realization a while ago about Danny being OP as heck.

If you stick to the typical "oh no I fell through a portal" crossover take.

How angsty do you think other heroes would be when they realize Danny is pretty much his worlds only hero.

And he doesn't just protect the living. He protects the dead too.

He is solely responsible for two dimensions.

That's a lot.

And he's had zero training and almost no help.

And he's one of the few of his kind.

You can do DC or marvel with this take. Im not picky💕

thank you for sending me this when I was having a rough time that was very thoughtful of you 💖 I have actually been really excited to answer it! (I've just been surprisingly busy/mentally exhausted and had to go through some older asks first)

but yeah this is one of my favourite concepts that like 90% of my maladaptive daydreams love to chew on

because hot diggity damn when you compare him to other media, there are entire superhero organisations or societies built around superheroes where they have mentors and training and backup

Danny gets none of that

he has some human friends, a potential mentor who comes with a steep and patricidal price tag, a bunch of incompetent ghost hunters who also hunt him, one actually pretty competent ghost hunter that not only also hunts him, but does so with a personal vengeance, and the god of time who is only about as vaguely helpful as most omniscient characters ever are

and yeah he not only does he have to protect humans from ghosts, but also has to protect them from the humans who once tried to actually destroy their entire dimension???

bruh he has fought minor gods, a whole ass government agency, his own parents, and he's 14 years old, I couldn't even order a fucking burger at McDonalds at that age without being paralysed with anxiety, imagine having the life of the world on your shoulders?

throw him into the Marvel, DC or MHA universes and they would be fucking horrified

I ACHE for fanfiction that gives me this content, and I find so little of it, like the concept is definitely hanging around a few fics but I just haven't found a fic that really puts the weight behind it, that stomach dropping moment of realisation when an adult looks at this child and realises what he's been through, how it's unlike anything they're own students or protégés have ever been through before because they've always had someone to turn to, they've always had backup

this kid is his world's first line of defence, and the last

he has to fight with the knowledge that whatever gets past him will not be stopped

there's no All Might, there's no Superman, there's no Avengers, there's just a 14 year old kid who has no idea what he's doing

that's it

and you know what makes it so much worse?

is that if Danny is flung via portal shenanigans into one of these universes, he gets to see what he could have had, he gets to feel what it's like to share the burden, to have someone support you and help you

but Danny can't stay there, he has to get home

and then you have these superheroes, who see this child who they so desperately want to keep and protect, but he needs to go home, they have to send him back to that world where he's alone again, where he has no one to help him, where he's living a life absolutely none of them would ever let the children in their own care suffer

fucking. ouch

and then there's Danny, being the recipient of all this pity, and loathing it, yes he wishes he could have lived in this world, he wishes he could have had help, but he didn't, he's not just a child anymore, he's a god damn seasoned warrior

so when they talk to him in pitying tones and try to tell him that at least while he's in their dimension he doesn't have to worry about everything, they can look after him, they can train him, they can make sure he's safe, he feels completely condescended, infantilised

nothing these heroes can do will ever change what he's already had to go through, and by this point in his development, they probably couldn't help him anyway, he's already stronger than most of them

he defeated the King of the Dead in single combat, to insinuate that some basic ass villain heist is Too Dangerous for Children, is a fucking insult

and why should he even trust them? since when has an adult ever not let him down? there were a few old ghosts he trusted but most of those ghosts wore their motivations on their sleeves, humans were a whole different beast, a lot better at hiding their ulterior motives

and besides, even if he did trust them, it's not like he can take all these promises back home with him, letting himself get used to other people fighting battles, growing attached to mentors who will always have his back, it would only make it hurt more when he was home again, back to how it always was

as his world's first, last, and only line of defence

I could probably go on but I'm nodding off and the words are swimming so I should probably end here before I fall asleep and accidentally exit out or something ✨

[thefallennightmare]

Hard to Love [21/21]

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Words: 1621

Warnings: this story will have mentions of abuse, mental and physical so please read at your own risk. Some swearing, angst, and a good amount of fluff. Maybe some smut if I'm feeling frisky.

Summary: After moving to a new town all on her own, Reader would do anything for a stable job and income. Even if that means housekeeping for one of Boston's eligible bachelors. What she didn't expect was finding herself falling in love with him and finding him out about the past that she was running from.

A/N: I cannot believe the ending is here. I also cannot thank you enough for all the love that you guys have gave this series. I really do appreciate it and love seeing all the comments! Your words of encouragement are what kept me going for this story. I’m so so sad it’s done. 

Lets finish this story with a happy ending! 

Tags: @kelbabyblue @patzammit @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @jennmurawski13 @divadinag @cosmicbreathe @thevelvetseries @capstopavenger @chris-butt @denisemarieangelina @im-a-stranger-thing @jennamarieee623 @introvertedmouse @lharrietg @thejemersoninferno  @breezykpop @instantbasementtimetravel @rodgersteves @michaelscotfield-blog1 @40srogcrs @wonderingshawn @bellaireland1981 @katelyneannxo @lady-x-red @sare-bare93-blog @annmariek8​ @raabrakha​ @stxvercgersslut​

ONE YEAR LATER

“Where’s my cutie pie?!” I shouted, entering the home. 

Four feet trotted down the long hallway from the kitchen to the living room where I stood, hanging up my jacket and bag. Bending at the knees, I allowed all of the kisses and whines of happiness, scratching the furry ears. 

“How’s Dodger doing today?” I cooed. 

He followed me into the kitchen as I searched the fridge for something to ease my stomach. Munching on a piece of cheese, I checked my phone and saw a new message from Chris. 

I’ll be home in a few hours. I’m sorry baby, I didn’t think these interviews would take so long. 

Don’t be sorry! I’ll wait up for you xx. 

The last year, I had grown incredibly; putting everything that happened to me in the past, locking it away. The scars still remained on my body but I never let it affect me. Chris would always make sure he showed extra love to them, telling me that he loved the way I look. 

The first time Chris had to leave for work was a couple of months after everything and it was hard to get adjusted to sleeping in the bed alone but Dodger was the best replacement, keeping me safe every night. Chris tried to turn down movie roles but I quickly shot that down. I wouldn’t let him lose out on a possible great job because I missed him. 

I ended up seeing the live video he posted when I was missing and the amount of outpouring coming from his friends and fans also helped me heal. There were a good amount of people who at first weren’t happy that Chris was in a loving relationship but eventually, when he kept posting pictures of us on Instagram, they got used to it. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I saw a new message appear from Chris. 

Our weekend starts in less that two hours. I can’t wait to be alone with you. 

I smiled fondly at the message. 

The past couple weeks were filled with either him working almost every day or me continuing my schooling. We had his family and friends over a few times last week as well so we were practically begging the Gods above for some alone time. 

Which is why this weekend we had zero plans, just the two of us in our home. 

And Dodger. 

“OH COME ON!” Chris yelled at the T.V. 

A giggle erupted from my throat from my spot on the couch, my feet placed in his lap, as we watched the football game. 

Our weekend together was coming to an end, school for me and another press conference for Chris’ upcoming movie tomorrow, meant that reality was about twelve hours away. We spent the weekend in multiple different rooms of the house, our moans vibrating off the walls. 

I’ve had sex more in this weekend than I had in my entire adult life. 

Now, we were exhausted, so we decided to spend the rest of our Sunday in our lazy clothes on the couch; Chris wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats and I ended up stealing his shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

Even though his eyes were transfixed on the game, he still made an effort to show me attention by rubbing the soles of my feet. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at this man in front of me. He let his beard grow this weekend, too lazy to shave it, which I didn’t complain one bit. The red marks on my thighs from earlier were an indication of that. His hair was short because he decided that he needed to buzz it last night; he was sick of it getting in his face. 

I marveled at the way the muscle in his jaw tightened when I rubbed my feet into his lap, purposely pressing into his soft cock. 

“If you keep that up, I’ll miss the last half of the game,” he threatened in a low voice. 

“But I’m horny!” I whined, lifting my shirt up and over my head. “Please?” 

I pinched my hard nipple between my fingers, hoping that would be enough to get him on top of me. 

It was. 

I yelped when Chris pulled my ankle towards him, his body on top of mine in seconds. His gold chain was dangling in front of my face as I looked up to him, our chest rising with heavy breaths. 

“So naughty,” he muttered against the crook of my neck. 

“Enough small talk and fuck me already, Evans,” I purred into his ear, fingernails digging into his bare back.

I couldn’t help but gnaw nervously on my bottom lip, tasting a bit of blood, while I paced the floor of our bedroom. Chris was out running errands but with the text I sent him, I knew that he would be on his way home asap. 

Can you come home please? I have to talk to you. 

My hands shook with nerves, feeling my cardigan being weighed down with the pressure that was in the pocket. I couldn’t help but worry about what Chris’ reaction would be. We never talked about this and I didn’t know if this would be what broke our relationship. 

“Y/N?” 

Hearing his voice, I made my way down the stairs and into the living room where he sat with Dodger on the couch. 

“Hey, everything alright?” He asked. 

I nodded and sat across from him. “Yeah, I think so.” 

He knew in the way my knee bounced and sucked in my bottom lip that whatever I had to talk to him about made me nervous as hell. Placing a hand on my knee, he gave me a warm smile. 

“Tell me,” he begged gently. 

Words were so foreign to me, not knowing exactly how to say it, so instead I handed him what was in my pocket. 

“I know we haven’t talked about it much but I couldn't not tell you. I mean you deserve to know. If you’re angry I understand. I’m confused too on how this happened,” I rambled. 

Chris didn’t hear a word I had spouted, his eyes trained hard on the stick in his hand with the two solid pink lines. 

“You’re pregnant?” His mouth twitched. 

I nodded and handed him my phone that held an email from the doctors office, confirming the pregnancy. Yesterday morning while Chris was out with his mom, I secretly had an appointment. 

“The doctor says I’m about six weeks,” I spoke softly. 

I was unsure of what his reaction would be, his gaze still stuck on the pregnancy test in his hand. 

Dodger knew something was different, sniffing the test in Chris’ hand. 

Finally after what felt like forever, Chris looked into my eyes and his mouth curved into a smile. 

“We’re having a baby?” 

The smile he had was a giant one, where you could almost count all of his teeth as he smiled down towards Dodger, showing him the sonogram on my phone as if Dodger could tell what he was looking at. 

The joy in his voice brought tears to my eyes. 

“You’re happy?” I asked. 

His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. “I’m fucking ecstatic.” 

Our lips met in a rushed kiss, his hand finding its place on my stomach. His forehead rested against mine and his eyes shone with so much love that my heart leaped into my throat, knowing that his reaction was the complete opposite of what I was prepared for. 

“Stay here,” He mumbled against my lips in another kiss. 

I waited patiently as he rummaged for something in the desk of his office and he returned, hand behind his back. 

“I was saving this for when we went away next month but I don’t think I can wait.” He spoke before handing me a small box. 

A small velvet box. 

I gasped, watching him get down on one knee, and pried open the box. Inside was a gorgeous oval cut diamond on a plain gold band. The sunlight from outside had caught the ring in a warm glow of light. 

“This isn’t the most romantic idea of a proposal but I don’t want to wait any longer to ask you this. I first met you in this room when you came to work for me and in that moment I knew I wanted you; I needed you in my life. Y/N, you know I love you so fucking much. You have changed my life in so many ways and now we’re having a baby. You’re having my baby and somehow I love you even more. Y/N, will you marry me?” The tears welled in his eyes and he blew out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck yes!” I cried, hormones causing my eyes to pour tears down my cheeks. 

After he slid the ring on my finger, he picked me up with ease as he walked us towards our bedroom so we could celebrate the rest of our lives. 

I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in two years since I first drove up to this house, nervous about what the job was that I had an interview for. I never imagined that I would face my past again, not letting it define who I was anymore. And I definitely never thought I would find someone who would love me with his whole entire heart and soul, knowing how hard to love I was. But he did; Chris vowed to me that night in hushed moans that he loved me then and forever. 

Along with the baby I was growing in my stomach; our baby. 

AND FIN!

[sapropel]

The main things that turned me off of conversion for now were

1. I have alot of shit on my plate and am low income as a result so finding a place that will help might be hard because locally there really aren't any synagogues around

2. The synagogue I did find locally was uhhh...... Hhhhh. Their web page had a huge section about Israel in a positive light..

I love the religion, I love certain values it holds however I refuse to align with anyone who justifies colonialism and bloodshed against another group of people while ignoring past bloodshed done onto themselves. It makes 0 sense to me and is highly hypocritical.

Hypocrisy was one of the reasons I hated Christianity so much. Constantly causing bloodshed, huge present and past history of colonialism, huge present day history of wanting people like me who are gay or trans dead and in the ground.

the difference with Christianity is that there isn't even a present day persecution or justified worry of safety despite the fact that I've seen jack chick esque evangelical fuckers unironically act like they're holocaust survivors whenever a pride parade happens within 1 mile of them.

It makes me sad, I don't see the point in colonizing or maiming a group of people who should be your equals.

It's racist at best, dangerous and actively contributing to more death and violence at worst.

The thing is there isn't really a "point." It creates its own point. Real actionable Zionist sentiment was basically non-existent until the rise of European nationalism. It's literally the exact same brand of nationalism that gave birth to fascist Italy and other great failures of modernity. And when "Israel" was a proto-state basically its entire existence was contingent upon its continued usefulness to Britain as a tool of control over India through the Suez. Zionist claims to the land are super shaky at best and straight up revisionist at worst. Post-facto Israel has tried to give itself legitimacy through fearmongering, genocide, and forging alliances with other imperialist powers. It's doing what America did (and is doing) but it's happening in the age of mass media and we are all watching colonial revisionism happen in real time.

If you are letting the prevalence of Zionism keep you from Judaism, I would say you should keep thinking about it. If you treat Judaism as too thoroughly engulfed in Zionism, you do the work of Zionists for them--you legitimize their claim that Judaism is Zionism is Israel. You legitimize the idea that anti-Zionism is antisemitism which is incidentally exactly how my local rabbis have been fucking me over since June. You are of course totally within your rights not to convert to a religion that doesn't work for you, but I hope you rethink the implication that converting to Judaism is akin to aligning with Zionism.

And yeah, Zionist hypocrisy is a systematic issue within American Jewish institutions in a feedback loop with Jewish populations. Any institutional apparatus is going to have systematic issues that reflect the dominant discourse of the greater cultural framework--mainstream Jewish institutions are going to, both by the nature of maintaining relevancy in America and by the natures of fearmongering and cultural amnesia, have a vested interest in participating in capitalism, imperialism, racism... You are not going to find mainstream insitutions that don't perpetuate them. That's why they're dominant. You are no more aligning yourself with Zionism by going to a synagogue than you are aligning yourself with capitalism by shopping at Wal-Mart. Anything you meaningfully do in public is in some way going to be "problematic" on some level because public space is designed to keep itself alive by those values.

It's exhausting to make yourself never come close to anyone or anything bad at all--refusing to associate with anyone with a problematic ideology is a doomed enterprise. I've been there. A lot of Zionist sentiment is implanted in people's minds with lifelong propaganda and destructive mind control techniques, and it's important to recognize that. That doesn't mean Zionist adults don't have a responsibility to unlearn it, but I think it's possible to have compassion for people who do try to do their best with improving themselves. Most people you meet want to be good and don't want to be willfully ignorant. I try to think about how difficult it is to convince the average well-meaning white American of the merits of decolonization/land back. Most well-meaning Zionist Jews are going to feel the same way about Israel--actual systematic justice and decolonization are not in their lexicons. Decolonization is hidden behind thought-stopping techniques that they have been inundated with from day 1. But most people do have a basic sense of goodness and are willing to sacrifice something for it. Most people are willing to give ground for the sake of human decency. The only way I can survive talking to people I know are Zionists is by understanding that we both want the world to be a better place and if I dwell on the specifics of how I perceive them to be evil, the possibility of us having a working relationship and any hope at productive dialogue drops to zero.

You don't have to be patient with Zionists or Zionist institutions. You don't have to forgive them. You don't even have to be compassionate. But you do need to understand, intellectually, that imposed cognitive dissonance is a very powerful tool of mind control (and I'm not talking about woo-woo shit I'm extrapolating from cult research and personal experience) and that the pathos of Zionism isn't supposed to be logical. Fear trumps hypocrisy. Fatigue trumps informed consent. Charisma trumps logic. Any bigoted ideology is going to fall apart under logical scrutiny, and that's why the only battleground for maintaining bigotry is necessarily charismatic and emotional.

We haven't yet, of course, acknowledged that there are also tons of anti-Zionist Jews and that the concept isn't absurd or fringe, no matter what the dominant Zionist discourse says. It's important for us not to let Zionists be the stewards of Judaism--Zionists do not OWN Judaism. Just like the most Orthodox of Jews also don't OWN Judaism. Judaism is only what you make it to be, and if you leave it alone because you are too worried about Zionism, that is all Judaism is ever going to be for you. Of course, you still have to contend with Zionism, and if you actually are interested in being a Jew, you would have to find a way not to let it kill your Judaism. I've come close (ish) to giving up on Judaism a couple of times because of Israel and Zionism, but I'm glad I haven't. I've stuck it out long enough to give myself to tools I need to separate the two and see the situation with more clarity.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

you know how to treat it (you know how to eat it)

in which a very drunk Peter calls MJ late one night and tells her about one of his biggest fantasies

thotumn. day 6 & 9. face-sitting. “Shut up.” “Why don’t you make me?”

Thank you again @spideysmjs​ for setting this up! and bc i am a grandma i don’t know how to schedule things correctly, so this is goin up a little early! Enjoy!

Michelle blinks, eyes itching with exhaustion as she finally closes the textbook in her lap, tossing aside the convoluted words and scribbled notes. It’s late, too late for having an eight AM class in the morning, but Dr. Wheeler seems to have it out for her class, sending out an assignment with just twelve hours to go. You won’t have time in the real world, she’d said. People will throw things at you and ask for it back in an hour, she’d said.

While MJ didn’t doubt the validity of that statement, she thought thirty pages of notes with no warning was a little excessive. This is just undergrad. 

Her phone pings, and she knows it’s from Cindy, ranting about that very same assignment. And sure enough, she sees the text wall, the string of upside down smiley-faces. Tapping out a reply in solidarity and a quick good night, MJ sets her phone aside, flopping back against the mattress and tugging the blanket up to her chin.

She’s just turned off her bedside lamp, just nestled into the covers, just found the that perfect spot on the bed, when the buzzing of her phone on the nightstand yanks her back into the conscious world. 

Blowing a puff of air through her lips, her curls landing back on her face as she sits up, she grabs for her phone. And even if she’s a little annoyed, a sleepy smile stretches across her lips as Peter’s face lights up the screen. 

“Hey.” Her voice comes out in a tired, croaky murmur. 

“Emmmmmmm Jaaaaaaaaaaay,” Peter draws out warmly, so much so that she swears she can see his silly, delirious grin. 

So he’s drunk. 

“Hey, Pete,” she says again, falling back against the pillows. “What’s up?”

“Jus’ wanted to call and say hi—” he says slowly, as if he’s careful not to trip over his words, trying to sound sober even though he’s very much not. “—to my beautiful girlfriend.”

She cracks another smile, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, knocking her feet together. “At… One in the morning?” 

Peter gasps. “Aw, shit. Em, did I wake you?”

“Well, no. Not really,” she lets out a light laugh. “I was just getting in bed.” 

“Oh. Okay, good.” She hears shifting on his side, hearing him almost drop the phone as he shuffles around what she assumes is his own bed. “Yeah, me too. Harry, Ned, and I went out and… I’ve been drinking. Just a li’l bit. But we got home and I just was like ‘Wow! I really wanna hear MJ’s voice.’ So I called you. Here I am.” 

The ooey, gooey side of her that melts when Peter says anything of the sort threatens to come out, and for not the first time, she’s glad to not live in the dorms anymore, her only roommate being on the other side of the apartment. “Cute,” she says. 

“Just know I’m giving you the biggest phone-hug right now.” His voice is muffled as he no doubt pushes the phone against his face. 

Even cuter. 

And even though she feels a little silly, she squeezes her phone, too. “Weirdo,” she says, unable to hide the affection in her tone—though to be fair, she’s not really trying all that hard. 

“But you loooooove meeeeee.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And I love you!” There’s more shuffling on his end, his grunts from trying to get comfortable making her grin. He lets out a long sigh. “God, I can’t wait to see you this weekend.”

MJ’s chest warms at the reminder. “Me neither.” 

“We’re gonna have so much sex.”

The snort she lets out surprises her—almost as much as what he’s just said. While she doesn’t doubt his statement—because yeah, she definitely misses that—she just can’t help but laugh. “How much have you had to drink?” She asks.

“Just a li’l…” He mumbles, though from his tone she can tell that he’s severely understating how much he’s had to drink. “Like… I’m drunk but like—I’m not… Druuuunk. You know? Like, I’m not, ‘woooooooooo party!!’ drunk.”

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she nods, even though he can’t see her. “Yeah. Sure. Uh huh.” 

“I’m jus’ sleepy,” he says innocently. “Very, very sleepy.”

“Then you should go to sleep,” She teases, her cheeks starting to hurt. “Get some rest, Tiger,” she says softly. 

“I wanna talk to you first, though,” he says, and she can almost hear the pout in his tone. It makes her shake her head fondly. “I miss you. A lot. So much.”

A pang of something tugs at MJ’s heart. “I miss you, too,” she replies earnestly, a lump forming in her throat. 

They knew what they were getting into, going long-distance. What, with Peter choosing to stay at Empire State and Michelle choosing Princeton. It wasn’t too long of a drive, by any means, but it was still an hour and a half. It meant not being able to see each other on the busiest days. It meant having to go weeks without seeing each other, without holding or kissing each other. And it was nights like this, long nights after rough study sessions that she wished they could be together, that she could cuddle up to him and squeeze away all of her worries, even if just for a few moments. 

She refuses to let this get to her right now, though. Not while they’re on the phone in the middle of the night. Especially not while he’s intoxicated. 

“God, I wish you were here,” she hears him breathe into the phone, and she has to crack a smile at that, biting her bottom lip. That tone is one she’s very familiar with. “With me. In my bed.”

She holds back another snort at that. “Yeah?” 

“It’d be pretty nice,” he continues. “I just wanna…” 

He trails off a bit, and she’s wondering if he’s fallen asleep when the words tumble out of his mouth. 

“Just wanna taste you.”

“Peter!” She scolds him lightly, not expecting him to go from zero to a hundred that quickly. 

“I love eating you out, though. Oh my God.”

She can feel her face absolutely burning now, hearing his gruff voice right in her ear; she can picture it so clearly, his head buried between her legs, his curls tickling her thighs as he—

“And you know what’d be, like, really cool?” 

She has to laugh at that, covering her mouth, unconsciously crossing her legs. “What?”

There’s another bout of silence where he doesn’t say anything. “I’ve been thinking about this so much, oh my God. But like… I really wanna eat you out but… with like you above me? Y’know? There’s a word, or some term for that I know but I can’t think of it…” His voice lowers to a mumble at the end, and she can hear him take a deep breath as he tries to think. His drunken, fuzzy laugh tugs at her chest.

Her lips twist into a knowing smile, her face hot, a gentle ache forming between her thighs as her own breathing starts to slow. “You want me to sit on your face?” 

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it. God, Em. You’re so smart.” He hums. “That’d be so great. So hot.”

“I try,” she jokes. 

“You always suc—succeed,” he says, pausing as he tries to navigate each syllable. “I just can’t stop thinking about you and like—your thighs just around my head and you—you just grinding yourself on my face. Fuck—”

She almost hates Peter for bringing this up—drunk or not—because now it’s all she’s going to be able to think about for the next few days until they can see each other. Squeezing her legs together to relieve some of the ache, she smiles. “That does sound pretty cool.”

“Right? So cool. So cool.”

“I mean,” she starts slowly, her fingers absently playing with a loose thread on the blanket. “We could probably try that,” she offers with a feigned sense of nonchalance. There’s nothing casual about how she’s feeling right now. This is definitely something she’s going to have to talk to sober Peter about tomorrow. Or the next time she sees him. 

Not ignoring this. At all. 

“Wait. Fuck—Really?”

And again, she has to hold back the laugh at how enthusiastic he sounds, feeling that dumb, warm fuzzy feeling even when he’s talking about wanting her to sit on his face. 

“Yeah,” she replies, a little breathless. 

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” he beams into the phone. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And not just because you let me eat you out—”

She swears, if he says, ‘eat you out,’ one more time—

“—But also because you’re so smart, and so funny, and so pretty, and just so amazing, and such a good person and I’m so lucky to have you, like, holy shit. I really hit the jackpot.”

She can only manage a short, near-timid response. It’s not a strange occurrence, her boyfriend showering her with praise—this is just a day in her life being with him. But hearing his soft voice at one in the morning—even drunk—somehow just hits differently. “Well, jeez, Pete…” 

“I love cuddling with you, and holding you, and kissing you—”

“—And having sex with me?” She asks, teasing. 

“—Especially having sex with you. F’course.”

His voice is starting to trail off, syllables melting together as he fights to stay awake. She wants to call him on his shit, to tease him for tapping out after drunkenly trying to initiate phone sex—sure, it might have been doomed from the start, but it could’ve been fun.

Instead, she laughs, listening as his breathing slows. She smiles hearing his gentle snore. 

When he texts her the next morning, he doesn’t mention his little fantasy. In fact, he doesn’t seem to remember their late night phone call at all. The night before is all just a fuzzy, blurry haze of too much tequila shots, according to him. And given how he doesn’t remember the exact number of adult beverages he’d had—it has to be somewhere in the late teens with his super-liver and super-kidneys—it’s not all that surprising that his initial good morning text is just a series of the throwing-up emoji. 

At least, she would sincerely hope that’s not related to what he’d said last night. 

But still, she decides to take this opportunity to both mess with the love of her life, and surprise him—her two favorite things. This decision comes from how clueless he acts when she asks, the series of question marks that follow her question about what exactly he remembers. She doesn’t fill Peter in on what he said, keeping it all to herself. No, the less he actually knows, the better the surprise will actually be. And the fact that he’s apparently been thinking about this for a long time—all without saying something—just makes it all the more sweeter. 

And just as she’d thought, she can’t get Peter’s words out of her mind. With another visit coming up in the next two days, it almost makes the wait even worse. Everytime she so much as stops whatever busy-work she’s doing, her brain immediately swerves back into that lane. In class, in the library, on the quad, in her apartment. It’s all too much. It doesn’t matter. Ever since Peter said that, she hasn’t known peace. 

It takes everything in her the next night not to bring it up again during their regular skype call. 

No, she’s able to get a grip, at least to some degree. 

But every sense of self-control goes flying out the window as soon as she’s on his doorstep.

The door to his apartment isn’t even closed before MJ’s on him. She’s been dangling this “surprise” over his head for the past two days—two days too many. Her kisses are greedy, drinking him in as she grabs fistfulls of his shirt and nearly ripping it off of him. And she revels in the feeling—as she always does—of his skin under her touch after so long apart. The feeling of his hands roaming her hips and waist, needy and insistent, fingers digging into her skin is the high she needs, the one she always needs, that she can’t imagine living without.

“So you really don’t remember what you said on the phone the other night?” She asks against his mouth, perched on his lap, his hands gripping her hips as she unconsciously grinds down. 

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, his grip tightening as he breathes out a laugh. “No. No, I don’t.” 

“Mmm…” A floaty smile tugs at the corner of her lips as they gently press against his in a deceptively chaste kiss. “Shame.”

He pulls back after a moment, something in his eyes saying that he’s already picked up on her tone. “Was it good? Bad?” 

Her hands wander up, hanging around his shoulders, one playing with the curls at the nape of his neck as she squints playfully at him. “I’d say good.”

“Oh?” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks up at her. “Well, cool. Glad I don’t have to worry about saying something stupid.”

“No, you always have to worry about that.”

“Hey!” 

With a swift pinch to her sides, she jerks forward, curling into him with a surprised yelp. 

“Don’t be rude,” he says through a laugh, still tickling her. “What did I say?”

“Okay—okay, fine!” Michelle pushes him away, unable to hide the humor in her tone. “I’ll tell you. Or—I guess I’ll show you?” 

“‘Kay…” Peter looks up at her with wide, curious eyes; especially when she stands up, removing her shirt and underwear and kicking them to the side. His smile only widens when she pushes him back onto the bed, hovering above him, straddling his hips. And because she can’t help herself, her lips immediately capture his, melting into him with a slow, heated kiss. His breathy moan shoots straight down between her thighs, and she presses against him in an effort to relieve some of the pressure. 

There’s a cheeky grin on his face when he pulls back as one of his hands wanders down to roughly knead her ass. “You gonna tell me what I said?”

With another quick kiss to his lips, she sits up. “Well, you were absolutely wasted.”

“Yeah…”

“And you were rambling on and on about how much you missed me, how much you loved me, how much you liked kissing me.” Despite her apparent confidence, her chest and cheeks are burning, her breath catching as she speaks. 

“Checks out.” A lop-sided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“And how much you liked eating me out? Apparently?” She just barely makes that out, her heart hammering in her throat, the heat in her center becoming almost unbearable. 

Peter closes his eyes, nodding solemnly. “Yes. Yup. I do.” He cracks another smile as he playfully squeezes her hips. “Flavortown is my favorite place.”

“No—” She gently slaps his bare chest, struggling to bite back her own grin. “Stop that.” 

Her hand smooths over his pec, down to his abs, smirking in delight as his muscles twitch under her touch.

“Sorry.” He winks. “Continue.”

“Well—” Michelle speaks slowly, starting to move herself up on him. “—You said you wanted to try something. Related. To that.”

His eyebrows raise curiously, his forehead wrinkling. “Yeah?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“Yeah. Something about me sitting on your face?” 

The way his eyes widen is something she can’t help but find adorable—so much so, she wishes she could take a picture of it. He breathes out a surprised—somewhat horny—laugh. He nods, giving a casual frown. 

“So does that sound like something you’d say?” Michelle asks, her voice low. “Is that something you want?”

Peter’s hands wander from her hips, ghosting along her sides, his thumbs caressing the undersides of her breasts, and back down again, and when he looks up at her, there’s something in his eyes that causes her stomach to flip in the best way possible. 

But then, of course, he’s Peter.

“MJ, you’ll be glad to know. Just for this moment—”

And he has to open his mouth.

“—I saved the best seat in the house for you.”

He emphasizes his point, patting his mouth with two fingers. 

She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, her lips twisting as she glares at him. “Okay. No. I’m done. Bye,” she says, struggling not to laugh as she starts to climb off of him. 

“Nooooooo—” Peter immediately keeps her in place, his hands on her hips. “—Please.”

“I’m so tired of you!” She laughs.

“Oh?” Peter tilts his head. “If you’re tired, why don’t you—” Another pat to his face. “—Take a seat?”

Only he can make her eyes roll in the back of her head in more than one way. “Shut up.”

There’s stupid, lopsided little grin on his face—full of too much mischief—as looks up at her, challenging. “Why don’t you make me?”

And she could swear that the wind’s been knocked out of her at that moment, the corner of her lips twitching upward into a surprised smile. 

He scoots them back, close enough that she can hang on to the headboard—of which he tells her she’ll definitely need to do.

She almost smacks him again. 

The air around her crackles with electricity as she slowly climbs up his chest, his hands on her thighs guiding her as she moves to straddle his face. Her own hands steady herself on the headboard, but she doesn’t look down until she’s in place, because, to be frank, it’s a lot to take in. Sure, she’s seen his face between her thighs plenty of times—it’s become one of her favorite sights in the world—but this, being above him, his mouth and nose covered by her as their eyes meet causes a heady rush to flare in her chest. There’s something about the way he grips her legs, his fingers digging into her thighs as he pulls her down.

It’s gentle at first, the deceptively chaste kisses he plants along her center, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathes her in. Already, he’s barely touched her and she feels seconds from falling apart, her face burning as his gaze flits up to meet hers. His lips ghost around her clit, never quite touching where she wants, and she can feel him smile against her as she unconsciously tries to grind herself onto him. He holds her still, looking up at her with a raised, amused brow, before licking a long stripe up her center.

The breathy moan he releases as he tastes her sends her head thrown back, and he smiles again as she sucks in a breath at the vibration, her grip on the headboard tightening. A shuddering sigh slips past her lips as his tongue swirls her arousal around, dipping down to the wetness at her entrance, his nose brushing against her clit. 

It’s the whine that leaves her lips that has him desperately pulling her closer, pressing her to him with such need, such hunger, such insistence; as if she’s oxygen. He moans without abandon into her cunt, his hard sucking on her clit causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up her spine, her toes to curl into the sheets. 

“Fuck, Peter—” She breathes, hanging her head as she struggles to hold herself upright on the headboard. 

He only hums, clearly in enthusiastic agreement, holding her flush against him, mouth hot and wet as he laps fervently at her heat, his fingers massaging her thighs, drifting to her hips and squeezing, before finally coming to the curve of her ass. 

She’s uncharacteristically shy at first, the tentative rocking of her hips coming in the heat of the moment. The muscles in her thighs twitch when he flattens his tongue and guides her, grinding her against him, his grip on her turning his knuckles white.

It’s always intoxicating, feeling him everywhere, his soft lips as they suck her clit, then his tongue as it spreads her arousal, as it starts fucking into her so well. A moan rips through her, her wet breath catching as he wraps a hand around to flick at her swollen clit. The warmth pooled in her lower stomach swells, melting, radiating through her legs to the tips of her toes, up to her chest. 

One of her hands falls from the headboard, snapping to his head, fingers carding through his curls for purchase, her chest heaving as fucks her with his tongue. A throaty moans escapes him as she jerks him closer, rutting herself against his face as she arches her back. 

She’s so close. Her thighs squeeze his head, the coil within her tightening and tightening, and—in an instant—there’s the invasive thought that he might not be able to breath. But when she tries to loosen up, when she starts to pull just an inch away, he reels her right back, more insistent, his hands on her hips, weighing her down. 

“So fucking good, MJ,” he praises filthily into her cunt, emphasizing his point with a hard slap to her ass. 

Her back straightens, rigid as she chokes on a gasp, the lewd sounds of his needy grunts, his sloppy kisses, her arousal—how wet she is on his lips and tongue—cause her body to burn, to set her skin alight, and she almost curses the both of them for not doing this sooner. 

It’s addictive, dangerously so, as she crumples forward against the headboard, her fist still in tangled in his hair, her muscles tightening, burning. This time, she doesn’t stop herself as her thighs close around his head, squeezing with a force that only eggs him on, his mouth urgent as it works her over.

“That’s it, baby—” His voice is muffled in her heat, drowned by his ministrations. 

She comes with a broken whine, panting with want as she feels herself spasming, a floaty, wavy smile pulling at her lips as Peter laps her through her orgasm. 

But even as she comes down from her first high, Peter—never one for backing down—doesn’t seem ready to quit. When she pulls up again, he yanks her back, his gaze pleading as he looks up at her, silently begging her not to move. It’s so soon after, though, and his mouth still so hot on her sensitive clit sends a shock through her, her hips desperately rocking against his face—the feeling both too much and not enough.

Her second orgasm takes her by surprise, ripping through her as he sucks harshly on her clit. It’s an out-of-body experience—cliche as it sounds; she swears her vision goes out for more than a second, and she wonders if she’s somehow accidentally pulled a chunk of his hair out with how hard she was gripping. It takes more than a moment to come back to reality, her hips bucking as Peter still laps languidly at her cunt, flicking slowly at her clit, as if he still hasn’t had his fill. It’s almost as if he’s making a show of it, the moans coming from his lips, the vibrations of them against hers, somehow making her even wetter. 

He pulls back slightly, and her mouth and throat goes dry seeing his nose, mouth, and chin slick and glistening with her. His lips puffy and pink, hair wild, looking completely fucked out. “You think you got a third?” He asks with a gentle pat to the curve of her hips.

And it’s his voice that makes her have to keep her eyes from rolling back; at least an octave lower, husky. 

But it’s the adoration in his eyes that makes her heart swell. 

Taking a shuddering breath, she nods. “Yeah,” she replies, biting her lip through a smile. “Please.”

He grins back up at her, scooting down on the bed a bit, pulling her with him. It gives her enough room to bend forward, now bracing herself on the mattress. His warm breath fans over her soaked cunt, and it takes everything in her not to squeeze her legs together again. His hands smooth over her skin, kneading the flesh of her ass as he pulls her down again. And he takes a moment to place another tender kiss on her sensitive clit—a gesture and touch that causes her hips to jolt—before taking hold of her and roughly pulling her down again. 

This time, he’s quick to wrap his lips around her clit, sucking and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, yet still savoring her. Her choked moan is cut off as one of his hands coils around behind her, swiping his fingers through her wetness, coating themselves in her arousal. 

How Peter can get these sounds out of her, she thanks whatever higher power there is for that. The breathless whine the tumbles from her lips as her jaw goes slack, her body slumping further as he starts to pump two fingers into her, curling just so that she can’t help but chant his name like a prayer, over and over into the pillow. 

It’s not long before she’s coming all over his fingers, his mouth, feeling herself fluttering around him as she desperately grinds down. For a moment, she almost forgets where she is, smiling and mumbling dreamily, not even sure what she’s saying as Peter moves out from under her. She feels his lips on her back as he kisses his way up her spine, his lips soft and gentle, full of love, on her skin. 

When he reaches her face, his hand moves to cup her cheek as he lays beside her, his thumb smoothing over her skin. 

She blearily looks at him, dazed, body still thrumming, buzzing from her third orgasm. 

“Hey,” he says, his smile lop-sided, dopey; an expression so soft coming from someone doing such filthy things moments before. 

Peter. 

And MJ hums, closing her eyes again as he pulls her close, capturing her lips with his in a searing kiss. Another moan escapes her as she tastes herself on his mouth, her tongue slipping past his lips, drinking him in. 

When he pulls back again, he can’t help but bite his lip. “How was that?” he asks, though from the smirk on his face, he seems to already know the answer. 

Still breathless, MJ grins, shrugging as she starts to sit up. “It was alright.” 

“Woooooow.” His jaw drops in mock-offense as he follows. “Three times was alright?” 

“I think we’ll have to do it again,” she teases. “Just so I can really form an opinion. You know?” 

“Oh, of course,” he murmurs, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, his hands migrating to her hips, ready to pull her into his lap. 

But she stops him, her eyes tinted with mischief as she glances between his face and the outline of his painfully hard cock straining against his boxer briefs. 

“Is this seat taken?”

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #22- If You Don’t Love Thunderclash, Get Better Soon I Guess

One last issue before we reach Comic Event Hell.

Time to use a dead man to set up the rest of the nonsense that’s got to happen, because apparently 14 issues of setup, including six issues of literal prelude, wasn’t enough.

The first bit of information we’re presented with is the fact that Chromedome and Swerve are on the opposite sides of the camera-shy scale. I guess that’s bound to happen when your spouse has had his video-cam literally connected to his brain for at least several thousand years.

The art may look really gritty and hardcore here, but this is actually due to a filter Rewind has over all his footage that he’s neglected to take off, because it made all the wartime propaganda he would stuff into people’s heads all the more brutal-looking.

No, this is the style of our artist for this issue, James Raiz, who we’ll be seeing a fair bit of over the next several issues. Raiz has worked on the Transformers franchise over the course of multiple license-holders, as well as contributed to both Marvel and DC comics. He also works in special effects, including matte painting and VFX. That’s just neat.

Anyway, the reason Swerve’s completely frozen in place isn’t because Rewind  switched out his head-mounted camera for a gun that goes off if it hears you make a self-deprecating joke, but rather because he’s conducting interviews with everyone in the main cast. We get all their introductions, Cyclonus makes a statement about his political stances, Drift sounds like he’s high as a kite, First Aid strikes a sassy pose while not being bitter in the slightest, and Ultra Magnus makes a move that would get him murdered on any given film set in the universe.

You do NOT use your bare fucking hand to clean a camera lens, mister. Go get a microfiber cloth and try the fuck again, you complete and utter duffel bag of a creature.

We get a quick cut of the speech Rodimus made back in issue #1, with an angle that implies that Rewind was in the front row of the front row, then cut over to Rodimus asking Rewind to document their Capital-Q Quest. This is where we establish that this film doesn’t only contain footage from Rewind’s personal camera, but also that of the Lost Light’s security system.

Which feels like the sort of access you maybe wouldn’t want to give some nosy little film buff, especially when you have a secret giant serial killing sadist living in your basement like a disappointing adult child.

See? He was given the job to record the adventures of the Lost Light not five minutes ago, and he’s already using his powers for evil. Eavesdropping evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Rodimus, and you just handed it to the guy with a massive Dominus Ambus-shaped chip on his shoulder.

So Rewind’s got permission to film just about whatever he wants, and Rodimus figures it’ll be nonstop action from here to the finish line! Fights! Intrigue! Mild hijinks and peril! Explosions aplomb! Oh man, I can’t wait to see what kinds of crazy shit will happen on this absolute roller coaster of a Quest!

Smashcut to Swerve literally falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Yeah, as it turns out, no quest, capital Q or not, is nonstop action. Which is good, honestly, because that kind of seems like it would be exhausting after the first week or so.

Swerve, Tailgate, and Rewind are discussing cool alt-modes, which seems like an odd topic, seeing as Tailgate and Swerve have basically the same situation going on there, leaving Rewind alone in the camp of “does not have wheels”.

I worry about you sometimes, Rewind. Internalized Functionism is a very real problem. Uh, well, in your universe anyway. Us humans have to deal with regular ol’ classism and racism.

Rung gets brought up, and it’s revealed that the wheel on his back is almost purely cosmetic; it doesn’t even actually attach to his body. The lads decide that they’ve got nothing better to do, and set up a gentlemen’s wager- first one to figure out Rung’s whole deal gets 100 space-dollars.

Throwing shit at people’s heads will be a major plot point in the climax of this comic series.

Swerve’s go at trying to win the bet involved tossing a grenade at Rung to hit him in the neural cluster, which is rumored to be able to force an involuntary mode change if done correctly. Obviously, it didn’t work this go around. Then our narrative focus switches over to the crew’s hobbies.

You were listening to Prince, weren’t you, Magnus? Not even deep space is safe from the Cease and Desist.

Skids’ hobby is meeting new people, because he suffers from the terrible curse of being so fucking good at everything he tries, he always ends up dropping whatever he picked up, because what’s the point? This acts as a segue into another flashback, to even MORE bullshit that the fellas got roped into on Hedonia.

These are the Stentarians. They’re like the Cybertronians, if they were better in every way.

And by “better”, I, of course, mean “more bloodthirsty, warmongering, and driven enough to make their civil war last about as long as the Jurassic Period”. Also, they’re all combiners by default, and Whirl seems a little TOO into their whole situation. So much so, in fact, that when the Imperial Guard of their race show up to kill them, he decides to do them a solid by single-handedly ending their entire war.

You know, in most cases you’re supposed to show and not tell for visual media. This is way funnier, though, so it can be excused.

We jump back into the interviews, and Rewind’s just asked everyone if they’re happy. This might seem like an odd question, until you remember that everyone on-board this ship has crippling depression and PTSD, and Rewind’s married to one of the saddest motherfuckers to ever exist, so he probably has this question loaded into the proverbial chamber at any given moment. We won’t cover all of the answers here, because they’ll be more poignant to reflect back on later in the comic run, but let’s take a gander at the characters who’ve completed the first leg of their character arcs this season.

Drift, is that perhaps… an honest expression of your inner thought processes happening right there? Has Rewind broken through your carefully crafted persona, if even for just a moment, with his question? Perish the thought!

Because Tailgate outed himself as being baby in issue #21, I have zero doubt he’s not exaggerating here. He was a janitor, then he fell in a hole and became Dirt-Nap Supreme for six million years; even the most boring day on the Lost Light’s got to be better than that.

And it’s nice to see Chromedome on a good day for once. Hopefully he reveled in it while he had the chance, because this interview takes place maybe a couple weeks before he fucks everything up big time and has to blow up his husband with a missile strike.

Getting back to the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode plotline, we see Rung using his backpack as a wheelbarrow- no idea what he’s actually pushing in the damned thing- and wearing the most disgruntled face I’ve seen him pull in a hot minute. Someone yells for him to come down the eerily unlit and sinister-looking hallway, which he does. Rung would not do well in a horror film.

He winds up at Swerve’s, where Tailgate, Swerve, Brainstorm, and someone who is most likely Trailcutter, given the colors, are hanging out in their alt-modes. Tailgate’s ploy to find out Rung’s deal is to do what he does best- lie! They’re having an alt-mode party, and wouldn’t Rung like to join in? There are, of course, logistical issues with being a car in a bar, especially when your drink is on the table and your head is tucked up somewhere in your torso, but never mind all that! Let’s get crazy!

This doesn’t work either. Maybe we should cut out the middle man here and just get Rung drunk enough to agree to a wet alt-mode contest.

No, I don’t have any idea how that would work.

In our next vignette, Rodimus comes into the comms room, Rewind trailing behind him like a grim shadow of death, to see what the hell Blaster wants, other than just the hugest glass of water.

Raiz’s work is very detailed, and you really feel the weight of these giant metal space robots, but everyone looks like they’ve been put through a food dehydrator.

We get a lot of build up to the character who’s about to be introduced, with a common opinion being shared amongst everyone- even Tailgate, who hates successful people like his life depends on it.

Lovely readers, put your hands together for the ideal male partner for Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike:

A man with so much charisma and charm that only Rodimus could hate him, Thuderclash brings to IDW what everyone wishes Optimus Prime would, making our disappointing space dad even more mediocre by comparison. He fights for justice, and freedom, and the good of the universe- and he does it all while having a chronic medical condition that forces him to stay within a certain distance of his ship that is also a life-support machine, otherwise he will die. Despite his handicaps, Thunderclash seemingly brings to others what they need most, even if they don’t even realize that they needed it in the first place.

He also, in this one scene, appeals to Drift’s religious sensibilities, does a secret best-friend dance with Ratchet (who he helped to pass his medical exams- yes, Ratchet), and congratulates Rodimus on his questing so far.

Thunderclash is one of those characters that everyone in-universe is supposed to love, and I completely buy it- because he’s completely genuine and humble about all of this the entire time.

Compare this to the last time Roberts wrote Thunderclash, in Eugenesis.

Where he was an ex-Decepticon.

And kind of an abrasive asshole.

And then he died.

Y’know, now that I think of it, Eugenesis Thunderclash and MTMTE Ambulon being basically the same character makes a whole lot of sense, even without the horrors of Roberts’ Twitter getting involved.

Thunderclash reveals that he, too, is on a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, much to Rodimus’ chagrin. But first he needs the Lost Light to break out the jumper cables, and then for his second in command to stop threatening his life.

Turns out, not everyone is as obvious as the Cybertronians with their naming conventions. Whirl assassinated the wrong folks; I’m sure the Galactic Council is utterly thrilled. Paddox wants to steal the quantum engine technology for the good of his people, so they can kick the ass of the up-and-coming Terradore leader.

Completely unaware of the situation unfolding here in the lab, Swerve is directing Rung towards the warm, loving aura of Thunderclash for another go at winning the gentlemen’s wager- through the power of lying about having friends, Swerve’s “agreed” to get Rung Thunderclash’s autograph, in exchange for getting to check that Rung’s transformation cog is still working. Then they bump into the nightmare currently unfolding. My, whoever will save us from this dreaded menace, who holds a gun to the head of the Autobots’ greatest warrior, confidant, friend, and perhaps even lover?

How about a bartender and a giant vape pen?

Okay, so Rung doesn’t actually turn into a vape. It turns out that the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode is also a mystery to the man himself. Because Rung is old as shit, the Functionists got to see this bullshit for themselves, and ended up testing him over and over and over trying to figure it out, lest he prove to be a flaw in their fascist ideologies. Fun fact: fascists HATE it when people they’re trying to oppress don’t play to their expectations.

The Functionists were the ones who gave Rung his little wheelie backpack, to make him at least appear useful. This sort of treatment tends to warp one’s head a bit, which would explain why he’s bothered to keep it for so long- internalized functionism’s a real bitch.

At least he’s not giving teenagers nicotine addictions under the guise of being somewhat better than cigarettes.

Back with Rodimus and Cybertron’s Autobot of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years, we get the unfortunate news that jump-starting Thunderclash’s ship is going to make the Quest go a bit slower for the Lost Light, much to Rodimus’ horror, though he does his best to put on a brave face; after all, that’s what heroes do, isn’t it?

It’s at this point that it’s revealed that “Little Victories” was being screened to all the Circle of Light members who didn’t get murdered or turned into Legislators on Luna 1, and man are these guys pissy. What was meant to be a recruitment video turned out to do just the opposite, because none of these guys want anything to do with what the Lost Light’s got going on.

Too bad Rewind didn’t have time for a cleaner cut for showing. Maybe they could have at least snagged a couple of these guys to tag along.

As all of the Circle of Light leave the theatre to go call everyone’s favorite Autobot to see if he needs a more crew members, the film plays on behind Skids, back to the interviews, as everyone promises more adventures just waiting on the horizon.

You’re not even on this trip anymore, you dork.

Chromedome gives us the title drop for the movie and issue, and we cut to Rewind organizing a group photo of all the interviewees.

And then Rewind died horribly like a week later. Thus ends season one of More Than Meets the Eye!

While I’m here, I’d like to take the time to cover a little bit of cut content from this issue, a scene between Drift and Ratchet.

Drift, during his interview, recalls the time that Ratchet called him into his office for a very serious discussion about his/Pharma’s hands.

Yeah, turns out they’re haunted.

Well, no, not really, because this is a prank. But Drift doesn’t know that yet.

Ratchet demonstrates this hand-haunting by punching Drift in the face, as he screams damnation at Pharma’s ghost. Drift, because he is a spiritual man, knows exactly what to do to deal with this possession; he draws his sword and chops Ratchet’s hands off, then throws them out the airlock.

This, too, is a prank, not that Ratchet knows it right away, yelling at Drift that he’s crippled him.

Clearly, these two belong together.

This bit of cut script was lucky enough to have gotten drawn by the colorist for MTMTE Season 1, Josh Burcham. Burcham’s line art is iconic- you won’t mistake him for anyone else. It’s rough and angular, and honestly just very charming. I’m a sucker for this sort of style. If you want to see his adaptation of this chunk of script- and trust me, you do- the link’s right here:

https://dcjosh.tumblr.com/post/107665292031/its-done-the-mtmte-22-deleted-scene-in-all-its

[snusbandxknifewife]

Not me seeing this post:

And starting an entirely new Jurdan AU based on it lmao. Rated E for “Excessive Mentioning Of Sex Toys”

~~~

Dun dun.

Jude looks up as the front door of her father’s business, Lawn & Order, opens. The bell, added by her eldest sister in an effort to annoy their father, has been going off all day. Work is piling up on the receptionist desk and she curses to herself, knowing that more paperwork means less time outside.

A USPS delivery man walks in, hauling a hand truck nearly overflowing with boxes. Sweat drips down his face, pooling at his collar as Jude decides that maybe a little time in the AC isn’t too bad on a day as hot as this one.

“Sign here,” the obviously exhausted man says as he turns a clipboard towards her.

Funny, Madoc didn’t tell her they’d be getting a delivery today.

Still, she shrugs and absentmindedly signs the clipboard as the man unloads the hand truck with a dramatic groan. She should get up and help him, and, on any other day, she probably would. But today is for licking wounds and pouting.

The clock ticks quietly as Jude considers how she has to file papers and phone customers and clean the shop, just to go home for family dinner where her sister will undoubtedly be moaning about her cheating ass of an ex.

Not sure why she’s surprised, considering he cheated on JUDE with HER.

Taryn and Locke had been a thing officially for only three months, but they’d been sleeping together behind Jude’s back for much longer than that. The very idea makes her skin crawl and she would much rather spend her valuable time cutting someone’s lawn with nail clippers instead of playing nice with her poor heartbroken witch of a twin.

“Have a good one!” Jude clocks back into reality as the USPS man walks out the door, taking his hand truck with him and leaving her to the quiet of the AC unit and the court room tv playing in the corner.

Sighing, she gets up from her leather stool and walks around the counter to pick up the boxes. They look innocent enough, simple white USPS priority mail boxes that she expects to contain samples of seeds or maybe replacement weed whacking string trimmers. She could use some of those, the weed whacker she takes in her truck hasn’t been working as well as usual and Mrs. Mitsgunmins is kind of an asshole about precision.

She lets out a groan as she picks up the top two. The boxes are a lot heavier than she thought they’d be. Puzzled, she sets the two boxes on the counter, leaving behind the other two as she goes on a hunt for some scissors. Making it almost to her father’s office, she cusses audibly as she remembers the hunting knife she keeps in her boot.

It’s been a long fucking day.

Jude hums along to a commercial as she walks back to the counter, pulling out her knife along the way and slicing the tape of the top box. With a whistle, she opens the box and frowns at finding a bunch of little cardboard boxes stuffed inside. What the hell did Madoc order?

Her whistling stops in horror as she picks up one of the packages and spins it around, only to find bold neon print plastered along the front: XXX RECHARGEABLE NIPPLE CLAMPS

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jude screeches at the top of her lungs as she drops the box and jumps back. Why the hell does her father need some hundred-or-so sets of rechargeable nipple clamps? Why do nipple clamps even need to be charged in the first place?

Taking a moment to steel herself, Jude moves towards the second box—staying as far away from the nipple clamps as possible—and reads the label for an explanation.

Ohhhh, these are for next door. The delivery man must’ve mixed up the addresses.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she pushes the nipple clamps back into their box and closes the lid, checking the other labels and seeing that all four boxes are meant for next door and thanking her lucky stars that Madoc didn’t suddenly decide to get his kink on.

Looking out across the driveway to the innocuous white building beside Lawn & Order, she rolls her eyes. The Sinful Serpent—complete with its shimmering golden apple sign—has been the bane of her father’s existence since it opened a year ago. Every day she has to hear about how he hates sharing space with some gross sex shop. While adult stores aren’t really Jude’s thing, she hasn’t cared too much because she hasn’t had to interact with the store or owner.

Until, she supposes, today.

She stacks the boxes back up and picks them all up with a grunt, thankful for the workout routine that her work provides as she curses the delivery man for taking his hand truck with him.

Only one car is in the parking lot of the sex shop and she celebrates the fact that nobody will see her going into the store. The last thing she needs is people recognizing her workplace on her shirt and bothering her or her dad. It’s already bad enough listening to old men ogle her when she goes to do landscaping work.

The front door is hooked up to an electronic bell that sounds like the twinkle of magic. As she pushes her way into the Sinful Serpent, she lets out a sound of surprise. Whatever she expected a sex shop to look like, this certainly isn’t it.

The entire store is decorated to look like a forest at twilight, with displays cut into bookshelves that look like giant trees and murals depicting faeries dancing through delicate nature landscapes wrapping around the walls. The lighting is low, except for where spotlights illuminate the wares. Over along one wall, by where the lingerie and exotic dancing costumes are, is a stage with a pole, the whole area bathed in blue light and covered in decor like coral. Between the entrance and exit door, the area for the registers resembles a castle.

“Give me a moment,” a voice calls out from within the castle. “I’ve got to check your ID.”

Jude panics, the very suggestion that she might be a customer in a store like this sending her brain into red alert. “I’m not here to shop!”

“The hell you here for then? Last I checked we didn’t have a gloryhole.”

She all but screams, short circuiting at being faced with a worse option than shopping at a store like this. As she tries to think of what to say, a young man pops up from behind the counter and surveys her, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out what her deal is.

He’s dressed in all black, his button up shirt undone halfway down his chest, exposing edges of tattoos that she doesn’t study enough to identify. His bottom lip and septum are pierced, as are his ears—which appear to have been elfed, because they end in sharp points. When he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his fingers are covered in glittering rings.

And he’s grinning at her.

“I uh, um,” she shakes her head, and then remembers the heavy boxes she’s hauled all the way over. “I work next door and, uh, the mailman,” she trails off again, her cheeks flaming as she lowers her voice and mutters, “I think he mixed up our addresses.”

His smile widens and his eyes look dangerous as he tilts his head. “And why would you think that?”

She glares at him and he chuckles lowly.

“We didn’t order these.”

“Can you be sure?” He asks, raising one painted nail to tap thoughtfully against his chin. “A landscaping company and adult entertainment store must have some overlap. Ropes and chains come to mind.”

“We don’t need rechargeable nipple clamps!”

“Everybody needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” he counters, his smirk replaced by reverent intensity.

She lets out a frustrated noise and slams the boxes on the counter, her back cracking in protest. “I don’t!”

“Woah! Stow the seriosity, Sunshine,” he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just playing with you.”

Grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms, she does her very best to keep from choking him out as he leans across the counter, his falling shirt collar exposing a necklace with a snake pendant hanging at his sternum.

She goes to spin on her heel and leave, but stops when a door—hidden behind a painting of a faun and nymph doing unspeakable things—opens, revealing a pretty young woman with blue hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Cardan I can’t find the damn nipple clamps. I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

“Don’t worry, Nic,” the young man calls back with a smile. “Sunshine here brought them over.”

Jude, bristling at the title, misses how the woman momentarily blanches when she lays eyes on her. Quickly recovering and putting on a stony face, she walks over to the castle counter and inspects the opened box.

“You look familiar,” she observes and Jude zeroes in on her carefully cool tone. “Don’t you work at that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

“You’re thinking of my twin, Taryn.” Jude bites her tongue, doing her beat to avoid sounding annoyed at being confused with that backstabbing little—

“Sunshine here is our neighbor, Nicasia,” Cardan cheerfully announces. “She got our order and was kind enough to haul it over.”

“My name is Jude,” she grumbles.

He ignores her, leaning in conspiratorially and stage whispering in Nicasia’s ear. “She has insisted that she doesn’t need rechargeable nipple clamps, so surely they must belong to us.”

“Everyone needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” Nicasia whispers back.

“That’s what I said!”

Jude, rooted in place from the pure horror of listening to this conversation, watches as Cardan picks up a pair of scissors and opens a second box; pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and grinning when he notices her watching him. Nicasia raises a perfectly groomed brow at the situation before grabbing the box of nipple clamps and heading to restock the shelves.

Once again, he leans forward, fingers spinning the handcuffs around as he smirks at her. “Now that the packages are handled, what can I do you for?”

Jude frowns, sure that he misspoke. It’s then that her phone goes off and she celebrates any excuse to get the fuck out.

Emergency situation at Dr. Wullworth’s. Need you to take over cutting at the Collethes. -Madoc

“I’m good, I’ve got a lawn to trim,” she says, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her pocket.

“Awe, Sunshine, you ain’t gotta clean up for me.”

She tilts her head in confusion before shrugging and turning to leave.

“Gotta go out the other door, Sunshine,” he sighs, almost like he’s disappointed. Weird.

Jude still tries the door, but it won’t open from this side, so she grabs ahold of her pride and walks around the castle counter, moving as quickly as she can and keeping her head down to avoid getting any further education.

“Bye,” she waves her hand awkwardly as she hits the exit door.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

~~~~~

Mostly setup for the AU. Yes all the last names are keysmashes. Yes I did go on early 2 bed’s website and choose random buttons until I found a sex toy that seemed a little odd. (The nipple clamps are rechargeable because they vibrate.) Big thanks to the discord server for helping me with ideas!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

[deanirae]

Can you get it inside your head I’m tired of dancing?  

post 8.07 pre 8.08] crack/angst past turned unrequited deancas, implied deanbenny 2,4k [x]

The sun, also currently known as bitch, has got some serious nerve to sit where it always does, not upside down and nine miles to the left as it frankly should on this memorable fuckhat day. Where is the End of Days when it's really called for? When it should be really nigh?

Dean flips the front mirror panel down not to have to deal with at least that one disappointment. He can still see Cas's half-constipated, half-abandoned and kicked in its fluffy ass puppy face in the mercilessly annoying reflection. The obvious choice would be to not grace it with anything right now, but A – he's the one driving so his eyes can't wander off pretty far, especially in the barely sunlit grayness – and B – on his left, Sam is currently roleplaying a twelve year old girl that has her big emotional introspection accompanied by listening to Sarah McLahlan because her mean parents wouldn't let her buy ebola from the internet. Or something.

Point is, he's three hours into ostentatiously moping, trying to quietly terrorize Dean into making peace with Cas on the fly so it won't be awkward and problematique for him anymore. To Sam, Dean is just too inconvenient anytime he's inconvenient. And that, by order of nature herself, demands immediate and final stopping and ballot recounting also.

And Dean's point is, that it's not gonna happen anytime soon.

And Cas's point – assuming he’s still remotely capable of making those –  seems to be dead-set on that 50:50 face thing. And Dean regrets briefly glancing; with more or less the same intensity he regrets his whole life on the crap weather days his bones hurt harder than it should be legal.

Sam, in his hemhorroidal disturbance, reaches out to the tape deck and attempts to put anything on, but Dean feels like exactly zero of his tapes right now, so he swats Sam's hand off with a loud smack. Judging from the faces he gets for that, it's gotta be resonating in their heads a lot.

It's gonna be a long ride to Lousiana, way longer and more exhausting than the freshly puked from Purgatory one. In fact, the closer they get to Lafayette, the more tired he is and they won't start working the vetalas case until tomorrow night because apparently hanging around clubs on fridays is the new hanging downside of trees or whatever cool thing it was vetalas were doing before the rise of the all you can eat buffet of horny dicks certain they're gonna get reverse cowgirls for a two dollar drink. Or reverse cowboys. Fucking cheapskates. Some of them do have it coming. But in severe STDs, not in this.

In itself, waiting for the actual hunt really doesn't need to be a problem. It's just that Sam and Cas are fucked-bent on having it be one because—

“I said I'm going to stay with you and join you on hunts,” Cas finally snaps. „There's no need for this 'backup' as you call it, Dean.”

—Because that.

“Don't air quote it, man,” Dean mutters wearily, because of course Cas air quoted it.

“And there is absolutely no need for you to sleep in a vampire's camping truck when we have plenty of motels to pick from,” Cas rants on, zero deterred and plus ten determined, clearly not tuning into Dean's I don't wanna discuss that vibe.

Annnd because that too, yeah.

“Well I donno, I sure didn't want us to look like some sort of a hookup site for salvation army fashionistas threesome. You'll thank me later. Or you can do it now and shut up when you're done, how's that.”

“A vampire,” Sam interrupts his polished bitchface just to whine it out, which has to be peak brotherly care by his modern standards.

“You two asshats had no problem leaving me in vamp-vegas for a goddamn year,” Dean growls. “I am an adult adult and I need some me-time that isn't you time. And I'm gonna have awesome time while I'm at it. Sue me if that's a crime. Bother my lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer”, says Sam.

“Aren’t you kind of a lawyer?” Dean remembers suddenly. “Or at least close enough for you two to bother each other and not me?”

“No, didn’t get to get there yet, thanks to you,” Sam mutters, also suddenly remembering the past life of his that was never meant to be.

“Oh, I’m sorry”, Dean whines. “Did I set your girlfriend on fire?”

“Fuck off.”

“I thought you missed me,” as if triggered by the word fuck, Cas drops the bomb with an evenness in his voice which hints at many things but Dean's brain is too stop-record screech to dissect them right now.

“What?” he blurts out, confused and affronted both.

“I thought you missed me,” Cas repeats, lower and harder like Dean's a stupid cat that won't spit out what it's chewing.

“Cas, I really don't wanna do this.”

“You kept praying to me to come back, Dean. After you were out of Purgatory. I heard you. Those were quite some prayers. Now you're putting yourself in real danger just to stay away from me. I don’t understand.”

Sam just stares at Dean, the always most helpful thing on the planet that he is. Thanks, Sam. Dean stares at the road. Cas stares daggers through the back of Dean's head. Poor Baby can't just leave this situation so she just keeps on rollin’. Nobody wins that day.

“That was before you told me you were lying your ass off just to kick me out last minute. Your subscription for my prayers and personal Jesus license have now expired, by the way. Like, the fuck does talking to you even do?”

“Fine!” Castiel snaps, so close to throwing his hands in the air for a grand effect but luckily thinking better of it since he's in a car that has a roof among other things. “I understand that you're angry—” he tries to start over, calmer, after a self-collecting breath.

“No, you don't,” Dean mutters.

“But you can't risk your life in the stupidest available way just to get back at me, Dean. Not after everything I've done to make sure you come back safe.”

Well at least he didn't include Sam in that „saving” part.

“You were there, man. You know Benny never double crossed me or you. What the exact fuck is your problem with him?”

A very angry squint-frown precedes the actual answer.

“You were his ticket to Earth. Now your life doesn't hold the same value.”

“Thanks, Cas. That's really swee—”

“You know that's not what I meant, Dean,” Cas growls in a tone that's clearly a final warning.

So final even Sam and his high horse must have heard since he steps in to defuse Cas.

“Cas, I'm not a fan of saying it, but Benny isn't a threat to Dean. I think the guy is kinda trying to settle,” he offers.

Dean smiles a little bit.

“See, Cas?”

“But I'm worried he might have more vamps trying to take him down because he pissed off every fang that ever knew him and then some. This is actual danger, Dean.”

“What?!” Castiel explodes in unbridled rage.

“Sam, have you ever wondered where do snitches go after they die?”

“Dean, you know I'm serious.”

“Ditches,” Dean concludes.

“When exactly were you going to tell me this?” Castiel asks coldly. “After you get killed by vampire avengers?”

“They're all taken care of, Cas. No mean jokes this time. Relax.”

“With your Winchester luck? I doubt it.”

“Oh, come on. It's not like you wouldn't bring me back even if something did happen.”

“Yes, even twice because first I would have personally destroyed you for being so reckless.”

“I know you would.”

“Guys,” Sam tries to placate, “we should all calm down and rethink how to handle it safely. It's not a good time for some jilted lovers tiff”, he begs.

Dean frowns then makes mocking faces at him to communicate that he's being a fucking douche.

“You're a fucking jilted lovers tiff,” he decides.

“We had sex, Dean,” Castiel states accusatorily.

Little does he know, he just broke Sam beyond repair. Now that the cat is out of the bag, the only thing Dean can do is to straighten some things out.

“Once,” he says, raising a finger to accentuate his point. “Cas was sure we were gonna die in the morning. We didn't, but there never was a follow up on that, so,” Dean shrugs.

“You weren't interested.”

“Says you,” Dean huffs. “I’m sorry, do you know me? Being interested in sex is in my top five pasttimes. You behaved like a brick on the other hand and I don’t know how to read concrete.”

“I don’t want to be here, good fucking God,” Sam finally yelps after a successful reboot of his brain.

Dean’s pretty sure nobody wants to be in this car right now and the only goddamn thing that could potentially make him ‘special’ right now is the fact currently Sam’s probably the only person in the Impala who has not lain his mouth on Cas’s dick. Hopefully.

Funnily enough, Cas could easily poof out without lethal injuries, but he’s dead set on staying, judging from the frown on his face that looks like a stock market crash diagram.

“I didn’t exactly see you giving me any signs.”

And set on having this conversation.

“I’m not a cat, I don’t go into heats, Cas. Can we talk about it somewhere more private? Later? Cuz everybody here wants to fucking die right now.”

“Private?” Cas asks. “If you want privacy to talk then why do you refuse to book a room with me?”

“We don’t need to share a room to have a conversation. Unless what you want it to end with is getting back on track with that last night on Earth thing we had that one time.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cries.

“Grow up and stow your crap, Sam,” Cas says unexpectedly before Dean could even bother to serve anything in a similar note.

Dean is so thrown off his equilibrium by that he puts the car to an abrupt halt. Only because he’s too deeply wired to not crash the Impala into the first available so he won’t accidentally kill Sam.

That is, if Cas’s words haven’t obliterated him already. He glances at him, just in case. Speechless as holily commanded by the celestial – potentially horny – wrath from the back seat, but at least he’s still breathing.

“Um,” he says, because someone’s gotta, because he’s still the big brother in this demented equation. “Cas, what the fuck was that?”

“Should you, of all people, really need me to be this blunt – now that the worst affairs have been settled, we could pick up where we left off, and hopefully reach a mutual understanding regarding the nature of our relationship so that doubt no longer hinders you. If it’s still something that interests you, of course. Would that be clear and direct enough, Dean?”

Well, that was… long? Long enough citations are probably needed, but, uh, yeah. S’ gotta be addressed immediately or else.

“Cas, that was 2010 and we have 2012 now.”

“It was 2012 when you prayed to me in Purgatory and it was 2012 four days ago. Granted, your feelings towards me might be very complicated, but I still can sense and read your longing,” Cas says with a weary sigh.

“Stop smelling my longing,” Dean responds with a wearier one. “And I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“But I should explain myself to you.”

“I’m real fed up with your explanations, you know that? And we don’t got time for that, either. We need to get to Lafayette because we got a case waiting to get solved.”

“It’s because he’s waiting there for you, isn’t it,” Cas says sadly; not a question. A statement.

Dean doesn’t need to respond. Doesn’t feel like it, too.

Yeah. It’s good to actually have someone waiting for you; someone there.

Maybe it’s not that complicated, after all. Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

Dean starts the car. He’s got a place to go to.

The sound apparently wakes Sam from his stupor. His bright idea of the day, he turns the radio on before the awkward silence can make the universe inside of the Impala collapse on itself and on all three of them. Too late for Dean to react now; might as well get a load of the weather report.

In the back seat, Cas flicks his wrist subtly and the monotone voice sharply cuts off into static for a moment and the frequency bar moves elsewhere on its’ – or rather, Cas’s – own.  Some solitary synthesiser-made sounds drop one after another like tiny steps and Dean realizes he definitely has heard this song before at some point in his life as eighties one hit wonders ain’t no strangers to him. Oh well. Might as well not get any of the wea—

Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love… Can you hear me?

Is he fucking kidding?!

Came back only yesterday, I’m moving farther away.... Want you near me…

“Are you fucking kidding?” Dean cries out, incredulous.

Tries to turn the radio off but it just won’t die.

All I needed was the love you gave— “You want melodramatic? I’ll give you melodramatic.” —All I needed for another day — Dean reaches out for his phone and starts typing angrily — and all I ever knew, only you.

He puts on good ol’ Fish and hopes it’s gonna be louder than Cas’s synth-pop loving. And starts driving towards where he wants to be cause he’s tired of dancing.

[dayables]

4 and Shin? That's a dark one, but you write him well so I'd trust you with it. If you want something lighter instead, 17 for Shin!

Thank you for asking this! As you can see, I got into a very deep ramble about his life pre-death game and it doesn’t really tie in but I’ve kept it there :)  The last few parapraghs are the actual answers ahaha. Play some sad music in those paragrapths because I nearly cried with halloween music in the background.    4) What they would do if they had one month to live.   If Shin had one month left to live? We see it in the game kind of. Or at least kind of. Obviously imitating your ‘scary friend’ most likely abuser to try and turn everyone against your biggest threat isn’t going to work in real life. 

What the game and his 0.0% score does tell us (or heavily shove in our direction so we infer it) is that Shin is petrified of certain death to the point of desperation.

I do believe/headcanon that he is a very logical person. Almost everything he does is backed up by logic in the death game except for his last moments because screw logic that’s never worked before.  (The opposite of Keiji who’s likely very emotional until his potential last moments but this isn’t about him). So the question is, when did Shin’s last moments begin for him?  As the player, it’s when it’s that final choice between him and Kanna. To Shin this is likely a very different response. His last moments start the very second he gets told he’s doomed to die. Almost all of Shin’s choices in the game are emotional. Trusting Sara or at least earning her trust is the logical choice here. Making yourself her enemy because you are scared is the emotional one. He just lies to himself on the basis that she’s untrustworthy. Which, you can trick yourself into believing is logical.  It triggers a kind of flight or fight response in all our characters when they realise they can die here. All the cast barr Shin choose to fight and try and escape. Shin chooses the flight option here. Nothing he does actually prevents his death in the end. He just runs away from the inevitable doom. 

 I am once again inferring by comparing him to rest of the cast the death is a deep rooted trauma (and I definitely have thoughts on why). While the concept of death is one that scares everyone, no one seems to revel in it the way Shin does. He is living an incredibly safe life. A free lance programmer (by the sounds of it)  which earns an average of £60 an hour. He has a side job at a convenience store (that wasn’t a lie). He doesn’t leave his apartment much meaning he doesn’t have much of a social life. Shin is in a position in life where it’ll be near impossible to hurt him. Obviously he isn’t earning 60 quid an hour, but he has the potential too. Once he’s set up and successful, he’ll be able to die old. Alone, maybe not happy, but old.  For a guy likely in his early to mid twenties, things are bound to change but only as much as he lets them. From one person who will happily spend all their life in their own company to another, Shin isn’t going to change that. Not when he’s too scared to let someone past arms width and will avoid doing so. By the time he gets his game together and his skinny self to therapy it’ll likely be too late to make the same connections he has the chance too at his current age.  It’s not emotional because even the most introverted of introverts desires a life all alone. It’s a logical one for the fears and life he has. I don’t think that means he isn’t happy. It just thinks there’s a potential that he could have been happier. 

For Midori to have gotten as close as he was and no one to pull up the red flags his friends either didn’t care or didn’t exist. Most likely the latter seeing as he is very much in the process of mourning three years after his friends death. He likely wasn’t close enough to his parents to feel he could go to them over something as silly as Midori’s death. In the aftermath, Shin will be confused and muddled. In some ways, he’ll be elevated because he is free, he can move on. In other ways he’ll be lost, devastated and empty. Shin will also have a semblance of independence back. He doesn’t think he shows enough gratitude to his parents for materialistic items. Midori’s abuse was likely emotional or verbal. It probably consisted of vague threats, put downs, anger, power dynamics and a shrug at Shin’s emotions. I’m in no way a professional but after years of this Shin is going to think his emotions are something he should be able to handle himself, something he might not be able to do if he started to repress them in his teens. Shin likely has a warped sense of independence. Instead of being free from others control, he’ll likely think it means he can’t get help and must deal with everything alone. 

Being told that his death is round the corner strips two things that he values most away from him. He now has zero control over his life and worse, it ends with him dyeing. Shin would grasp for straws to have that independence back and therefore escape his own death. If he couldn’t get his independence back then he’ll try and avoid the end outcome. 

His last month would be a goose chase to avoid death. There’d be a list of everything he has to do. Fuck his jobs, fuck debt he needs to get to the hospital. Get checked up! Make sure he’s well. He’d do it everyday. Does he have enough medicine? Wet wipes, stock up on healthy food, hand sanitizer? Does he have enough hand sanitizer? Make sure his room is squeaky clean, don’t let anyone in, don’t answer the phone. Bolt the windows and live off ramen and debt for the rest of the month. Beanie on, beanie off, what is he going to die from? Has he prevented any possible cause? He’s forgotten to call his parents. That’s fine because he shouldn’t be dyeing anyway. It’s logical. It’s all logical. This is not his fear of death speaking through everything he is doing is logical! Now he just needs to figure out what’s causing this all? How did that person know? Then on the last day. He’d just give up. He’d finally pick up that phone and call his parents. He’d thank them and explain. He’d apologize for the debt because he’s swimming in it then he’d hang up. Shin would then proceed to cry in bed all day and trying to sleep so he just doesn’t wake up.  Then, while it’s a tragedy, I think he’d accept it. I don’t think he ever really thought he had a chance but his emotions drove him round and round in circles. Maybe he would regret his whole life and look back on it all. In a none death game scenario Shin seems like a brooder. He doesn’t have Kanna to live for so he has no reason to push forward. I think in the end he’d reach the conclusion his life was pretty pointless. Just as he’d slip from consciousness I imagine he’d think of Midori. Nearly everything we know about Shin seems to revolves about Midori . We, the player, never know him before the guy entered his life. That guy has a big impacts in his life and in a world where that was the only person to leave such a big mark? I think he’d go back to Midori. Especially with nothing to distract him from his mourning. 

It’s quite sad really. He lets his fear control him too much. Midori controls him too much and they’re both aware of that fact. But in the short, Shin would try and avoid his death. Hell he’ll likely die of exhaustion or caffeine overdose

His ending in the main game, I think that’s the best way Shin could have gone at that age. Dying for Kanna and letting go of his cynicism. 

Ending this off with 17 because I need that jokeness now, after all that. 

17) What would they sing at Karaoke? 

Everyone expects Shin to like bang out with some Beyonce or something. Maybe one of those silly little disney parodies. Everyone would make a joke about what he should sing because he’s indecisive as hell. 

Keiji Kai and all of those mature adults suggest Single Ladies,  Mr. Brightside,  Fireworks, Wannabe because classic Karoke songs you actually have to be able to sing when Shin 100% can’t? Count them in! 

Midori would suggest something embarrassing he knew wouldn’t even be funny to watch. Just painful. 

Gin, Sara, Reko and Alice are snickering behind their hands as they suggest Poor Unfourtunate Souls,  How Bad Can I Be (Alice ended up doing that one), The oogie boogie song and the price Ali reprise. 

When he refuses Sara refuses to let him get away with not being painted as some corny villian and dedicates her singing of Cruella De Vil to him.

Then Kanna taps on his shoulder and tells him what to sing and A: It’s Kanna’s suggestion B: It’s not and a bonus C if he’s drunk: He gets to whack a certain police officer and teacher with a hockey stick. 

And my inner theatre Kid shines through as he I say Shin sings Revolting Children and can’t get his letters write, drunk or sober. 

‘R e v o t l i n !’  instead of ‘ R E V O L T I N G’ 

‘S P L L!’ instead of ‘ S P E L’ 

‘TOO LATE FOR YOU?’ Instead of  ‘ 2-L-8-4-U ‘

I kid you not I have knows this song for years and I still struggle. You can not do that spelling rhythm first time. 

Also the lines. The lines!   We will become a screaming hoard.//Take out your hockey sticks and use it as a sword.// Never again will we be ignored.//We'll find out where the chalk is stored// And draw rude pictures on the board.

It’s such a childish song but it’s so hard. He struggles and struggles and one day he will get it because it’s so simple and why can’t he do it roght! Also, it suits him. Sue me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6PXm34OBP8

[backtobackbakubabe]

I’m Gonna Make This Place Your Home (Part 3)

Bakugo x Reader

Words: 2896

*****************************************************************************************************

One night, a year or so ago Bakugo had gotten a little tipsy and decided it would be a great idea to take all of the batteries out of the smoke alarms. That way he wouldn't have to deal with them every time he thew a fit and his hands sparked up. So he was really surprised when he woke up one morning to one of them blaring. Kirishima must have replaced them.... damnit shitty hair. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, “What the fuck is going on?” 

He was absolutely exhausted. You had another nightmare last night and just like the last time you accidentally pulled him into it. He handn’t been able to sleep after that and he couldn't go to your room because then you would know he had seen it. He knew it wasn't his fault but it still felt like an invasion of your privacy. 

He strolled out of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and made his was to the source of his growing headache. He walked into the kitchen and there you were. You looked extremely confused and alarmed as smoke billowed from the toaster. You pulled the plug from the wall and huffed at the ruined toast. “Shit...”

He couldn’t help it. He started laughing harder than he had in years. 

You spun around, giving him a good look at the pancake mix in your hair, “OH! Bakugo I’m so sorry! I was trying to make you breakfast... but its definitely not as easy as you make it look...” You plopped down in one of the chairs and it wasnt until now that he realized you weren't wearing any pants. Just his oversized hoodie. He couldnt judge though he wasnt exactly wearing a shirt. A fact you were acutely aware of as you desperately tried to avoid staring at his perfect abs. 

You huffed again, “I ruined everything....”

He smirked, “Nah, theres nothing here that cant be fixed... well maybe not the toast. Thats a lost cause.” He held his hand out to you, “Ready for your first cooking lesson?”

He proceeded to flit around the kitchen like a true professional but he never took over. Instead he would just tell you what you needed to do. He wanted to make sure you were actually learning. He knew he couldnt take care of you forever. There were things you missed out on growing up and he was going to make sure you became a functioning adult. 

You guys sat at the table with the banquet of food around you. You beamed as you took your first bite, “This is actually good!”

He scoffed, “Excuse me? I helped you, of course it’s good...” 

You giggled, “Thanks for that by the way. I know it must be frustrating to teach a grown ass woman how to do basic things...”

“Okay first of all dont ever think that. Its not your fault you didnt get to learn this stuff. And second.... that is the second time you’ve used a curse word today. What gives? Am I rubbing off on you? You’ve only been here a week.” He wagged his eyebrows. 

You gave his shoulder a quick swat, “Maybe I swear like a sailor but I've been playing nice. You dont know me.”

He narrowed his eyes a bit, “You’re right. I dont. But I’d like to...” He bit into a piece of bacon and groaned, “I do know one thing though, you make some good ass bacon.”

He spent the rest of the day teaching you every day tasks from doing laundry to how to use the internet. You paid close attention and would periodically stop him to write something down so you wouldn’t forget.  He was currently showing you how to log in to Netflix when an idea hit him, “Oi! Do you know how to ride a bike?”  

You gave him a weird look, “I used to have one with training wheels when I was little but my mom never taught me how to ride one without them. I had wanted my dad to teach me but he died when I was little.” 

He sucked in a breath. He still hadn't told you about your mom. Did you know what she did to you? Did you know your mom sold you to the highest bidder? And your dad? He had no idea he had died.... was there anything about your childhood that was happy?  “I’m sorry to heat about your dad.” 

You just shrugged, “I was really little. My mom always said I was his little mini me. Said I looked just like him and had the heart to match. He was a really nice guy....” You expression grew sad, “Sometimes when I was younger after I had been taken by the villains... if I was having a really bad day I would pretend he was still alive. Because he never would have let them take me.” A single tear slid down your cheek but you caught it, “Look at me getting all emotional. No need to cry over something I cant change right?”

He took your hand in his and gave it the softest squeeze, “I’d say you’re entitled to a few tears. Given what you’ve been through, I don't know how you get out of bed some mornings.” Especially after the nightmares he’d witnessed first hand.

You sniffed back your tears as you returned a quick squeeze to his hand, “Easy. I have you.” 

He didnt know what to say. To the rest of the world he was Ground Zero, the temperamental, cocky hero. But you see so much more. You bring out the best in him and whether he likes it or not he's changing because of it. “Oi. Put some fucking pants on. You're going to learn how to ride a bike!” 

“....Do you even have a bike?”

No, he didnt. But Kirishima did. “You just worry about yourself, and let me figure out the bike situation. Alright?”

You scurried off to your room to change and get ready for the day. You pulled on a pair of leggings and a clean shirt. It may have been Bakugos but at this point you didnt think he’d mind. You threw your hair up in a ponytail and gave yourself a quick look in the mirror. You really needed a haircut. Even in a ponytail it was well down your back. There was a pair of scissors in the kitchen, maybe you could just cut it yourself. 

Thats how you ended up in the bathroom hair in one hand, scissors in the other. Right as you were about to make your first cut, someone cleared their throat behind you. “Oi! Crazy pants! Put the scissors down before you fuck your hair up. All I said was put on some pants not go full on Mulan...” He sighed, “There’s someone here I want you to meet. He can be pretty annoying but I promise he’s not that ba-”

“Hey who are you calling annoying you grump old man.” Kirishima looked at the scissors in you hand, “Oh cool. Giving yourself a haircut? I did that once when I was seven. Wasn't a good look. But I’m sure yours will look much better.” 

Bakugo was rubbing his temples in frustration, “Y/n this this is shitty hair, shitty hair this is y/n.” 

You gave him a soft giggle, “The fact that he calls you shitty hair makes me think I shouldn't listen to you.” You put the scissors down, “I do want to cut it though. It’s a pain in the ass.”

Bakugo scoffed, “You’re the pain in the ass, dont try and blame it on your hair. Although you do shed worse than any dog I’ve ever known. Your hair is all over the apartment.... Come here.” He turned you towards the mirror, “Alright look straight ahead and dont fucking move... how short do you want it?” 

You motioned to the tops of your shoulders, “Like around here maybe. I dont know what do you think shitty hair?” 

Kirishima chuckled, “You can call me Kirishima.” He shrugged, “I dont know anything about  hair.”

Bakugo huffed, “Yeah clearly, hence the name shitty hair.” He looked at you through the mirror, “I would go just a little longer.... like maybe here.” He motioned to a bit below you shoulder. His hand was rather close to your breasts and it made both of you blush. “I’ll see if I can get you an appointment somewhere soon. Until then what if I just braid it to get it out of the way?”

Your blush deepened, “Yeah that would be nice.” 

His fingers felt so good carding though your hair. You closed your eyes and had to fight back the urge to hum. You needed to pull it together. Bakugo was nice enough to let you into his life and has gone above and beyond to make sure you’re well taken care of and comfortable. You didn't need to fuck that up by having feelings for him. 

Your eyes jolted open when he cleared his throat behind you, “Uh...I’m done now.” Your eyed met his through the mirror and noticed his cheeks were almost as red as yours, “Ready to learn how to ride a bike?”

Kirishima caught Bakugo as you guys were leaving the apartment letting you go on ahead, “Dude? When the fuck did you learn how to braid hair? Who are you and what have you done with Bakugo?” 

Bakugo pulled his arm away from him, “Shut the fuck up and I swear if you tell anyone about it I’ll end you!” Bakugo hadn't been completely honest with his best friend about who you were or why you were living with him. He knew you were the girl from his dreams but he didnt know you had been a prisoner or that there was a small possibility you were being hunted. 

Kirishima raised his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying man you seem awfully invested in this girl. I mean she’s wearing your shirt! She’s obviously pretty and from what I can tell she seems nice and all but come on man you haven't been to work in over a week... The director says you either come in tomorrow or you’re fired....”

Bakugo growled, “As if he would actually have the balls to fire Ground Zero.” He took a few steps before stopping and running a hand through his hair, “Tell him I’ll be there tomorrow... I just need to tell y/n.”

Kirishima put his hand on his shoulder, “She’s a big girl Bakugo. I’m sure she’ll be fine without you for a few hours. Whats the worst that could happen?” 

Bakugo groaned, “I really wish you hand asked that. It’s like you’re trying to jinx us.”

When they got outside you were already sitting on the bike, rolling it back and forth looking like an excited child, “What took you guys so long?! Come on!” 

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, “So Y/n... how in the world did you make it this far in life without knowing how to ride a bike?” 

Before Bakugo could intercept the question you were shrugging it off, “Guess you could say I grew up sheltered. Now are we doing this or not?” 

A few minutes later Bakugo was behind you holding your waist and walking slowly as you got used to peddling the bike. 

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Let me know when you're ready for me to let go.” The combination of his strong hands on your waist and his warm breath on your neck... it was giving you goosebumps. 

You felt a chill run down your spine, “Bakugo dont you dare fucking let go. I thought this was going to be a lot easier!” 

He chuckled, “Don’t be stupid you’re doing fine! I won't let go until you’re ready.” 

You took a deep breath, “Okay I can do this.... It’s not a big deal. Children do this.... Bakugo I think I’m ready...”

“Well good because I already let go.” 

Your head swiveled back and forth incredulous that you had not noticed that he had let go. It was a terrible idea because as soon as you weren't one hundred percent focused on peddling you started to tilt. 

“Shit! Y/n!” Bakugo threw himself between you and the pavement just in time to catch you. “Watch it will yeah?” You landed on top of him your nose dangerously close to his.You could hear your heart pounding. You were close enough to smell his signature caramel sent and it made your mouth water. He brushed a hair out of your face. “Are you okay? You’re looking at me funny....” 

You blinked rapidly trying to wake yourself up from whatever daydream you were starting to have. “Yeah I’m fine... thanks.” 

He shrugged, “It was my fault for letting go. I won't do that again.” 

Your heart picked up the pace at his words. He obviously meant he wouldn't let go while you were riding the bike, but you desperately wished he meant something else. But he was Ground Zero. He was an attractive, successful Pro hero. You were probably nothing more than a wounded animal to him. He deserved someone with less baggage. 

You pushed yourself off of him, no longer in the mood to ride a bike. “I know this is silly... but I kind of want to go get coffee.” His caramel sent was still invading your senses and it made you crave your favorite beverage. You had tried different drinks through trail and error before you found what you liked and you named it the cinnamon roll latte. It was a vanilla latte with two pumps of caramel and cinnamon instead of sugar. It smelled just like someone you knew and it was absolutely delicious. 

Kirishima walked over and helped you two get up and picked up the bike, “Coffee sounds good. I have an overnight shift coming up tonight and I’m already dreading it.”

Bakugo dusted off his pants and nodded, “Yeah coffee sounds nice. Same place as usual?” 

You smiled, “Of course!” 

You guys had been back to the same coffee house over and over again and the bitchy barista always had something to say but you kept insisting to Bakugo it wasnt worth getting her in trouble.  

You practically skipped through the door into the coffee house and right up to the empty counter. The barista gave you a bored look, “Let me guess, the usual?”

You nodded, “Yup! Him as well. He wants to try it!” You pointed at Bakugo behind you who was already taking out his wallet to pay. You needed to try and find a job soon. You couldn't mooch off of him forever. You saw a sign next to the register that said they were hiring. You knew if you brought it up Bakugo would insist it wasn't necessary, so you would just come back tomorrow when he went to work. You refused to be a burden on anyone. 

The barista who's name you had found out was Tasha rolled her eyes, “I see you finally found some clothes of your own. 

Bakugo put his arm around your shoulders, “Actually the shirts mine but it looks way better on her doesn't it?” He winked at you before retiring his attention to Tasha who’s mouth was hanging open. Bakugo narrowed his eyes at her, “I said doesn't it?” 

She handed back his credit card with a quick nod, “Yes. I’m sorry it looks great on you.” 

When you had found a booth to sit at you turned to him and slapped his shoulder, “Bakugo you have got to stop bullying the barista!” 

His eyes about popped out of their sockets, “Are you kidding me?! She's the one who always has to say some shit about you every other time we come here!” 

You sighed, “So? Let her be the source of her own misery. You dont need to stoop to her level. You’re better than that.” 

He huffed and fiddled with the napkin dispenser on the table, “Yeah whatever you say....” 

Kirishima looked back and forth between the two of you, “What..... the actual fuck? She just scolded you and you’re.... you’re okay with it?” 

Bakugo shrugged, “She’s right... there’s no point in bickering with people who aren't worth it.” 

You smiled as you leaned up and kissed his cheek. It was a bold move, but it was something you had wanted to do for a while now. 

He gave you an incredulous look and narrowed his eyes, “What the fuck was that for.” 

Tasha cleared her throat behind him, “Here’s the coffees you guys ordered. Have a great day.” 

Bakugo waited for her to be out of earshot before he belted out a laugh, “Oi! Here you are acting all high and mighty talking about being the bigger person and then you go and try to make the barista jealous? You're sneaky.” 

He took a sip of his coffee while you just giggled. He didnt need to know that you had no idea Tasha had been standing there. He didnt need to know that you had kissed his cheek because you wanted to. You looked up and mer Kirishima’s eyes. He smirked at you, “Well aren't you two just adorable?” 

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Taglist : @carolinawindsay​ @fukyouthink​ @targaryens-blog​

[arabellaflynn]

For anyone who didn't catch it on other social media, I have finally moved out of the "temporary" apartment I was stuck in for 7 months, thanks to a lot of emotional and logistical support from friends, and a generous amount of financial support from the folks who gave to my GoFundMe. I am endlessly grateful to all of you, and if I weren't so goddamn tired right now I'd be more eloquent in saying so.

I've spent the past few weeks of unpacking and working out the bus routes around my new place trying to figure out how to explain what was so terrible about the last one. Most attempts devolved into page upon page of rage, which is not really what I want to be doing here. On the other hand, I also don't want to downplay how bad it was. 

Spoiler: The temp apartment was Very Very Bad.

The tl;dr is that I was offered someone's spare room on the condition that I help out a little extra with household chores and caring for their rats, because the pet owning roommate had recently had back surgery and was still mobility-impaired. What actually happened is that as soon as they realized I had any basic life skills whatsofuckingever, I was cornered into becoming the 24/7 on-call House Adult. I would have gone on strike, but the other two people in the apartment were so terrible at coping with absolutely any aspect of being alive that if I had, one or both of them would probably be dead now.

That is not hyperbole. I sat back at one point and realized that I had talked to 911 dispatch five times in the preceding four months. None of those calls were for me. To be clear, I ain't mad about other people having medical problems. All five of those calls were appropriate and necessary uses of emergency services. I just resent the hell out of being the default option for handling all of it, even though none of the medical emergency problems were mine, and there were other people in the house. Literally, Short Roommate had a catastrophic asthma attack one night, and when she was wheezing too hard to talk she passed the phone to Tall Roommate -- who immediately ran to the other end of the apartment, banged on my door, and handed the phone to me. It got to the point where I just told the operator what was up, went downstairs to unlock the door for EMS, stood in the corner answering the occasional question until they hauled someone off to the hospital, and then went right back to bed, because none of this was my problem. And that's just the 911 calls, not even counting the number of times I had to talk her down out of a dissociative episode, or any of the other shit I was not warned about and did not volunteer to do. They wore me down until my only response to "a fellow human can't breathe" is "fuck's sake, why am I even involved here".

They both needed a lot more, and a lot more professional, help than they could possibly have gotten out of a random civilian roommate. They both fought tooth and nail against actually getting any of it. Every time Short Roommate was dragged to the hospital, her discharge papers included a big fat packet full of social services, resources, and business cards for actual physical people to phone. I know this because whenever I cleaned the apartment, I found them on the fucking floor, whereupon I placed them on her fucking keyboard, and told her point-blank to call these people. As far as I know, she never did.

I am neither qualified nor equipped to be a live-in caregiver for anybody. There is a fucking reason I have never wanted children. I keep critters because if you give them food, water, toys, and boxes to sleep in, you can leave them to entertain themselves for hours while you work or sleep, and no one will arrest you.

There was a bunch of other stuff. Tall Roommate rarely if ever cleaned anything, including herself, unless directly ordered to do so and given a detailed list of instructions of what you meant by "clean". I only ever got her to wash her own damn dishes once, and I did it by messaging her from the other room 'I just found a mouse in the sink eating snacks off your dirty plates GO DO YOUR DISHES'. She had a laundry list of problems, but the relevant one here is that she was high-support-needs autistic with no support and zero inclination to find any. 

[Did I mention the mice? We had mice. All over. The rats murdered two of them when they got into the cages, looking for the free-feed bowl.]

Short Roommate clearly loved her rats but didn't actually do any of the rat care beyond petting and playing. One of them was tremendously sick at one point and needed meds q6h. She was supposed to be helping with that and didn't, which meant that I went several weeks on a maximum of six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. I tore the fuck into her for that one, pointing out in exactly so many words that some of these meds were painkillers and if the rat didn't get them on time HE SUFFERS. Not doing any of the grunt work, Short Roommate evidently thought rats were so easy she should just keep getting more of them! She rescued two, one of whom was preggo, kept several of the babies, and started talking about waiting for one of the girls to grow up so she could breed him with one of her younger boys. 

Gentle Reader, I promise you the only reason I did not strangle her in her sleep that very night was that I knew, deep in my heart, that I could not move the body down two flights of stairs by myself, and if I left it up to Tall Roommate, the corpse would still be in the apartment today.

If I were inclined to any sympathy, it would have died when Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend and New Boyfriend's Mother. She initially took all the rats with her, which made them officially not my problem anymore, but I woke up one morning to a message that said something like "[New Boyfriend's Mother] says that if I show up to our new place with the rats she's not going to let me in, [Tall Roommate] is coming back with all the rats and everything they own". I found out later that this was because their new place was in section 8 housing, where you are not allowed to have pets that aren't service or support animals. Which Short Roommate had known the entire time, and just... made no plans for. At all. Unless "ignore everything until bitchslapped by reality, then panic and make unreasonable demands of other people" counts, I guess.

Eight rats. She dumped eight rats on me. Eight. I wound up taking care of them all without help; Tall Roommate was incapable of keeping anything in her habitat clean, including herself, and I wasn't willing to let her neglect animals. I was actually down to one rat of my own, having lost my two venerable old men, and was looking for a new friend or two for Tseng. Which I had to stop doing, because nine fucking rats is a lot of rats, and I couldn't in good conscience bring Rats nos. 10 & 11 into this shitshow. Naturally, none of the rats got along; two pairs of boys had to be kept apart, and both of them tried to pick fights with poor Tseng, and four of them were girls that had to be kept away from all of the boys for obvious reasons. It was exhausting and a catastrophe.

Once I had the rats she apparently made no further effort to re-home them, although she did keep telling Tall Roommate to come knock on my door and take pictures of them. (I put a stop to this. Tall Roommate did it because Short Roommate had broken up with her to shack up with New Boyfriend, and Tall Roommate had literally no way to cope with this other than try desperately to get her back.) I bugged her to do something about this until, predictably, I had to contact the local rat rescue people to find fosters less than a week before my moving crew was scheduled. When I told her, she replied "oh, I was just about to submit that". Sure you were. And while you're here, I have this nice bridge to sell you.

[The four girls and two youngest boys went to Mainely Rat Rescue. It looks like the boys have already found a home, but the girls are up for adoption. I kept the two old men, who both have special care needs; Garion has breathing problems that involve his own asthma inhaler and a steady diet of NSAIDs, and Errand has attitude problems that involve picking fights with any rat who isn't Garion. They're both just shy of three(!) and unlikely to find homes through a foster program, plus I'm already their third caretaker, so I couldn't send them off with a stranger. They are currently sulking because I wouldn't supplement their dinner with all of my dinner -- which is to say, they're fine.]

The point is, my brain just about died off. The only time in that apartment that I didn't spend cleaning up after three grown adults, two of whom weren't even me, were the weeks after Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend, which she had broken up with Tall Roommate to do, and Tall Roommate took it so badly she ended up inpatient before she ate a bottle of Tylenol. (I called 911 when I overheard her plans. It was about 50% "a fellow human is in need of help" and 50% "argh jesus fuck THIS IS NOT MY JOB please go talk to someone who is actually paid to deal with this".) I am slowly clawing my way back to the surface, so if you'll just bear with me, I'll be back on Twitch this Sunday 3-7 Eastern, and type out more things that have been on hold while I tried to retain at least some of my marbles.

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[simplybakugou]

hii love your fic of katsuki's daughter getting a boyfriend, could you please do a fic about the boyfriend and the daughter being caught making out in her room by katsuki maybe a little angst cause katsuki gets RLLY MAD but fluffy at the end or something thank ma boi your fics are AMAZING💕💟💟

A/N: I love dad!bakugou, it’s one of my favorites to write. Here’s the referred scenario. Also, I changed the daughter’s name from the previous scenario because I like this name better :) And I’m sorry if this is really shit it’s been 34 years since I’ve written something Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: dad!bakugou x female!reader

Warnings: swearing; slight angst

Word Count: 2790

✐posted 07.30.2019✐

Love. A very complicated thing to obtain. But once it is conquered and obtained, it is meant to be easier as time progresses. That doesn’t mean it does get easier.

For your now twenty-year-old daughter, Suki, the news of her boyfriend that she delivered to you and your husband Bakugou two years ago caused mixed emotions in your household. You couldn’t help but be overjoyed for your only daughter and child to have found someone she genuinely cared for and loved in the same high school where you had met the love of your life.

As for Bakugou, he couldn’t help but be cautious and absolutely furious for his only daughter and child to have found someone who could potentially break her heart. As a man, he knew very well how boys behaved. Although many boys do not behave the way he does with other people, he couldn’t help but recall the few pervish boys that were his classmates over twenty years ago.

But with these two years and your help with calming Bakugou down every time Suki mentioned going out with her boyfriend, it had gone relatively well when taking Bakugou’s angered personality in mind.

However, although Bakugou had been calm for now about Suki’s relationship, there was still something she was hiding from him. The worst part was that you knew about this little piece of information and you didn’t know how your long you could keep it from him.

“Are you sure it’s okay, Mom?” your daughter asked nervously through the receiver.

You sighed into your phone. “Yes, Suki. Your dad won’t be home until later. Apparently there’s some monster that regenerated and spread throughout Japan and your dad insisted on taking care of all of them himself. It’ll definitely take him a while.”

“Okay, I’m trusting you. You know how he’ll react if he finds out.”

“Suki, I really think you should just tell him. You can’t keep going behind his back and only bring Aoi around when he’s not home. He’ll think it’s weird.”

“But won’t he be mad?” You could already envision the look of nervousness on her face.

“No, your father’s not a teenager who thinks he’s better than everyone, at least for the most part. He won’t be that upset over the fact that Aoi is Deku’s son.”

Suki stayed quiet for a few moments, knowing that no one knew her dad better than you. “Alright. Aoi and I have one more little mission to complete for our agency and then we’ll come home.”

You smiled. “Good, and you better tell your father soon. I hate keeping things from him.”

“I will.” Suki hung up and you let out a deep sigh. Suki had begged you to keep Aoi, her boyfriend, being Midoriya’s son a secret as she recalled the many times she heard about Bakugou and Midoriya’s little rivalry as kids and teenagers in U.A. Although they have a truce now and are matured adults who value one another’s strength, Suki was convinced that Bakugou would hate Aoi even more. Only time would tell how this situation would end.

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aoi asked nervously as his girlfriend pulled out the key to her childhood home. After graduating from U.A. almost two years ago, Suki and Aoi had successfully gotten signed to one of the biggest hero agencies. They were also popular due to their fathers being the most successful heroes of the previous generation.

“I’m sure. I trust my mom and I will tell my dad soon. We can just ‘sneak around’ one more time and then I promise I’ll tell my dad the truth.” Suki pushed the key into the lock, opening the door. She slipped her shoes off, looking to her right to see you sleeping on the couch with the TV left on the news channel. She smiled softly, recalling how you always watched the news when Bakugou went out for missions.

Suki walked up the stairs, turning around and beckoning her boyfriend to follow her. “Come on.” Aoi cautiously walked into his girlfriend’s home, slipping his shoes off, closing the door behind him and following her.

Suki plopped down onto her old bed. She looked up at Aoi who was standing awkwardly by the door frame. “Come in, why’re you just standing there?”

“Yeah, um, sure, okay,” Aoi stammered in a nervous manner similar to his father.

“Close the door, too.”

***

“I can’t fucking believe it was a false alarm,” Bakugou grumbled into his phone while driving. “I’m tired of these shits calling me for no reason.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. At least that monster isn’t wreaking havoc across the country,” Kirishima said calmly through the other line.

“Yeah, but I could’ve just stayed home with Y/N instead of wasting my time.” Bakugou parked his car in front of his house. “I’m home, I’ll talk to you later.”

“See you, man.”

Bakugou grabbed his bag with his hero costume inside and made his way to his house. He was exhausted after having to drive through traffic to his agency only to be sent back home due to a false alarm. It took everything for him not to explode in anger as he remembered not wanting to get out of bed and just spend the few days off he has with the love of his life.

Bakugou opened the door, not being to help himself but smile at the sight before him. You were wrapped in a little blanket, your head nearly hanging off of the arm of the couch as you continued to doze off into your deep sleep.

Bakugou placed his bag on the floor and took off his shoes. He stopped for a moment, staring at two different pairs of shoes on the floor that weren’t his nor yours. He recognized Suki’s beaten up old sneakers that she refuses to throw out. Before Bakugou could rejoice in his daughter visiting him, realization hit him as he knew only one other person would dare set foot in his own house with Suki.

***

“Suki, I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Aoi whispered nervously.

“It’s fine, alright? Mom’s sleeping downstairs and she likes you, too! Dad’s at work and he won’t be home for a while so just relax, okay?” Suki placed her hands on Aoi’s shoulders, rubbing them softly to reassure him. Aoi sighed, nodding in agreement with his girlfriend.

“Now…” Suki’s arms rose up to wrap around Aoi’s neck as she pulled him closer to her. “We’re alone.”

“Suk–” Before Aoi could say anything else, Suki brought her lips to his, quite literally shutting him up. Aoi let out a little gasp, shocked from Suki’s sudden move. But, he quickly regained his composure as he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her onto his lap as she straddled him. Their lips moved rapidly as Suki moved her hands to cup her boyfriend’s face. Her fingers went up to grab his green curls, her body reacting to the heated atmosphere in the air.

“Aoi,” Suki whispered in between kisses.

Before the two of them could take this exchange any further, the door burst open. Bakugou nearly went into cardiac arrest with the sight before him. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Suki nearly fell off Aoi’s lap, Aoi luckily catching her. His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights and he shot up from Suki’s bed, placing her on her own two feet.

“D-Dad!” Suki stammered. “When did you get home?”

Bakugou ignored his daughter, taking furious strides towards Aoi as he grabbed him by the collar in one fist. Aoi looked terrified, only having heard stories from his father and videos of the amazing Ground Zero and how explosive he gets once he’s angry. “You better get the fuck out of my fucking house unless you wanna fucking die today, you fuck.”

Aoi gulped in fear, nodding his head vigorously. Bakugou let go of him, allowing him to leave. “I’m-I’m really sorry, sir.”

“Aoi, no!” Suki went to go after him only to be stopped by Bakugou blocking the way.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Bakugou was seething with anger and he didn’t know how to control himself. “When the fuck were you going to tell me you were going out with Deku’s fucking kid?”

Suki’s eyes filled with tears threatening to spill. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you! I knew you would act like this!”

“No, I’m acting like this cause my only kid is going behind my back without just fucking telling me!” Bakugou yelled back. The tears rolled down Suki’s face as she wiped them away. Bakugou sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “You’re breaking up with him.”

“What?!”

“I knew you were too young to be going out. At least if you go out with someone, they’d better have the fucking decency to face me instead of the two of you going behind my back!”

By this time, your little nap had been cut short due to the commotion that went on upstairs. You didn’t even see Aoi leave. You ran up, standing in front of Suki’s bedroom as you analyzed the scene before you.

“You’re the worst! This is why I always tell Mom things like this and I never tell you!” Suki sobbed, pushing past you and Bakugou as she attempted to go after her boyfriend that had been kicked out of her house.

“Suki!” You called out to her.

You went to go after her, only for Bakugou to stop you. “There’s no point in trying. She’s treating me like fucking dead meat so just let her run off with fucking Deku’s kid.”

You sighed. “Katsuki, you know you don’t mean that.” Bakugou ignored you, storming past you and walking into your bedroom. “Katsuki!”

Bakugou sat down on his bed, his head in his hands. You stood by the doorframe, on standby to be there for him. Whenever he had these episodes of anger, you first stayed back until he asked for you to help him.

“Why the fuck doesn’t she trust me?” Bakugou muttered. You approached your distressed husband, sitting beside him. “Does she really think I would’ve been that pissed that she was going out with Deku’s son?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly happy when you found out she had a boyfriend. Do you blame her for not telling you much about him?”

“She’s my only child, Y/N.” He glanced at you and back at his hands. “They were fucking… making out in there, Y/N.”

“Katsu, you and I were making out like that when we were fifteen.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not, you know it isn’t.” You wrapped your arm around your hopeless husband. “I know how much you love her and I know you’re overprotective of her because she’s all we’ve got. But, you need to stop babying her. She’s a twenty-year-old woman and she’s a full-time hero now, too. The best we can do now is trust her decisions and if her and Aoi don’t work out then we’ll be there for her when she needs us to support her.”

Bakugou sighed. “I fucking hate how you’re right.”

You kissed his cheek, grinning at him. “I’m always right and you know it.”

Bakugou smirked. “Now you’re just being cocky.” He wrapped his arm around your hips, pulling you onto his lap. Tucking a curl behind your ear, he kissed you softly. “Have I ever told you that I love you so much for putting up with me and my bullshit.”

You smiled, kissing him once more. “Yes, and I love you. Now go and apologize to her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

***

It didn’t take long for Bakugou to find Suki. Even when she was younger and during the many times that her and Bakugou would butt heads, she’d sit by the park that wasn’t far from home. It was the park that Bakugou would bring Suki to when she was a child when he had to take care of her when you were working. He even trained with her in this park and prepared her for the U.A. entrance exam.

Bakugou wasn’t surprised to find Suki sitting on one of the swing sets, swinging slowly as she kicked the dirt with her feet. Bakugou approached her, his hands in his pockets. Suki looked up at her dad, not at all surprised that it didn’t take him long to find her. If anything, she was expecting him.

“Can I sit?” Bakugou asked and Suki nodded. Bakugou sat down cautiously, not accustomed to sitting on the rusty swing set for many years now.

The two of them sat in a moment of silence, just the creaking of the swing as the only audible sound.

Bakugou sighed for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m sorry, Suki.”

She looked up at him, surprised to have gotten an apology so fast. “It’s okay, Dad. I get why you were upset.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Bakugou looked down as he attempted his best try at apologizing. “You’re not a kid anymore, you’re an adult. Hell, you have your own place, you have your own job. You’re an independent woman and I have no right to butt in your love life.”

Suki shook her head. “No, you have every right. You’re still my dad. And I do want you to like Aoi. I don’t want to date him if you don’t like him.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ll probably hate any boy you bring into that house.” Suki chuckled and Bakugou smiled slightly. “I just… get overprotective. You’re my baby, my only child. Mom’ll never tell you this, but when we got married it was her dream to have a bunch of kids.”

“Really?”

Bakugou nodded. “I always thought she was insane. I didn’t want any fucking kids at the time and she was always upset when I told her about it, too. After a few years, I felt like we were finally ready.”

Suki stared intently at her father. Bakugou wasn’t known for being open, she only knew about everything before she was born because you had told her. This was the first time she was hearing anything from Bakugou’s perspective.

“But, we tried a few times and Mom still wasn’t pregnant. We went to the doctor only to find out she was infertile. The doctor gave her all of these weird medicines and she tried all of them and for a few years, we both thought she wouldn’t have kids. Mom locked herself in her room most of the time and she kept blaming herself for everything. I didn’t know what the fuck to do ‘cause we both know I fucking suck at shit like that.” Bakugou looked to his side, smiling at his daughter. “Then a miracle happened and she finally was pregnant with you. You saved her during a time where I had no idea what to do. And during that time when she was pregnant, Mom was obsessed with keeping you healthy and safe. She refused to put you in any harm and only ate things that would make you the healthiest baby on this goddamn Earth.”

Suki smiled brightly. She had known a bit about your struggles with getting pregnant, but it was never this in depth.

“We both knew you would probably be our only kid. Y/N went through so much pain trying to get pregnant that we both knew it would be too much to try again. So we vowed to be the best fucking parents for our only daughter and treat her with the most love we can give her.” Bakugou chuckled to himself, thinking back to those times. “Mom was definitely better than me at this parenting shit.

“What I’m trying to get at is you’re our only child and I want what’s best for you. I never want you to feel like you can tell shit to your mother and not me because I’m a dumbass with way too much anger for my own good. I want you to trust me, and I promise I’ll try to not be so overprotective all the time, alright?”

Suki smiled, nodding happily. She hugged her dad tightly. She knew how difficult it is for Bakugou to express his feelings and for him to say this much was equivalent to him writing a novel. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bakugou hugged her back. “You can date that little shit if you want and whenever you want, you can introduce him to me, bring him home. He just better not be like that fucking Deku.”

Suki laughed. “I love you, Dad.”

Bakugou smiled. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[winterromanov]

we will grow taller together - bucky x reader

PART ONE - THE GENTLE HUM OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD

parts: zero

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Extract: “No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

Genre: romance, nanny x single father!AU

Taglist: @blindedbyyourgrace17 @verygraphicink @igotkatiepowers @welcome-to-my-studylife (taglist still open, reply/message to be tagged)

PART ONE

“Next please!”

The queue shuffles along until your face-to-face with yet another tired-looking college student, purple eye-bags visible underneath a pair of circular rimmed glasses. It’s fall dead week and if most of your customers are anything to go by, it certainly lives up to its name. Every single one of the tables spread out on the main floor of Vormir Coffee has been crammed with sleep-deprived teenagers and textbooks, meaning you and your colleagues have been swept off your feet with orders for caffeine products refills. You expect the rush to continue over the next few days as revision turns into actual mid-terms—as is tradition, you’ll be offering free chocolate muffins throughout the week by the door, because nothing heals the pain of a shitty Econ paper like chocolate muffins do.

Yet…as you look in the near-dead, distant eyes of your latest customer, you feel a pang of jealousy deep within your chest. While you’re pouring coffee into refillable mugs and forcing your best service smile (which is a difficult feat nine hours in to a ten hour shift) they’re reading and learning and absorbing.

You miss learning. God, you miss learning, even the terrible impossible chaos of one exam after another and deadlines piling up around you like sandbags. But being, y’know, poor, means there’s not much you can do about your grad school dreams, even if you do spend your free hours searching the internet for outlandish scholarships and funding schemes.

So. For now, it’s coffee. Potentially forever if you want to continue to eat and have electricity, which is just about all you can afford right now. And the occasional lipstick if you’re feeling particularly extravagant.

“What can I get you?” you ask the student, whose scruffy brown hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a few days. Oh well. Desperate times require desperate measures. At least you’re not his roommate. He grunts for an inevitable espresso and fishes round his wallet for some spare dollars while you get to work. Moments later you offer him the finished product and he drops the exact change into your hand, skulking away to a table without another word. Well, you’ll forgive a lack of manners during one of the most surreal weeks in the academic year.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

On the announcement of your name your glance flicks back to the remainders of the gradually quietening queue, and your face subconsciously breaks out into a grin when you finally see a customer that doesn’t look like a vacant zombie.

Steve Rogers grins back at you. He’s wearing a beanie over his blonde hair and a warm winter jacket—the temperature was freezing when you practically slid from the subway to work this morning and as the day slowly eclipses into evening, the temperature is falling back down with it. His cheeks are flushed from coming into the warm.

“Hey Steve!” you greet him cheerfully, because seeing an old friend is the perfect way to end a tiring shift. “How are you? How’s Natasha?”

Steve dips his head bashfully, like he always does when he’s asked about himself or his girlfriend. “We’re both great, thanks. What about you? It’s been a while.”

You gesture around you as an answer. Taking all the shifts you possibly can means you probably spend more time in Vormir than your own apartment. From what you can recall Steve has been back in the States for a few weeks after his most recent tour of Afghanistan; him or Natasha keep dropping you invites here and there, but you’ve been working or too dog-tired to accept them. It kind of makes you sad, as you watch your social circle shrink, but being an adult is the worst and staying alive is reasonably important to you.

“That bad, huh?” Steve asks sympathetically. You nod back, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“That bad. Always that bad, Rogers. I’m a slave to consumerism, but don’t let my boss know that.”

Steve laughs, leaning onto the counter. “I actually… (Y/N), when do you finish up here? Do you want get a drink? I’ve just got something I wanted to run by you.”

You narrow your eyes with curiosity. The clock that ticks mercilessly above the door reads six forty-two, so you’ve got less than twenty minutes left of your shift, and the look on Steve’s face is too intriguing to turn down just so you can rush home, open a bottle of cheap white wine and watch Stranger Things on Netflix. Even if you are up to the season three finale.

“I clock off at seven,” you reveal, but you nudge your head in the direction of the remaining customers who are starting to get annoyed at the hold-up. “Grab a seat. I actually have to do my job for a while longer and I’d rather not get fired because you’re distracting me.”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender and slowly backs away from the counter, allowing your next customer to slide into his position. You watch as he drops into a two-seater by the window, scrolling through his iPhone, a muted grin tugging at his lips.

-

Steve’s favourite bar is a short walk across town, the kind that is warm and dark and a little bit retro. You’ve been to Endgame before with him and Natasha, and you’d all split quarters so you could play ABBA songs on the Jukebox by the entrance. Right now it’s playing Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac, so it seems today’s patrons have taste.

You grab one of the more private booths through the back while he gets the drinks. You’ve not seen your phone since your lunch break so you take the spare seconds to scroll through your social media—less than an hour ago Natasha’s posted a photo to Instagram, both her and Steve making stupid faces in the living room of the apartment they share. It’s captioned who do I have to kill to make sure you’re not deployed again?

Your heart melts a little. Steve and Nat. Nat and Steve. Two people who have been together for longer than you’ve known them, and they just work so fucking well, two halves of the same coin and all that. Your thumb hovers over the like button for a moment before clicking it, because you’ve never had someone in your life like that. You’ve not found the other half of your coin.

Most days you’re too exhausted to really think about it. But sometimes…something will click in the back of your brain and it dawns on you like an avalanche that this might be your life forever. You’ll be serving coffee forever. You’ll be on your own forever.

Fortunately Steve slides into the seat opposite before you can go into a full-on existential crisis, but you sure as hell know that’s what will inevitably cross your mind when you’re stuck staring at the cracked ceiling of your apartment in bed tonight.

Steve’s smile is concerned as he pushes a desperado in your direction. “You look troubled.”

“When am I not?” you say with a shrug, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol burns in your empty stomach. You haven’t eaten since lunch—maybe liquor isn’t the best idea, after all. “Anyway. As much as I love seeing you, Rogers, this isn’t just a friendly drop-by is it?”

Steve is drinking some generic American beer. He wipes his lip before speaking. “Yeah. Like I said. There was something I thought I’d run by you.”

“Ominous.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Are you going to spend the next half an hour or so pushing a pyramid scheme you swear isn’t a pyramid scheme? Because I really didn’t think that was your style.”

“No. Not a pyramid scheme.” He shakes his head in mild disbelief, probably wondering why he’s still friends with you. “It’s more…do you remember my friend? James?” When you look back blankly, he elaborates. “Bucky. Guy I used to go to school with. Dark hair. Lost his arm in Afghan about a decade ago…”

“Oh! Oh. Bucky Barnes. James Barnes.” You feel kind of bad that the arm was what made it click, but you do remember a quiet, well-mannered guy standing in the background of a few of Steve and/or Nat’s social events over the last few years. You’ve never been formally introduced but Steve talks about him every so often, just casual mentions in conversation, nothing detailed. They’d grown up together, trained together, but their career paths parted after Bucky’s car nicked an IED on the outskirts of Kabul. Truly horrifying. “Yeah. Sure. I remember him. What about him?”

Steve grimaces. “Well, it’s a bit…complex, to explain, so I’ll just go straight into it. About seven years ago he met a girl, she got pregnant, they had a daughter.”

“Oh! I never knew he had any kids.”

“Yeah. Clover. She’s six now. Way too smart for her age, really mischievous—doing crazy things like sending vegetables in the post to the grandparents she doesn’t like and reading fucking Frankenstein. Big Mary Shelley fan, to Buck’s sheer delight. Awesome kid.”

You smirk, not sure what any of this has to do with you, but little Clover sounds exactly how you were at her age. “She does sound pretty awesome.”

“But Connie, her mom…she passed away just over a year ago in a really awful car wreck.” Steve’s face falls into a look of heartbreak, empathetic as always. “Her and Bucky haven’t been together for years but they shared custody of Clove, Connie having her a lot of the time.”

You feel something shift in your chest, like shards of glass are pressing in between your ribs. Real loss stories have always been pretty hard for you to digest, regardless of who they belong to. You think about death a lot in, like, an abstract and unreachable kind of way. You think it gives you size, an awareness of your place in the world, the universe. But that’s your own death. You’re kind of comfortable with that one day you will cease to exist. It’s just the people that you care about you fear for. And everybody cares about somebody.

“God, that’s awful, Steve,” you murmur, eyes softening. “Is he looking after her on his own now?”

Steve nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. And he’s not doing too great, (Y/N). It’s not my place to go into details about what goes on in his head, but nobody gets over the trauma he went through and goes back to before. And the loss of Connie and suddenly becoming Clover’s only parent, and her trauma, as well as trying to hold down a full-time job…like Jesus, I’m surprised he can even get up in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

You ache for Steve’s oldest friend as is only natural, but you’re still at a loss as to where this involves you. You rest your chin in your hands, looking at Steve intently. “It sounds like he’s going through a tough time. I’m really sorry. But is this…any of my business? Because you can always confide in me about things that are on your mind, but this sounds really personal.”

“No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

The laugh that erupts from your chest is involuntary, but Steve’s expression is still completely serious. Is he really suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? “What? You’re asking me to be a nanny?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” When you stare at him with disbelief, he rolls his shoulders. “(Y/N). Why is this such an eccentric idea? You hate your job. Buck has a spare room at his place which, no offense, is way nicer than your apartment. You’re great with kids, you’re funny, you’re smart…and you’ve already said you think Clover sounds like an awesome kid. You two would get on great.”

“That’s all irrelevant considering a, I’m not a nanny and have no experience looking after a child in that close and intense an environment. And b, Steve, this is an eccentric idea. Other than the scraps you’ve given me I know absolutely nothing about James, and what the hell does he know about me?” When Steve’s face looks a little guilty, you roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Steve. James hasn’t even said he wants a nanny has he? He doesn’t even know you’re asking me this.”

“This would be so good for him,” Steve half-pleads, puppy dog eyes engaged, “He’s fussy about strangers and Clover, but he knows you through me. He’ll trust my judgement.”

“Steve. You can’t just go making decisions like that! This is insane.”

(Steve has a habit of thinking he knows what’s best, for himself or other people, and rampaging down that path in the pursuit of a happy ending. Sometimes people don’t need his version of a happy ending.)

Steve eventually relents, relaxing back in his seat. He’s forgotten you’re not usually one for blindly going along with one of his Heroic Schemes, preferring a more idealistic approach. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll discuss it with him first. But I think you should come along when I do that.”

“Steve.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, but I think you should meet them both properly. You could be a good friend to him either way. It wouldn’t hurt, (Y/N). Maybe it would be good for you too.”

God, you’re way too done for this shit, your legs aching from a day of being constantly on your feet and dead inside from getting up at six this morning. Steve is not the kind of guy to give up on something he’s clearly passionate about in his quest for the greater good, and this point it is just easier to agree to his requests. Even though his idea is way too bizarre for anyone normal to actually accept.

Being a live-in nanny for a guy you barely know and his daughter, both of whom have just lost someone extremely significant in their lives? And him being totally unaware that his best friend is proposing a job he has no authority to give? Yeah, fuck that.

Steve is right about one thing, though. You do really, really hate your horrible job.

When you reluctantly nod, and Steve grins, you jab a finger in his direction. “Like you said. It means nothing. This is weird as hell, but you’re super annoying when you don’t get your own way, and I’m totally allowing you to receive all the backlash when it backfires.”

“I think I can deal with that.” He gestures at your empty bottle. “Want another drink?”

The alcohol has made your body a little lighter, but your stomach growls loudly in argument. Instead, you clamp your hands on the table. “No, but you can buy me a pizza. It’s the least you can do for me, weirdo.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, used to your directness. “Pizza it is, then.”

Okay, so maybe Steve Rogers is the most annoying person in the world, and maybe his aggressive selflessness in the hope of doing right for his friends will eventually be his downfall, but he’s usually a pretty nice guy. You sometimes forget that you’re lucky to have him.

[dxuble-bubble-disco-quexn]

euphoria | b. urie

where brendon goddamn urie is charlie price, and you’re just the lowly costume designer… or so you thought.

brendon urie x reader

(kinky boots era)

word count : 2.8k

warnings : a rushed-as-hell ending because i didn’t know how to finish it and had zero ideas, i’m sorry

notes : i did really try to make this gender neutral, so if i added any fem/masc pronouns or anything like that, please point them out to me! and to get into the theatre mood, i’ve been listening to hamilton non-stop. (see what i did there-)

{ ! }

“how’s it going there, urie?” you asked nonchalantly, leaning in the doorway of brendon’s dressing room. he was clearly struggling with the laces on the left boot, but knowing him, he would have insisted that he could do it himself until he had to walk out to a crowd of hundreds with one boot and a slipper on. suffice it to say, he was a stubborn bastard.

“all good.” brendon grinned wryly, glancing down at the offending footwear. you arched an eyebrow, and after a moment, he crumbled. “okay, fine,” he amended. “maybe it’s not ‘all good’.” you laughed, mentioning that it was pretty clear before entering the room.

"it's, um, yeah." he said helplessly, motioning at the shoe. you snorted and bent down, lacing up the boot with ease. you had designed it, after all. "thanks," brendon said, grinning at you. you brushed off the praise, merely stating that it was your job, after all.

“also, hey, good luck out there tonight! final show, must be pretty bittersweet, hm?” he laughed as though that was a great understatement. in all fairness, however, it probably was. brendon was extremely charismatic, as expected, and made friends within the cast almost immediately. having to leave them all behind in a week to go back to los angeles? that had to be tough.

“i’ll definitely miss you guys, yeah. you’re lucky that you’ll get to stay with them.” you shot him an inquisitive look and he paused. “what?”

“i’m not staying with the cast. i mean, god, i wish i could, but i’ll be moving on just like you will.” did you just imagine it, or did his face fall for a split second before lifting back up to its normal, playful grin? you shook your head slightly. of course not, you were just overtired,

“well shit, that’s a shame.” brendon said, you glanced up at him in mild bewilderment. “don’t look so surprised, y/n,” he chuckled. “believe it or not, you’re good company.”

a stagehand passed by the door to inform you both that there was 20 minutes until the curtains opened. brendon paled the smallest bit, and you noticed, setting a gentle hand on his arm. “don’t worry,” you reassured. “they’ll love you. and if they don’t, make them.”

brendon snorted. “that almost sounds like a threat.” he pointed out. you shrugged noncommittally and shooed him out the door of his dressing room, reminding him that there was only 15 minutes left and he better go out and kick some metaphorical theatre ass.

{ ! }

he did great. the whole cast did great. everyone did so great and you were doing the nearly impossible task of fighting back tears as you congratulated them all backstage. you had hoped that you were putting on a good mask of joyful pride, but charlie goddamn price just had to see through that one too.

he discreetly gave your hand a little squeeze and you were cursing yourself for the rising blush you could feel high in your cheeks. you were a grown adult, not some silly high schooler holding hands with a crush. wait. did you just compare brendon to a crush? that was completely metaphorical and suddenly brendon’s face was right in front of yours and it would be so easy to kiss him right now and what the actual fuck was happening to your brain.

“hey, um, y/n? you alright?” he asked dubiously. you nod quickly, shaking your head to shoo the obnoxious thoughts away that immediately came back when you looked brendon in the eye, curse his gorgeous face. at the moment all you wanted to do was find the tallest set piece and hurl yourself off of it.

“sorry. you kinda disappeared on me.” he said. you mumbled your apologies and made some lame excuse that you had to go to the bathroom or something. you didn’t really hear yourself, just knowing that you had to get away from all the people and all the noise and, well, brendon.

gasping for air, you made your way to the back parking lot. the cool night air felt fantastic filling up your lungs and pressing against your burning skin. alright. time to take a mental inventory - how did you currently feel? like you desperately wanted to implode. valid. why were you feeling this way? brendon urie was a charismatic, humorous, attractive-as-hell guy and you don’t know how to deal with basic human emotions.

oddly enough, your weird coping mechanisms helped you tremendously, and you were already prepared to go back in there and face your...fears? anxieties? whatever the hell this was.

“y/n!” you hesitated, but luckily it wasn’t brendon - it was ryan, one of the main stagehands in the production. “what’s up? shouldn’t you be at the tear fest, eye-fucking urie like everyone else?” despite his words, you knew ryan felt no envy towards brendon. it was well known that brendon didn’t particularly enjoy the constant eyefucking that just about everyone from the ages of 14-80 gave him on a daily basis. in fact, he liked to joke about it quite a bit.

“screw off, jerk.” you pouted playfully, rolling your eyes skyward as you continued on to the backstage. someone called out to ryan and he bid you farewell, but not before throwing a few playfully sarcastic comments your way.

you and ryan had discovered that you had both gone to the same college just a day after meeting each other, and you had grown quite close bonding over your hatred of a certain hag of a history professor.

you grabbed a glass of wine from the table where they were being served. it wasn’t the afterparty quite yet, no. but this was more pre-gaming in a sense.

you downed half of the glass in one drink and sighed, finally reaching the main bustle of the group. scanning the crowd quickly, you noticed that brendon was off talking to a few members of the ensemble, and didn't seem to be looking for you. that was a relief, but not surprising. you knew that he respected boundaries, and this would be no different.

"hey, y/nnnnn" someone called. you looked around, finding one of your best friends from the cast, jennie, looking back at you with large eyes. "hi,” she said breathlessly. “so like, the entire ensemble is going out for drinks tonight and becks said that you should come too and like everyone agreed with her so like come on!” you paused for a moment, processing her words. jennie had a tendency to do that - talk extremely fast in one breath - when she got excited. you knew there was no point in denying her request, because fuck it, you wanted a drink and who better to do it than with twenty or so grown-up theatre kids?

“why the hell not,” you laughed, “i’ll be right back. gotta grab my bag, meet you right here.” she nodded and you set off to find it. about five minutes later, (the bag evidently did not want to be found, as it had hurled itself off to the darkest corner of the set room), and you were carpooling to the bar with jennie, becks, and a guy who introduced himself as scott.

“so. what’s going on with you and urie?” jennie asked casually, leaning against the driver's seat. you stiffened noticeably.

“what are you talking about?” you retorted with much more bite than intended. jennie however merely raised her eyebrows in amusement.

“don’t even play that with me,” she tutted. “the tension between you two is freaking palpable. don’t even.” you blushed and mumbled something incoherent into the headrest in front of you. “hm?”

“what- what about you and that stagehand? eva?” jennie rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“i asked her out two days ago, she said yes. now don’t change the subject.” you blinked. alright then, you thought. some form of god seemed to be looking down on you that day, as the car pulled into the parking lot of the bar and you jumped out. it was painfully obvious that you were avoiding that topic, but it was far better than talking about it.

you, jennie, becks and scott joined the rest of the ensemble as you raced into the bar like children at an amusement park. there was a good possibility that this experience would end horribly, but in the moment, you were completely up to take that chance.

{ ! }

you flopped onto the bed of your hotel room and sighed. the bedside clock read three am, and you were utterly exhausted. feeling like a total zombie, you dragged yourself off of the soft embrace of your mattress to brush your teeth and change clothes. plugging your phone into the charger, you noticed that you had a text from none other than brendon, sent earlier that night.

“hey, y/n, it’s brendon. i hope you’re okay, i didn’t really see you after you left. but i was wondering if it was cool with you if we could meet tomorrow? i’ll send you the address of the place i was thinking. but i just wanted to ask you a few things about the boots. if you’re busy, don’t worry! it’s fine x - b”

you stared at the message for a moment before taking it in. your sleep deprived brain didn’t react as you normally would - you just sort of mentally shrugged. but you did reply.

“hi, brendon! sure, that sounds good. meet you around 11?” you mentally high-fived yourself for coming up with a reply that looked like it was written by someone not on the verge of dropping their phone on their face and falling the fuck asleep.

and then you did just that.

{ ! }

when you awoke due to the blaring sound of the alarm that you must have set before falling asleep (even though you didn’t remember setting it at all), it was already ten am. cursing softly, you rolled out of bed, straight into a hot shower. you were never one to take hours readying yourself, but you were pretty sure it was record timing as you walked out of your hotel, hair straightened with a full face of makeup on.

it was hardly a ten minute walk to the café - one that seemed even shorter as you were lost in your own thoughts. in fact, you almost walked straight past the unassuming little corner shop on accident.

the small bell next to the door rang softly as you entered. the single room of the café was gorgeous - it was on the smaller side, but the windows and natural light made it look giant yet inviting. you liked this place already.

“hello!” greeted the barista cheerfully, “what can i get for you today?” you placed your order and sat down at one of the raised seats near the front facing window, watching the slow-moving traffic. the barista called your name, and you soon sat back down, drink in hand. you were just about to immerse yourself in your phone when brendon walked in. he smiled over at you, went to place his order, and sat down across the table,

“so, what’s up?” you said, stifling a yawn. brendon chuckled.

“not quite awake yet?” he teased. you scoffed, similarly to jennie the night before.

“don’t avoid the question,” you laughed. “no offense, but why are we here?” he shrugged, suddenly dawning a shy demeanor of that you had never seen him wear. the confident, charismatic brendon urie - shy? surprisingly enough, you could see it. “why do i feel like you lured me here under the false pretenses of talking about my job?” you asked, narrowing your eyes jokingly.

“okay, fine,” he conceded. “maybe i just wanted to talk to you.”

“you know, i would have gladly accepted your invitation even if you did just want to meet up and talk.” you pointed out. brendon flushed and shrugged. “anyway, now that we’re both here, where did you find this place?” that question seemed to spiral into an endless conversation of which you were not complaining. brendon very quickly regained his confidence as the two of you began discussing mutual friends, activities you both enjoyed, and a plethora of other topics as well. you felt like you could talk to him forever.

occasionally the two of you would head up to the counter together to get new drinks, only stopping to place your orders and thank the barista who, by the sly smile on her face, almost definitely thought that you and brendon were a Thing™.

by the time you checked your phone, it was three pm. “four hours,” you said to him in awe as you walked back to his hotel room. (you had blindy agreed to head back there as you had left the coffee shop)

“sure as hell didn’t seem like four hours,” brendon chuckled. you mumbled your agreement beside him as the two of you entered the lobby of the hotel brendon was staying at, coincidentally only a few minutes walk from yours.

the elevator ride was quick and comfortably quiet, as was the walk up to his room. unsurprisingly, it was a bit nicer than yours, but you didn’t mind. it wasn’t like you spent much time in your room those days, anyway.

“dude, you’re hotel room is sweet.” you exclaimed, flopping onto the sofa that faced the window overlooking the new york skyline. brendon blushed faintly and chuckled. you raised an eyebrow at him, but refrained from saying anything.

“want anything to drink? wine, beer, water, we have it all.” he said, walking into the kitchen. you shrugged, saying that water was fine. your attention was stolen by the view from the window, where the glass panes of a nearby skyscraper were glinting rainbow in the sunlight.

“hello?” brendon laughed, setting a water bottle on the table in front of you and sitting down. you blinked and looked over at him.

“sorry about that,” you blushed, “the view is gorgeous here.” brendon agreed quietly and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. finally, you broke it.

“what are you going to do next? another album?” you asked. brendon shrugged, sipping his beer.

“maybe, i don’t know. i’ve been thinking of a few songs, but not a whole albums-worth.” you nodded, murmuring your understanding.

“don’t worry! i get that, and-” you cut yourself off. “you have a balcony?!” you gasped in excitement. brendon laughed and nodded, making a motion for you to lead the way, seeing as you had already jumped off of the couch.

the view from the balcony was indescribable. what with the gentle wind from being up so high, it felt like you were at the literal top of the world. even the skyscrapers seemed to shrink below you, and the clouds seemed just too far away to touch. it was euphoric.

“sorry for acting like a child,” you said nervously, not tearing your eyes away from the soaring view of the city spread out below. “i just- i’ve always loved views like this. they’re so…” you trailed off, not able to describe the feeling. brendon made a soft sound of understanding beside you.

“don’t worry, y/n,” he grinned. “excitement looks cute on you.” did he just…? no, you thought. he couldn’t be flirting with you. but as your brain went into over-analysis mode, a thought popped into your head. he was totally flirting with me. that smooth motherfucker. brendon had stayed comfortably silent throughout this whole realization, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching you mentally fall apart before him. though, it was either that or act like you possessed the iq of a plastic houseplant, and neither of those options sounded particularly desirable.

“and everything looks cute on you, urie.” fuck, that slipped out. guess we’ll see what he does with that. he certainly looked taken aback, but regained his composure quickly. that’s right, two can play at this game.

however, the “game” did not last as long as you had previously assumed. brendon made sure of that.

“you’re making it really hard not to kiss you, y/n.” he grumbled. your stomach did a little flip at his words, and your eyes widened. you didn’t even attempt to mask your surprise this time.

“personally, i recommend that you do it then,” you smirked. brendon blinked, and before either of your realized it, your lips were on his.

with the wind blowing around the two of you, and the entirety of new york city sprawled out below as your lips moved in sync, you formed a single coherent thought. this is it, you sighed in contentment. this is euphoria.

[spaceskam]

my healing needed more than time

Summary: alex deciding they need to talk about the night in the shed

"Guerin," Alex announced as he stepped out of his truck at the junkyard.

Michael looked up from the fire pit and managed a small smile.  He looked tired.  After all the shit with Noah and Michael finding out there wasn't really a planet to go back to, he'd been spacey.  He hadn't even been going to the bar to drink, he'd just been holing himself up. Everyone seemed vaguely confused by it, but Alex was the one blessed with his late night phone calls.  Michael felt lost. And Alex was dead set on giving him somewhere to go. "Hey, Alex," Michael said softly.  He was curled up on one of the lawn chairs with a blanket draped around him. His eyes were trained on the fire pit in front of him and Alex couldn't help but think he looked like a child. Alex sat in the chair beside him. "I've been thinking. I'm sort of tired of this whole, ‘just friends’ thing.  We know each other and I… would really like taking it a bit further if you want to.” Alex said.  That was the easy part.  It was made easier by how down Michael was. Michael’s eyes focused on Alex.

“Yeah?” he whispered, sitting up a bit straighter.  Alex smiled and resisted the urge to touch him.  He wanted so badly to comfort him from the inevitable chaos in his head, but he wasn’t done talking.

“Yeah.  But first, we need to talk about something.” Alex said softly.  Michael nodded, his curls flopping as he scrambled to sit up.  It was an odd picture.  If Alex didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was sitting across from teenage Michael.  He almost didn’t want to bring up what he knew he had to.  “That night… in the shed.”

And adult Michael was back.

“Alex, I‒”

“No, we need to talk about this.  That’s where it started.  That’s what… brought us together, but created this huge divide between us.  We need to talk about it.” Alex insisted.  Michael closed his eyes for a moment and Alex felt his body gravitate toward him a little.  Maybe this was a bad time.  Maybe Michael needed some more time.  But, then again, ten years is a long time.

“Okay.  Talk.” Michael decided, adjusting to sit up and face Alex completely.  Alex took a deep breath, eying him carefully.  He looked so fucking tired.  But Alex had hope and if Michael was listening that meant he had some drive left in him too.

“Okay… So I just wanna start with saying I’m sorry about that night.” Alex began.  Michael rolled his eyes, leaning back in the chair.

“Alex, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m always going to feel like it was.  I mean, I took you there.  I told you it was safe and it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve though!  We could’ve hooked up anywhere else, we could’ve gotten in your truck and went to the fucking desert, but instead, I took you to a place fifty feet away from my homophobic dad as if I didn’t know what the hell I was risking.” Alex vented.  Michael furrowed his eyebrows, eying Alex carefully.  Alex shifted under his gaze, trying hard to figure out what Michael was thinking.  He usually never had to think about that.  Michael was brutally honest, at least when it came to him.  The idea of Michael not just filtering through this conversation was unexpected.

“Okay.  If you knew what you were risking… Why did you take me there?” Michael asked calmly.  Alex gulped, roughly being thrown back into his seventeen-year-old state of mind.  That wasn’t nearly as pleasant as seeing Michael look that way.

“I-I don’t know.  That’s just where I would bring guys if they wanted to hook up.  They’d always be too scared to do it at their place because everyone was in the closet.  You were in the closet.” Alex tried to explain, fumbling over an explanation that he struggled to find.  Michael gave that cocky little smirk, making Alex feel small.

“I wasn’t in the closet.  I didn’t know.  And when I realized that’s what I felt towards you, I didn’t care.  You gave me a place here, you gave me hope.” Michael admitted and Alex fell back in the chair as if he’d been hit in the chest.  In a way, he had been.  “But I get it, Alex, that was your safe space.  When your dad came in that night, it was him invading your space.  It was just the night that it was me‒it could’ve been anyone else.”

“But it wasn’t anyone else!  It was you!” Alex argued, “Anyone else, I don’t think he would’ve even touched.  I would’ve been embarrassed and anyone else would’ve bolted.  But I… I was in love with you already.  Yeah, maybe it was just with the way you made me feel, it wasn’t what it turned into, but I was seventeen and it was the kind of love you fucking tell your friends and write diaries about.  And when you told me you liked me, that you really liked me, I couldn’t even fucking control myself.  You were everything, Michael, and he knew that.  He knew it the moment you didn’t run.”

“I don’t run.  Not when it comes to you.” Michael admitted, licking his lips.  Alex shook his head, forcing himself to look at the ground.  “Listen, Alex, maybe he wouldn’t have touched anyone else, but so what?  You just said it yourself, I didn’t run.  I could’ve or I could’ve just watched when he put his hands on you, but I was in love with you too, Alex.  I haven’t stopped loving you in that stupid seventeen-year-old way. I mean, it’s different now.  I know you better, it feels… It’s an old love you make feel new whenever you give me a chance.  That night did bring us together.  It told me I was willing to fucking fight for you and I haven’t stopped.”

Alex felt his body deflate in the chair even more as tears clouded his eyes.  His heart was thudded so loud in his chest he was scared it was going to burst out.  Maybe he should’ve gotten a little drunk before this conversation.  He knew Michael and he knew he was going to say some heart-stopping, pants-dropping shit.

“Why do you always have to word stuff like that?” Alex asked, his voice cracking in a way he wished he hadn’t.  Michael reached out and placed his hand on Alex’s knee.  His eyes zeroed in on it before deciding to place his hand over Michael’s.  “I didn’t protect you.”

“And I didn’t protect you.  I should’ve begged you to stay instead of just letting your dad force you to go to war.  I just… I didn’t want to be the one holding you back.” Michael responded, turning over his hand and lacing it in Alex’s.  He felt a smile pulling at his lips.  They’ve never really held hands before.

“Okay, then… It’s my turn.  Stay here.  Don’t go off to some planet, don’t leave.  As much as I know you feel alone, you’re not.  Isobel, Max, Liz, Maria, they all want you here.  I need you here.  And I don’t think I’m holding you back, I think I’m convincing you not to do anything stupid.” Alex asked softly, leaning forward. Michael closed the space, their foreheads meeting.

Alex felt like a weight had been lifted as he stared at Michael.  He understood what he meant by their love being something that seemed to constantly renew.  It was exhausting.  Every time he thought it was best to pull away, there Michael was, looking hot as ever and speaking words that sounded like he read them from a romance novel.  But they weren’t, they were his and they were honest and they were for Alex.  For a decade, Alex hadn’t known how to compete.  He didn’t have words of romance to give, he couldn’t seem to wax poetic about his undying love, he just knew it was there and had to hope Michael understood when he touched him.

Today was only a little different.

“I want to be with you, Michael Guerin.  I’m here, I’m willing, and I’m not going anywhere.  I want to try again. I want to take you on dates and hold your hand and give you goodnight kisses, fuck, good morning kisses.  I want to have breakfast with you and make our friends think we’re so cute it’s disgusting.  I don’t want just the, the mind-blowing sex‒I want everything else.  Please, stay here, and I will do my best to give you everything.” Alex promised, moving his hands to cup Michael’s face.  He was smiling so bright it was borderline blinding. Alex would kill to keep that look on his face.

“Well, damn, private, sure know how to make a guy swoon.” Michael teased, squeezing Alex’s knee.  Alex matched his smile, rolling his eyes before nudging his nose against Michael’s.  “Alright, I’ll stay and we’ll start over.  On one condition though.”

“Anything.” Alex agreed, shifting closer.  He was beginning to wish they weren’t in lawn chairs.  It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sit on the edge of those and it put a whole lot of unneeded weight on his prosthetic.  But he was fine sitting there if it meant staring at that smile on Michael’s face.

“I get to call you my boyfriend.” Michael’s hand gripped the lapels of Alex’s jacket.  Alex grabbed Michael’s shirt, leading him as they both stood to their feet.  Their breath melded, the wind hitting them as if trying to push them towards the airstream. It was surreal, being so close to Michael again.  This time was more permanent.  This was real.

They were going to make this work.

“Absolutely.”