#and the facilities don't give a fuck not like there's much that can be done anyways though unfortunately

[r0-boat]

I'm stuck in a heat wave and don't handle it well, but I keep thinking about how Beel and Bael would love it. Like I'm imagining just using my smell to lure beel back to the castle to give Bael a break lol

Afjdfjk

This is funny! Also I definitely feel you. It is hot as fuck were I live

Let me tell you-

WHB!Beelzebub & BAEL X gn!S/O in a heatwave

The rare times Beel is genuinely at the palace. Of course it's a pain to get him to do work but if he is in your facility when you smell oh so delectable it is worth the suffering. But he is not the only one struggling to do work.

Bael can barely do his own work. You're scent distracting him. He's not like his best friend. He won't immediately jump you the first chance he gets, but damn, is it tempting. Even as you fan yourself with the papers in your hand, it does nothing but stop Your delicious scent from reaching his sensitive devil nose. Other devils could probably smell you, too, but Bael & Beel an even keener sense of smell. Yeah, perfumes are nice but also a little too much, and plus, they prefer your natural scent. Even if you think you smell gross, they will highly disagree.

Bael is trying to sneak glances at you, trying to fight his lust for you. Beel isn't even trying; he's almost completely given up on paperwork wanting you in his lap, sitting on his totally not hard cock.. and you already hating the heat is pushing away a pouty Beel because the one thing you do not need is body heat.

Bael is done... He wants you so bad. And it's not fair that Beel (the actual king) is indulging in you while he's trying to get work done. Fuck work he can do that later.

Bael pounces on you, two hot ass demons holding you down, staring at you with hungry eyes. Beelzebub rolling his tongue, tasting your sweet and salty skin. Complaining for the demons, take it off you because it's so hot in here. Which Bael shoots back, "If you're so hot, then why don't you just take off your clothes?" You forget that he is still, in fact, a devil, no matter his more reliable and professional personality. Beelzebub agrees wholeheartedly with his best friend, almost shocked that he had it in him, But is very welcome to this change.

[shitsndgiggs]

Hey, Kaya. Hope you're well. My request is: Kenan and YN are happily married to each other. YN discovers that she is pregnant and wants to surprise Kenan who is in Istanbul training with the national team. When she arrives in Istanbul and with the help of the other players, she is able to keep her surprise. However, as she is about to surprise Kenan, she overhears him telling Arda that he dated and married YN out of pressure and obligation to his parents. YN starts questioning their entire relationship and leaves without confronting him. I don't know what happens in between, you can include the drama and groveling, but she gives him a second chance on their baby's first birthday party.

DO YOU REALLY LOVE ME? - KENAN YILDIZ

In which Kenan fucked up

Kenan Yildiz x pregnant! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The sun streamed through the curtains as I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand. My heart raced with excitement. Kenan and I had talked about starting a family, but now it was real.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when I told him. He was in Istanbul, training with the national team. I decided to surprise him there.

With a plan in mind, I packed my bags and made arrangements to fly to Istanbul. I reached out to a few of the players who were more than happy to help me pull off the surprise.

They assured me they’d keep Kenan distracted until I arrived.

When I landed in Istanbul, the excitement was almost unbearable. One of the players, Hakan, picked me up from the airport. “He’s going to be so thrilled,” he said, smiling.

“I hope so,” I replied, nervously clutching my bag.

We arrived at the training facility, and the guys whisked me into a small room where I could wait until practice was over.

I could hear the laughter and chatter of the team as they finished up for the day.

As I prepared to step out and surprise Kenan, I heard voices just outside the door. I froze when I recognized Kenan’s voice. He was talking to Arda.

“I don’t know, man,” Kenan said, his voice heavy with frustration. “I feel like I married her out of pressure and obligation to my parents. Sometimes, I think I just did it to make everyone happy.”

Arda sounded concerned. “But do you love her, Kenan?”

Kenan sighed. “I do, but... it's complicated. I don’t know if it’s enough. Sometimes, I think I convinced myself it was love because it was easier that way. I feel trapped, like I can’t breathe.”

Arda’s voice was firm. “You need to figure this out. You can’t keep stringing her along if you’re not sure. It’s not fair to her.”

“I know,” Kenan said, his voice breaking. “I just... I don’t know what to do.”

My heart shattered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me.

The love and excitement I had felt just moments ago turned into a suffocating pain. I quietly backed away from the door, my mind reeling.

Without confronting him, I slipped out of the facility and made my way back to the airport. The flight home was a blur of tears and confusion.

How could everything have been a lie? I arrived back home, broken and devastated.

I didn’t know how to face his parents, but they needed to know the truth. I went to their house, my heart heavy with sorrow.

“I’m pregnant,” I told them, my voice trembling. “But I don’t want Kenan in our lives right now. He... he doesn’t love me.”

Their faces fell, and I could see the disappointment in their eyes. They loved me like their own daughter, and this news was a blow.

They promised to talk to Kenan, to make him understand the gravity of what he’d done.

Months passed, and I focused on preparing for the baby. Kenan tried to call, text, even showed up at the door, but I couldn’t face him. My heart couldn’t take it.

My parents were supportive, but I could see the worry in their eyes. They knew how much I loved Kenan, and they were afraid of what this stress was doing to me and the baby.

When our baby was born, it was a beautiful and bittersweet moment. Kenan’s and my own mother were in the delivery room with me, providing the support I needed.

Kenan wasn’t there, but he sent money and gifts, trying to support us from afar. But it wasn’t the same.

On our baby’s first birthday, I decided to throw a small party. I wanted to celebrate this milestone, despite everything.

To my surprise, Kenan showed up. He looked tired and broken, but determined.

“Please, just hear me out,” he pleaded as I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed.

I nodded, unable to deny him this chance. We went outside, away from the party noise.

“I was an idiot,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I was scared and stupid. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything, and I want to be a part of our baby’s life. I want to be a family.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. All I saw was raw honesty and regret. “You hurt me, Kenan. You hurt us.”

“I know, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m begging you, give me another chance.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him. Despite everything, I still loved him. “This is your last chance, Kenan. Don’t make me regret it.”

He nodded, relief washing over his face. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll never let you down again.”

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

It bothers the hell out of me when no one talks about what George stacy? (whatever his name is) (gwens dad) pulling out a gun and was (probably) going to harm his own kid?? why is no one talking about? why is that scene so overlooked?? it's so fucking overlooked, call me whatever, but my gut has been screaming to me about it, it's so weird how overlooked it is, And I know it's not just me, but I also feel kike I know why and it sucks, I feel bad for gwen, I don't think she'll ever look at him that way and it's not being talked about as much.

NO DEADASS REALLY FOR REAL DEADASS

Like the implications of that scene are insane - if we question what he would've done, like it gets sickening.

Because he let out a warning shot, he's going by procedure. So if Gwen hadn't complied, what would he have done? If she 'resisted arrest' is he really ready to use force - A GUN on his own daughter.

He KNOWS she Spider-Gwen now. He's see what she can do - Gwen could probably dodge a bullet if she knew she was being shot at. Knowing that, he was doing that to get her to submit in fear, that hopefully his place as a cop would scare her into WHAT?? Giving herself up.

Gwen CAN'T.

This is NYC mind you.

If you get arrested in NYC they send you Riker's Island while you wait for trail. Riker's Island being the jail that inspired ARKHAM ASYLUM.

It's considered one of the foulest facilities in the country. Gwen is what, 16-17? Wanted for murder - the cops HATE her, the courts could easily trial her as an adult.

Was he REALLY ready to throw his 16 year old daughter into the most dangerous neglective hellish place the city has to offer? Was he ready to shoot her or worse?

WHAT WAS HE GONNA DO??? CAUSE WHATEVER IT WAS...HE SEEMED COMMITED TO DOING IT.

SIR WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO INFLICT UPON YOU INNOCENT CHILD - HOBIE GET THE GUITAR

No wonder she was gonna leave without talking to him. If Hobie hadn't come over, she would've rather been homeless on the streets rather than try and face her dad again - knowing it can end up MUCH worse.

Not knowing if he's looking for her to apologize or throw her in a cruiser he makes me SICKKKK BRUHH ITs NOT EVEN FUNNY AT THIS POINT

As soon as he started talking she had an attitude because she's still pissed about there. There's so much sadness there but anger too, cause like

How you deadass pull a gun on your only family??????????????

How you deadass about to send your daughter to a detention center or a jail OR MORE LIKELY COMPLETE SOLITARY. Consider her powers.

Like..... These movies want me to pat him and Peter B. on the back for a job well done when they BOTH let Gwen down. And Gwen has to come TO THEM to fix it (which I understand for her dad but Peter r u deadass)

Meanwhile Jefferson is doing TWENTY THOUSAND TIMES BETTER WTF

FUCK GEORGE STACY ALL MY HOBIES HATE GEORGE STACY JEFFERSON DAVIS IS A KIN

DO YOU THINK HED EVER PULL A GUN ON MILES NO!!!!!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

To Have & To Hold: Part 4

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

Marc is leaning against the passenger door of his car and typing on his phone when you come out. When he hears you approaching, he looks up. He immediately pockets his phone and opens the door for you.

"Thanks," you give him a small smile before sliding in. He gives you a nod before he shuts the door. He swiftly moves to the driver side, getting in, and starting the car.

"You're okay with me coming to your charity meeting?"

You shrug, "Do I have a choice?" you look at your lap, fiddling with your shirt.

"I don't have to go with you. Your dad won't know. I can go fuck off somewhere and you let me know when you're done. I'll pick you up and you give me a brief summary of what you discussed in the meeting."

You shook your head, "It's fine. We need to be seen with each other more often so.."

"Right," Marc mumbles and starts the drive to where your meeting is being held.

_________________________

"You're building a facility?" Marc asks in shock as you and he exit his car.

"Well, technically the building was already here, we're just doing some refurb on it. Make it more modern."

The building was an old recreation center. It was falling apart and, due o budget cuts, the city couldn't afford to fix it up. Then you appeared, wanting to help and provide a fun, new places for the local kids to hang out in.

"So you said at dinner that your organization provides classes and clubs for low-income youth?"

"Yup, that's right!"

"How come you wanna help so bad?" he looks at you so inquisitively as he follows you into the building.

You stop in front of a conference room, "I want to give the kids options. Let them find their passions so they don't end up in the streets getting involved with bad people, bad things."

Marc lets out a snort, "And ironically, you're the daughter of a man who recruits kids like that."

"Exactly why I want to prevent it. Growing up, I've seen the kids who get roped into his shit. It's not good. I love my dad, but I know he's not a good man. He's in too deep that the only way he could get out is dying. Me? I was raised around it all, but I refused to get involved. Me working on this organization and this facility is me trying to at least payback for my father's sins."

Marc reaches out and rests a hand on your arm, "We're not our parents. Despite the environment you grew up in, seeing how you turned out, it's clear you're not your father. You have a lot more heart and compassion. You really live up to your nickname, Sunshine."

You playfully roll your eyes at him, "Thanks, Marc." You proceed to open the door to reveal a small group of people, "Alrighty, let's get this show on the road!"

________________

Your meeting was very productive. More and more people from the community wanted to get involved in your organization and it was so exciting!

You watch as the small group of board members exit the building, waving at all of them. Then there were too.

"Well that was very...informative."

You turn back to Marc, whom was leaning against the threshold of the conference room. You smirk at him, "Don't think I didn't see you yawn a few times in that corner of yours."

He gives you a sheepish grin, "Too be fair, I didn't get much sleep."

"My dad have you do some stuff for him?"

"Yeah," is all that he says, but you were curious.

"What kind of stuff?" you tilt your head in curiosity.

He shrugs, "The usual."

"Like...?"

"For someone who doesn't want to get involved in this stuff, you sure do wanna know a lot," he gives you a playful look and you roll your eyes at him.

"Please, I know a lot about this business, I just choose not to get myself involved. But, I suppose it's inevitable. I'm marrying you and you'll be taking my dad's place. Luck of the draw, I guess," you give a shrug, heading back into the room to grab your things.

"Do you wanna grab brunch? I didn't get to eat anything before my dad called me to the estate."

Marc looks at you with concern, "You couldn't told me you didn't eat. I could've stopped at a place on the way over here or ordered something for deliv-"

You placed your hand on Marc's cheek, "Relax. It's no big deal." You give his cheek a pat and walk past him, "Close the door for me, please."

Walking towards the exit of the building, you don't see Marc softly smiling to himself.

"Oooohh I see that smile," Steven teases Marc.

"Shut up," Marc mumbles to himself.

______________________

"What do you have for me?" the man sits at his desk, the lights in his office dim. He doesn't look up from the files he's reading over.

His follower stood in front of his desk, slightly nervous, "His daughter is set to marry his right hand. They're starting to be seen a lot together."

The man in the chair darkly chuckles, "Well that'd just amazing news," he clasps his hands together, "We'll have to send her flowers. Go pick out a bouquet for her. Something that's an explosion of color."

[blood-teeth]

hi! any tips for turning an idea into a plot / story?

hiiii sorry this took me so long!! tumblr doesn't tell me when i get an ask anymore for some reason???? idk idk but!

✨✨✨morgan's guide to turning ideas into a story✨✨✨

these may not work for you BUT if you're having a hard time piecing together something then i would give these a shot!

the first thing i do when i have an idea i write it down. USUALLY my ideas for me come in a sentence. For Tell Me If There's A Way Home, the sentence was "cowgirl that has to keep burying a body that pops up along her journey"

for This Grave Calls You Home it was "in the light of a dying star, the last astronaut wakes up"

BRAINSTORMING:

so anyway i immediately write this down somewhere, usually the notes app on my phone and i STOP WHAT IM DOING IMMEDIATELY

for me, i have hundreds of these sentences written down somewhere, but the ones that stick with me always stay in the back of my throat.

if its one that gets me really hot and bothered, then the seed is planted and it needs some water babes....

im RUNNING to find media that i feel fits with the idea ... on that netflix or spotify or library app STAT looking for anything that will help that seed grow inside my head. i need the VIBES and the MUSIC and ATMOSPHERE.

once that's on lock...i'm plotting with my little grimy hands rubbing together...

...and i buy...another....notebook... and i KNOW this sounds ridiculous but hear me out...writing in notebook vs on a computer has genuinely saved my life with writer's block so many times. ideas and thoughts and fragments just flow when i allow myself to write in a notebook. idk what it is. but this is just me, if computers or typewriters or what have you works then STICK WITH IT

by the time i'm done scribbling ideas in my notebook and acting unhinged, i have a decent idea about the atmosphere and the themes i'm looking to write about

IF AN IDEA CAME TO YOU, IT MEANS SOMETHING IMPORTANT. DON'T DISREGARD THIS

you need to figure out what it is about the idea that means so much to you - and whatever that reason is, that's gonna be the fundamental core of your story.

PLOTTING:

i have to admit something. i dont plot my stories. i dont know how to plot. i like to discover the story right alongside everyone else. what's gonna happen next? idk babes you and me are gonna find out together.

BUT i do try to have a general idea of where the story STARTS and ENDS. everything else is trial and error. and if u dont have any idea where the story ends, just know it'll come to you eventually. u have thousands and thousands of words to write before the end, so don't sweat this; it'll happen. even if its really simple!

using Tell Me If There's A Way Home as an example:

Start: a woman doesn't know who she is, only knows that she's looking for something

End: She's Found The Thing

think of it like a question and answer. (also! NOT answering the question is totally valid story telling too)

if u are really struggling, the number one thing i suggest is READING. you can glean so much information from reading its actually crazy. study your favorite books or movies or video games. almost always in western media there is the exposition, conflict, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement. (this is super formulaic, so don't feel tied down by this! just a guide line.)

SETTING:

i think everyone gets really tied up in knots about setting. and it shouldn't be like that! this should be YOUR fun!!

setting has very little to do with story/plot itself. it affects the ATMOSPHERE of the story you're telling instead. (except, like, if you're telling an alice in wonderland story or a story about climate change ofc, there's exceptions to everything)

look the locked tomb for example. take out the space aspect, this story at its heart would be the exact same if it were set underwater inside decomissioned underwater research facilities. its just cool as fuck to have a space nun living on pluto.

Take twin peaks and put it in space. the heart of the show works anywhere, but the atmosphere and the mood is enhanced because its in a small, strange town.

you can write a story about generational trauma and put it into the world of jurassic park.

anyway, i hope that you are hearing me say have fun with your setting. it absolutely is a part of the story you're telling, but it is not the heart of it (sometimes)

MISC TIPS:

remember that this is YOUR work. you do whatever you want. it's not up to anyone else.

be obsessed with your own world and your characters!! i literally went to a craft store and made a rosary today for one of my characters and it has actually helped me write a ton today.

you are not stuck in this story. i feel like a pitfall i face often is like "ah man but this writing doesnt make sense in this genre i cant write this" and its like YEAH I CAN. why cANT I . do whatever you want with your story im so serious. you have no idea how many books are releasing now and the common feedback is "man this feels like a book ive read a million times before" and with movies its a remake or based off a book like the entertainment industry DESPERATELY needs new original ideas SO SO BAD. dont be scared to write that book that you're worried is too weird or doesn't make sense trust me.

make playlists! watch movies! play video games! these are all things that count as writing believe it or not.

and remember you are loved !

[himbeereule]

(please excuse my language. normally i don't swear, but i'm really not well right now.)

tomorrow is my birthday (fuck)

i also have a presentation tomorrow (i haven't started on it yet, and i don't have any powerpoint-esque software to begin with. fuck)

i also have two exams tomorrow (i wasn't present when we learned the stuff that'll get asked there, i haven't started trying to catch up, and there is no script or comparable materials to do that to begin with. fuck)

i went outside and there were too many people and my brain went "seems like a good time to start a major depressive episode!" (fuck)

i'll call in sick to school tomorrow because otherwise i'll 100% unalive myself (i already have trouble with my boss because of too many sick days - they were all during school blocs. idek why he cares as long as my grades are fine, but i might end up losing the job once my contract runs out. fuck)

i mean, i'm aware that i'm just whining, but seriously. how fucking unfair can the world be. with my set of issues, i should be dead or in a closed psychiatric facility. but because i happen to be really good at most things, people expect me to constantly overperform. which i can't. i barely function at all. i lost my last job because of too many sick days; two days later, they hired me back because the whole department fell apart without me. when my boss at my current job warned me about the number of sick days (even though almost all of them were during school blocs which i'll be done with next year anyway) he told me i only have a chance still because if i'm there 80% of the time i'm still way more productive than others who are never sick.

don't know where i'm going with this - again, just pathetic whining, feel free to ignore - but the bitterness has to go somewhere i guess. i stumbled through the entire school system, every single teacher/professor i had was like "oooh, you're really good, i expect great things from you" and then did EXACTLY NOTHING to help with that - on the contrary, they actively hindered me by insisting on petty bureaucratic bullshit. so now i'm stuck with a mediocre upper-level graduation paper that makes me a "specialist worker" but also bars me from studying any of the things i actually could get through despite my issues; and i can't keep any job, because, despite outperforming pretty much everyone in productivity in all my jobs, i can't get consistent attendence rates, and HR shift planners hate that.

welp, i'll try to work on the project(s) at least. don't want to disappoint everyone here as much as i'm disappointing myself and everyone else.

(also, it feels so fucking weird to add tags to this, like... my immediate reaction is "huh? i'm not writing this to get attention, i don't need tags!"; but then i realize i am absolutely doing this for attention, because note number go up makes brain give dopamine shot like one of these early 2000s coin machines where you'd get grimy 10 year old candy if you tricked the mechanism into working... still not adding all the diagnosis tags though this time, the guilt i'd feel over this isn't worth the potential extra readers)

[tooxmanyxships]

Not sure how it works about promts (I’m rusty) sorry in advance but landoscar and “you might be the death of me” with a first kiss?

That's exactly how a prompt works, no need to apologize 🖤

It was probably obvious for everyone who wasn't blind that Lando and Oscar were always flirting with each other.

Even the blind could probably tell, with the tension between those two. It was probably feelable.

The only one it probably wasn't obvious to was Lando.

Funnily enough, he's the one who flirts the most, driving Oscar positively insane sometimes.

They had to do yet another team challenge together, in which Oscar tried, and failed incredibly, not to look at Lando too much.

The Aussie boy couldn't help himself. Lando could be so annoyingly endearing without even realizing it himself.

It was plain torture, really.

"Oscar," Lando nudged his teammate, trying to imitate his Australian accent as usual. "Are you listening, mate?"

Oscar rolled his eyes automatically. "Yeah. I'm listening."

And so the challenge went on until one of them won. Or it was a draw.

Oscar didn't even remember what it was. He was too distracted by his teammate.

Now they were walking back to the McLaren facility, duties done. But Landostill didn't leave Oscar's side.

"Lando, I'm not gonna get lost, you know."

"Nah, I know. Just thought you'd like some company."

Oscar blinks, not sure what to say. "Uh, sure."

So Lando follows him, then split up to each go into their own drivers room to pick up their stuff.

When Oscar comes out, Lando is already waiting for him. The younger boy isn't even surprised.

They even take the same car to the hotel.

Lando keeps on scrolling on his phone and Oscar keeps on staring at him.

It's so annoying. But he just can't keep his eyes off of him.

They walk to their hotel rooms together too, still side by side.

"I don't think I can sleep yet."

Oscar sighs and strokes his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure I can either."

A grin lights up Lando's face. "Wanna play some fifa? Or whatever game you want to play."

Oscar pretends to think about it. He already made up his mind. "Yeah. Okay."

Lando smiled, and if Oscar hadn't agreed already, he'd do it again, just for that smile.

So they went to Lando's room and dropped onto his bed, Lando giving the other boy the second controller.

They play for a good while until Lando gets tired of constantly beating Oscar. Oscar was just distracted, okay?

He kicks Oscar out and tells him to have a good night's sleep because there's another team challenge coming up the next day.

Oscar groans, not sure if he's gonna survive the next day.

~~~~~~~~**************~~~~~~~~~~

He was right in thinking the next day was gonna be hell; because it was.

Well, not that it was a bad day exactly, but---watching Lando being....well, being Lando was enough torture for Oscar.

How much longer could he possibly deal with this before he'd go and do something stupid.

Like kiss the older boy in front of the camera.

Really.

How much longer......

Finally the shooting was done and Oscar could relax again.

Or so he thought.

Because Lando is still following him and talking and absolutely driving Oscar crazy without even really doing anything special.

It's just that Oscar simply can't take it anymore.

He grabs Lando by the arm and pulls him along for a bit, completely ignoring the other's protests, before pushing him into a more secluded spot.

Lando is about to ask him what the fuck he's doing, when Oscar already cuts him off.

"You might be the death of me."

Lando still doesn't get the chance to talk because Oscar is up in his personal space, pressing his lips against his and all other thoughts are forgotten.

As Oscar finally pulls back, but still stays close, Lando can't help but grin.

"If being the death of you is what it takes for you to kiss me like that, then I'll happily be the death of you all the time time."

Oscar thinks that won't be a hard task for the Brit at all.

And..... If it means that he keeps getting to kiss him, then he won't have a problem with it either.

[meta-squash]

I really wish there had been one more episode between Adrift and Fragments in series 2.

I know Adrift isn't really a favorite episode but it leaves some huge unanswered question and does some really interesting character advancement for Gwen. But because Fragments comes next, nothing gets done with any of that.

One of the unanswered questions is: Do Owen and Tosh know about Flat Holm? I think it's easily plausible both ways.

If they know about it, they also are probably very aware of the limitations of such a facility and also the potential consequences (emotional and security-wise) of letting civilians or family members know about it. I wouldn't be surprised if they were told that Flat Holm was need-to-know. (I wouldn't put it past Jack to tell them separately, so they both think no one else knows.) In any case, if they know about Flat Holm, I think by this time in series 2 they would also be able to gauge what Gwen's reaction would be and how she would try and push the limits of this project, when it's already pretty much as good as it can get, considering the nature of, well, everything.

On the other hand, it makes sense that Ianto knows about Flat Holm if he's doing secretarial duties like expenses and supply runs and things like that, and that it was hidden from everyone else.

And then, if they didn't know about it before, were they told about Flat Holm after? Did Gwen tell them? Or Jack? Or Ianto? I imagine they would react in a more reasonable way than Gwen. Perhaps they'd offer some suggestions for changes but I don't think they'd push much.

The other question is, what's Ianto's motive? And what was Jack's response? We know Ianto pointed Gwen to Flat Holm and we know Jack figures it out, but we don't see them talk about it after. Did Ianto give her clues because he knew she wouldn't stop pushing? Did he give her clues because he thought her knowledge of the facility would be helpful? Was he trying to teach her the exact lesson that she learns in the end? How did Jack react when he got back? What was the conversation between them? It's the first time since Lisa that Ianto deliberately defied Jack and went behind his back about something. That's gotta be a pretty intense blow to their relationship and trust, at least in that it will bring up old wounds.

And the entire episode like I said is some interesting character advancement for Gwen. This is the first time her pushing truly and spectacularly blows up in her face in a way that cannot be fixed at all. For the most part every time she fucks up or goes to far either Jack/the team are able to save the day, or she fumbles it back. This time, the damage is done on a level that she can't undo, and she learns that sometimes you can't do more, that it's better not to know things, that sometimes her actions of "caring" do more harm than good, and learns that there's a lot more to Jack and Ianto and the whole business of running Torchwood than she thought.

I just wish there was one more "regular" episode in between Adrift and Fragments, where we get to see how those realizations might have altered how Gwen saw or functioned in the job, and how Jack and Ianto's relationship might have been affected, and stuff like that.

I mean, I know that's what fanfiction is for, of course, but I'd be so interested to know what the actual showrunners would have done with it. Mainly because the trajectory all the characters were going in in the latter half of series 2 was actually pretty interesting, and then it just screeches to a halt.

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 14 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Better late than never, and yet still too late.

words: 8.1 k

chapter warning: peter being an idiot, talk of murder, and s*xu*l ass^lt (tw *sa*) descriptions of hospitals, injuries, panic attacks, peter trying his best to be a perfect fluffy boyfriend

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't get the Jonas Brothers reference in this chapter, you're probably too young for this.

Back to Part 13.

Part 14

Everything was too loud. Too bright. Too much.

That’s how Peter always used to feel. Never mind the life-long possibility of neurodivergence. When he turned 17, things particularly felt like they were spiraling out of control. He had too much energy, too many inputs of information shoving its way into his brain, too many emotions. No place to put it to use.

He’d spent years honing his ability to focus. To see the bad things coming. To react before they happen. That’s how he’d been able to survive. That’s how he protected his own.

And then one day he’d gotten a cup of coffee and fucked it all up.

He couldn’t get the buzz of fluorescent lights out of his ears. He stood inside a supply room at New York-Presbyterian, trying with difficulty to listen to the voice of the woman standing next to him, and all he could hear was that goddamn buzz, like a chainsaw rattling inside of an oil barrel.

“Hey,” Felicia’s voice sharply snapped, yanking his attention towards her. “Are we boring you or somethin’?”

She, Peter, and a doctor—one of the surgeons who treated Miguel— stood together in the solitude of the small room amongst shelves of PPE, cleaning supplies, and sterilization equipment. They had sequestered themselves in the room for privacy and protection, just in case any unwanted visitors arrived and decided to finish their attack.

Arms crossed, a sharp crease between her microbladed brows, Felicia burned him with her gaze. “You mind at least taking notes for the class if you’re done napping?”

Peter glared back, unappreciative of her tone. “How did this happen?” he asked calmly, eyes shifting back to the surgeon.

“They didn’t give me those details,” she apologetically sighed. Her voice was a low, tense whisper. “But we did find a shard of plastic lodged in his collarbone. Probably disposable cutlery from the cafeteria.”

Peter sighed heavily, eyes grim. He brought his hand up to soothe a piercing ache behind his eyes.

“The damage was extensive,” she explained gravely. “He lost a lot of blood. We counted at least thirteen wounds to the chest and neck. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Peter gritted his teeth, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “Luck.” The word tasted sour as it rolled out of his mouth. He bit his tongue to keep from adding anything further. “Alright, how long until we can move him?”

“Into a private room?” 

“Into a different city,” Peter said.

The doctor blinked. Glanced back between Peter and Felicia. “Are you serious? He can’t leave—”

“Well, he can’t stay,” Peter curtly declared. “The people that wanted him dead are gonna try again the second they get wind that he survived. If they don’t know already.” He glanced warily at the door to the supply room. “And if that’s the case, then everybody in this facility is in danger.” He ground his teeth, corners of his mouth turned down. “And they’re also a threat.”

The surgeon’s eyes darted up to him anxiously, then back to Felicia. She crossed her arms, swallowing with a dry tongue. “Um, sure. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe a few hours, though.”

“One hour,” Peter firmly stated, unsubtle with his criticism. “It’s not safe here. For anyone.”

Holding her tongue, Felicia’s eyes shifted between Peter and the doctor. The air was thick enough to cut through. “Thanks, Helen,” she said pleasantly, a bright contrast from the weight of Peter’s words. “We’re gonna chat a bit then I’ll come out and find ya, ‘kay?” She turned to Peter, with steel eyes and a wide forced smile.

Observing her glare, he gently added, “Thank you, Dr. Cho.”

She nodded, without reply, and discreetly exited the room.

When they were alone, Peter curved his neck like dropping a barbell. Exhaustedly, he pulled his hands down his face. “There’s no way Danny’s people pulled somethin’ like this,” he mused. “This has Kingpin written all over it. Fuckin’ dirty cops, dirty prison guards. Is there anything left in this city that doesn’t have his putrid rot all over it?” He punctuated his frustration by gripping the edges of the steel shelving, indenting his fingers into the metal frame. 

Biting his tongue to calm himself, he paced. “Matt was right. We got another rat. Or something worse. Need to keep our eyes open ‘til we can move Miguel to a safe house.” He exhaled sharply, wrapping his arms across his chest. “We need more men. I’m gonna call in a favor from Brooklyn, see what they—”

“I think I liked you better when you were just a loser,” Felicia muttered, narrowing her eyes on him, “not an asshole.” He snapped his eyes up. “Really, though. This whole ‘fascist-dictator’ persona is throwin’ off my zen.” 

Unamused, he rolled his eyes, grit in his throat. “Say what you wanna say, Cat.”

“Oh, believe me. I will. What in the hell is wrong with you lately?”

“Whaddya want me t’do, alright?” Peter hissed quietly. “Miguel wouldn’t be here if that goddamn D.A. wouldna had a stick up his ass—”

“Wrong, Pete! Miguel wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t almost beaten Danny Rand to death.”

He shot a displeased look at her. He seethed, the memory scorching his brain. “He’ll live.”

Her face twisted with disgust. “Fucking boys!”

“He put his hands on her—!”

“What about it?” she shot back. “You think that hasn’t happened to her before? Are you really that dense?”

“Don’t tell me that,” he warned, feeling his temper rising again. “S’not right—”

“It’s not right, but it happens,” Felicia argued. “Anyone with a pair of tits can tell you they’ve met at least ten Danny Rands—and I’m no exception. But I never tried to murder one, like a goddamn stupid caveman, in a room full of witnesses! Without even checking everyone for weapons first!”

Fixing her with a sorrowful look, he exhaled slowly as he considered her point of view. They both knew she spoke from her history. Deep down, he knew she was right. 

“And for the record,” she added, more poignantly, “she had a chance to stand up for herself and you took that away. That was about you. Not her.”

He cast his eyes downward with a renewed shame. 

“Call Brooklyn,” she flippantly sneered with disdain. “Call Harlem. Call the goddamn Marines. Just make sure you call a shrink afterwards.” 

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Spider,” Felicia sighed. Her voice was softer, more sincere, but no less disappointed. “Whatever it is—you need to figure it out before anyone else gets hurt. Your girl included.”

Peter drifted like a ghost through the post-surgery ward. Enough of the staff had been informed by Dr. Cho to ‘pretend you can’t see him until he goes away.’ Like the Boogeyman. 

There was extra anxiety hanging over the hospital floor, apprehension increasing with Peter’s presence. No one wanted to see him, much less be questioned whether or not they did.

When he came upon Miguel’s curtained-off quarters, he tensed at the sight of a figure standing at his bedside. Stunned, his lips parted, eyes wide.

“Miles?” It was the first time he’d seen him in weeks. Not since that night where he stormed out of the penthouse after viciously accusing Peter of—

It didn’t matter. He was right.

The teen was bundled in brandless sweatshirt layers, with a thrifted L.L. Bean puffer coat that he’d owned for years. His chin lifted as he shot a cold look at the older man.

“What are you doin’ here?” Peter said as he approached, brows furrowed with concern. “Is everything okay—”

“No. It’s not okay,” he muttered. “I heard someone came after my family.” Miles nodded towards Miguel’s unconscious body, hooked up to beeping machines and a ventilator. Miles’ voice had an unsubtle edge, defensive and cagey. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be home with your parents,” Peter said worriedly. He could feel Miles’ anger, but refused to mirror it. “You can’t be here, man. It’s not safe.”

“I know that,” Miles stated grimly. The boy’s dark eyes met Peter’s, and the mob leader couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looked older, somehow, despite it only being a few weeks since he last saw him. Weariness drew hard lines on his features in a way that broke Peter’s heart. 

He cast his eyes away from Peter, returning his gaze to Miguel. “Nowhere’s safe when you’re around.”

Albany. Annapolis. Atlanta. Augusta. Austin.

“Are you going out dressed like that? You dress like a whore you’re going to get raped one day…”

Baton Rouge. Bismarck. Boise. Boston.

“I gotta say. I never figured you for a mob whore.”

Carson City. Charleston. Cheyenne. Columbia. Columbus. Concord.

“You’re just a perky pair of tits and a wet pussy for him to shove a couple of babies into…”

Denver. Des Moines. Dover.

Stupid, stupid girl.

BOOMBOOMBOOM

Startled, Honey breached the surface of the bath water with a gasp. Instinctively, she covered her nude body with her arms, wrapping them tightly around her body. 

“Please respond, or I’ll be forced to break down the door.”

The masculine voice echoed from the outside of the bathroom, behind a locked door. Honey was alone, chin deep in the suds of a freestanding soaking tub. She wouldn’t be for long, she realized, as she heard another impatient knock from one of Peter’s faceless guards. 

Likely Rollins. Or maybe Mace. Or Faceless Guard Number Five. 

Whoever it was, they were unwelcome.

“This is your final warning,” the voice repeated. She rolled her eyes. Fucking Rollins.

“Alright!” she snapped, indignation filling her voice. “I heard you!”

“Open the door!” Rollins ordered.

“No!” she hissed. “Don’t come in! I’m changing a tampon!”

A pause. Silence. 

“Mr. Parker arranged a vehicle to transport you.” Rollins was less eager to open the door, but no less irritated. “Get dressed. Car’s waiting.”

“Wait, what?” she called back, echoing off the tiles. “For what? Where am I going?”

No answer.

She was alone, left in the dark. Literally. 

She hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights all day. Instead, she let the afternoon sun pour in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bathroom, naming the seagulls that flew by, imagining what it’s like to walk through walls, picturing that the glass didn’t exist, and contemplating how brief the 20-story trip down to the concrete would be.

The bath water had gone cold long ago. 

She sank beneath the surface again, weighed down by her heavy heart. 

He said ‘transport you,’ like she was a package. An empty box. 

That wasn’t far from the truth. She had felt empty since last night, when Peter told her, patronizingly, to ‘go to her room.’ It was insulting and infuriating, especially after they had just shared— 

Whatever that was.

What it was, she was humiliated by it. She didn’t know what madness came over her. But she’d never experienced—never even participated in—anything like it before. Never acted so fearlessly and intimately lewd in such an open manner. 

Not even during her marriage. 

Certain things were not permitted for her, masturbation was one of them. On the rare occasion that she was horny, there was only one place she was allowed to put that energy.

She refused to think about that further, for fear that she’d sink into the bathwater and choose not to resurface. 

Last night was different, in so many ways. There was something about the way Peter looked at her that made her feel powerful. Not merely that she was a goddess, but she was Aphrodite, Pele, Yemeya and Mother Mary combined. It made her feel alive. And when he started mirroring her motions—eyes possessed like a lovestruck zombie—it went from a dizzy, waking dream to the sexiest experience of her life. 

With that act, she opened herself up to him. And he reciprocated, with vulnerability in his eyes and devotion in his breath. It was like he worshiped her. 

Like he loved her.

It was a nice feeling. While it lasted. 

Whatever it was, it was clearly a mistake.

Now he’s transporting her somewhere. Back to the cabin? To another safe house? Is she in trouble? She never went anywhere without Peter by her side. Was he mad at her? Was he sending her away? Had he gotten what he wanted from her and decided—

“Once you’ve served your purpose, he’ll be on to the next one…”

Was he done with her, at last? Had he finally seen what he was wasting his energy on? She huffed, mouth beneath the surface. She probably wouldn’t be that lucky.

The car ride was tense. 

She was alone in the giant backseat of the SUV, surrounded by cold black leather and darkened windows. She felt like she was in a hearse. 

She could see out of the windows, but not the driver. The doors were also childlocked. She had tested them out until the disembodied voice of the driver, hidden on the other side of the partition wall, told her to stop it. 

It was a coffin. She was wearing Yves Saint Laurent to her funeral. 

Specifically, an Italian-made, viscose-and-silk minidress featuring an open scoop back, an asymmetrical hem, long sleeves and a crew neckline. It was sparkly and shimmery, but still edgy, featuring a black snakeskin-esque pattern.

The dress had been sealed in a garment bag and laid out on her bed when she emerged from the bathroom. 

It had been chosen for her. 

She wondered if the snakeskin pattern had any significance. 

The other cruel remark that Janet Van Dyne made wormed into her brain: “Step out of line, and he’ll take you out with the garbage.”

She felt sweat forming beneath her arms. A gnawing fear chewed at her that she would not only be discarded, but literally discarded. In the river. Or a landfill. Somewhere she would just disappear, easily forgotten, never to be found. It was a terrifying thought that Peter was more than capable of.

Perhaps that was a needless worry. Reason told her that Peter wouldn’t call her an Uber and send her off to be executed. 

“Because if I want something done, I do it myself.”

The vehicle slowed down, pulling off to the side of 74th Street. 

Her heart began to race. If he thought she was a snake, he’d kill her with his bare hands.

They were stopped in front of a small, unassuming store front with opaque windows. It reminded Honey of the tiny restaurant in The Godfather where Michael kills the rat who betrayed his family, along with the dirty cop that tried to murder his father. For some reason.

A modest banner hung outside the glass with the words ‘Sushi Ishikawa.’ 

A sushi bar? Were they hoping to murder her with a seafood allergy? 

The car door in front of her swung open, as Faceless Car Driver Number Eight glared down at her impatiently. 

“Get out of the car and go inside.”

Inside, the sushi bar was just as modest. It was a small, intimate place, with concrete floors and brick walls, and no more than eight seats in the whole restaurant. There was only one occupant. Peter jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her standing in the doorway.

Good god—he looked even more dashing than he did the last time she saw him. Although, by the end of that last encounter— with his hand in his boxers— she remembered him looking hotter than the Sun. 

He wore another monochromatic black outfit, this time a leather blazer, with a pinhead-pattern collared shirt, slim-fit trousers and a skinny tie. His hair was fashioned neatly, even more so than usual. The most eye-catching element of his appearance was that for the first time ever, she saw him without a beard.

The change was jarring to behold. Without facial hair he looked ten years younger. Maybe more, like he could still be in college. Clean-shaven, his appearance elevated to a whole new threat level. He looked boyish, the chiseled marble of his jawline now gloriously displayed without distraction. High cheekbones, sharp nose, pouty pink lips, caramel-colored eyes: he had the kind of beauty that a million teenage love songs were written about. 

Looking at him broke her heart. 

Astonishingly, he didn’t seem to notice that her eyes bugged out of her head, because his were doing the same. He wore a stupefied expression, as if he were gazing at a miracle. Mouth agape, he quickly glanced at her overall appearance. Not scandalously like in the past, but coyly, with a flustered face and rosy ears.

His response summed up the contents of his mind nicely. 

“Uh-uhm… hi.” 

The sentence was almost all air, similar to the contents of his skull. His voice was buried somewhere in his stomach. He punctuated the greeting with a nervous chuckle.

His amorous expression made fireworks erupt in her stomach. But as soon as her lips began to twist into a smile, her memories hammered it down. She went cold, dropping her eyes to the floor. 

Like his star had gone out, his life force faded almost instantly. 

“Miss, won’t you come in?” An unknown voice called from behind the bar. 

Peter turned towards two men wearing chef’s uniforms, a young man that looked to be in his 20s, along with his much older father. Their voices startled him, as he momentarily forgot that they’d be there. 

He had forgotten that Honey wasn’t the only person on the planet.

She stared at the sushi chefs curiously, then looked back at Peter, brows pinched together. 

“Uh, yeah,” Peter stuttered, his brain buffering. Cleared his throat. Politely, he pulled out one of the chairs at the bar, dipping his hand towards it in gentlemanly fashion. “Sorry, um, here. Please sit.”

She glared down at the empty chair, then slid her eyes over to him, suspicion etched onto her features. 

“Please.”

His earnest plea didn’t matter. It was obvious that she didn’t trust him. Why should she? They were a continent apart, with her close to the exit.

Her eyebrow raised high. “What is this?”

Peter had come to be familiar with all of her tones of voice. He recognized what her bratty voice sounded like, as well as her stubborn voice, and her grumpy voice. This wasn’t any of those. A hard edge had been carved into it. Sharpened with spite.

He gulped, shrinking at the anger buried in her tone. 

“Um…” he began timidly, “I, uh… I felt— Things, um— The last few days got blown to hell. And… I didn’t want you to-to think that I didn’t remember. Or that I didn’t want to remember, or that it wasn’t important to me, y’know. ‘Cos, it is. It really is. And this wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but I-I-I really wanted to get this right, and do something—“

“Fuck me!” she spat.

“Excuse me?” His eyes went wide.

“Is this the date, Peter?” she sneered hotly, jabbing her finger accusingly at the bar stool.

Silence. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Now, hold up, jus-just give me a minute—”

“Why should I? Why should I give you anything?

“Just one! Just one minute—“

“I don’t have one minute to give you, Peter, because I’d rather eat glass than eat sushi with you.” She shot a glance over to the chefs in the corner of the room. “No offense.”

“Well,” Peter sheepishly replied, bringing his shoulders up to his ears, “they don’t have glass on the menu here—”

“Fine.” She said directly to the chefs, “I’ll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, please. With extra peanuts.”

Peter glanced back and added, “Yeah, can we hold off on that order ‘til the end? We’re probably gonna take it to go—”

“I don’t believe this,” she growled, spinning on her heel and heading for the door. “Good night. I’m leaving.”

Just as she touched the pull handle, Peter was suddenly there with his hand wrapped around the bar—having teleported again in the blink of an eye. She scoffed with frustration, but she wasn’t surprised. All he had ever done was slam doors in her face.

“I’ll take you home,” he offered, his tone placating. She glared up at him impatiently. “I’ll drive you. I promise. I just need…” he sighed, wallowing in hopelessness. “Just give me one dinner. That’s all I’m askin’. If you’re still not havin’ it, then we’ll go home—”

“Fabulous! Then I can go back to my room.”

It was a painful jab for them both. He grimaced, snapping his eyes closed, as if she’d punched him in the gut. Observing his pained expression, she felt a sliver of guilt run through her, much to her agitation. 

Eyes downcast, he whispered with a heavy sigh. “I know I don’t deserve you, alright?” He pinched his lips, the corners of his mouth turned down. She blinked rapidly. “I know, I’m a jerk, and I’m nuts, and I-I should’ve treated you better. From the start, Honey. I know that.” 

Silently fuming, she glowered up at him. By contrast, his voice was mournfully soothing, with an ache in each word. A eulogy to the perfect relationship he’d hoped for.

Bourbon eyes fixed on her, heavy with shame, he pleaded, “I know I’ve got no right to ask. I’ve got nothin’ to say that you wanna hear. I don’t deserve to even talk to you. But in case you wanted to talk… even if it’s just to tell me what a shit person I am... I-I’m here. Alright? I’m here and I’m willing to listen. Whatever you wanna say.”

She noted the way his eyes glistened as he spoke, the hope welling up behind his lids and threatening to spill away. She softened her gaze. 

He sighed, “Please, Honey. You’re so kind, and you give so much, and I’m-I’m askin’ for just one more kindness. That’s it.”

She fixed a hard gaze on him, her brows pinched together, and her mouth as straight as an arrow. 

She hated seeing him heartbroken like that. She hated that she even cared about his heart.

She turned her attention to the chefs standing behind the bar, who were trying to politely ignore the heated quarrel that their only customers were engaged in. Having been in the service industry for a while herself, she sympathized with how awkward it must seem. And she didn’t want to give them the impression that she didn’t want to eat what they had to make.

“Fine. But only because I like sushi. Then I wanna leave. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. “Got it.” 

She flicked her eyes away and stomped over to the bar, plopping down in a seat that was intentionally one chair away from the one he’d pulled out for her. He bit his tongue at the slight, and trudged over to take the seat next to hers.

She committed to dinner begrudgingly, hoping for a single California roll and to be excused. This particular restaurant was different. There was no menu. No orders to be given. 

The elder sushi chef discussed in his native language the origin of omakase sushi. His son provided an English translation—“I leave it up to you.” In other words, the chefs didn’t take orders, instead they improvised a menu of their best seasonal offerings, and presented each bespoke course with artistry and flair. 

The first course of the omakase meal began with a nearly-frozen Kumamoto oyster for each of them, garnished with minced apple. It was delectable. She felt better overall with some kind of nourishment, considering that she skipped the other meals of the day. Her mood improved in just a few bites, albeit slight.

The younger chef then explained that there would be 22 courses in total. She wanted to stab Peter in the eye with a butter knife. Or a chopstick. 

As luck would have it, this restaurant encouraged them to eat with their hands as per tradition, so neither was available.

So she chewed, mostly in silence. By the time she was savoring the ninth course, Peter turned to her with a serious expression. “So where do you stand on wasabi?”

She licked the savory taste of bluefin tuna from her fingertips. “Is it a position on which one could stand?”

Gravely, he nodded. “Yes. A serious one.”

She gave it a few seconds of thought, then shrugged. “I don’t mind a little horseradish now and again. Not too much, though.”

“No, I said ‘wasabi' not ‘horseradish,’” he clarified.

“It’s the same thing.”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“No. Bullshit.”

“No, really. You don’t know this?”

“It’s a plant, a root! I think. Pretty sure.”

“You’re pretty wrong. All the wasabi in 99% of the sushi joints over here, most of the time, is horseradish paste with green food coloring. The real stuff is rare. It’s like $300 bucks a kilo.”

“A kilo?”

“Yeah, the real plants really only grow in Japan and they take years to cultivate—and I don’t know why they sell wasabi by the kilo, like it’s cocaine or something—ooh, future opportunity in case you want to diversify your portfolio— but horseradish is from the root and wasabi is from the stalk.” She licked her lips, pleased with the ease at which she plucked the information from her ever-growing library of useless stuff.

“Well,” Peter shrugged, understandingly, “the metric system is superior—”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” she grumbled. They shared a soft chuckle, and she ended up blinded by his grin. 

She hated the way her heart fluttered at the sound of his laugh, compounded exponentially if she knew it was in response to one of her jokes. 

Hated the color of his eyes. Like caramel and chocolate. Maple syrup and whiskey. 

Hated his stupid face and his stupid hair. 

Hated the way he made her feel.

Hated how easy it was to fall into a conversation with him. Like they were old friends from grade-school, or lifelong neighbors who grew up next door to one another. She wondered what that life would’ve been like for her: if she’d met Peter in school, before either of their lives changed so drastically.

“How do you know so many state capitals?” Peter asked in awe, in between course fifteen and sixteen. At the same time, he poured a serving of cold sake into her wine glass.

“State birds too,” she explained, with a bit of pride. “And rocks.”

��States have state rocks?”

“Yup,” she said with a nod, taking a sip. 

She had spent most of the time spilling her vast knowledge about subjects most people didn’t care about. Peter cared. He looked at her reverently like she was Moses handing down the Ten Commandments. 

“I was really nerdy about maps as a kid,” she explained, while simultaneously picking up the sake bottle and filling his glass in return. “I would look at this big roadmap book I found in the garbage one day—you know, the old school spiral notebooks that AAA used to give to old people?—and I’d pick a number, and go to that page number, and decide that’s where I was going to live one day.”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head with wonder. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he replied, cheeks sore from smiling. “But when I was like 9, I had a puzzle that May got from a garage sale, it was like a puzzle map of the United States. And one summer, I spent almost every day assembling and disassembling it. And I’d give the states personalities and proper names. And I’d make up these storylines with them. Like little soap operas, and act them out with the pieces.”

“You what?”

“For real,” he nodded. “Not even joking.”

“You had state dolls? And you’d act out little plays with them? Little land disputes?”

Taking a sip from his glass, he shrugged, considering it. “Yeah, I guess I did.” A grin warmed his face at the memory.

She hated how that smile lit up her whole life.

She giggled with delight at the picture of a young Peter Parker playing with cardboard state cutouts instead of little army men. “Wait, who was the bad guy? There’s always gotta be a bad guy.”

“Well,” Peter sobered, jestfully, “the South always has their issues, y’know? Drama queens, all of ‘em. But the real one you gotta watch out for is Idaho.”

She chortled so loudly that it startled the chefs. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

It was nineteen courses in. (She hated how good the food was.)

She blinked, taken aback by the intense sincerity of the comment. He was gazing at her with the same dopey look he wore when she walked in. Like she had the Milky Way in her eyes and he was determined to catalog every star.

Glancing away, she straightened uncomfortably in her chair. “Stop.”

He protested her dismissive tone with an undefeatable smile on his lips. “What? Why? Why you gotta argue with me about that?”

“Because you’re crazy. And you need therapy. Like 20, 25 years maybe. Maybe less, with intense journaling. Medication, too.”

He snorted with a grin, “Yeah, but that’s beside the point.” His eyes were fixed on hers again, drawing her gaze in like a magnet. Fine lines crinkled the corners of his eyes in the most flattering way. “I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes with a bitter smile. “Flattery isn’t going to make this meal last any longer than it needs to.”

His grin faded a bit as he studied her further. Brows pinched, face contorted with puzzlement. “I don’t get it,” he mused. “How could you look in the mirror every day and not see what I see?”

She flicked her gaze to him briefly. His eyes twinkled as he observed her, his heart spilling out of them and onto his sleeves. She gulped hard. Lips formed a line, a wry edge to her words. “I’m not perfect, Peter.”

“I didn’t say ‘perfect’,” he replied. “I said ‘beautiful.’ Flaws and all.”

She hated the sincerity in his voice. 

“You ever think you’re just looking at me through rose-colored glasses?”

“No, I don’t think that.”

“Well, might want to get your eyes—“

“I don’t think that,” he doubled down, “because I’m in love with you.” 

Her mind locked up, like a car crash in her brain. 

Whipped her gaze over to his, eyes as wide as saucers. Perhaps she expected to see another sardonic smirk, or the beginning of a chuckle to confirm he was aware of his hyperbole. No such artificialness could be found in his enamored stare. Instead, he admired her—even more so in her dumbfounded state—studying her features with wonder. 

“No matter how hard I tried not to, I fell in love with you anyway,” he affirmed.

They were in a vacuum. Every sound in Manhattan vanished, save for the thrashing of her heart. She glanced away, the sensation burning into a sharp ache.

“You’re in love with the idea of me,” she said with a melancholy tone. “You love Honey. Not me.”

“Is that right?” Peter replied, too quickly to be an agreement. Frustration clawed through his tone. “That’s what you think? Okay. And what about you, huh?” He pinned her with his scrutinizing stare. “Which version of me are you in love with?”

Her pulse tripped at the accusation. Honey glanced away, eyeing her glass of water anxiously. She could feel his gaze on her, waiting patiently for a reply. Her tongue was twisted up in her mouth. 

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, mournful. “Maybe I do need a shrink.” He was thoughtful and analytic, perhaps speaking more to himself than to her. “I gotta be doin’ somethin’ wrong here. All the people who matter the most to me are the ones who think the least of themselves.”

A shadow fell over his expression, like a solar eclipse. Immediately, she found herself missing the sunlight.

After bidding fond goodbyes and leaving a generous tip, Peter held the door open for Honey as they stepped out into the night air. She glanced around expecting to see a blacked-out SUV idling off the curb, but only saw an empty street. She crossed her arms, anticipating that Peter was up to something.

“Where’s the car?” She questioned, a brow raised.

“Oh yeah,” Peter pointed at the unoccupied curb, as if he’d forgotten something. “I sent them home. I drove here. Valeted around the corner.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”

“I figured I could just drive us back myself.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a scrutinizing stare, unsatisfied with his answer, with just the slightest upward curve of her lip.

Placatingly, he touched his shoulders to his ears. “No-No, I know,” he nodded, agreeing with whatever it was she was saying with her eyes. “We’re gonna go home right now. Just gotta walk around the corner.”

She narrowed her gaze. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it idly. “Unless,” he added, with a devious look, “you want to hang out a little later?”

There it was. She pursed her lips together, pretending there wasn't a smile there. “Dinner is already over, Peter.”

“I know it is.”

“You said you’d take me home after dinner. That was the deal—”

He argued, failing at sounding casual, “And I will! I just, y’know, wondered if you, um… wanted to finish off dinner with… like, somethin’-somethin’ extra, y’know? In case, y’know we get hungry later? Like an after-dinner appetizer? Or a-a chaser? Somethin’ to aid the digestive process?”

She scoffed with a hearty laugh. “Oh? Did a new craft-antacid gastropub open somewhere?”

He beamed at her warmly, biting the soft flesh of his lip. “Even better.”

“What are you up to?”

He pocketed his hands in his jacket, gazing down at her excitedly. “It’s a surprise,” he grinned with a smile that should be criminal. “You in?”

This was stupid. She was stupid. She should not be this giddy about something so silly. But as her astonished gaze flicked between Peter Parker and Michael Jordan, ‘giddy’ was the only appropriate word.

They were standing in the back of an arcade. A 'barcade,' rather. The enormous space felt electric. Like a playground for the inner child, buzzing with the sounds of bells, buzzers, and blasters. Of laughter, and virtual engines revving, and of a high-intensity K-pop soundtrack over on the Dance, Dance Revolution platforms. 

It was a mix of classic video game cabinets, like Galaga, Pac-Man, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, as well as carnival-style games, like Cyclone and Skee-Ball, and pinball machines for every metal band of the 80s. 

The highlight for Honey was where they were standing. She looked up in awe at a 2-player Extreme Shot basketball station, decorated with buzzing lights, an electronic scoreboard, and Looney Tunes characters. The one and only Space Jam-themed game she had ever seen.

She couldn’t tell if the bells and whistles were coming from elsewhere or the inside of her chest.

“Peter, this is…I-I—” she breathed slowly, her heart swelling. Eyes brimming with tears. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate you so much. This is the greatest moment of my adult life. I love everything about this!”

Peter nodded, amused, “That’s pretty much the reaction I was expecting.” 

With big wet eyes, she looked up at him like a child at Christmas. Pure joy. It was like looking straight into the Sun. Her joy was too bright to look at without feeling like he would melt. Inexplicably, her face prompted a giggle that broke out of his lips. An unusual sound unheard in over a decade. He glanced away, shaking his head with cheeks flushed. 

“You wanna play?” He reached into the netted bin and lifted out a basketball. “One-on-one?”

Mouth still slightly agape, she looked down at the ball, then back to him. “That depends. Are you ready to be humiliated in front of all of these people?”

He barked out a laugh. “Humiliated? Wow! We’re trash-talkin’ now? Is’at where we’re at?” A light airiness elevated them, one that shaved decades off of their lives and painful scars off their memories. “Okay, that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” she affirmed, reaching for her own basketball. She kicked off her pumps next to the arcade cabinet, dropping four inches like it was a useless advantage to have. She padded over with bare feet on the cold concrete floor. 

“Oh, wow. This is—this is serious?” He palmed the basketball, spinning it in his grip. “Now I’m worried. You’re... very confident. How ‘bout we raise the stakes, then? Wanna play for somethin’?”

She paused, throwing him another suspicious look. “Where is this going? You know I’m not your Sugar Mama, right? Can’t keep funding all your little expensive shopping sprees.”

He gasped, feigning a scandalized face, “Rude. That’s… that’s rude!”

A giddy laugh burst from her lips. “Okay, then what?”

He hesitated, his confidence faltering for a moment. Biting his lip, he glanced over at her with doe eyes and pink cheeks. “Your hand.”

Her eyes widened. “My hand?” She repeated, harsh judgment in her tone. “What-What’s that supposed to mean? My hand in marriage?”

Peter gasped. His brows shot up instantly, then he pinched them together. “Ohhhh man.” He brought his fingertips up to his lips, looking down at her with pity. “I was just talking about you giving me a hand with the dishes—?”

She snickered like a child, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “Stop—!”

“—Aww, this must be so embarrassing for you!”

“You menace!” 

They broke into a fit of laughter, eyes crinkled, bodies doubled over. The landscape around them shifted and cracked, huge chunks of ice thawing in the spring sun.

“I mean, now that you mention it...” He spoke with a more sober tone. Slyly, his eyes slid over to hers. Cavalier and cool in his demeanor, Peter shrugged, but failed to withhold his excitement. “That’s actually not such a bad idea, y’know?” 

With a wily smirk, he fixed a burning gaze on her. It was all a ruse. It would take an elaborate deception to pretend that he hadn’t been dreaming of marrying her. Perhaps even from the very first day they met and she told him to have a good day. 

Buried beneath the cocky facade, there was a sincere question that echoed from his gaze. The fearsome king of New York’s underground blushed nervously in front of her, with soft, boyish eyes that were too vulnerable and too tarnished by tragedy. And yet, there was a glimmer of hope in them. A diamond in the darkness.

She saw that look, and she felt faint because of it. Weak in the knees, stomach fluttering as if a bouquet of roses bloomed in her belly. Helplessly, she stared back at him with the same mix of fear and longing. She held her lips closed.

Spotting her hesitation, he lowered his eyes, swallowing a frown. Then, his tone brightened. “How ‘bout this,” he conceded, more casually. “If I win, you’ll let me hold your hand.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “You wanna hold my hand?” 

Her tone sounded much more critical than she intended. The sharpness of it cut a nick into his confidence. He faltered for a moment, avoiding the instinct to flail as he sank further into the depths. 

Instead, he held his breath. Pressed his lips together and nodded with a gentle smile. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

She stared blankly, dizzy with swirling emotions. One moment she wanted to kiss him, the next she wanted to kill him in his sleep. It was astonishing how one man could invoke such opposite emotions.  But as easy as it was to fall in love with the light of his gaze, she recalled the cool chill of the dark cavern within.

Her smile faded a bit. “If I win, I get space.”

“Space?”

“To be my own person,” she declared with resolve. “In my own home. On my own. No cameras. No creepy guards lurking in the halls.” She glanced away, adding delicately. “My own bed.”

Peter raised his chin, gazing down at her with a softened look. He remembered Felicia’s words about what he had taken away from her while trying to offer her the world. 

Solemnly, he nodded. He agreed to the terms, a bittersweet half-smile on his lips. “You’re on.” 

The first game was a fluke. They made it two out of three. Then three out of five. Then four of seven. Best of nine. And by the tenth straight loss, the streak needed to come to an end at some point. 

Peter offered her a respectful handshake as consolation. Tried not to smile at the sourpuss frown. Failed to not smirk at her accusations that he cheated. Denied rigging the game somehow. Denied that he actually owned the game and the arcade, and that all of its patrons were actors. 

He tried with difficulty not to laugh as she scowled and pouted and crossed her arms, glaring up at him like an angry cat left out in the rain. He remained reserved with his hand outstretched, waiting for their contest to end amicably.

He waited for her. For years, he waited. Until she slipped her tiny hand into his, firmly returning the handshake. 

Before she could take her hand back, he tugged her close, until their mouths were inches apart. Until they breathed the same air, and were oblivious to the bar atmosphere around them. Until all she could see was him, and even that was a struggle between his heavenly eyes and his sinful mouth. A glowing ember gaze, burning with passion for one another.

“Ready to go home now?” he asked, wearing a half-smile that infuriated and enraptured her. “Or can I get you a drink?”

They spent the next hour and a half flirting like teenagers. Joking like old friends. It made her feel normal, made him seem normal. Like the insanity of their lives had never really happened. Or if it did, it was all going to be okay now. 

They blended in effortlessly with the rowdy crowd of twenty-and-thirty-something’s occupying the bar. But first—he had to get rid of that tie, she told him, untying the knot with a cheeky grin. He fought vertigo as he felt the warmth of her fingertips undoing one of his top buttons next. 

They battled against invading aliens, other Formula 1 drivers, and The Foot. Surprisingly, they made a good team. They picked out a lineup of their favorite songs on the jukebox, who knew they both were once Jonatics? 

Every new piece of information added to an intricate jigsaw puzzle, the final picture ever-changing. Until it was—and by extension, they were—unrecognizable. Indistinguishable from the sort of person they would both want to spend the rest of their lives with. 

For a few brief shining moments, they had forgotten who they were supposed to be, and what they had lost.

Not every habit vanished. Peter still crowded up against Honey’s back as she sidled belly up to the bar. No part of him touched her, but his hands locked to the counter surface on either side of her, making her feel like she was in a cage. She looked up at him to see a hardened jaw. He was distracted, glaring defensively at the walls of humans closing in on them, while simultaneously eyeing the exits.

She only then noticed how much he was struggling to remain calm in this situation. It wasn’t a cage he had built, but a shield. His agitation and intensity wasn’t about possession, but protection. Her heart ached at the sight. It warmed at the sight. It reminded her that no—they were not like everybody else. They had both suffered horrific circumstances and would always bear the scars of them.

Regardless, they had both survived.

The gentle touch of her hand covering his stirred him from his hypervigilance. He snapped back to the present, looking down at her fingers as they intertwined with his. The color returned to his white knuckles as they relaxed in her hold. 

He focused on the warmth of her skin, the smoothness of it, how incredibly soft she was, as well as the steady beating of her heart. Knots loosening, his muscles relaxed as she leaned her body heat into his chest. Gentle humid breaths brushed across her collarbone. He breathed her in, deeply inhaling her perfume, her scent, her shampoo, and the hint of hoppy bitterness on her left on her tongue. The simple action ached, like he had been drowning for years and he finally took a full breath. 

He didn’t even hear the bartender prompt them for their next round. Luckily, she was capable of speech and handled it for the both of them. She could’ve ordered the whole bar and he wouldn’t have cared. He was too busy staring at the nape of her neck, the roundness of her shoulders, the delicate ridge of her spine. The feeling of her bare skin against his chest. He wanted to tear apart the fabric that separated them. His swelling heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage.

For a moment, Peter Parker found peace.

“Salud!" she grinned. She had turned around and was handing him a perspiring pint glass. She smirked at him over the rim, locking eyes as she clinked her drink to his. Enamored, his whiskey eyes lingered on hers, before being mesmerized by the cupid’s bow of her lips. 

“Ahh!” she suddenly gasped, as her body jolted forward. The spell was broken at the sound of her alarm. 

Peter glared over her shoulder and shot a death-stare at the two men standing next to them. Red-faced and inebriated, one of them was recovering from a tipsy stumble. The drunk man spun around, looking down with horror at the woman he’d nearly knocked over. 

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry—”

Peter pushed himself between her and her drunk attacker in an instant. She straightened and he spun to face her. Eyebrows pinched, lip curled, blood beginning to boil, his eyes searched her figure for injury. He was in a frenzied state of near-panic, as if he expected to find a gunshot wound.

“I’m okay, it’s okay,” she laughed. 

She laughed.

Peter blinked to see her examining the wet fabric of the front of her dress. Her beer had sloshed out of her glass and soaked the front. Despite the gooseflesh that broke out from the cold liquid, she wore an amused grin on her face.

“Fuck, I am so sorry!” the drunk dead man slurred. “I just—shit, lemme get you some towels—”

Peter turned his head, glaring daggers at the two men, eyes black as coal. He wasn’t just staring at two drunk guys in a bar. He was staring at Danny Rand’s bodyguards at the club. Wilson Fisk’s henchmen in the auto body shop. Flash Thompson’s teammates in the high school locker room. 

“No, no, really—I��m okay!”

He heard her voice somewhere in the back of his head. Her light tone didn’t match with the sirens ringing in his brain. “Look at me, it’s fine,” she chuckled somewhere in the distance. 

Her hand cupped the side of his face, smoothing over his clenched jaw. He flinched at the contact, a gasp catching in his throat. Peter was looking at her now, studying her concerned gaze and the half-smile still on her lips. He raised an eyebrow at her amusement.

“It was an accident,” she murmured, to the group, but more to him. “We’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Blinking rapidly, he leveled her with a confused look. Displaced. As if he had fallen asleep and now was awake in a different location. She took his hand and he was being pulled through the crowd away from the bar and the stuttering apologies of the Drunk Bros. He was in a daze, being guided gently until they came to stop in a dull corner of the arcade.

“Hey,” she said, searching his face with concern. “Look at me. Are you okay?”

His tongue twisted in his mouth. “Wha—you... I... I didn’t, uhh, but—”

She stood up on her toes, pulling his face down, and brushed a gentle, soothing kiss at the corner of his mouth. His brain told him that he was flying, fainting and flailing in an icy river—all at the same time.

“It’s okay, Peter,” she whispered, rubbing the nape of his neck. The feeling of her fingertips made him prickle all over. “You with me?”

The fog was slowly lifting from his brain, his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “I... I didn’t...”

“You did okay,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair and sending goosebumps down his spine. “I’m okay. We’re safe.”

He let go of a tense breath as her words sank into his cerebrum, relieving a pulsating ache that had started less than 60 seconds ago. For once, both voices in his head were blessedly silent. Closing his eyes, his neck craned forward, touching his forehead to hers. 

“We can go home now,” she softly replied. “I think I’ve had enough to drink anyway.”

Eyes closed, he nodded. Deep breaths. In and out. 

“Look, just give me a minute, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” she coaxed, straightening her back. “We’ll go home right after, okay?” 

He looked up at her, a line formed between his eyebrows. He didn’t have to speak a word for her to read his mind.

“I’ll just be one minute,” she said, backing him towards a wall. “Just wanna clean this up so I’m not so sticky, okay?” Her voice was as melodic and soft as a song. His heart pounded away until her hand came up and rested gently over it. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered with a curved lower lip. “I promise.”

The blood was still returning to his lungs, adrenaline dissipating. After a deep breath, he pursed his lips, nodding at her. Not as approval, but as reassurance that he would be okay. 

She held her gaze on his for several moments, melting his brain even further. If she didn’t leave soon, he’d be runny eggs dripping down the wall. She grinned sweetly, and rounded around him, skipping towards the restroom. His eyes followed her until she disappeared.

Honey felt her heart fluttering as she came to a stop inside the bathroom. Compared to the ruckus outside it was like a sanctuary. She took a deep breath as she gazed in the mirror. That was a close call. That was scary, in fact. So why could she not wipe the stupid smile off her face? 

She smiled like a schoolgirl. Grinned like a fool. She winced at the sticky sensation on her chest, but also sighed at the butterfly wings beneath her sternum. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Why was—

The partition door behind her swung open. Reflexively, her eyes flicked up to the figure emerging, expecting a feminine form. She was wrong. Her smile faded. Her color drained. Terror overtook her features. 

John Walker stalked up behind her. She opened her mouth to scream. 

She didn’t get the chance.

Continue to Part 15

[back to masterlist]

a/n hello! next part is already written and will be up once I have a chance to edit. it's going to be really, really painful. :-) like so much pain.

Thanks so much to all of you that have showed me your support, including your thoughtful comments and generous reblogs. Don't forget to reblog your fav fic writers, just to give them a boost.

To be added to the taglist for this series, you must reblog!

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[spotsupstuff]

What happened to suns?

NSH: This man has done irrepairable damage to my mental facilities. That's a crime, y'know?! Messin' up an Iterator's noggin cogs??? They are a *filthy* criminal.

serious answer: a sequence of unfortunate events, basically. idk how long you've been here so i'll start from the beginning

Suns is a very early Gen 2 Iterator. the jump between the 1st n the 2nd Generation went physically very smoothly, but when it comes to the more subtle aspects of a person, it went worse. early Gen 2s r known for bein bad with emotions (the other Iterator that is like that that shows up is Fish. he's rather emotionally crass and unwieldy)

Suns scored the worst possible lottery result while spinning the early Gen 2 emotion capability wheel and their emotional skill and ability to produce the stuff in the first place is in the single digits. they are very conscious of this fault of theirs and instead of doing something more productive with it more often, they rather spend their single digit emotion capability on bemoaning and despising this fault

they do come to Nish for help with it, basically have therapy sessions with him (Nish is the most emotion-capable Iterator in like... Ever) and they do put up a front of this cool, chill, amazing guy persona around themselves to get better accepted by the other Iterators (all of them except Gen 3s know that this cool guy thing is a ruse though. they appreciate the effort however). so they kinda awkwardly fake emotions n go on through their life. this persona is who Pebbles ultimately decided to look up to as his mentor btw. it was never really the real Suns, only maybe some glimpses of it

next unfortunate event shows up first mentioned in my old big headcanon post for the canon Iterators:

(Suns is built quite close to the south pole, though the summer months can still get stupid hot)

at some point i started headcanoning that my Suns has very slow processing time. like absolute Shit reflex time. like

this is canon ☝

n then i put these two headcanons Together ✨ so basically: because of the lack of emotional capability, Suns feels a big need to compensate for stuff. even though the Solis colony is one of the sweetest and kindest colonies out there, they felt like they need to give More. so they started running hotter for the sake of their citizens. but yanno, periodic basically overheating is going to cause damage to hardware shit, not to mention the poor fauna that makes up an Iterator Hivemind. and that's how Suns damaged their processing speed

now as to why i say Suns would go offline in the post-mass ascension off string au: they are falling apart at the seams. torturously slow, but terribly. they are rotting alive- but not in the same way as Pebbles, it's not THE Rot. it's just... a rot. natural decay, not godly cancer. their nickname in DMs between me n shkiki is literally mr. Decay cuz of this

because of a combo of their slow processing time, their location (snowstorms + changing temperatures that go into extremes on pretty much both sides of the spectrum) and their pre-occupation with Pebbles related matters, Suns got yo normal booboo and didn't treat it and when they finally directed attention to themselves, a good portion of them has already decayed including the puppet

yes, they are That wigged that they didn't notice one of their most important parts rotting alive while even using it. this whole thing i refer to as hot girl summer arc btw

after Spears' campaign (they notice they have an infection during the slug's journey back to them) Suns is so fucked up over everything that they just go "Fuck it. why try anymore. i won't fight this. at least i feel *something* rather than nothing, i suppose. i deserve this." and allow their condition to only worsen and don't tell people about it

in the time of the Hunter's campaign i can imagine that they'd be so caked in all of this shit, all physically, emotionally and mentally, that they just wouldn't try at all to save themselves

and fact is, the others will try to help them. especially Wind will. but at some point a person needs to recognize that nothing is going to go anywhere if the other party refuses to put in any effort into getting better too and only drags the innocent one down right along with themselves

[dairy-farmer]

thoughts on dana winters?

i like that she's nice to tim and a nice maternal figure for him since we don't get to see janet drake at all!!!!!!!

she's probably the... only parental figure (and i'm including bruce and tim's bio parents) in tim's life that's like...an actually really good parent. she worries about him, wants him safe, likes teaching him things, never hesitates to ask him how he is and if he's alright.

like the panel where he asks her if she could teach him how to make chicken soup and she leaps off the couch excited??? so cute.

when he comes home with a black eye and the excuse that he was at football tryout and she holds his chin and fusses and asks if he's insane because he's so much smaller than the other boys!!!

she was at his parent-teacher night and wanted to learn more about him!! <3<3<3<3<3

she had a very considerate and adult conversation about her dating his father and how despite how things were going she wasn't going to take the place of his mother but she still cares deeply for him and she does it so well and leaves such a good impression on tim that he is also very mature and is able to turn the initially serious toned conversation to a light-hearted one where he basically gives her his blessing and welcomes her to the family.

she never condescends to tim or talks rudely to him, she doesn't snap, scream, yell, lie, manipulate, gaslight, stonewall, or ice him out. which makes her basically....the only adult character that has never done those things to him and that includes dick, barbara, alfred, clark, etc. even characters thought of as very nice or good to tim HAVE lorded their seniority, age, maturity, etc over tim. but not dana even though she's in the range for other adults in tim's life.

she's so sweet and cute and genuinely loves and cares for tim and he clearly feels deeply for her in return. after jack dies and she has a breakdown tim never once thinks badly of her or gets frustrated with her or thinks of her as an inconvenience and instead moves to bludhaven with her so she can get access to a better facility. her death and the effect it had on him is never truly shown and when tim thinks of loss in regards to parents he almost always thinks of his bio parents and bruce but never dana and i blame that on comic writers thinking that a step-parent can't be equal to the place of a "real" parent (bruce gets a pass to that treatment thought because he's batman and therefore an equal/superior to tim's bio parents even though he should have to earn that like dana did).

tim may not have gotten to the point of calling her 'mom' and rightly so because his mom's death was still VERY fresh (side eye to jack for remarrying so quickly after losing his wife of 14+ years) but in every single way that mattered - dana winters was 100% tim's mom and i wish she hadn't died because i would've loved an arc where she and jack had a baby and tim got a little sibling 🥺.

i also LOVE the drama of the fact that she's like... literally less than a decade older than him (she's like 5 or 6 years older...like approximatly the same age gap as dick and tim's dad is older than bruce) and his dad is supposed to be in his mid 50s!!! it really feeds into my idea that janet also met jack when she was very young and had tim and the idea that tim and his interest in much older people ( bruce) is jack's punishment for fucking and marrying women exclusively in their early 20s!!!

[prettyflyshyguy]

Anyway here's wonderwall. I'm trying to start the new year off strong. Already feel sad its been a week and I've barely accomplished this. But that's the kind of negative talk that's so 2023. I'm throwing it in the bin. We focusing on personal achievements only.

I've been writing tonight! It's been fun! I'm still trying to get into the groove and struggling with the age old issue of whenever I hit a 'blank' I just stop working on the project, opting to wait for the stroke of inspiration to hit. This isn't helpful, and means I don't work through the issue. So 2023. Fuck that noise.

I'm still building my confidence back after having it a bit crushed last year, so no ETA on the final chapter of the main C Virus Fic, but you'll probably see some other mini projects pop up. Less stressful, helps me practice for the big stuff.

Anyway the song "Talking in your Sleep" has had me at gunpoint for 2 hours and I'm really happy with this interaction so here's a taster under the cut.

Chris and Leon attend a meeting with a Big Pharma client post-incident cleanup and they can't handle the heat of corporate talk.

Something had felt off about the job from the minute he set boots on the ground outside the factory. Chris had assured him that it’d be smooth, he’d done it a hundred times before, there shouldn’t be any issues. It was a C-Virus outbreak for sure, but not the normal kind. Valhanian was working on vaccines and preventative medication, blockers for the immune system that could quickly and effectively obliterate the virus or prevent it from even gaining a hold on the system. The most common form was the standard strains that had a very similar effect on humans as the T-Virus did, which they were lead to believe was the main focus of the factory - manufacturing and R&D for the ‘zombie’ strains. 

What they found waiting for them was most certainly not the standard C-Virus infected humans. 

Chris had brushed it off at the time, claiming that with how volatile the virus was, he wasn’t surprised that something had gone wrong and there were chrysalid variants in the facility.

Nothing’s without risk, something must have gone wrong, it’s not like we haven’t handled this sort of thing before.

Leon knew that there was no way in hell that a company with that much money in the game of vaccines would fuck around and find out - risking everything in the process. But it wasn’t worth arguing with Chris, he insisted that it wasn’t his job to worry about the science team’s side of things and that ‘Rebecca will figure it out.’ 

Chris was ever the optimist on his good days. Leon had seen too much to trust any corporation that invested in the field of medicine. You don’t get fission without fusion, and anyone who claimed that advancements in bio-organic warfare had no links to advancements in medicine, was a fool or a liar. Most likely both. 

Of course something went wrong on the job, sure he’d had a little ‘mutation’ incident, but Rebecca’s drugs worked a treat, they just took a while to fully kick in. 

“I don’t know what this is or what you’re trying to do, we don’t employ BOWs, whatever you’re trying to claim is unfounded.”

No no no you dumbass, don’t give it to them Chris!

“Mr. Redfield I’m just being thorough. You’re no stranger to the industry, and I’m sure you understand we are very conscious and concerned about protecting our trade secrets. Incidents like this are of a high concern to us as the entire reason we brought the BSAA in to assist us was to stop a B.O.W incident.”

Chris glanced briefly at the BSAA staff seated around him, and Leon. Fear and panic in his eyes, crying for help silently. He knew who was in the photograph and could only lie about it for so long before the game was given away.

Leon cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the sharks.

“Ms Harker I can assure you that Chris is just as shocked as you are, and that the BSAA operates at the highest level of-”

“Thank you for your assurance, Mr Kennedy, but I believe you are not a member of the BSAA is that correct?” her full attention snapped to Leon, her eyes looked predatory.

“Yes, I’m temporarily assigned to assist them in operations regarding the C-Virus as I have first hand experience with it that has proven invaluable in us combatting further outbreaks.”

“I don’t doubt that Mr. Kennedy. I’m aware of your reputation and high standing. Our country has a lot to thank you for.” 

He shivered. There was no kindness in her tone.

“I just wish to express my concerns, as the security footage doesn’t lie.”

Leon digged his fingers into his thigh, scrunching the fabric of the chinos, his hands hidden under the table. 

“Trust is critical to any operation as I’m sure everyone in this room is well aware. How can we trust the BSAA after seeing this? How can you trust yourselves?”

Chris began to speak, being swiftly interrupted by Harker’s shrill tone.

“Have you considered that there may be individuals laying dormantly infected, unbeknownst to the world?

Leon bit down on his tongue. 

“Perhaps there’s an infected individual sitting in this room with us right now.”

The colour drained from Chris’s face.

“Perhaps it's someone not within the BSAA.”

Leon felt the eyes of every member of the meeting shift to look at him.

[sennamybeloved]

marlene's tape recorders and journal added so much depth to her character. without them, she is so easy to misunderstand, so easy to paint as some awful villain who acted carelessly (or even cruelly). the show is flawed in a lot of ways but the fact that it made no effort to give marlene back any of the depth she was robbed, while largely insignificant side characters like bill and frank got an entire full length movie dedicated to them, is fucking criminal. i love bill and frank this is not me saying that episode is bad it is lovely BUT. marlene is the main antagonist, she deserves something like that way more than they did. for a show that allegedly wants to humanize all of it's characters they sure as hell put no effort into humanizing one of the most humanizable characters in the entire fucking franchise.

marlene is not a terrible person by any stretch of the imagination. i wouldn't even call her a villain. joel is objectively worse than her. however, that objective standpoint is NOT what the last of us is about! it's about humanity, and joel's drive to protect ellie is so much more relatable and so much more human than anything that was going on with the fireflies. that is what made the game so impactful. we, the players, are parents, friends, children, lovers, who would do anything to protect those we hold dear, even if that means sacrificing the world. boiling marlene down to a "villain" not only does her character a huge disservice, but completely undercuts the impact of the entire story, primarily joel's arc.

additionally, just because the fireflies as a whole were not super sympathetic or relatable, marlene herself absolutely was. an overworked leader and figurehead with the entire weight of the world on her shoulders being attacked from every angle at a war with her own mortality over protecting her dead best friend's child and saving the society she's been fighting for all these years. do you fuckers actually think she wanted to kill ellie? absolutely not. listen to her first tape recorder, watch the flashback cutscene from tlou2, fucking look at the way jerry fucking pressured her. fucking listen to how distressed she sounded when she was talking about it. if you read her journals she was literally out of her mind convincing herself she had done nothing but fail her people over and over and over again. this was her last shot to do something right. she knew for a fact that joel wouldn't be happy with her, but she hoped that he could sympathize with her, that he could understand how hard this was for both of them, two people who cared so much about ellie and what she represented for them. direct quote from her second tape recorder: "they asked me to kill the smuggler. i'm not about to kill the one man in this facility that might understand the weight of this choice. maybe he can forgive me."

does that not make anyone else feel sad? she spent her last hours hoping and praying and wishing for someone to see her as a person, to meet her eye-to-eye and tell her that they understand all she has done, and that she made the right choice. she's not perfect by my god people, she is not evil. everything she did was with pure intentions. i can fucking guarantee that if any of you were in her position, they would've made a similarly fucked-up choice, if not an even worse one.

it wasn't her fault, at least not entirely; i'd argue the scientists shoulder more blame than her. in that same damn tape recorder, she states that asking her for the go ahead to proceed with the surgery was more of a formality on their part, and that she really didn't have much of a choice. i don't think marlene had power in that hospital to begin with. she had not been there in over 10 years, the scientists had taken up leadership. she was the firefly's figurehead, someone that people could assign blame to. whatever actual control she had was left back in boston. the scientists were not her fucking soldiers or whatever. why would they listen to her? what was she gonna do, yell at them? tell the people she'd dragged across the country that actually she had a change of heart and this had all been for nothing so everyone can just leave now. no!! she would've been eaten alive!!! what else was she supposed to do? literally what else. someone tell me.

there is zero empathy for her in this fandom. it's not just the show fans, it's the game fans, too. i beg of you guys to read her journal and listen to her tape recorders and try to put yourself in her shoes and realize that she was in just as much pain as joel was when things came to a head. i know she's not your ultra hot rugged white man but come on you guys can be a little media literate. as a treat.

[thefrenchydude]

Game update #1

Hello everyone!

I would like to apologize for my absence. I've been quite busy lately and haven't had time to do what I wanted to do. The request I wanted to answer is still not finished and I haven't made that much progress on chapter 4. I'm truly sorry. But now that I've got two weeks to rest ahead of me, I intend to do what I love and finish what I set out to do.

Also, I'd like to talk about the VN and everything I've done so far:

About the game:

Firstly, I've written and coded some of the first part of the game, I still have to correct it, complete it, change a few things (and I'd like to implement an inventory and level system in this game, but I don't know how yet.).

The different routes:

Wukong and Macaque: The first two chapters have been implemented in the game.

No choice yet to change the story.

Arthur (temporary name) -a tiger demon-:

Chapter 1 completed with some choices and a finished combat phase.

Start of chapter 2 (in progress)

M??n Wuk?ng: A hidden path which is not fully developed as yet in the game.

The tea house and sauna routes are still not finished and doesn't have yanderes yet. I think for the tea house it could be a dragon and for the sauna I really have no idea right now :')

The game will have three main paths (triggered by a choice at the start of the game):

Murderous Lust (you're with Lex and you follow the story)

Variant 1 (Lex is dead and you're working with the Facility for Mother)

Variant 2 (Lex wants you dead and you're tracked by the Facility for having betrayed Mother)

About the art:

It was a lot more complicated than I thought. Firstly, I needed a furry artist at all costs (Wukong, macaque, ect… are demons with anthropomorphic designs, so a furry artist was the best option). I spent several afternoons looking for artists. On Discord, Twitter, Furafinity… It was so long and complicated. Either their style didn't match my project, or their commission were closed, or I couldn't trust them.

After a while, I found someone. I wasn't totally convinced by his style -although it was beautiful, I wasn't sure it would go well with my VN-. We started talking, he seemed interested… then nothing. With no response even after more than a week, I decided to give up and turn to another artist. So off I went again in search of an artist. Later, I found one. His style appealed to me and everything seemed okay with him. HOWEVER, there is something that I always do, I check all the artist's network. 1 - Because I like to do so and to know more about the person I can work with. 2- Because I don't want to work with a jerk. AND THIS ONE, it was a true specimen. He left hate messages on other artists' accounts, and I even found homophobic messages he'd left under the account of someone who'd asked him for commissions. I ran away from this creep.

And the more I searched, the more I lost hope of finding someone for this project. Maybe I was only going to be able to make a VN without art… I didn't like that idea at all, but if I couldn't find anyone, I had no choice.

Defeatist, I gave myself one last afternoon of searching. If I still couldn't find anyone, I was going to have to make up my mind. And then I came across an artist whose style attracted me. His works were beautiful and the more I searched through his accounts, the more I liked this person.

So I went ahead and contacted him, I was so stressed about getting a negative response or no response at all. But the artist got back to me. He's a really cool guy and he draws so fucking good ijnreijnevineinzijnoznfiojfnipnlckd.

The first commission should be ordered early this month. I'm so happy to have finally found the perfect artist for the job!

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

One rather important question: Will there be any NSFW? After a lot of thought, yes. There will be scenes like that in the game.

Sorry again for the absence, but I'm very busy with the VN. Thanks to everyone who sends me love through questions or private messages, I love you! It really makes me feel great, and I can't thanks y'all enough for that.

next>

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1193: More Rest and Snuggles (Danganronpa 2)

8:22 a.m. at Jabberwalk Island: Hajime x Ibuki's Cabin........

'Alarm Beeping'

Hajime: (Wakes Himself Up as He Stops the Alarm Beeping Off From his Phone Before Stretching his Arms Up and Yawning) Okay! Let's see what we got in store for today.....(Checks Out the Schedule Planned and Typed Out on his Phone's List App) Paperwork......Island Meeting.......Video Call Metting involving New Hope's Peak.......Band Practice.........Even more Paperwork........Hm. Seems a lot busier then it was yesterday, but I'm sure I can managed someh-

?????: HAJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!~

Hajime: (Turns to See his Girlfriend, Ibuki Mioda, Laying Next to Him on her Side of his Bed with a Small Smile) Oh, Morning, Ibuki. Never really took you for the early bird.

Ibuki: Uh nooo. Ibuki is a late bird. The latest of all birds and mammals.

Hajime: Pretty sure birds doesn't fit in the mammals category-

Ibuki: Upupup! Ibuki doesn't need to hear any lecture in animal studies right now. (Points at her Boyfriend) And YOU, my darling Hajime, don't need to be up this early in the morning either!

Hajime: ('Sigh') Come on, Ibuki. 8'o clock isn't nearly thar early. (Rubs the Back of hos Head Back and Forth) At.....least depending on which time zone we're currently on.

Ibuki: (Rolls his Eyes) Time Zone, Lime Snoze.

Hajime: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) Is "Snoze" even a real wor-

Ibuki: (Extends her Arms Up in the Air) Doesn't matter!! What does, however, is.....(Points at Hajime Again) YOU, mister, are need of a long dseeved and appointed a day off! Especially after all the work you've been doing as of late.

Hajime: (Crosses his Arms) Well, you're definitely not wrong on that front to say the least.....But are you sure I should be taking that day off right now? (Went Back on his Phone) The schedule I listed out here does looks pretty-

Ibuki: Long? Yeah, yeah, I noticed. (Forms a Bright Smile on her Face) Luckily for you, my dear, Ibuki has taken the liberties of convincing our wonderful group of friends/family to do them all for you in your humble place.

Hajime: Is that right?

Ibuki: Yep-Yep-Yep!~ in fact, I've arranged a few buddy systems to help get everything done in a much quicker. I have Fuyu and Peko work on the paperwork......

Jabberwalk Main Office Facility

Fuyuhiko: (Sighs While Pushing Aside a Stack of Filled Out Forms to the Other Side of the Desk He's Sitting At) That's one set down....(Turn Towards a Much Larger Stacks of Unsigned Paperwork on the Other Side of the Desk) A few more to get done, but it's fine. Just gotta keep working om a pace and-

Peko: (Walks By and Places More Paperwork Down on Top of the Unfinished Section) More paperwork is sent.

Fuyuhiko: (Eyes Widened in Shock) Are you fucking-(Pinches the Bridge of his Nose While Groaning in Irritation) I swear, if i didn't know any better, it almost feels like that stupid foundation is trying to kill us all over again.....

Peko: (Giggles a Bit) Perhaps. (Places her Hands onto Both of her Boyfriend's Shoulders and Gently Massages Them a Bit) But just continue to stay calm and remember who we're doing this for.

Fuyuhiko: (Takes a Deep Breath) Right. This is for Hajime.

Peko: (Happily Nodded) Correct. Stay strong, my dear (Gives Fuyuhiko a Kiss on the Cheek) I believe in you.

Fuyuhiko: (Starts Blushing a Bit While Grinning at his Girlfriend) ('Heh') Right back at you. (Gets Himself Up and Gives Peko a Peck on the Lips) Hon~ (Winks a Peko)

Peko: (Genuinely Surprised by the Sudden Kiss Before Turning Away, Blushing, and Smiling a Little) Y-You're too kind~

Hiyoko: (Inthe Background L Ugh! Get a room already!!

.......................................................................................

Ibuki: Sonia and Akane host the Island Gathering..........

Jabberwalk Beach

Sonia: (Happily Hosts the Beach Gathering Meeting as She Uses her Pointer to Tap on a Pie Chart Picture Akane Showing Off to Everyone Else Present) And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why it is very important for each of us to continue to keep this lovely beach in top-tip sha-

'THUD'

The suddenly loud thudding sound was more than enough to cause the Ultimate Princess to shriek in terror while jumping onto Akane's arms, causing her drop the pictures she was holding in her hands.

Akane: (Equally Surprised) What the heck!?

???????: GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! SPENDID!!!

The ladies and the audience turns to see their Ultimate Manager, Nekomaru Nidia, laying down on a crated ground, laughing wholeheartedly.

Nekomaru: Ahh man! Been a long while since I've felt THIS much adrenaline smacking me so hard across tye face! You weren't kidding when you said weren't gonna hold any punches, huh Gundham?

Gundham: ('Heh') (Walks Over to the Crate he Created) Of course. There's never been a time of day where someone as powerful as I, Gundham Tanaka, has ever hold back from a challenge, much less from someone as fairly formidable as you I suppose.

Nekomaru: (Chuckles Lightly) D'aww thanks, man! You flatter me. (Puts on a Determined Grin on his Face) But don't think for a second I'm throwing in the towel just-

?????: BOYS!

The duo turns to see their respective girlfriends, Sonia and Akane, glaring at the both of them.

Nekomaru: Oh uhhhh....(Chuckles Awkwardly) Heh-Hey there, ladies!

Gundham: (Turns Away While Covering his Mouth Up with the Scarf He's Wearing) I take it you're....('Clears Throat') N-Not too.....Happy with us, aren't you?

Sonia: (Crosses her Arms) There is not a single smile appear on either of our faces now, is there?

Akane: Yeah! How are you guys having yourselves an intense bout in the middle of the beach and not invite ME along for the chaos! Like, come on!

Sonia: (Turns to Akane with a Pout While Making Angry Princess Noises)

Akane: What? You know how pumped I get when it comes to sparring matches. (Raises an Eyebrow at the Boys) You guys WERE having friendly sparring match, right?

Nekomaru: Yeah.

Gundham: Why wouldn't we be?

Akane: (Smiles Brightly) Yep! Friendly Sparring Match.

Sonia: (Softly Facepalms Herself While Sighing)

............................................................................................

Ibuki: Then, Ibuki let Teruteru handle breakfast, lunch, and dinner like he always do since, you know, he's the Ultimate Cook-

Hajime: Chief, Ibuki.

Ibuki: Cook, Chief, Tomatoes, Tamotoes, same thing! Ooh! And lastly, Ibuki has Nagito and Sodaman handle the video chat meeting with Naegi and Co!

Hajime: (Eyes Widened at What his Girlfriend Just Said) I'm sorry, you assigned NAGITO, of all people, to participate in the same meeting Makoto is apart of?

Ibuki: (Gently Rubs Hajime's Arm) Relax, Haji-Bear. I already said Sodaman is taking part of the meeting too remember? I'm sure it'll go along just fiiine.

Jabberwalk Meeting Office Room

Naegi: (Speaking on Soda's Tablet) So, in conclusion, with our separate ideas, cooperation, and hardwork intertwine, I believe they would all be more than enough to rebuild a much better version of Hope Peak's Academy than it ever was before. Do we have any questions before we continue?

Nagito: (Raises his Hand Up) Excuse me, Naegi-san.

Soda: (Starts Sweating Bullets) (Pleasedon'taskaboutanythingHoperelated Pleasedon'taskabiutanythingHoperelated Pleeeease don't ask about anything Hope-related!)

Nagito: I would like to ask you about classes you will include in the academy

Soda: ('Sighs in Pure Relief') (Ohhh thank god...)

Nagito: (Smiles Brightly) As well as how much Hope you are willing to provide for each one!~

Soda: (DAMN IT!)

.........................................................................................

Hajime: ..........You know, maybe I should check up on those two. (Gets Himself Up From the Bed) See how they're doing and what-Woah! (Gets Pulled Back Down on the Bed by Ibuki)

Ibuki: (Comically Glares at Hajime) Not on my watch, mister! You need R&R and you're gonna get it!!

Hajime: Ibuki, I'm only gonna check up on them for a few minutes or so and I'll come back here before you know it, I promise!

Ibuki: (Starts Whining and Singing at the Same Time) Noooooooooooo!~

Hajime: (Sighs While Trying his Hardest Not to Snicker at Ibuki's Cute and Scratchy Vocals) Come on, Ibuki, you gotta trust me on this.

Ibuki: (Gives Hajime a Serious Look on her Face) Do you trust our friends, Hajime? Do you trust me even?

Hajime: (Taken Aback by Ibuki's More Serious Look) What? Ibuki, of course I trust you guys, you're practically family to me. Nagito too, even if I am still iffy on him half the time.

Ibuki: ('Sigh') Yeah, Ibuki always get weird vibes from that guy since day one......(Softens her Serious Demeanor a Bit) It really means a lot that you think so highly of us, Haji. (Rapidly Poking her Boyfriend's Chest) But you need to put more faith in us than that, you big, cute dumb-dumb!!~

Hajime: Will you ease up on the poking already!? ('Sighs in Defeat and Understanding') But you're right. We have been through far too many hells and back to get to where we are right now together. And it's high time that we set aside our doubts and continue to build our trust and bond for a brighter future going forward.

Ibuki: (Nodded in Agreement With a Proud Grin on her Face) ('Hmph') That's right!~ But you wanna know what else you need, Haji?

Hajime: Hm?

Ibuki: (Happily Hugs Her Boyfriend) A nice, relaxing Cuddling Session!~ (Starts Snuggling onto Hajime) Starring your cute, rock n' roll girlfriend who wants to hug and kiss you all day long~ (Starts Puckering Up her Lips)

Hajime: (Chuckles Lightly) Alright, come here you~

Hajime leans over to give his girlfriend the make out session she very much deserves.

Ibuki: Oh Hajime~ ('Mmwah') Ibuki loves you ('Mwah') Ohh so much!~ ('Mmmwah')

Hajime: I know~ I love you too, Ibuki. Thank you for convincing me to do this and for....(Smiles Sheepishly While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Putting up with a workaholic like myself for so long~

Ibuki: (Giggles Softly) Don't worry about it!~ You know Ibuki always got your back. (Continues Kissing Hajime) Ibuki~ ('Mwah') will never. EVER. Leave your side~ Ever!~ ('Mmwah')

Hajime: Likewise. (Eye's Widened a Bit) But wait, what about our band practice? Didn't you say you have new song you've been working on?

Ibuki: Yeah, but we can postpone our Jam Session for today, I don't mind. Now, give me some more loving!~

Hajime: (Chuckles Lightly) Yes, ma'am~

The lovers lay back down on their bed as their relaxing Cuddle Session has now finally begun.

@on-2

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

@bestpony666