#and if i'm following the math right we should be in like

[rinasaurusrex]

well we may as well take the low-hanging fruit:

We are eight days away from THE BRIDE OF DRACULA, our finale.

Anyone got any predictions for what’s coming our way with Episode 4? 👀

[skywalkerslvt]

puhleasee write more sub peter parker stuff 🙏🙏 its so good

pairing: college!peter parker x reader

CW: dry riding, cumming in pants, sub peter, 1.3k words

summary: dry riding peter while he tutors you

a/n: submissive loser nerds who have never felt the touch of a woman drive me crazy i swear it's the whole reason ive never been able to pay attention in math/science courses. anyways hope u enjoy!! (btw requests r open guys keep sending stuff i need the inspiration)

Peter had been trying desperately to stay focused on tutoring, but every second that passed made it harder. Each time you leaned over the table to look at his notes, your perfume wrapped around him, making him dizzy. His gaze flickered down to the dip of your shirt without thinking, lingering at the curve of your chest before he forced himself to snap his eyes back to the paper. But the soft glow of the desk lamp seemed to conspire against him, highlighting your skin in a way that made every detail stand out.

He cleared his throat for what felt like the tenth time, a flush creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. You pretended not to notice, but each nervous shift of his chair, each pause when you moved, told you that you had his full, undivided attention-and not on the calculus problems in front of him.

Peter's voice faltered as he tried to explain a formula, his fingers tapping erratically against the book's edge. "So if we take... um... this equation and..." He trailed off when you reached across him to grab a pen, your arm brushing against his in a way that sent a visible shiver down his spine.

You pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

"Pete? You okay? You seem... distracted," you said, feigning innocence as your fingers traced the rim of your water bottle. The way his eyes flickered down to the movement made your smile widen.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine!" he said, the pitch of his voice betraying him. He pushed up his glasses, trying to look anywhere but at you, but the heat in the room was palpable, and the tension strung tight between you two.

You leaned forward, closer than before, letting your hair fall in a way that brushed his arm. "Are you sure? You seem nervous," you teased, drawing out the words just enough to make his eyes dart up to yours, wide and startled. The flush on his cheeks deepened, and his fingers curled into a fist on his thigh.

"I'm... I'm not," he mumbled, eyes flicking away, but his body betrayed him. He shifted uncomfortably, and you didn't miss the way his breath quickened when you subtly ran your foot up his leg beneath the table.

"Hmm," you hummed, biting your lip as if in thought. Your gaze dropped, just for a moment, to where the fabric of his jeans was noticeably tighter. You hid a grin, leaning back in your chair as if you hadn't just clocked the way his jaw clenched. "You should keep explaining, Peter. I'm really trying to follow."

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and nodded hastily. "R-right. So, the derivative here..." His voice shook, and you reached across, placing your hand over his to stop the tapping. The contact made him jump, eyes going wide like a deer caught in headlights. You tilted your head, fingers sliding up his wrist just a little as if absently.

"You're shaking," you whispered, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed for a second. The tension was unbearable now, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath your touch. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a shallow breath as you leaned in even closer, your chest pressing lightly against his arm.

Finally, the anticipation was too much for either of you. Without warning, you stood up, only to swing a leg over his lap and settle down, facing him. His gasp was immediate, eyes flying open as he looked at you, bewildered and overwhelmed.

"W-what are you...?" he whispered, but his hands hovered at your waist, unsure whether he should touch or stay still.

"Keep talking," you ordered softly, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear. You felt the tremble that ran through him, the way he squirmed beneath you, already hard and aching.

"I... uh... I c-can't," he stuttered, eyes squeezed shut as your hips rolled against him, sending a jolt through his body. The way his chest rose and fell, the hitch in his breath, and the small whimper he tried to suppress were everything you needed to hear.

"Try," you teased, nails tracing down the front of his shirt.

Peter's breathing came in ragged gasps as he tried to pull himself together. His fingers twitched at your waist, aching to hold on but hesitating as if he couldn't quite believe this was real. The way you were looking at him, so close, so purposeful-it was a lot for his overworked mind to handle. You watched him struggle, enjoying the flush that travelled from his cheeks to the hollow of his throat.

"Come on, Peter," you murmured, your voice dropping to a low purr. "You were doing so well before. What's next in the problem set?" Your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it that made his pupils dilate.

"I-I..." He started, but a soft moan slipped out as you shifted your hips again, pressing down just enough to make him choke on his breath. His eyes opened, wide and pleading, and for a moment, he looked like he was ready to say something coherent. But you leaned forward, brushing your lips against his jaw, and whatever resolve he'd gathered shattered instantly.

"If you stop talking, I stop moving," you reminded him, running your fingers up his chest until you felt the rapid thudding of his heart beneath your palm.

He bit down on his lip, trying desperately to remember where his train of thought had been before your touch turned him into a trembling mess.

"T-the derivative. We need to... evaluate.." His words broke off into a whine when you pressed down again, rolling your hips slowly against him, making sure to drag out every second of friction.

"Good boy," you praised, and his reaction was immediate-his eyes fluttered closed, mouth falling open as a shudder wracked his frame. He had never felt anything like this before, every nerve in his body alight with a mixture of desire and helplessness. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp.

"I don't think you're focusing, though," you said, almost mockingly.

"I-I'm trying," he whimpered, eyes glassy as he tried to meet yours. The way he looked up at you, so wrecked and needy, made your stomach tighten with satisfaction.

"Try harder," you said, slowing your movements to an agonizing halt. He bucked his hips involuntarily, a high-pitched sound escaping him as he chased the friction you'd just taken away.

"Please," he begged, and the word came out so raw and broken that it sent a thrill down your spine. You couldn't help but grin as you took in the way his chest rose and fell, how his fingers had finally dug into your waist, desperate to keep you there.

"Oh, now you're begging?" you teased, leaning down so that your lips were almost brushing his. His eyes stayed locked on yours, wide and glassy with need.

"I-I'll do anything," he confessed, voice cracking. "Just... please, don't stop."

The sight of him beneath you–cheeks flushed, glasses slightly askew, and eyes filled with desperate submission— was more than enough to spur you on.You leaned back, shifting your hips in a way that made him moan so loudly that his own hand flew up to cover his mouth in shock.

"Don't hold back now, Peter," you whispered, moving with more intent as his body tensed beneath you. You could feel how close he was, the way his muscles tightened and his breath turned erratic. The anticipation built until finally, the last remnants of his control slipped, and with a shuddering gasp, he fell apart under you, eyes wide as he reached his peak.

You watched the realization dawn in his expression, a mix of awe and disbelief as he came down from the high, breaths coming in short, ragged bursts.

His gaze met yours, still hazy and dazed, before you tilted his chin up and whispered against his lips, "Tutor me again tomorrow? "

[quinnkaneki]

Haikyuu characters as parents/soon to be parents part 2 <3

pt 1

This part includes Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji, Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu and Suna Rintarou.

→ Bokuto Koutarou — During Pregnancy ^^

• Excited.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm gonna be a dad, you're pregnant, WE'RE PREGNANT, WE'RE GONNA BE PARENTS, OH MY GOD!” *lifts you up and spins you around*

• Takes time off from volleyball.

“Yeah, no. Sorry guys but I'm gonna be busy for some time, my wife needs me.”

• At your side 24/7.

“Kou, I can walk to the bathroom on my own.”

“No can do little lady, what if you trip on your own feet, hmmm?? HMMM? WHAT THEN?” His arm snakes around your waist.

→ After pregnancy

• Emo mode, your son is a mini him.

“Mama is so mean papa..” He stuffs his face into Bokuto's shirt.

“Shhh, she'll hear you.”

“One more word out of you guys and your time out increases by 30 minutes” You sigh while cleaning up the broken vase. “No more damn volleyball in the house...”

• The type of dad to throw your kid in the air.

“Higher, Higher!” Your son giggles.

• Very insisting.

“Baby go back to bed, I'll get dinner ready and get S/N in the shower.”

“I can manage, you already made lun—”

“Sorry, I can't hear you, bed.”

“But—”

“Bed, bed, bedddd.”

→ Akaashi Keiji — During pregnancy ^^

• Very attentive, you mention craving something once and you'll have it the next day.

“Here you go,” he places the take out box in front of you.

“What's this?”

“Your (craving).”

• Saves for their college in advance.

“I think we should open a new savings account...” his fingers gently rub your belly.

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“Our little one's future.”

• Enjoys your weird pregnancy cravings.

“Whatcha nomming on?”

“Peanut butter and fried shrimp.”

“That's.... interesting, it looks good tho, can I try one?”

“Of course.”

*eats it* “Woah baby, you're onto something, this is pretty good.”

→ After pregnancy

• Gets called to the principal's office often.

“Sir, your son was throwing rocks at a student during recess and refused to tell us why, his behavior is unacceptable.”

—

“So...why'd you do it?” Akaashi inquires calmly as they enter his car.

“Okay so, Haru knows I like Yuki and he held her hand during recess while teasing me so I got upset..” he mutters.

“....You know what, understandable. If someone tried to take your mom away from me I'd throw rocks at them too, let's go get some ice cream.”

• Teaches him math.

“But daddddd, I hate division!” S/N whines.

“And that's exactly why I'm teaching it to you,” Akaashi sighs “What's 8 divided by 4?”

“Just say you hate me already!”

“You need to learn! Who's gonna do my taxes when I'm old?!”

• Star gazing.

“That one's me!”

“Which one sweetheart?” You ask.

“The one shining the brightest, duh!”

→ Miya Osamu — During pregnancy^^

• Always otp with you when he's away.

“Hold on baby, someone just came in, I'm gonna take their order.”

• Makes sure you're well fed.

“Samu, what's all of this?” You look over to him.

“You're eating for two,” he shrugs and helps you sit down.

• Buys your baby food inspired plushies.

“I got this onigiri and ice cream plushie for 5 bucks! Can you believe it babe?”

→ After pregnancy

• Teaches your daughter how to bake.

“Just a scoop of sugar again and mix,” He instructs and your daughter follows.

“Okay, done! Can I eat it yet?” She looks up at Osamu innocently.

“No love, we still need to bake it,” he chuckles and kisses her temple.

• Takes his family to expensive restaurants.

“Gotta treat my little princess right so she isn't impressed by the bare minimum, right my love?” He smiles at you before shifting his gaze to your daughter who was currently devouring caviar.

• Loves gossip.

“And you know what she did daddy? She looked him in his eyes and ate his crayon! His favorite one too! She's so cool!” You daughter climbs into the backseat.

“She sounds cool sweetheart but you're definitely cooler....now tell me what he did after she ate his crayon.”

→ Miya Atsumu — During pregnancy ^^

• Crys when he finds out.

“You're... you're pregnant...” his eyes land on your stomach as tears slowly cascade down his cheeks, “You're pregnant..” he repeats and gently hugs you.

• Randomly drops the bomb on his team when you're ready.

“Damn Tsumu, you're eating all that? Did Samu rub off on you?” Hinata eyes his plate.

“Nah, it's for Y/N, she's eating for two after all.” he says and walks away.

• Doodles on your baby bump.

“What are you drawing?" You gently run your fingers through his hair as he doodles away.

“Shrek...woah, oh my god, baby did he just kick? Was that a kick? Oh my god I felt it! DADDY LOVES YOU!” *kisses your belly*

→ After pregnancy.

• Attends all of your son's school events.

“C'MON S/N RUN, RUN, RUN, YESSSSS, THAT'S MY SON!!!” He yells proudly as your 6 year old reaches the finish line.

• Pillow fights.

“MOMMMMMMY! DADDY'S CHEATING, HE HAS THE BIG PILLOW!” Your son runs into the kitchen and hides behind your legs.

• Karaoke nights.

“Okay mommy and I are gonna do this one, you tell us who sings better, yeah?” Atsumu sits him on the couch.

“Yeah, okay!” he responds excitedly.

→ Suna Rintarou — During pregnancy ^^

• Scares you.

“Hey, so I know this isn't the best way to tell you this but...” *sent*

“But? What's wrong doll?”

“I'm pregnant” *seen*

“Rin?” *delivered*

“Hello? You're scaring me...” *delivered*

20 minutes later the front door slams open “I left work as fast as possible,” He immediately embraces you.

• Your ultrasound updates are his entire gallery.

“She was so much tinier last month,” he shows you his screen.

• Puts headphones on your belly.

“Now you can say you've been listening to Arctic Monkeys since the womb, thank me later.”

→ After pregnancy.

• He updates his wallpaper monthly.

“My girls look so pretty here..” he mumbles while setting a picture of you guys with morning hair and half asleep.

• Introduces her to different genres of games early on.

“Okay so this one's a little scary, let daddy know if you don't like it okay?” The game opens to the loading screen of Resident Evil 2.

“Papa who is that blonde guy?”

“Leon Kennedy, he's the main character.” Suna explains.

“I want him.” (she's so real)

• Shows her videos of the twins fighting.

“Oh and in this one they were fighting over a pudding cup, uncle Osamu thought Atsumu ate it but it was really me.”

Hope you guys enjoyed :3

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Let's Get Physical pt. 3

pt.2 pt.4

Author's note: Hate to do this to you guys but it's angst time :P Sorry this was late as hell, my mom had surgery and I've been taking care of her. I recommend listening to Taste by Sabrina Carpenter while reading this

It's Thursday, a few days after you and Soap had set up a date for the following Saturday, but it feels like 2 months later. The days drag by with no clear end in sight. Soap had barely texted you since that night, yet neither have you. The nerves twisting your stomach left no room for attention towards your classes. You'd completely spaced out during your math class, and your physics class, and the rest of them, but who's keeping track?

By Thursday, you were already ridiculously far behind in your physics class. Your teacher would never give an extension, unless you were literally in a hospital, and you needed to get them done asap. Where did that take you? Back to your personal tutor.

Flopping onto your bed in your dorm, you whipped out your phone, a small smile on your face at the excuse to meet with Soap.

Heyyy

It doesn't even take a minute before he responds

Hey hen

What're you up to?

Nothing at the moment, why?

Any way we could meet up later? I'm behind on my assignments and could use your help😓

Seen 1 min ago

Seen 2 mins ago

Seen 10 mins ago

Nerves set in. Did you say something wrong? No, what's wrong with wanting to see him again? Him helping with your homework was how this all started, why stop? He even asked you out-

Oh shit. You finished his sentence for him, maybe you read into it wrong? Maybe he wanted to just hang out as friends, and you assumed it was a date. OUT. LOUD. Fuck, and he went along with it to not make it awkward, didn't he? No, just trust for once.

It's another 30 minutes before you give in and decide to text him again.

If not it's okay, just could use your help, if you aren't busy :)

Sent 2 mins ago

Seen just now

Typing...

I'm meeting with a client in a bit, but we can get a hotel after if you want

Your stomach drops to the bottom of your feet.

Oh.

Right.

Why would you forget about that? Of course he was still going to do his job, you weren't special enough to make him stop, even if he saw you as more than a friend. You signed up for this, so swallow the lump in your throat and don't cry.

Oh right, haha. Yeah we can do that :)

You played it off, right? You can do this. You can see him, hug him, while he still smells like another woman. Could you kiss him, knowing he had another woman on his mouth? God, should you do this?

Seen just now

Seen 1 min ago

Seen 5 mins ago

It's not like you're dating. Were you? You had one set up, but it hadn't happened yet. Were you jumping ahead of yourself? What did you actually feel for him? When he tutored you, you couldn't help the lingering looks you'd give him when he turned to grab something, or how your skin would heat up when he'd squeeze your shoulder and tell you how good you're doing.

God knows how many times you had touched yourself to the thought of him kissing down your body.

Was it worth it? He's so gentle with you, your mind and body reacting to him in a way no one else had managed to make you, but he would never fully be yours. He'd realize eventually there was no true reason for you to be around, and that he could get everything he wanted from the women who pay him, right?

On his end, he was dreading the coming evening. Bianca had payed double than last time, and he needed to pay for a leak in the piping of his sink. Not left with much choice, he accepted. God, he did not want to do this. Taking clients began to feel empty once he got to know you. You payed attention to him, and not just his dick. All he wanted to do right now was hold you and watch a movie, despite not knowing what that felt like with you.

It wasn't something he entirely enjoyed, being a hooker. After a while, his dick became desensitized, and he found it a little harder to be in the moment. Yet, unless he wanted to be eating ramen and tatties for every meal, he didn't really have another option. If he had a documented job, he'd lose his disability check.

So here he was, at a hotel, waiting for her. He dressed in black slacks with a white dress shirt, the first few buttons loose. He had popped a viagra, already knowing that it was gonna be near impossible to get hard with her behavior. When she opened the door with a drawn out, high pitched,

"Heyyy"

He exhaled and gave a fake, yet convincing, smile and prepared for what'd to come. Hopefully he'd be able to just bend her over, so he doesn't have to look in her eyes, pillow shoved in her face so he can barely hear her and just pretend she's you.

This was going to be a long night, but at least you were at the end of it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

A paradox: in 1970, everyday Americans found it relatively easy to afford a house, and the average American house cost 5.9x the average American income. In 2024, Americans find it nearly impossible to afford a house, and the average American house costs…5.9x the average American income.

Feels like a puzzler, right? Can it really be true that the average American house is as affordable to the average American earner as it was in 1970? It is true, as you can see from Blair Fix's latest open access research report, "The American Housing Crisis: A Theft, Not a Shortage":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/

Fix also points out that is even more true of rents than it is of house prices. The ratio of rent to average income has actually fallen slightly since 1970. Rents are also, in some mathematical sense, "affordable."

Now, those of you who are well-versed in statistical card-palming will likely have a pretty good idea of the statistical artifact at the root of this paradox: the word "average." If you remember your seventh grade math, you'll recall that "average" has more than one meaning. Sure, there's the most common one: add several values together, then divide the total by the number of values you added. For example, a nonzero number of people have one or zero arms, so the average human has slightly fewer than two arms.

That average is called the "mean." The mean US wage is pretty robust: $73,242/year:

https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/A792RC0Q052SBEA/1000

But the majority of Americans are not earning anything like $73k/year. Since the Reagan years, the number of Americans living in poverty and extreme poverty has climbed and climbed. And while their declining income sure drags down that average, it's dragged way, way, way up by another group of Americans – the ultra-rich.

You see, as Fix writes, back in the Reagan years, America initiated an experiment in redistribution. Reagan enacted policies that moved most of the nation's wealth from the great majority of working people to a tiny minority of people who ended up owning pretty much everything. Throw their income into the mix, and the average American's income is sufficient to finance the average American home, with plenty to spare.

In other words, this isn't an "average human has fewer than two arms" situation, it's more like a "Spiders Georg" situation. Spiders Georg is a Tumblr meme about a guy who eats 10,000 spiders every day and is thus single-handedly responsible for the (false) statistic that the average human eats two spiders a week:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiders_Georg

The American rich – Reagan's progeny – are the Spiders Georg of house prices. By hoarding the great mass of American national wealth, they create a statistical mirage of affordable housing.

Now, that's interesting, but where Fix goes next with this is even more fascinating. If the average price of housing (relative to average income) has stayed fixed since 1970, then it follows that the price of housing isn't being driven up by a problem with supply. Rather, these numbers suggest that America has enough housing, it's just that (most) Americans don't have enough money.

If that's true – and I have a couple of quibbles, which I'll get to in a sec – then the most common prescription for solving American housing (building more of it) is somewhat beside the point. For Fix, using public funds to subsidize cheaper housing is like using public funds to pay for food stamps for working people whose wages are too low to keep them from starving. Sure, we should do that: no one should be without a home and no one should be hungry. But if working people can't afford shelter and food, then we have a wage problem, not a supply problem.

Fix – as ever – has a well-thought through, painstakingly documented "sources and methods" page to back up his conclusions:

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/#sources-and-methods

And while Fix acknowledges that reversing the mass transfer of wealth from working people to their bosses (and their bosses' idle offspring) is a big lift, he rightly wants to keep the question of wages (rather than housing supply) front and center in our debate about why so many of us are finding it hard to keep a a roof over our heads. We need progressive taxation, higher minimum wages, protection from medical and education debt, and hell, why not a job guarantee?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/25/canada-reads/#tcherneva

I love Fix's work, and this report is no exception. He does it all in his spare time. Some nice progressive think tank should give him a grant so he can do (a lot) more of it.

That all said, I do have a quibble with his conclusion about the adequacy of the American housing supply. In California, we have a shortage of 3-4 million homes, a number arrived at through the relatively robust method of adding up the number of California families that would like to have their own homes and subtracting the number of homes available near those families:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_housing_shortage

How to explain the discrepancy? One possibility is that the price of housing is artificially low, because more than 181,000 people are homeless here. Hundreds of thousands of more people are living in overcrowded housing, with multiple families inhabiting spaces intended for just one (or even a single person). If all of those people were competing for housing, the price might rise even higher.

Think of the people who have given up looking for work – because they're not in the workforce, wages go up. If they were competing in the labor market, wages would fall. Maybe all those people would prefer to have a job, but they're missing from the statistics.

That's one theory. Another is that we're getting tripped up on averages again here. California does have some towns with many vacancies, extra supply that is pushing down prices; it's also got many places with far more people who want to live there than there are homes for. It's possible that there's enough supply on average across the states, but – as we've seen – averages are deceptive.

Ultimately, I think both things can be true: we have a wage problem and we have (many, localized) supply problems. Both of these problems deserve our attention, and neither is acceptable in a civilized society.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

[susiephone]

i think part of why some people have a knee-jerk negative reaction to any attempt to understand the motives of fascists is because if you acknowledge that anyone can be radicalized, you have to acknowledge that anyone includes you.

we know humans are very, very suspect to groupthink, pack mentality, tribalism, and learned helplessness - an individual is smart and empathetic, a group is... not. but we also need to be in groups to survive, not just practically but emotionally. we generally don't do well on our own. so you see how this can lead to problems, especially if no one's working to keep their worst impulses in check.

i think a lot of people think they'd never fall into fascist thinking because of who they are, because they're good people, because they're built different - but it likely has more to do with who raised you, what social groups you spend your time with, how educated you are, how much exposure you got to other perspectives, and whether or not you were preyed on by someone with an agenda when you were vulnerable. it's the same with people who share that "you are not immune to propaganda" meme... while clearly thinking that they, themselves, are in fact immune to propaganda.

i don't mean to say that individuals hold no responsibility - your actions are your own, and ultimately it's up to you to not become your worst self. and it is definitely true that fascism appeals especially to people who were already bullies. but i do think we need to keep in mind why people become their worst selves, and how it is unfortunately very, very easy compared to the alternative.

anyway! if you want to learn more about how people become radicalized, i'd recommend:

Hey, Hun: Sales, Sisterhood, Supremacy, and the Other Lies Behind Multilevel Marketing by Emily Lynn Paulson (okay okay I know saying multilevel marketing companies are in any way comparable to fascism is a bit much - but the book does a great job illustrating how someone smart and empathetic, someone who by all rights should "know better" can get sucked into a cult-like environment, and why they might stick around even after realizing the situation is fucked. the book also examines the relationship between these companies and the american right.)

You're Wrong About: "Losing Your Relatives to Fox News" (does a great job explaining why people who have been radicalized are so resistant to learning any information that contradicts their worldview)

A Bit Fruity: "How Did Elon Musk Get Like This?" (has a really comprehensive timeline of Elon's journey down the alt-right pipeline)

Hype: How Scammers, Grifters, and Con Artists Are Taking Over the Internet--And Why We're Following by Gabrielle Bluestone (specifically talks about the spread of false information and scams on the internet, and touches on how this can lead to radicalization)

Who's Afraid of Gender? by Judith Butler (talks about the "anti-gender" movement, and how the movement can operate despite - or because of - all the contradictions in its messaging, and how it picks up new members)

TikTok vs Democracy (just the entire video, but there's an especially chilling bit near the end where it's demonstrated exactly how easy it is to slip into fascist rhetoric without even realizing it)

Girl Math & Girl Power: The Conservative Politics of 'Girl World' (examines the "I'm just a girl!!!" thing through the lens of its connections to conservative ideology and the tradwife thing)

White Supremacists and the Tradwives Who Love Them and its sequel 'Oppressed' by Choice: Tradwives Against Feminism (a deep dive into the tradwife movement and its intersection with white supremacy and other fascist ideology)

A Man Plagiarized My Work: Women, Money, and the Nation (a deep dive into how women's work has always been undervalued, and the reason some women are drawn to fascism)

A Bit Fruity: "How Conservatism Infiltrated Pop Culture" (an examination into why so many young people are attracted to the alt-right, and how the fuck we got here)

A Bit Fruity: "The Crunchy to Far Right Pipeline" (a deep dive into how people who consider themselves liberal and progressive can still fall down the alt-right pipeline)

there are loads more resources, so please share them in the comments!!

[melancholymetropolis]

“Please don’t walk away— Y/N! Please!”

“No, Art! I said no!” My voice bounced off of every wall in the small dressing room and slammed right into Art. His face, once reddened with anger, quickly drained itself of the color and became a stark white. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape. He searched my face with quick glances before dropping his gaze down to my clenched fists. My entire being was shaking and I could feel the tips of my ears grow hot with a rage I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. A rage that appeared the last time we shared a space together. A rage that drew us apart for the last decade. 

Art Donaldson was a lot of things to everyone. An inspiration. An icon. A loving father. Doting husband to my former childhood best friend. The man that almost ruined my life. 

We were an unstoppable group; Patrick, Art, Tashi and I. Inseparable. It was hard seeing any individual member alone, since we spent every single moment attached at the hip. At least, when Patrick was back from his tour. 

Since the two lovebirds were often “reuniting” when Patrick came back to town. Art and I organically began hanging out together. I’d help him study for his math exams and he’d basically shove me out of my room to eat. He was someone I could call to kill a spider in my shower. I was someone that could fix whatever problem he had with his computer. He was someone I could depend on. . . when Tashi wasn’t in the picture. 

“I will not have this conversation,” I choked as tears burned the corners of my eyes. “Not now, not ever.”

“Listen, I know I fucked up,” he pleaded, taking small steps toward me. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. But I was a kid—.”

“Art, get the fuck out of my face with that bullshit!” I sneered. “You were nineteen years old! Not some sniffling toddler who just learned to walk. You knew what you were do— wait.” I forced myself to stop in mid sentence. “I just said I wouldn’t have this conversation with you. So why the fuck are we still having it?”

“Because I am worried about you!” He argued back. “You disappeared without a fucking trace—” 

“You don’t get to worry about me when you’re the reason why fucking I left!” The words poured out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. 

“Y/N. . . ”

“You got what you wanted,” I replied, staring directly into his eyes. “Dozens of trophies, a mansion bigger than your parent’s and Tashi fucking Duncan as your spouse. You should be over the goddamn moon right now. But, instead,  you are berating me about my choice to leave a toxic situation almost a decade ago.” I released a long sigh and shook my head. “What do you want from me, Donaldson?”

“You,” he said in a low voice. “I just want. . . you.”

-------------------

I'm baaaaaack!!! With an drabble no one asked for!!!!!!!!!! But I do have a something cooking up that a follower did request.

Stay tuned for that.

Also, how do we feel about angst drabbles? Yay or Nay?

[mediamime]

Supernatural and the Concept of Grace

Hi! It's your friendly neighborhood Media Mime and I'm here with a wall of text about my insane thoughts on how Angels work.

From the TV show Supernatural.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

---

These are headcanons, mind you, so they aren’t supported by the show. I just think way too much about stuff like this.

This all stems from how beings from a different plane of existence would be borderline incomprehensible to humans. The whole, true form and voice not being viewable/hearable led to me thinking about them in more abstract forms.

I’m going to give you some weird background stuff below, but feel free to skip to the end if you’re just here for the Grace mechanics and things.

*Edit: Making the lil click more bar because I realized I never did this and the Post Is Too Long.

---

My day job is as a Math Adjunct, so you can imagine I have a bit of a fixation on recurring principles, formulas, geometry, and so on.

It’s my jam. 

Specifically, I have a focus on Mathematics in Nature. It's fascinating to me that we see the same shapes and patterns recurring over and over again in all natural formations.

I want to stress that to get into this kind of thing, you don’t actually need a background in Math. There are several resources online that provide examples and visual guides to this field of study. I’ve provided a visual guide below of some of my favorite phenomena as well as a basic (very basic) explanation of the principle. 

I ain’t getting paid for this right now, so you get what you get!

---

Now is also a time to mention that I took some psychedelics in my 20s that made me See Some Shit. This is not meant to be inspirational. I just think I should mention it because you see a lot of Stuff on them, not always Stuff you want to see. You can look up information about psychedelic geometry and skip the hassle of ingesting things you probably shouldn’t.

Don’t do drugs kids, or whatever.

---

The Fibonacci Sequence is where numbers ascend by adding the two previous numbers to itself. This plays a key role in something known as the Golden Spiral. For a very basic explanation, you take a square and draw an arc from one corner to the next and repeat with bigger and bigger squares.

1,

1 + 1 = 2,

1 + 2 = 3,

2 + 3 = 5,

3 + 5 = 8,

5 + 8 = 13,

and so on.

The curve itself is seen in the way plants grow, shells form, and weather formations to name a few. 

(The following are not my images, but they are readily available online. )

---

Tessellations are repetitive polygons (shapes with 3 or more connecting lines, think triangles, squares, hexagons) that form together, without gaps.

In nature, the real world, there are examples of malformations, but Math is an explanation of the ideal principle.

We can see these structures in scales, honeycombs, and so on.

---

Fractals are where we see the same pattern repeat at smaller and smaller forms of itself.

There is a lot of overlap of this with the Fibonacci Sequence (these patterns often appear INSIDE of the spiral), but it is its own concept.

Fun fact, fractals play a significant role in Chaos Theory, which I will not get into here because we would be here all day.

---

Anyway!

Sorry!

Carried away there.

Back to Supernatural (what an insane transition) and how this wraps into my concept of Grace.

---

Angels are filled with this kind of naturally occurring phenomena, a sort of endless collection of patterns. They are essentially manifestations of this idea or at least they process the physical world in this way.

Castiel mentioned eating molecules ONE TIME and well, I ran with it.

---

A couple of examples I feel strongly about, using Castiel as an easier point of entry than say, Lucifer or Gabriel:

Angels think in a series of sensations, like a form of Synesthesia.  Synesthesia is a concept explored in both psychology and cognitive neuroscience where people express the feeling of multiple senses activating at once. So for instance, the words might leave you with an impression of color or sounds may give you a physical sensation. I think Angels can, and do, adopt a more human perspective the longer they interact in the physical world. This is especially relevant during the time they are essentially made human, but I think the way they interpret information remains abstract. Just a fun fact, if you have Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (which is usually shortened to ASMR), you have a higher chance, according to some studies, of having a form of Synesthesia. 

---

Angels also think in patterns. For Castiel, in the beginning: His thoughts are very vibrant. Primary colors denote curiosity. The structure of those thoughts are very rigid. He thinks more in straight lines rather than curves. The movement of the thoughts is calculated and repetitive. Learning something for the first time is difficult, so splitting it into individual pieces is easier to comprehend. This is where we get The Face from, you know the one. He perceives things in his own way which makes him socially awkward in human form. As he gets more familiar with the physical world, and the boys in general, his perspective shifts. He has more robust colors dedicated to the people or objects he interacts with and they shift around easier. His thoughts are less linear and more curved and organic. He has less set structure because he isn’t learning as much anymore, he has an understanding he can build off of and make more defined to himself.  Learning to love humanity requires flexibility that doesn’t come naturally to Angels, so he actively works at it.

Seeing souls is easier than interpreting the actual look of people. This is a doozy, but we will take Dean as an example because I’m Destiel/Deancas pilled. To Castiel, Dean looks the way he looks, smells the way he smells, sounds the way he sounds, and so on in physical form. Castiel learns to interpret him in that way as the series goes on, but his soul, the essence of him, has its own set of sensations. The following are not literal, although I’m sure some would translate that way. He sounds like a crackle of fire and a low drum. His colors are darker oranges and blues and greens. He feels like a soft rain and sun on a warm day. He tastes of barrel aged liquor and smoke. He smells like a hearth and earth after it rains. He feels like every aspect of the impala, from the cold metal to the supple warm leather.  Obviously some of these senses shift and change from time to time, but that forms the basis of what Castiel recognizes as Dean.

---

Grace is at least partially visible to other angels and partially felt by humans. Other angels can see each other in their vessels. So they have a concept of what they look like in their true forms, despite being hidden inside of something.  This implies they can experience similar sensations as the other angels they look at, although I don’t like the idea that they can see their “thoughts” necessarily. I would imagine they can “feel” a sudden intense set of emotions/sensations from another angel however, in the way that humans can tell someone’s emotions through facial expression or tone of voice.

---

Humans can learn to experience angels, albeit in a form that is easier for them to comprehend.  Dean doesn’t experience anything special about Castiel when they first meet, outside of the generic information we get about Angels and the obvious senses he can use: seeing, hearing, smelling, (gods I wish tasting was on this list but! Alas!) As Dean gets closer with him, he can start to “hear” him. I like to think he sounds like a pleasant hum or a slight ringing, similar to a wind chime, depending on his mood. Dean, specifically, makes him hum lower than usual. If he were to hum out-loud, it would harmonize with the way his grace sounds. It takes longer to perceive colors, but I think Dean would see the little flashes of blue, similar to the way Castiel’s eyes get when he’s using his powers. This is why I typically put a little blue squiggle between them when I draw them together. Plus other senses, sorry but this is long enough as it is. You likely get the point by now!

---

Anyway, I’m very happy that literally anyone has even a passing interest in my interpretation of these things.

Formatting this was a nightmare and I feel particularly insane today.

[hamtaro-merch-tracker]

Hamtaro Ribbon Collection

Release Date: June 2025

Distributor: Daiso and Seria

A new collaboration has been announced and oh man does Japanese Twitter seem conflicted! A huge selection of new merch will appear at Daiso and Seria locations across Japan next month! These are 100 yen stores (think of a dollar store if your country has one) with usually pretty good quality items. Including tax, each item costs 110 yen, which if you did the math would come out to 11550 yen (or around 80 USD at the current rate). Everyone seemed happy with that price! Except.....it's sounds like most of the items are in blind boxes...and you can't buy a case to make sure you don't get duplicates....

With how much hamtaro merch we're getting I think we can all agree that we're facing blind bag fatigue, and Japanese Twitter is not happy about the fact they may need to spend more money to hopefully get the character they want.

The collab contains the following items: zipper pouches, contacts case, compact mirrors, clear files, stickers, washi tape, mini Drawstring bags, rubber key chains, enamel key chains, die cut stickers, acrylic stands, alligator clips (Hair clips? Bag clips?? Who knows), and cord holders. I am assuming anything with more than two variants will be in blind bags.

And like sure it's only 110 yen, but the economy isn't great right now, if people can't buy by the case then there's going to be a huge shortage in merch and a rise in resellers...and no one wants to be dealing with that while trying to keep afloat financially. It's a 100 yen shop, we should be able to just buy the character we want for that price...

Either way this is a super cute set and I'm extremely jealous that I WONT BE THERE FOR IT. I had been waiting for 5 years to be in Japan during the 25th anniversary and I couldn't go in April and I may not be able to go at any point this year 😭😭😭

[lomahdu]

Nothing more

☀︎—pairings:keum!seongje x oc!character

☀︎—warnings:swearing, i think that's it?

☀︎—Lena's note:Guys i'm writing this while pulling an all nighter and i have school like in 1 hour so i'm stressing, anyways my point is that i'm sorry if there's any mistakes.Pls don't be a ghost reader and comment

☀︎—word count:1378

☀︎—Chapter!2; Chapter!3; Chapter!4

I walked into the classroom and took my usual seat at the second-to-last desk, right in front of my best friend, Haeri.

“What the hell, girl—your hair is… let’s say, disgusting,” she said, staring at the failed heatless curls I had tried to hide in a messy bun.

I gave her a tight, definitely-not-friendly smile. “Thanks. I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly, pulling out my textbooks and the book I was currently reading. I always carry at least one book with me, no matter where I go. The one sitting on my desk today was The Crimson Moth by Kristen Ciccarelli.

“Dude, TikTok betrayed me,” I groaned, clearly frustrated about my hair.

“What did you use to curl it?” Haeri asked.

“Socks,” I replied. She immediately frowned.

“Um, I use socks too and mine turns out fine. Sooo… the problem is definitely you.”

Before I could clap back, our teacher walked into the room.

“Miss Yoon and Miss Park, could you save the personal chats for later?” the teacher asked sharply.

I turned to face the front as she started writing math problems on the board. I looked at the equation and understood absolutely nothing. Not even a hint. Where the hell is Sieun when I need him?

[timeskip]

Haeri and I were sitting at one of the lunch tables. On my tray: plain white rice, an apple, and egg rolls. On Haeri’s tray: kimchi, bulgogi, and rice.

She took a bite of her kimchi and shook her head. “Girl, I really don’t understand how you don’t like kimchi.”

“I just don’t like spicy food,” I shrugged.

“Mhm,” she said, clearly judging me.

We ate in silence for a bit, so I decided to break it.

“Some dude followed me on insta" I said, opening Instagram on my phone. I pulled up the profile of sjkeum_07 and held my phone up to show her.

“Do you know him?” I asked, since Haeri usually knows more people than I do.

The moment she saw the screen, she nearly choked.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she said, eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit confused .

“He’s a manwhore. And a bully. Some people even say he got himself involved with a gang.”

“Yikes… do you have any pictures of him?” I asked.

Haeri shot me a sharp look. “Sooah.”

“Haeri,” I replied with the same tone.

“Look, it’s pointless. He’s probably just interested in fucking you.”

“Hey, hey, hey, who said I even want anything with him? I just saw his hand, okay? It was hot. Like, really hot. I got curious. That’s all.” I said defensively.

“Fine. I’ll pretend to believe you. And no, I don’t have any pictures of him,” she said, shoving a spoonful of rice in her mouth.

I dropped the topic and took a bite of my egg roll. We finished lunch and got up to return our trays. I glanced at my phone. 12:26 PM. We still had about 20 minutes before our next class.

As we walked down the hallway, I asked, “You’re still coming with me to the bookstore, right?”

“Do I even have a choice?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I grinned and we continued toward our classroom.

[timeskip]

Our last class ended, and we started packing up. I was already done, but Haeri was texting someone.

“Come on, hurry up! Quick!” I whined. I was way too excited to get to the bookstore and buy some new books.

“Okay, okay! Chill,” she said, putting her phone away to pack her things.

We left the school together. The bookstore I usually go to is only about a 10-minute walk from campus.

While walking, Haeri decided to say, “You know, maybe you should put the books down and go touch some grass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, looking at her confused.

“I mean, it’s kinda weird for a 17-year-old to never go out or have had a boyfriend,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I do go out, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, trying to play it off.

She gave me a Seriously? kind of look.

“If you think going out means just school and the bookstore, you’re worse off than I thought. I bet you even make Sieun buy you pads and tampons because the convenience store is ‘too far’.”

“Dude!” I said, scrunching up my face. She burst out laughing.

We reached the bookstore and went inside. I immediately made my way to the dark romance section, and of course, Haeri followed me.

“Porn books, huh?” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Again?”

“First of all, it’s not again. I read other genres too. I’m just in the mood for something dark right now,” I defended myself.

“Oh yeah? What other genres?” she challenged.

“Fantasy romance… and sometimes I read classics,” I replied.

“Classics?” she laughed. “Name at least three classic authors you’ve actually read.”

“Kafka and Nabokov. Not three, but they count. And they are classics, so you lose,” I snapped back, going back to browsing the shelves.

Twenty minutes later, she groaned, “How much is this gonna take?”

I looked at her, holding four books in my arms. “Ehh… I think I’m done.”

I went to the register and paid 49,000 KRW for my books. We left the store together. Our houses are kind of close, so we walked in the same direction.

We were turning a corner when I suddenly bumped into—no, not a wall—a person.

I looked up and saw a guy around my age, probably about 6’0”.

“Shit, watch where the fuck you’re going, ,” he hissed, but then his eyes landed on my face. “Oh hey, I follow you on Instagram,” he said, pointing at me, finger almost jabbing into my chest, smiling in this weirdly amused way.

Okay? That’s a super weird thing to say. I stared at him, not recognizing him at all. He had black hair, glasses, and a mole under his left eye.

“Umm�� okay?” I replied, unsure how to react to being “followed.” Thanks for the info, I guess?

He gave me a slight, borderline-creepy smile and just walked past me like that wasn’t the most awkward encounter ever.

“Weirdo,” I muttered under my breath and kept walking.

Haeri nudged me hard. “Do you know who that was?” she asked with a tone that screamed You’re the dumbest person alive.

“Umm, clearly not?” I said.

“That’s the guy you asked me about earlier,” she said.

Wait—hot hand guy?!

“Ohhh,” I muttered. “Well… he is kinda cute,” I added under my breath.

“I swear to God I’m gonna hit you,” she warned, and I laughed.

When I got home, it was 5:37 PM. Nobody else was there—neither my mom nor my brother. Finally, some alone time.

About an hour later, I heard the front door open. I was in the kitchen eating noodles when my brother walked in, dropped his bag on the counter, and poured himself a glass of water. I noticed the slight bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip.

“Did you get in a fight?” I asked with a mouth full of noodles.

He just looked at me and said, “No.”

“Mhm, then why do you look like you fell into a bush?”

Sieun explained how he had seen Juntae getting beaten up for returning the phones he stole so he stepped in because it reminded him of Beomseok.Kindw weird to be honest, cause i hate that guy

All I could say was, “I was at the bookstore today. I could’ve bought you a pen or two. Sharp ones.”

“That’s not funny,” he replied.

I raised my hands like okay, okay, and added, “Just don’t stab me with a pen, alright?”

He gave me that bitch, wtf look.

It was almost 10 PM, and I decided to stalk Hot Hand. From Haeri, I found out his name was Keum Seongje, so I searched him up on Facebook.

Turns out, he goes to Ganghak High School. His birthday is listed as April 13, 2007—if that’s even his real birthdate. Most people put fake ones anyway.

I left my phone on my nightstand to charge and passed out almost instantly.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

WOOHOO we got another (assumingely) silly episode today, and the first one in pride month!! I do mean "assumingely" bc going over the math, I'm personally not expecting to get into the next arc right now. Maybe I'm wrong, who can say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And about the Switch 2 already? fair enough 😌↕️ hope the people did enjoy their switch day

*cries in broke*

(the following is my live reaction:)

the intro, my beloved 💙

OH, are we getting a 4 and Tari episode? :D

at least you guys didn't preorder and have your receipt stapled to the box (and unfortunately the screen)

PFFT THE GAMER CHAT,,, it's so silly as a concept. like, screw discord ig, let's use this instead

sorry but 4's dance walking in was adorable *makes it into gif*

IS THAT STEVE? HI STEVE!! and also Waluigi!! (it's insane that Steve and Hatsune Miku are both in the new sonic racing game, I still can't believe it)

2000? That can't be it

A "gamer tax"? they really must want that pool huh

yeah, she right tho. until probably switch 3 comes out or something

Bob?

nuhnuhnuh, hang on. that's a switch 1, I could tell from the packaging alone. Which is funny, considering that there's been people complaining that the design isn't distinct enough from the first when packaging for the other consoles, eh. it's been like this for years (<- geeking out as a graphic designer, don't mind me)

SAY WHAT NOW? 30000?

it really is costing an arm (and a leg) for this one, huh?

CLENCH, he's back again from the manga episode!!

yep yep, what did I say? it's the old switch but it is a good scam for the people who are desperate, I give it that

Oh, Mario did? I'm already locking in my guess why

I WAS RIGHT. mostly bc y'know he stole it, BUT IT STILL COUNTS

L I N T

I mean, I'd say that's a fair compromise :)

ah yes, mario kart world *cries in no moneyz*

ok but like. can we have a moment to just this

they sat ^^ sad but they look so cute, especially 4

Clench: "You look like someone trampled all over your hopes and dreams." Real 😔

SMG4: "That's stealing." *WHEEZE* the delivery on that line tho, it got me

"blue dude" :)

wdym y'know a guy?

3, LET'S GOOOO!!

I didn't think we were gonna get the star trio + Tari & Clench this episode, this is great!!

also manicure? that was so real of you, 3 (not that we would ever see you with your gloves off but ), always having a day to self-care

ALSO also Clench, since when did y'know 3 like that? what did you guys play cards one night and Tari was just dragged around asleep? that kinda fits actually

Saturdays huh? WAIT HANG ON

so Saturdays really were just "Special SMG3 time", 3 having a self-care day for himself

and honestly, you gotta respect it 😌↕️ everyone really should have one of these bc of burnouts and such

sorry wha? oh yes, right. the review. let's keep going.

just 3 squishing 4's face -> (1) that's cute and (2) 3's all the 4 lovers specifically, just wanting to squish him with so much cuteness aggression (and that unfortunately includes me 💙)

This is good news. we can finally be C O W /ref

close enough, welcome back wotfi 2023

AGHLK:J Tari's just here for the ride

ooh, duckie :D

close enough, we got our "Tari's tech powers sends Crew into the video game"/laser tag episode, chat!!

(also love at 3 & 4 are just standing by the edge of th screen and tari not bc she's taller)

WE GONNA FUCKIN BALL

welp, that was easy (and well Mario isn't experienced in using a wheelchair)

I can't believe that the SMG4 universe got the bananza game earlier than we did smh /lh

GET LIGHTING, 3

that works too

"cheating"? oh 4, this is mario kart we're talking about, it's WAR

OOP parental controls works, nice job Tari ^^

4's so happy, look at him :)

wait, did 4 break them out? or gamer chat? 🤔 bc both work here for SO many reasons

😦 nvm yeah, if people are willing to buy Mario Kart at a high price, all the other games get a pass

Tari: "Maybe we should hold off." *dramatic gasp*

YES TARI, the point is to hang out with friends. yes, even gamer chat

AWWWWW 3 🥹 like yeah, dude, you're part of the Crew. you got friends

PFFT the "touch grass" bit again

*record scratch* hey now, wait a sec

since when did we have a fountain? and the flower bushes? the cherry blossom trees?

a pond?

now, don't get me wrong. this is very sweet, just look at them :)

very nice, especially with the sunset, but we didn't have this before????

FERRIS WHEEL CAMEO 🫵 (sorry, it's a me thing, don't mind me)

wha? did my computer break?

WHAT THE FUCKKK??!? it was all FAKE?!?! HUH???

I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG, I could FEEL it

NO TARI NOOOOO JUST DROP THE CARD

welp sacrifices had to be done

"broke af" *points at self*

Congrats to daliahzayyen for your art being featured in the end credits 🎉 ofc, we got so much art for 4's birthday, they had to show it

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Oh man, this was such a cute episode ^^ I seriously didn't expect this kind of dynamic with the character roster we got but I absolutely LOVE it. And even Clench got a role too!! I really did love the slapstick humor and the comedy in general, just the right amount of silly I needed today :)))

But the animation tho? THAT was so good! And I do know bc certain animators came in to work for this one, knowing their style and all. Like Braden (also known as BS6), he worked in the emotional scene in SOTC where the kids did the first choice of choosing between their parents. And I also know bc I came across one of his videos of him creating the sonic 3 scene, with 3 & 4 (which I'll go ahead and put it here for yall)

Or like Star, who apparently did some VA for Ness in the last episode. Like, Team, yall are crazy talented overall!! And I really do like sharing the behind-the-scenes stuff bc (1) I've always liked that kinda thing, and (2) it shows how much passion and pride it comes to the production of it all. Even for a "silly little meme" show, it means a lot that care was put into it. I can probably go on and on, but let's keep things in track haha

Anyway, yeah, a great episode and I very much enjoyed it as a 4 lover with some moments. But can we talk about the ending? Like WTF WAS THAT? Don't get me wrong, I don't hate it. But like, HUH????

Were they in a simulation, or a dream? For Tari, at least? And why? Now obviously, it could just be as simple as "an unexpected ending for the episode". I can accept that.

But yall already know I'm not normal with these kind of things. Could it be that Tari "imagined" it (depending on how you wanna see it) just so we wouldn't feel guilty in paying the tax? bc apparently, she was conscious so to speak in making that choice to begin with. It does remind me of the Christmas episode, with Tari unable to say no to her friends bc she's afraid of losing them, and how (in my mini-theory) 3 reading her story brings an interesting perspective as to why he doesn't get too close to his friends.

Maybe this ending is the same thing, but it's also to 4. After all, 4's been with Tari the whole time and was at the start. And with the goop!4 references showing up and all, it might connect. That 4 might imagine that things are doing to well and happy until the reality shatters for him and he realizes he only imagined it bc he wouldn't feel guilty what he's gonna do OR might do something with terrible consequences.

Eh, granted, this isn't that great of a mini-theory. That's just me needing theorist nourishment :P. But it seriously brings up the good point, being that one of these days, we're gonna have an episode we think it's normal but it turned out to be fake all along. Well, anyway that's all from me. Hopefully, I'll get out of the void soon, but remember: numbers always go first!

istg we might be in a simulation or smth. huh.

[roosterforme]

Math for Aviators | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: It's your fault that Bradley finds math so sexy now. When he surprises you by sneaking into one of your lectures, he gets rewarded with a little time alone with the professor after class.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Check out my masterlist

"See you two at the Hard Deck later?" Nat asked as Bradley climbed into the Bronco after work.

"Nah, it's my wife's late night on campus," he replied with a smirk. Calling you his wife had such a nice ring to it, he had all but stopped using your first name around his friends. "I'm gonna drop by. Maybe take a peek at her calculus lecture." 

She rolled her eyes in response. "Tell your wife I said not to forget about brunch on Saturday."

"I'll let my wife know."

He zipped out of the parking lot, still in his khaki uniform, and headed across town to San Diego State University. If there was one thing Bradley never thought would get him going, it was math. But you made it outrageously sexy with your PhD and your slutty little math tattoo. 

The fact that Bradley never got to attend one of your lectures during your first semester teaching in California felt like a crime. He'd wanted to, in the worst way, but your classes ended by six o'clock every day last term. But this time, you taught level four calculus on Thursday evenings. 

He parked and headed toward your building, smiling as some of the college aged girls looked at him as he strolled past. If they thought he looked good in his uniform, that was nothing compared to the fuss you usually made over him. 

Bradley followed a kid holding a skateboard into the mathematics and computer science building and turned left. He was only four minutes late for your class as he followed skateboard kid inside the lecture hall and let the door close softly behind him. The room was quite cavernous, but there were only about forty students in attendance. You always claimed you preferred the smaller classes so you could spend more time getting everyone where they needed to be individually. 

When his eyes met your body, Bradley almost moaned. You were leaning over the long table at the front of the room taking attendance, and you were wearing a white blouse tucked into that wool skirt he liked. Even your loafers looked cute. One of his favorite pastimes was picking on you for your east coast wardrobe, but holy shit, the professor look did things to him. Or maybe it was just you.

As you called out names, Bradley realized he was just standing in the back like an idiot, so he walked up a few rows and took an aisle seat.

"Francis?" you asked, and a girl who looked extremely disinterested raised her hand. "Luca? Alex? Did I miss anyone?"

When you looked up, your eyes found Bradley's almost instantly. The softest smile graced your lips, and Bradley desperately wanted to run down to where you were standing and kiss you. Instead he just winked, and then you were opening two additional notebooks on your table. 

"Before we get started, just a reminder about my office hours," you said, your voice projecting beautifully. Bradley had to adjust himself in his seat, because you were speaking right to him. "I'm always available to spend a little extra time with you should you need it." 

He was well acquainted with your office and the way your voice echoed off the walls when he made you scream his name. He would make it a point to join you for some office hours again soon. But right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy how much smarter you were than him.

"If you recall last week, we talked about the theorems of Green and Stokes. Let's focus a little more on the Green theorem. This is simply the relationship between the macroscopic circulation around the curve C and the sum of all the microscopic circulation that is inside C."

Bradley was already breathing a little heavy. Holy shit. Was he actually married to the smartest person in the world? It fucking sounded like it. And then you ran your fingertips gently along the side of your neck, and he sat up a little taller in his seat. But so did skateboard kid who was sitting in front of him. Bradley glanced around the room, and it looked like all the twenty something guys were hypnotized by you. The looks of open adoration on their faces as you turned toward the white board to work out a problem reminded him of the way he used to stare at you when he was twenty one. If he was being honest, he probably still did.

As you worked out the problem and bent at the waist, Bradley needed to adjust himself again. And when you turned to see if anyone had a question, you looked directly at him as you touched your neck again. 

"She's so hot," skateboard kid whispered to the guy next to him.

"Yeah," he grunted in response. "She's like extra hot today."

Bradley leaned forward, grinning and softly said, "That's my wife."

They both turned around to look at him briefly. Skateboard kid nodded in appreciation, and the other guy said, "Well done."

And then Bradley settled back in his seat and watched every move that you made. When you wrote out another equation in your tidy handwriting, you made the variables spell out B-E-E-R-B-O-Y. Every time you glanced at him, your fingers were touching your body somewhere that he was familiar with. He was itching to get his hands on you. 

It was an hour and a half of pure sexual tension, and Bradley knew you were enjoying yourself. Knowing he was sitting in the lecture hall seemed to be making your voice a little breathy. You were throwing out terms like "gradient, divergence curl, line and surface integrals, and differential equations" that were making him hard. This was foreplay at its finest. 

When you ended your lecture with some reminders about your class schedule, you had your hands on your hips, and your diamond ring was glittering on your hand. Bradley smirked as a line of students, mostly male, formed in front of you once you dismissed everyone. And now he understood why you got home so late on Thursdays. Because all these guys had a crush on you. On his wife.

Bradley was semi hard, and you kept glancing up to make sure he was still there. He wasn't going to go anywhere, you must know that. When you were finally helping skateboard kid with whatever question he fabricated just to have a chance to stand next to you, Bradley glanced down at his lap. Maybe you'd let him have some private office hours right now.

When the lecture hall was finally empty, save for the two of you, Bradley watched as you continued to tease him. You didn't glance to where he was sitting at all as you packed up your bag. And when you erased the board, he could tell you were standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look extra enticing just for him. 

"Professor Sugar," he groaned, rubbing himself through his khaki pants. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a devilish look on your face. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to my lecture?" you asked quietly, but he could still hear you perfectly. 

Bradley grunted. "Got dismissed a little early. Just thought I'd surprise you."

"Did you learn anything new?" you asked, grabbing your bag from the table and heading his way.

"Nothing new," he replied. "Just a refresher course on how smart and hot my wife is."

You smiled as you set your bag down next to his seat. "I love it when you call me that." Then you came to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down to kiss him gently. Bradley let you tease him with feather soft kisses for a minute before he was aching inside his pants. 

He ran his rough hand along your pretty neck and asked, "Can I join you for some office hours? I really need them, Professor Sugar." When you giggled against his lips, Bradley wrapped his muscular arms around you and palmed your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a squeal. 

"Beer Boy!"

"Please? I'll be your top student, Baby. Better than that loser with his skateboard."

"You know, I'm starting to suspect that Luca might have ulterior motives for taking my class again this semester."

Bradley chuckled as he pushed your skirt up your thighs a few inches. "Yeah. His ulterior motive is your ass." Then he lightly slapped said ass as you raked your fingers through his hair and straddled him in the auditorium seat. "I know you can feel me, Sugar," he whispered. "Office hours? Or are you gonna make me wait until we get home?"

But instead of responding, you just rubbed yourself against him. If you weren't wearing panties, he would have a pretty, little wet spot to show off as he walked back to the Bronco. You tugged harder on his hair so his head was tipped back, and you kissed him a little rougher.

"I'm in charge in the lecture hall, not you. And I say no visit to my office."

Bradley groaned as you sucked on his neck, and he muttered, "Making me walk back to the Bronco hard?"

"No," you whispered, and his cock throbbed. "I'm going to suck your cock right here." Your smug smile as you pulled away from his neck left him blushing, he could tell. 

"Right here?" he asked, but your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper, and he lifted his hips in the seat so you could yank his pants down a little bit. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed against his lips before you walked to the back of the auditorium, leaving him sitting there with his hard cock out. 

"Sugar?" he whispered, covering himself with both hands as he craned his neck to see where you went. You flipped the lightswitch next to the door and peered out the small window into the hallway, and then you strolled back to where he was sitting. Bradley let you take his hands in yours and set them on his thighs as you knelt on the floor in front of him.

You looked so pretty, your skin illuminated by the soft lighting shining around the perimeter of the room. Your eyes were bright and mischievous as you looked up at him and kissed the precum away from his tip. Your pink tongue darted out to clean your lips before gently swiping the underside of his cock, and Bradley had to grip his thighs to keep from thrusting. Because it was clear you were going to take your time right now. 

"You are so hard, Beer Boy, you're absolutely throbbing."

When you took an inch or two between your pouty lips, Bradley's head tipped back. "I love math," he groaned. "It really gets me going. And I love your smart mouth."

You hummed around his length as you took another inch and swirled your tongue. Then you pulled him out with a soft pop, his head snapping back up to look at you. "You're such a good student," you whispered. "Top grades. Teacher's pet. Big cock."

"Fuck," Bradley grunted. "I'm coming to your lecture every week, Professor."

You smiled as you gripped him in one hand and licked up and down along the underside of his cock until he could feel your saliva dripping down his balls. He ran his thumb along your cheek, and then you took him deep so he could feel himself there. He groaned your name as he tapped the back of your throat, and you gagged for him. It was so fucking pretty the way he made your eyes water. 

If you weren't concerned about getting caught, then he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He'd be lying if he said the idea of a public blowjob wasn't adding to his arousal. Hell, he thought the way you and he went at it in the college library study room was hot, and that door had a damn lock. So this was next level.

Bradley grunted in the quiet room, and the acoustics made the sound carry. You were bobbing along his length, making obscene little noises, and he just couldn't take it anymore. His hands found the back of your head, and after one thrust, your moans echoed around the room. 

"I love that sound," he growled, slowly fucking your face as you sucked on him. You kept eye contact with him as he started to come undone, his hips leaving the seat as he wanted more of you. Now you were gripping his thighs, ready to take his cum like a champ. He was there. He was right there. One more tap against the back of your throat. All your saliva dripping onto your blouse. It was everything. 

He knew you already knew it, but he grunted, "I'm cumming," as he spurted into your mouth and down your throat. Gripping the back of your head, he fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts until he slumped back akwardly into the seat with a long groan that filled the room. 

When you withdrew him, his cock was messy and you were grinning as you stuck out your tongue, showing off his load. "Gorgeous," he whispered with a smirk, watching you swallow him down before licking his softening length clean. "I love being the teacher's pet." 

You giggled as you helped him get tucked back into his khakis. "I only suck the dicks of my students with the highest grades."

"Hey now. You're my wife. You better only be sucking my dick," he rasped as you stood up in front of him and shrugged.

"Then you better keep getting top grades, Beer Boy." 

Bradley was obsessed with you. He quickly wrestled his belt into place as he followed the sway of your ass up to the auditorium doors. "I can't wait to see that skirt on the bedroom floor when we get home," he said as you pushed the door open. And there stood the janitor, about to enter the room to clean it. "Shit," Bradley grunted, still fiddling with his belt. 

But you just waved and said, "Goodnight, Herman," as the janitor smirked at Bradley. 

He didn't even bother with his belt after that. He just took your hand in his and walked with you to the Bronco, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you once your skirt was on the bedroom floor. 

----------------------

This was written to celebrate the birthday of the lovely @mak-32 ! Beer Boy and Sugar wouldn't even exist without you, Mak! I hope you have the most wonderful day! Thanks for your help and the banner @beyondthesefourwalls

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[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[luimagines]

If requests are still open how about theirs only one bed with First?

yes. Let's do this. <3

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"UUggghhhh! I'm so tired." You groaned loudly as you entered the inn. "Link, please tell me we can go to bed soon. If not I'm right into the trees for the night."

Link hummed and rubbed his face. He wasn't looking that much better than you even if he still managed to keep his perfect posture. He walked up to the reception, glad to have someone at the counter no matter how exhausted. He quietly asks for whatever room they have and gets the key.

As in singular.

You don't seem to notice ready to drop dead into the first bed you see.

Link doesn't mention anything either, guiding you away and into the room he rented for the night. You let him unlock the door and walk in. As predicted, you b-line for the bed, kick off your shoes and roll over- not even bothering to get under the blankets.

Link is shocked. You hadn't even said good night.

Lack of manner aside, he knew you were tired. The sight of you instantly collapsing at first sign of minimal comfort makes his heart ache. He's more methodical with his practice though. He takes off his armor and his layers before getting inoto the bed next to you.

He'll deal with the after math in the morning.

He's never been a deep sleeper but he finds that he quite likes the feeling of you in his arms throughout the night. You both curl into each other and take comfort. Despite the comfort and the amount of sleep he's received, Link wakes up first at the crack of dawn as he usually does.

It takes him a minute to remember where he is and what happen the night before. He looks down to you. You're clutching onto his shirt and breathing softly by his shoulder. Your legs are intertwined together but it's not bothersome.

Link wonders if he should move or not. You're more likely to wake up if he does. He sighs. He's been waking you up early to get the mission over with. And you've admitted to not being quite the early riser like he is. Complaining aside, you still followed him and tried to make it work as much as you could. And you were so tired yesterday-... He'll let you sleep in today. As a treat.

Link sighs, chancing a delicate kiss to your forehead. "...Good morning..."

You don't stir for a long time and Link find himself almost falling asleep again as he waits for you to wait up.

Hours pass and Link feels more guilty as they do so. He's really pushed you over these last few days if you needed this much time to recuperate. It's nearly noon when you finally bilnk your eyes open.

You startle awake and it shakes him in the process.

He opens one eye and looks down at you. "...I was enjoying myself you know.."

"You! What are you-?" You sit up a little. "I thought-"

"This was the last bed of the night." He says quietly. "You fell asleep first... I didn't mind. This is quite comfortable."

"I can't believe-!" You can absolutely can believe this. You push his chest away. "You could have warned me!"

"You were already sleeping." He replies. He sounds more tired than you do despite the fact that he's been up all this time and you were the one that just woke up. "And you looked quite comfortable."

You huff and begin to blush. Link smiles before he opens his arms for you to escape. "You're free to leave if you want to."

Your jaw drops, scandalized and outraged. "You little-!"

He smirks.

You bite your tongue and pout, almost glaring at him before you sink down and cuddle close to him again. "I don't want to get up yet. I'm not going to let you bully me out of the bed."

Link snorts and tucks you under his chin, wrapping his arms around you once more. "Whatever you say, darling."

[natequarter]

i really do have a lot of ideas for timeblr

0 notes

🎉 yourbutchgirlfriend Follow

hey did you guys know the doctor does crack cocaine

🔫 thebrigadier Follow

This is the least surprising thing I've heard all day.

📑 anordinaryjournalist Follow

Wait he what??

📝 professorsurprise Follow

you mean you guys have never seen the doctor high? damn

🔫 thebrigadier Follow

Not "high" as such, but I have met him.

🎉 yourbutchgirlfriend Follow

you guys know i was joking right. just because he was caught with crack cocaine doesn't mean he does it!!!

📝 professorsurprise Follow

i'd say i have questions but like i say he very much does do drugs

#pour one out for the brigadier he seems totally done #also his voice is weirdly similar to that one time my cat learnt to speak

19 notes

Anon asked: what on gallifrey do you mean "that time my cat learnt to speak"

📝 professorsurprise Follow

hey these things happen sometimes

#benny answers #strictly speaking it wasn't so much that he learnt how to speak as #actually nvm i'll leave that story for another time

78 notes

🌊 raggedyfan Follow

save me raggedy man

🌊 raggedyfan Follow

raggedy man

🌊 raggedyfan Follow

raggedy man... save me..

6 notes

🌈 ijustwanttobeabotanist Follow

and then math boy EXPLODED. many are saying this

🪨 vislorturlough Follow

it's maths boy

🌈 ijustwanttobeabotanist Follow

why do you care you're from another planet

✈️ donewiththisshit573 Follow

😐

#this is not it guys

39 notes

🌹 normalwifeguy Follow

It's not that I want to die but sometimes it would just be nice to stay dead, you get me? Like ok. Fine. I have to die all the time. At least make it stick one of these days

📘 bossycontrolfreak Follow

this but i actually want to die

🌹 normalwifeguy Follow

In the nicest way possible... make your own post. Or go to a therapist. This post is about getting unwritten from reality, not suicidal behaviour.

👑 fred Follow

are you insinuating people who get unwritten from reality shouldn't be allowed to kill themselves? this post is really offensive, to be honest. some of us are suicidal AND we want to stay dead and that's just as valid a perspective

🌹 normalwifeguy Follow

What the fuck.

#I give up.

22 notes

💣 commiedyke Follow

anyone think the pforessor looks an awful lot like timothy chalamet

#IM JUST SAYING #ace speaks

2 notes

🚬 fitz-crier Follow

iwant him ti put a baby in mr

#i maay be drink #hes si fucking pretty thiguh #its noy just me right

0 notes

🏏 the--adventurer5 Follow

I miss my wife, Tails. I miss her a lot.

⚰️ themaster Follow

you mean you miss your *boyfriend

🏏 the--adventurer5 Follow

I assure you I do not.

⚰️ themaster Follow

well you should

🏏 the--adventurer5 Follow

I legitimately hope you die.

13 notes

⚰️ themaster Follow

consul-tremas -> themaster

plz reblog to help me find my moots!!!

62 notes

🚬 fitz-crier Follow

gay sex isknt eounough i need him to vivisectt me.

0 notes

👑 fred Follow

the doctor was right when he said pizza tastes best when you're hungry

👑 fred Follow

when you're starving

👑 fred Follow

i think i'm gonna die here guys

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

...looking back on it, I do not recall Etra Prime having Wi-Fi.

29 notes

[justcallmebc]

Just a little while longer.

Summery: What happens when suddenly your supposed friend, who is very unbothered and lazy, calls you over to his house? well lets see shall we? ♡ Warnings: Kinda fast Pace and Awkward, bad grammar, and slight fluff in the end.

A/n: I DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE AESTHETIC :c , Anyways I was bored so I'm trying to write again hehe. Don't expect it to be good (Maybe I should put this as a warning?).

Edit A/n: I AM SO SORRY THAT I FORGOT TO MENTION ABOUT SPOILERS 🙏🏾. THIS HAS MANGA SPOILERS.

Walking felt nice every once in a while. You liked the way your thoughts arranged themselves when your legs did the moving. Streets became quieter. The air wrapped gently around your limbs like an old friend.

Walking felt nice but right now you were a little anxious. Why? well because someone called you over. Someone you didn't expect to call. Not because you were enemies or anything. No dramatic falling-outs, no bitter misunderstandings. The truth was you and Nagi Seishirou had just never been close.

Its just that you both didn't talk much, and the person who was responsible for being the bridge was missing... or more like busy. Busy chasing his ambition.

Turning your phone on again, you did a re-check on the small conversation you had with Nagi. nothing much, just a simple 'hey, are you busy?' and 'come over.' You doubt it was a request.

The thing with you and Nagi was, you both were unknown to each other. Never talked once even though being in the same class, until Reo Mikage introduced him to you one day. You and Reo were really good friends. It is expectable due to Reo's status both in and off school premises.

It all began with you having a small doubt in Math. Now, both of you shared any sorts of knowledge in interest. Of course Reo was always surrounded by others as well, luckily he considered you as a good friend. Which is why he would spare sometime for you.

You had been a great supporter to Reo for his dream of soccer. Though you have also heard many people talk behind his back about how he shouldn't waste his life on something as mere as soccer. You couldn't careless, you were just happy that Reo finally found something of his interest. Which is why you were the first person he told his dream to.

You still remember how Reo Introduced Nagi, even though you already knew him,- chest puffed with pride, arm flung around Nagi’s slouched shoulders, declaring "We're gonna win the World Cup together." Nagi didn't talk much other than a lazy 'Hi', ah yes the lazy genius. You always wondered how this boy scored so much in exams while not paying attention at all. Lucky bastard (friendly). You were there while they practiced or more like paying a visit during breaks or after school. You had a goal to achieve too so can't just follow them around. Their goal and your goal was different, and you wanted to achive yours- not willing to be the supportive side character who follows around some protagonist's with the hopes of getting recognized by them, never wanting to be the side character to someone else's story.

A long time had passed since you saw either of the boys. Ever since Reo told you that they got accepted in 'Blue Lock'. You had your questions about the organization but didn't waver too much, giving your congrats and a promise to see each other in a better position if they ever meet after years. Gradually the time passed, you were content with your life and few friends to converse with. That was until you met Nagi again, about 2 days ago. You approached him after all the classmates congratulated him or just shamelessly asking for Reo and being unbothered about him. Typical conversation for a loner with a popular person. What shocked you was Nagi's reply to one of the classmate.

You didn't pry further, simply greeting him and congratulated him for his play. For some reason, you knew you shouldn't ask about his football experience.

You were close to his apartment, which was in fact the student dorms of Hakuho Academy. It's not like you've been there before but looking back to when Reo described it being as sparse as a prison cell or his closet... of course who are you kidding it even might be. You also remember distinctly Reo mentioning about Nagi living alone. When you further inquired Nagi on it, he simply said 'Yes' and that his parents having a Laissez-Faire lifestyle so they left him be. You can't say for sure if you were able to hide your discontent with the statement.

The reason you felt so anxious was because you remember vividly about yesterday evening. When you decided to ask soft, more tame questions about his soccer experience and walk home with nagi. You recall, seeing his slouched form on the table through the glass. You remember hearing very faint sniffles and seeing his shoulder tremble. You walked alone that evening.

And now, you're walking straight to his apartment. Damn it, if it was anything you were bad at it was finding comforting words. You don't know how to comfort people other than listening.

"... Fucking hell..."

You never thought standing in front of someone's door would make you question your life choices but here we are. Feeling this weird pit in your stomach for a while you decided to grab some snacks for both of you on your way here. Nothing fancy just 2 drinks and something to munch on... okay, maybe you bought your favorite snacks, but hey in your defense it's not like you knew what type of snacks Nagi like because most of the time he would consider eating as a 'hassle'.

After contemplating for a while, you finally gave in and rung the bell. It was in a matter of minutes that he opened the door, as if he was waiting for you.

"Hey, Nagi" you said casually to mask your anxiousness. Nagi greeted you back, his eyes flickering to the snack bag for a brief second before turning around and letting you in. You pretended to be unaware of his stare. Has he even eaten anything? Nagi urge you to sit down on his bed, after your refusal, while he moved in further.

You looked around the apartment which seemed small for even someone as tall as him. Huh maybe it really might be the size of Reo's Closet. Sitting down on the bed you handed Nagi the snack bag.

"grabbed some on the way here" you tried sounding casual with a small smile. Nagi didn't question and took the bag, making his way to the kitchen for serving them.

"Soo.. what's with the sudden invitation" you hoped your desperation for leaving wasn't noticeable. You didn't know how to talk or what to talk with this guy. You barely knew shit he likes. "oh, yea Reo gave me one of your book for reference saying that I directly hand it to you" Nagi spoke, sounding a little tired though you noticed there was an edge to his voice. Of what though? You can't decipher.

"My.. book? Wait which one?" Reo gave him your book? Since when did this genius need help?

"Yea, literature, I was absent due to cold. Remember?"

"oh, yea.." Hardly, it's saddening how easy it is to not notice him around. Nagi returned with the snacks and placed them on the bed while the drinks on the floor near the bed.

"I thought I'll return it to you today" so he didn't remove it? "I was about to remove it but I fell asleep" of course..

"Take your time I'm not in a hurry as of now" you stated, now feeling a bit more relaxed then when you were standing out. Nagi contemplated.

"Nagi, how about you eat first, and then take your time searching for it" you suggested. He scratched the back of his neck before sighing and sitting down opposite of you, with the snacks in between, and started eating. You didn't stop yourself either.

As you savoured the snack in your hands, out of curiosity, you looked around the appartment. Nothing too much or too little. Just cozy enough for one person. Huh, doesn't seem so bad after all. Actually how the hell he cooks? Does he even know how to cook?

You glanced at him. He was staring out the window. You can't help but notice those red bags under his eyes. Was he crying again? Your throat was itching for asking questions. Shit, you're used to throwing questions at Reo, even when Nagi was around but now you didn't know if it's even ok for you to do so with the topics in your mind. Be tame, you thought, maybe not ask at all, you can't decide. You closed your eyes and chewed in the last bits, your eyes slightly burning behind your eyelids due to staring too much onto the side. Picking up another piece you suddenly blurted out-

"So, how did soccer go?"

Silence. There was a lot of silence.

".. It was ok"

...

"You're gonna continue playing?"

"No"

Okay, that was direct... You thought while munching on the snack.

There was even longer silence than before until you asked.

"You alright?" quite bluntly, and not in a tender manner either. Fuck it, you hate this awkward silence.

".. Yea?"

"why do you sound confused then,"

"Im n-"

"Its over Nagi, I saw it"

Silence once again.

"wha-" "I saw the match"

Were you rude? probably. Did you care? yes, about Nagi of course. Because now that you fully look at him, he is in shambles. Messy hair, messy cloths and looks like he hadn't eaten until you arrived.

"I know its over" he mumbled, "Then let it go" You replied audibly.

"I did" he got smaller, "You liar" and you still looked at him.

"Shut up" and even more smaller. "I will, if you tell me" but you held him, held him without touching him.

"There is nothing to tell",

"then what about Reo"

"what about Reo?" now he looked at you and your eyes was all he needed to know. They were strictly observing yet so calmly holding him.

"Abou-" though before you could further question, he slouched down and-

"I miss soccer" And you kept quiet " I miss having that fun, that excitement" he continued, "Chasing everyone" then mumbling "Playing along side Reo" and then it got more quieter as he talked about the thrill of playing when suddenly slight sniffles were heard in this echoing silence "I.. Can't go back anymore... I have become so damn Miserable.."

You must be a sadist because you've made someone cry whom you never thought would cry. And now you felt even more guilty for thinking that because of course Nagi could cry, he is a human too. shit. Unable to think of anything you placed your hand on his head.

"You did good" you said while ruffling his hair in a gentle manner, "Be proud that it ever happened" Ew ew, cliché movie line, fuck now you wanted to cry out of embarrassment. You tilted his head up and wipe off his tears with your thumb. Even though he wasn't crying much, there still were stray tears flowing. you swear you felt him put his head weight on your hands.

"I.. can't say much due to my lack of knowledge on what or how you fully feel, but I won't push you Nagi. I'm still here" You emphasized the last words, putting weight on them for him to hear in his clouded mind. "I know I can't do much, but I'm still here." You retreated your hands.

You didn't continue and Nagi stayed silent as well. You were thinking of ways to comfort him, to find the right words.

"Thank you" he suddenly blurted out. You paused, quite literally. He didn't continue. DAMN IT, now you feel even more lost for words. He shouldn't thank you, god, you barely used to notice him.. and yet..

"Do you, want to talk about it?"

"No" oh ok awkward, you thought. When suddenly Nagi moved the empty dishes down on the ground, moving beside you and sat between you and the wall, more near to the window, Looking at you while passing you your own phone after turning on his and starting some game.

"Just stay a while longer... Please"

A/n: HELPPP DOES THE ENDING LOOKS RUSHED?, But I just wanted it to be slightly more in character. shit did I make it OOC?, ahh I'm about to cry :c

I'm sorry for disappointing. Since Nagi always fell into the shadows of Reo's popularity, I made reader such too. The reader, like everyone else, saw more Reo and less Nagi and honestly, Nagi also kept his distance with everyone for peace. Which is why I've shown reader struggling to understand Nagi.

Nagi on the other hand is trying to mend things between him and reader. It was something Reo asked him to do before they left for 'Blue Lock'.

also I know I used 'You' a lot but in my defense I didn't want to point it at one gender.

ANYWAYS, I hope you enjoyed this small drabble :3