#hinder anyone's ability to know what's on screen so like

[bibiana112]

Tom: I can't see these letters

Me: man playing videogames when you're color blind must suck. Games really could be doing better when it comes to accessibility in general tbh

yeah I mean where I'm studying game design at least we're always pushed to have workarounds and/or features that make sure something like this doesn't happen but it still could be better yeah, I think puzzle games suffer from it the most even though I remember Tom also having a hard time with the kingdom hearts 1 hp bars though they've improved those

[mirrored-movements]

Go with the Flow

(Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

Synopsis: What happens when you're stuck in another dimension with someone calling you their mom and someone else calling you their wife? You certainly recognized him- but he wasn't your Miguel.

Warnings: None, honestly had no clue where this was going Tbh

Getting spit out of the portal in some random alleyway wasn’t exactly ideal-but worse things have happened, such as the damage done to your dimensional travel watch.

For them being designed by scientists they weren’t as durable as you’d hoped, the item currently glitching out hindering your ability to open a portal and or contact anyone.

Great.

With a disgruntled sigh your mask deactivated, the nanotech retreating away. The rest of your suit quickly shifted into civilian clothes, your fingers still trying feebaly to activate something.

At least you weren’t glitching out. That was the only plus side you could see at the moment besides having been thrown into a vacant alleyway- you didn’t even know what dimension you’d landed in.

Grumbling some more under your breath you turned on your heel, regardless of whether or not you were stranded there had to be something you could do- to either get back or get into contact with someone who could then possibly bring you back.

Stepping out of the alleyway your eyes took in the city; it was reminiscent of classic New York, no flying cars, futuristic outfits, people looked relatively normal- you’d say you ended up somewhere similar to Peters or Gwens dimension.

Continuing to wonder around you’d occasionally peer down at your watch, hope flickering like a flame whenever a phantom vibration happened only for that feeling to become snuffed out as nothing new flashed across the screen.

It was times like this where you’d regretted not asking to partner up- especially when there were a few who’d often offer their assistance.

You could handle it, was always the answer you gave then.

So much for that.

Not only was there an anomaly running around in some other dimension but you were stuck here, for an undefined amount of time.

Lovely.

Finding yourself coming across a store that sold TV’s your eyes scanned across the lit screen, the news currently covering what was described as ‘a vigilante hero’- or what you were more familiar with, ‘a spider variant.’ 

Who it was? You dodn’t know, nor did you recognize leading you to assume they weren’t appart of the spider-society- little bit of a bummer there seeing as you couldn’t just find them for help. Not like you knew where they were anyways.

The hairs on the back of your neck raised.

“Mom!” Your head twisted to the side at the sound of a childs voice, heart skipping a beat for a second as a small form quickly bounded your way. The little girls arms quickly moving to wind around you all the while her face pressed into the stomach of your sweater. “We thought you were working today?”

Her head tilted up, (E/C) hues staring wonderously up at you while unruly brown locks surrounded her tanned face. There was something about her that had your brain buzzing, something familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.

Hovering your hands over the girls back you felt unsure of what to do; clearly there was a variant of yourself in this dimension that had a kid and now that kid is currently mistaking you for them.

“Uh I was, but they let me off early.” Finally deciding to speak you let out an awkward laugh, one hand moving to pat the girls shoulder gently.

Her expression seemed to lighten up at your words, the little girl beginning to bounce in place nearly shaking you back and forth from the motion. “Really? Then that means you can come to the part with us!”

Us?

“Ella, give your mom some space.” 

Your head tilted up at the new yet familiar voice, eyes following the tall frame of a familiar brunette. His frame dawned a simple pair of jeans and hoodie, eyes appearing more brown than the wine tinted ones you were usually familiar with; extended canines missing from the mans smile.

Your heart fluttered lightly, mind almost mistaking this man as the one you were close with- however that was anything but the truth.

He was Miguel but he wasn’t the Miguel you knew.

The girl, or Ella as you’ve come to learn her name pulled away. Lips still pulled into a gleeful smile as she instead moved to grasp your hand in her own. The action just as quick as the man nearing enough to throw an arm over your shoulder, lips pressing a quick peck to your cheek despite the clear way your shoulder’s tensed up.

Noting this he passed you a worries glance, hand squeezing your shoulder softly in an almost reassuring manner, gradually pulling you and Ella along the sidewalk. “Everything alright at work mi vida?”

Swallowing down the butterflies that quickly flittered about within your stomach you reminded yourself that this was your variants life, this was a different dimension and everyone here was a different variant.

Willing yourself to smile you glanced towards him, “Just the usual, coworkers and the system and stuff.” Beginning with that you added on quickly trying to figure out what the other ‘you’ would answer with- or rather what was something generic enough that it could fly beneath anyones radar. “The coffee machine was down so I’m a bit tired.”

His head tilted at this, mouth opening. “But you don’t like coffee?”

Shit.

“Oh well I mean my coworkers were upset about it so I had to deal with a lot of cranky people,” You forced a laugh, “You know how some people can be without their caffeine.”

“Dad’s cranky without coffee.” Piping in from where she stood beside you Ella let out a laugh, her mind presumably associating that thought with another. “Remember when you hid all the coffee when he forgot your birthday? That was so funny.”

“I didn’t forget it,” His arm dropped from your shoulder and instead tenderly held your other hand. “I was just planning a surprise party.”

Ella didn’t seem to believe it and just stuck out her tongue, the man doing the same.

It was strange really; this wasn’t your dimension and despite how close you felt with your Miguel- this one wasn’t yours, and Ella wasn’t your child. However at the moment, you felt a little obligated to act along- for the sake of your own variant of course.

“And how did that surprise party go?”

Lighting up at the tone you’d used Ella giggled. “Bad! Super bad!”

“It wasn’t!” He tried to defend himself quickly but at the insistence of his daughter and the tender smile that crept across your face he yielded quickly. Just simply shaking his head with a gentle laugh.

After a little more banter- some you tried to join in on- you all eventually arrived at the park, quickly finding yourself pushing Ella on one of the swings. The other Miguel watching from the side as he leaned against the structures support beams.

Sparing him a quick glance your eyes snapped away at the payful wink he’d given you- your Miguel would rather roll his eyes than wink if you so much as breathed in his direction. Albeit he was still kind but in a tough love kind of sense.

Ending up spending awhile at the park playing various little games, you began to dread the next one. Especially considering it was apparently something that the other ‘you’ had made up and it’d be a major red flag if the current you didn’t remember it.

However your saving grace came in the form of the other Miguel’s phone ringing, his lips downturning softly before curling back up. “Looks like work needs me.” His tone was apologetic, arms coming right away to give Ella a quick hug as she ran over. His attention moving onto you as you neared, the mans arms enveloping you much like he had with his daughter.

There was an unfamiliarity to the action, but you just patted the back of his sweater lightly hoping that that’d suffice. “I should be back home in the morning. Okay mi vita?”

“Yeah that’s fine, do what you need to do.” A boxy smile had come to rest across your lips, cheeks heating up as he once again gave them a quick peck following it up with an adoring smile.

He must really love the ‘you’ of this world.

“Be good for mom,” Patting Ella’s head he ruffled her hair quickly, adding on once more before walking off. “Stinker.”

Right away calling out playful insults in response the little girl shook her head, attention moving back to you while she began insisting that you push her on the swings a few more times before leaving.

Now, you would have been fine watching over Ella for an hour or so by yourself, but having to find ‘your’ house? That was a much much different story- it was like a needle in a haystack and the only way you did end up finding the place was because you turned it into a game, having the small girl guide you the entire way there- as well as unlock the front door via a keypad.

“You’re so funny mom.” Watching you open and close all the cabinets Ella let out a laugh, the bowl of mac’n cheese sitting before her was left untouched as you searched through the kitchen for where the cutlery was stored. 

Finally finding where it was kept you gave yourself a mental high-five, handing over the girls desired utensil before leaning back against the counter.

Being a fake mom was hard.

Trying to take a moment to compose yourself your ears picked up the sound of the front door opening, heart rate picking up a little at the prospect of it being your other variant however when another figure stepped in did you pause.

“Dad’s back!” Sliding off of the stood she sat on Ella right away bolted towards the man, her small arms wrapping around him quickly.

However much like you had earlier in the day, he didn’t return it right away. Instead his gaze flickered up to you, (E/C) hues meeting with wine tinted hues.

Your heart fluttered.

“Yeah I’m back kiddo,” His eyes drifted back down to the girl then back up to you as if trying to signify an unspoken question.

Pushing away from the counter seeing that Ella had released the man you couldn’t help but give him a hug of your own- but in relief and to keep up the act for her. “How was work? Didn’t seem like they needed you for that long?”

Picking up on the implication Miguel allowed his own arms to wrap around you, “It was just for a bit, but I might have to head back soon.”

Nodding to signify your understanding you both parted from the intimate gesture; Ella right away making it apparent on what time it was with a loud yawn.

“Looks like somebody’s tired.”

“No I’m-” Her defense was interrupted by another yawn, you right away taking this as your chance to bring her towards where you discovered her room was earlier. “Wait, I want dad to tuck me in today.”

At the mention of that your head turned back towards where Miguel stood stiffly, his mouth opening to decline before seeing the way you stared.

Sucking in a breath he moved to take the small girls shoulder from you, the facade of a caring parent taking over as he’d disappeared into the hallway. “Right of course, lets get you to bed then.”

Now knowing that this was the Miguel you knew, you waited anxiously for his return to the livingroom. You almost instinctually coming to hug the man once again as he emerged from the hallway minutes later.

“It’s so good to see an actual familiar face- you wouldn’t believe the day I had.” Muffling that out into the shirt of his civilian clothes you basked in his presence for a second, mind somehow blocking out the embarrassment until you’d pulled away. An apologetic yet flustered smile made it’s way onto your lips. “Uh sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Shaking his head while saying that he took in a breath. “I’m glad youre alright,” Holding out a hand he motioned towards the wrist containing your watch, the device being raised enough for him to view the damage. “I wasn’t able to find you sooner because of the damage done, so I had to get Lyla to run your signature through the system.”

“Well, better late than never. I felt like I was playing house here.” Although you meant it as a joke, the domestic theme of the day made you a little melancholic- knowing that normality was something you’d never have the luxury of having. “Well, was playing house.”

“You seemed into it though.” 

At the comment you gave him a look, the man unable to let out a mix between a chuckle and laugh. “Anyways. We should get going. Any longer here and we might cause a disturbance.”

“Wait- we can’t just leave her alone in the house? What kind of fake parents would we be?”

Upon mentioning the girl, Miguel let out a short huff. “Well, what do you have in mind then?”

“We wait for the other me to come home, and then you’ll get a ‘call from work.”

Pondering over the suggestion he wanted to decline right away, the thought of impersonating someone again left a bad taste in his mouth-however the paternal instincts deep within told him to just listen.

Which is what you both did.

Your variant came home about an hour later, her expression bidding Miguel a tired greeting followed by a peck on the cheek before merely heading to bed.

A little easier than you thought it was going to be. But hey, now you two could leave that place.

You never knew how much you missed HQ until the smooth walls and floors welcomed you, the glowing yellow screens of Miguel’s workplace and the holographic form of Lyla were comforting- especially once the Ai began chatting aimlessly.

The conversation halting as Miguel spoke up from where he leaned over a desk, “I didn’t know a dimension like that existed.” It was as though his brain took a step back from processing things then they were happening, the man thinking back to his late daughter and then the daughter he’d just met.

She had the perfect mix of the both of you- (E/C) hues and brown hair, your nose and his smile.

“I didn’t know either until I landed there,” Musing that out you let out a sigh. “She was cute right?”

Casting his gaze back at where you sat his lips tilted up softly, “She was.”

“She definitely got it from her mom.”

You were stunned at this, mouth falling open before closing. Eyes rolling faintly in response however without verbally saying anything he took that as a win.

Moving away from his desk he trailed towards where you sat, hand coming to brush some of your hair aside nuzzling his nose into the crown of your head- a gesture you were familiar with.

This was your Miguel after all.

Humming lowly he pecked for head, lips murmuring against it afterwards.

“We should think about it.”

“We should.”

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

<Unedited>

Can you tell I like dad Miguel?

[elithemiar-blog]

From toy to human

Not a game developer, don’t have the skill nor education for that, so if anyone who is or know of someone who is in need of an idea, here you go. Feel free to ask questions.

Dream sequence: 1/6/23 (Yes this was a dream originally)

Toy figure hides from children in a cabin like setting [children are allowed to play with toys outside as long as they are responsible enough to bring them back], the toy, YOU, have been left behind.

Scrap areas to hide (must get away first before moving on)

(series?) get to drainage at the back of the house

 Adults are aware of traveling toys [don’t get paid enough?]

 One adult (male) sits outside the door to watch for escapees in wooden rocking chair

Drainage [target] is behind him (sight meter)

After drainage (slide?) pops into a pot of soup (cutscene)

{Gets told by another toy that human life is possible but must pass the 7 gates (found to be needed fixing)}

Open lands are dangerous (different animals?)

Squirrel? Birds? Snake? Rat? = Described as giant shroud colors (demonic play)

Deer? Moles? Bat? Bear? Other animals are safety (angelic play)

This needs reworked!!!

• First location can be seen from cutscene location (easy: meant for control tutorial)

Slide (+roll)

Freeze (+invisible)

Dodge (+lunge)

Jump (+double jump)

Note: Every control has an extended skill, as each one is used more than the other available it will be unlocked. Example: First Gate, Slide and Freeze is available, out of both if Slide is used more than by Freeze, Roll will be unlocked for the Second Gate. All control extends should be unlocked by Gate Seven

Choice of: Extra Ability 

Distraction (throwing something)

Full collection unlocks ATTACK

Sound Mimic

Full collection unlocks temporary SCARE

Difficulty is set by sight meter sensitivity and time to hide before dying

Challenge: No key lines [meaning there is no distinct line on screen to help find the keys to the gates]

[There are multiple ways to find the keys depending on what ability/unlocked control gained]

First Gate: ruined castle (forest)

Book found of Gate spells, pages missing (pages for collection [extend or extra?]): Gate needs certain kind of "keys" or work (triangle plates)

 First are fire opal [Can be found usually close by]

Once one is found (and placed) an energy line points to the others (5-6? per set)

 "Solid" enemies sometimes have them in nests, getting caught is sometimes necessary. [bird, squirrel]} Getting out is timed before consumed - "broken apart"

NOTE: "Solid" by the actual animal, shrouds are the corresponding "energy" color of the animal 

All animals are solid and will physically show in-game, however if a color shrouds the screen will indicate that there is a threat {certain colors indicate what the animal is?} near-by

Squirrels are gray, shrouds are gray

NOTE: First completed collection is Chosen Extra Ability (game complete unlocks both? Or all pages collected?)

Keys must be found and [minimum of pages must be collected] to activate gate

Second Gate: Rocks/vines (moles?)

 Inside a cave?

Keys are emerald, can be mistaken as greenery

Tunnels (thanks to moles) Moles are enemy, insects are friendly {?}

NOTE: use of scaring insects to draw attention of moles

NOTE 2: dodging and sliding (most used is extend unlocked)

Third Gate: Field (snakes?) mice are friendly?

Flower field (gate location)

Keys are yellow

Tree upon a hill

 Hollowed logs and singular rock clusters

NOTE: freezing and jumping (most used is extend unlocked)

Fourth Gate: concrete park (birds?)

Keys are granite: center emblem of park

Portioned skate park (involuntary sliding)

Lost deck board to get out

Fifth Gate: sewers (rats) (gator?)

 Keys: black (obsidian)

 Gate: below manhole cover

Sixth Gate: dried up canal {help and hinder?}

Keys are silver

(things get thrown in once in a while, getting his is bad)

Use of fallen items to hide

Seventh Gate: (cats? Dogs? All of the above?): backyard neighborhood

Keys are gold

Location?

Gate is located at home's front porch

Upon activation of all gates, toy is changed to human "pillars of light" reign the sky from the other gates. Gets adopted.

(if all collectibles unlocked or DLC?) "being a human is hard, I want to return to a toy" must find all pieces of toy self and repair, cat (from prev.) makes things difficult Break apart gates and collect them into one large gate (Fae circle) Using same controls to avoid authorities, [except reverse?]

[hes-writer]

drivers’ license

Summary: harry teaches y/n how to drive

Warnings: angst, a little bit of fluff

Word Count: 1805 words

A/N: the ‘blonde girl’ has no face claim.

Support me on Ko-Fi // Sign up for my Patreon //

MASTERLIST

_____

There were many milestones that Y/N strived to remember; things that she wanted to embed in her memory because each fleeting moment was a few seconds away from being lost.  She was afraid that in a blink of an eye; everything would disappear, that she wouldn’t even remember what had been forgotten.

But she would never forget him. Harry. The best friend who taught her how to drive with the utmost patience, calm correction of her mistakes and gentle voice to ease her worry as soon as the shift went from ‘P’ to ‘D’.  He was there with precise instruction, detailing each rule and advice that would help her acquire her drivers’ license.  He was tolerant of her constant ability to doubt herself, always assuring Y/N that she could do it.

It was silly why Y/N was scared of driving.  It was because it felt so grown up, so adult-like and it bought a sense of responsibility.  It meant fully committing to adulthood.  There was a shift that everything was changing.  And by that, she meant everything.

.

.

.

It seemed like a distant memory now.

Y/N took the leap of faith to start learning how to drive, trusting him to teach her the ways. Harry was her light in a dark day.  His smile was bright enough for her to admit that through the haze of her nervousness; it wasn’t just caused by her fear of handling and operating a vehicle.

It also had to do with the way Y/N’s stomach fluttered with butterflies when she had parked in an empty lot, Harry sitting on the passenger’s seat as they talked to each other about anything and everything their minds could conjure up at that very moment. No filter.

How Harry enthusiastically shared his excitement about Y/N’s newfound ability to drive to and fro from her apartment to his place.  They would be able to go on drives on the coast with nostalgic songs blasting on the radio, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs where no one would hear them.  The wind sifting through his hair to which she commented on maybe getting it snipped; it was why Harry opted to not trust Y/N with scissors anymore after a close-call with the sharp tool.  She didn’t know why he had decided to trust her with it in the first place--she was a clumsy one.

Yet Harry continued to spend each and every second of his free time with her, even when he was booked to the hilt with mandatory meetings and unplanned fan encounters, Y/N stood by his side as an unofficial photographer.  The dopey grin on her face must’ve been permanent every time that she was around him.  Sometimes she looked through the screen of the phone and wondered just how much she would break if Harry wasn’t around in her life and all she had to remember him by was the captured portrait of his kind aura leaking through the device; almost as if he was there right beside her because Y/N seemed to label her best memories with him around.

Harry was it for her.  Even if her feelings were not mutual, Y/N would take being his closest friend over being a stranger because at least she was near him.  Luckily, Harry returned her affection.  Though, it was humiliating to vouch for a relationship that would have to go through troughs and trenches in order to be rendered successful.  It seemed impossible with her stoic life compared to his fast-paced, always moving, always travelling situation.

Y/N was willing to work for it.  If she were to make a list of things she wanted most, it would be the unconditional love from the one that meant the most to her.  Harry was exactly what she wanted--what she needed.  Y/N didn’t know what she did in her past life or even now that caused the universe to gift her with a presence as charming and graceful as his but she would do it every day if it meant coming home to his warm embrace.

But Harry wasn’t so keen on commitment.  There was no denying that his thorough discourse of relationships hindered his ability to fully trust any future partners and Y/N understood that.  The distance gets to peoples’ heads, even his, admittedly.  Loneliness seeps through his fingers, directing his body to strangely familiar bodies. Ones whom he was not currently committed to. Wandering hands.

Despite that, Y/N knew that Harry was a good person.  Some may call her a fool for giving him a chance but he truly was a genuine guy.  She had seen it when he was coddled up, blankets bunched all the way to his chin, only showcasing his angelic face.  The crease of his brows free from any worries.  He was simply him.  She had seen him when he was the most vulnerable.

Harry was a romantic person.  He loved to love.  He adored the concept of having someone behind him, beside him and in front of him at all times to catch him when he fell, to support him in any new journeys and to lead him when he was lost.  Y/N could understand his shortcomings, aiming to better the other person instead of putting them down.  She wanted a dialogic approach instead of having a conversation where all she pointed out was his bad qualities.

What she couldn’t comprehend was how easily he had lied to her.

She wasn’t asking for much; Y/N promised to wait for him until he was ready. Until his previous baggage was deemed easy enough to carry, or at least when Harry was able to talk about it without anointing skepticism to his actions.  Though, Harry had blatantly disregarded her purity to be patient towards him.  Basically, he had told her that he was not ready for a relationship yet here he was now, holding hands with another girl.  The blonde woman had caused insecurities to sprout from deep within her since Harry kept citing her age and maturity, adding that she was ‘different’ from the rest as if he hadn’t mentioned it previously.

.

.

.

Y/N would ask herself from time to time; when a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

She compared it to the times’ Harry’s voice cracked in the middle of singing songs that embedded itself in her memory and the way his ears tinted a blush pink even under the night sky after Y/N quickly gave a glance in his direction.  She reminisced about the times when he would explain any ideas he had about new songs, thoroughly immersing not only himself but her as well, in his art.  He would sometimes stop midway as if lost in thought when really he was just mesmerized by the slope of her nose and the pucker of her lips.

He was so passionate.  So indulged and fervent in making sure everything he did was one-hundred percent, authentically him.  Harry spoke with grit when he was overly zealous and he tended with a soft voice when he felt vulnerable.

It was glaringly loud; Y/N could hear him everywhere she went.  But now that he was gone—out of reach—did those conversations ever really happen?  Was she even present when Harry shyly played a song he had been working on for her, singing stripped with just his raspy voice, serenading her with a tune describing how much gratitude he felt that she was present in his life.  He appreciated her so much for accepting him even when the world criticized his every action. For being there when he seemingly felt lonely.

.

.

.

Life itself was funny to her.

Sometimes Y/N wondered how she could let herself be vulnerable with somebody else other than herself.  It was plastered everywhere—love never lasts.  Relationships come and go, people leave and never return, friends, drift apart and detaching from oneself was even possible.  It was practically the motto of anyone searching for love—looking for a sense of comfort and belonging, yet she was practically crushed by the overwhelming reality that it may never happen.

She hated the way her heart longed for him to be near as if when he was too far away it ached in pain.  Y/N disliked the feeling of being out of place because where she truly belonged was in his arms.  Harry’s nose nuzzled at the top of her head, inhaling her scent as though it was the last time he would hold her—for a while at least.

And it really was because the next day he had left to catch a flight a mere continent away.

____

The night before was special to Y/N. Harry left with a promise of ‘forever’ and that he would return straight to her after his tour ends.  It was a dainty promise but Y/N chose to believe him because it was Harry and he never strayed from his words.

He promised to return and Y/N had sworn to wait for him. They both agreed, after admitting their feelings the night before he left, that a long-distance relationship was not how either of them wanted to begin.  Although their friendship had lasted years prior to finding out the bubbling flame between them, crossing the line as seamlessly as possible was the gateway to a healthy relationship.

Y/N could hardly wait for his return now that she was driving alone to where she needed to be.  Harry was always at the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.  He was attached to the episodic memory of Y/N successfully learning how to drive; that was something she couldn’t really forget.

.

.

.

Y/N unlocked the car doors, breathing deeply as soon as she was situated on the driver’s seat. The beeping of the car ringing in her ears until she was reminded to close the car door shut.

She blinked her lids tightly, feeling salty tears pooling at her waterline.  It was a sad excuse of trying to not start sobbing right then and there but she was successful.

Starting the engine, Y/N sniffled as she adjusted her mirror, making sure that she could see through them before driving off. As she focused her eyes on the road, Harry’s voice repeated in her head.

She didn’t know where she was going. Y /N didn’t really have a destination to arrive to because her brain was filled with images of Harry and her.  Kissing, hugging, looking at each other as if nobody else in the mattered; not even Y/N.

And it hurt a lot because she kept her promise of waiting for him to return but it seemed like he had no trouble filling the hole in his heart, unlike her.

He moved on.

_____

[andromedasstarship]

in the stars - chapter 1

photo credit: @ssahotchnerr

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, show rating 16+ for reference. depictions of violence, stalking, murder, angst, age gap couple, drinking, brief mention of drugs.

summary - You finally meet the BAU, little progress is made in terms of the case. 

a/n - early update yay! i take a lot of liberties with movies that reader has starred in, pls dont take irl movie release dates into consideration here lol. more notes at the end 

blog rules 

masterlist // read it on ao3 here 

prologue // next chapter 

-----

Chapter 1 

Flights to California always took an extra toll on the team. Reid had explained it once, in a too long ramble, how the wind worked against the plane lengthening the flight at least an hour longer than the trip back home. 

Hotch was finding it difficult to focus on the files in front of him. The first photo he opened was of victim #3, with her eyes closed and face turned to the side, even Hotch could’ve been fooled that it was you lying there dead. While the rest of the team was mulling over the facts of the case, he was debating whether or not to tell the team about your history. The Unit Chief in him knew this was important information that had the potential to hinder the case; his relationship to you was too personal and his withholding of information could even turn him into a suspect. If the roles had been reversed with another member of the team, he’d have concerns over their ability to even be on the case. For now, Hotch forced himself to tune into the conversation the rest of the team was having; promising himself he’d figure out what to do later. 

“Garcia, what do we know about L/N,” Emily asked, turning ever so slightly towards the screen Garcia had just popped up on. 

“I’m glad you asked my dear Emily. Y/N L/N is totally Hollywood’s It Girl right now, it’s rumored you can’t even get a meeting with her without forking over at least twenty big ones. She’s never had a bad role in her career. Personally, my favorite movie she starred in was Mamma Mia, but like I said never a bad role,” Garcia paused for a moment, the sound of her typing filling the silence, “is it inappropriate for me to ask one of you to get her signature for-”

“Garcia,” Rossi interjected, “anything else we need to know about her right now?” 

“Sorry sir, I promise to be on my best professional behavior. But come on, remember when she swept the Oscars three years-”

Hotch felt himself detach from the conversation yet again, staring out the window as memories of the two of you flooded his brain. 

Three Years Ago 

The team had just finished a grueling case in Georgia. It was long, taking nearly two weeks to catch the unsub, in which he had managed to murder three additional couples right under their noses. Inclement weather forced them to stay another night until the storm passed, leaving them all stranded by the airport. In a turnaround way, being stuck gave them the rare opportunity to relax and bond as a team. Rather than all disappear to their own rooms for the night, they all packed into one small hotel room. Boxes of Chinese takeout were littered around the room, along with various bottles of alcohol. The Oscars were on that night and Hotch knew you’d be on the screen at some point, not wanting to miss it he proposed watching it to the team and they all happily agreed. While it was difficult with their schedules to be avid movie goers, they all were relatively familiar with the contenders for big awards such as Best Picture and Best Actor. 

You were nominated for two separate awards that night, along with starring in a film nominated for Best Picture. It had been a monumental year for you, with three separate feature films hitting theaters and all becoming major successes both financially and socially. You had spent so much time jet setting for press conferences and movie tours that you rivaled Aaron in terms of suitcase living. 

“Everyone shut up! They’re about to do Best Supporting Actress, oh I just know it’s going to be Y/N. Emily agree with me! We saw her in Little Women together, I cried. Oh don’t give me that look Emily, you cried too and you know it!” Penelope said enthusiastically, waving her chopsticks around. It was rare that Garcia ever came with on a case, but the location had been in a remote part of the state and they wanted to avoid being unable to reach her and her technical wizardry; a fact she was particularly grateful for, had this watch party been happening without her, she would’ve been so jealous.  

To anyone else, the grin on Hotch’s face would have been easily equated to the bickering going on between his friends and the effects of the few drinks he had thrown back. It was all for you though, he had caught glimpses of you on screen throughout the night and had snuck more than one glance at his phone to see the pictures of your outfit you’d sent him yourself. When the presenters walked on stage, Hotch sat up a bit straighter, his body naturally inching closer to the edge of his seat. The screen set up so the faces of all nominees and their reactions could be seen, Hotch’s eyes glued to the box you were in. 

“And the winner of Best Supporting Actress goes to…,” the first presenter started, slowly opening the envelope they held, “Y/N L/N!” The crowd roared and the camera focused in on you sitting stunned in your seat, surrounded by coworkers and friends. The team was cheering too, the liquor in their system loosening everyone up. Hotch clapping uncharacteristically loud and long even went unnoticed by the others. 

“I was right, I knew it!! I should start betting on this, you know what I bet I could hack into the system-” Garcia’s voice barely even registered in Hotch’s brain as he watched you. With one hand clasped over your mouth and the other holding your dress you made your way up the stairs and to the center of the stage. 

“Wow,” you started, eyes wide as you stared down at the award in your hands, slowly you looked back up into the crowd and continued, “I really mean it when I say I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t even prepare a speech, I’m so sorry,” you paused again, the biggest smile plastered on your face as you quickly wiped a few tears threatening to fall, “thank you all so much, for supporting me and letting me do what I love. Thank you to my fellow coworkers who pushed me in this project and thank you so much to the fans who give me the strength to do this every day. Thank you! Thank you so much!” You ended, making your way back towards your seat. Hotch grinned as you flashed a wide smile to the camera following you, throwing a flirty winky that he knew was just for him.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. When you won again for Best Actress, you were barely able to contain yourself on stage, tears flowing freely down your face as you gave your thanks. The joy you felt in that moment was unlike anything you’d ever experienced in your life. At just 24, you had become the first person ever to win both awards in the same night. Hotch had actually jumped out of his seat at your second win, a motion that confused the rest of the team, but the liquor in everyone’s system forced them to ignore it; more glad than anything to see Hotch loosening up for once. 

After the team finally retreated into their own rooms for the night, Hotch wasted no time in texting you, asking if you were free to talk on the phone. His excitement palpable when not even a minute later your contact came up on the screen. 

“Aaron,” your excited voice came through the phone, just being able to hear you eased tension he wasn’t even aware he had been carrying, “can you believe it!” 

“Congratulations, Miss Double Oscar winner.” Even after a year of being together, his voice made you giddy. “Where are you?” He asked, unable to ignore the pounding sound of music and people in the background. 

“After party, top secret location Mr. Agent. I’m in the bathroom! Am I allowed to tell you I definitely see some residue of a line on the counter,” your voice was slurred and rushed, the energy of the moment combined with the liquor in your system causing your mouth to move faster than your brain, “probably not, ignore that. Where are you?” 

Aaron relayed various info about closing the case and what the team had gotten up to that night. When you began telling him about your night, he couldn’t help but feel insecure. Where he told you about $8 takeout meals and rural Georgia, you were talking about some of the biggest names in Hollywood and the luxury treatment you’d been subject to all night. He forced himself to focus on your voice anyway; not wanting to take this time ‘with’ you for granted. The two of you could’ve talked for hours, had it not been for Hotch pushing you to go enjoy the celebrations. 

“I’m so proud of you angel,” he said softly, voice swelling with adoration, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.” 

“I love you Aaron.” 

“I love you too Y/N.” 

When he finally hung up, he leaned against the wall with a sigh, running his hands through his hair. Relationship wise, it had been a tough year for the two of you. With your schedule busier than you’d ever expected, it meant seeing each other in person was nearly impossible. In good conscience you refused to take him away from Jack on the rare weekends he had off. Instead you’d fly in whenever possible, the two of you spending low profile nights together in fancy hotels or his house if Jack was away with friends. It was excruciating maintaining a relationship like this, but something about the success of the night made the sacrifices feel worth it. 

Present Day

“Look into her dating history, any exes that would want to hurt her?” JJ asked, her question pulling Hotch back into the present. Adjusting to the constant publicity you were subject to had been a learning curve for Hotch, the first time the tabloids ran a story of you photographed with some Hollywood Hunk his bad mood had the entire team walking on eggshells for a week. 

“According to my search she hasn’t dated anyone in years, or at least not publicly. I have a theory she’s secretly dating Henry Ca-.” Hotch zoned back out before Garcia could finish, having no interest in hearing or seeing whoever the media was speculating to be involved with you this time. Willing the plane to land faster, he ignored the faint voice in the back of his head that was telling him you were free to be with whoever you wanted. 

----

“If you’d follow me Miss L/N, the BAU has set up in the back conference room, they’ve been waiting for you.” Officer Reynolds said, her back to you as you followed her down the hallway. It was nearly 9am and you had spent the better half of the morning hyping yourself up to see Aaron for the first time in nearly two years. You made last second adjustments to your outfit; an outfit you definitely hadn’t spent all of last night picking out because you definitely did not want to look good for Aaron Hotchner. As Officer Reynolds moved to open the door you held your breath, thanking the years of experience in manipulating your outward expressions. When four heads turned in unison to look at you, you let out a sigh of relief. Aaron wasn’t in the room. 

“This is Y/N L/N. Miss L/N, meet the BAU,” Officer Reynolds said, extending her arm outwards towards the rest of the room, “I’ll leave you guys to do introductions, if you need anything, find me,” and with that she exited the room. A blonde woman stepped forward first, extending her hand out to you. You knew who she was before she even said her name. 

“My name is Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison with the BAU.” She said, she gave you the same smile all the other officers had been giving you, but unlike theirs that reeked of pity, something in Jennifer’s felt authentic to you. After shaking hands with her, the rest of the room took a moment to introduce themselves. You never thought you’d meet Aaron’s team like this. Over the years, he had shown you countless photos of the team, along with hundreds of stories and tidbits concerning their lives. Even though you knew they had probably spent the entire flight to LA looking at your life, it still felt as if you had some creepy advantage over the situation. 

“The rest of our team, Agents Hotchner and Morgan, are currently doing some research in the field, but until they return we’d love to brief you and ask you a few questions, is that alright?” JJ asked, stepping backwards and motioning for you to take a seat at the round table. 

“Of course,” you quickly replied, moving to take a seat; internally you were laughing at the irony of her asking if it was alright, what would you do, say no? Looking up at the other three members still standing you motioned for them to sit as well, “I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, but I’d prefer if you all sat down too,” you paused, before adding, “kinda makes me feel like I’m back at school.” They seemed to smile at that, everyone else moving to find a seat at the table. Before the silence could turn uncomfortable, JJ spoke up again. 

“Does anyone else in your life know about the murders?” 

You shook your head no before replying, “my agent knows just in case I have to go underground and my security guard is aware, but besides them and the police, I haven’t told anyone.” 

“Go underground?” 

“Uh yea, a few years ago I had a stalker. I went ‘underground’ for about three months and the guy seemed to give up. The police have already cleared him, he hasn’t been to LA in over a year,” you explained. 

“That’s good to know. We want to keep your involvement in the case completely out of the media. I can only imagine you want that too,” JJ started, angling her body towards you, “I know you’re probably more than well versed in dealing with the press, but if anyone comes up to you asking about the murders we want you to completely disengage. And of course, don’t tell anyone else about what’s going on.” 

“Alright, now that that’s settled, we just have a couple questions for you,” Emily asked as she stood up, opening up a file from the table, “so what can you tell us about-” 

----

The dump site wasn’t showing any promise. Situated near a highway, the field was hidden from the road, yet still accessible by car. The constant stir caused by the speeding cars meant any leftover DNA or footprints were effectively blown away. 

“Our guy’s gotta be fit. The drop into the field is just steep enough he would’ve had to carry the body at least fifty feet to get it here from the road. He could’ve rolled it, but the bodies were too pristine to have been dropped on the ground like that.” Derek said, looking over at Hotch. The two of them were standing at the edge of the road, looking down at the now empty field. “Not only that, but this is a nice spot. Normally places like this so close to a highway are filled with trash, do you think he might’ve cleaned up?” 

Hotch was silent as he considered this, before slowly nodding, “it’d make sense if he did. Everything we have concerning his treatment to the victims post mortem has been nothing but affectionate.” 

“Do you think there could be two unsubs?” Derek asked, when Hotch looked at him with mild confusion he continued, “All the victims were strangled to death, ME report assumes it was by hand. It takes a lot of strength and persistence to kill someone by hand like that, not only that but it’s intimate, he’s staring them in the face as he kills them. The level of care displayed here seems way more than just remorse.” 

Hotch took another moment to consider Derek’s proposition before shaking his head, “we’ll keep it in mind, but it’s clear whatever connection he has to L/N is personal, at least to him. These women could be failing to replicate some part of her personality and in his rage he kills them. But when they’re silent and unmoving, their likeness to L/N lets him fall back into the fantasy, hence the care.” 

“We should start heading back, Reid just texted me they’re almost done with the initial briefing with L/N, and we should meet her before she takes off for the day.” Derek said, putting his phone back in his pocket before turning on his heel to head back to the car. Hotch’s shoulders tensed at the idea of seeing you, looking back at the field once more. Giving the field one last look, he felt a shiver run up his spine at the idea of finding you in a field like this. Shaking the idea out of his, he turned to join Derek in the car. 

Hotch took the driver's seat, glad to be able to use the road as a needed distraction from the impending face to face. The drive was only twenty minutes, but Hotch didn’t think any time would truly be long enough to prepare himself to see you again. He found himself wondering if anything would be different from the last time he saw you. Did you still smell the same? You had always been quite adamant about your preference for scented lotion, rather than perfumes. What if you completely changed your hair? Were you worrying about seeing him as much as he was? 

“You think she’s gonna be easy to work with?” Derek asked, breaking Hotch out of his mental spiral. 

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, you know, “Hollywood’s It Girl”,” Derek explained, “if she’s as in demand as Garcia said she was-”

“While we work this case Morgan, I expect you to conduct yourself appropriately,” Hotch interjected, his voice tight, “we treat Y/N the way we would anyone else, do I make myself clear?” His eyes not leaving the road at all, knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

“Crystal,” Derek responded, raising his hands up in mock surrender. 

As they turned into the parking lot, Hotch scanned the parking lot before finally noticing your car parked in the back of the lot. You used to always park as far as you could, constantly complaining about how people in parking lots stressed you out and you wanted to be able to drive in and out as easy as possible. The corners of his lips turned up, ever so slightly, thinking maybe nothing had really changed for you, at least in that regard. 

“You go ahead, I’m just going to send a message to Jack real quick,” Hotch lied, pulling his phone from his pocket. Derek nodded and got out of the car, quickly entering the building. Hotch put his phone down in his lap and gripped the steering wheel once more. You were one of the few people to ever wind him up this way; it had been like that from the first day he met you, as if you managed to make him melt under your gaze. Five minutes, he would give himself five minutes to pull himself together before letting the Unit Chief in him take over. 

----

“I’m sorry, I just, can I take a break,” you asked, looking up at the agents who were still grilling you about facets of your life you never would’ve considered relevant, “I just need to get some air.” Without really waiting for permission, you were pushing back on your chair to stand up. Slinging on your thin jacket you exited the room, heading for the entrance of the building. The agents had been kind, but you were starting to feel a bit useless. Each time they had a new theory, you came up short in terms of material for them to actually use. They kept reassuring you that what you were able to come up with was helpful, but you weren't convinced. 

You had been in and out of this office so many times, your body went into autopilot as you made your way to the entrance, not even pausing to look up as you started to push open the door. What you missed was the distinct outline of a body pulling the door open at the same time. The added force made you stumble, nearly crashing straight into the man on the other side. Brown eyes met yours and you both froze, uncertain of what to say before speaking at the same time. 

“Y/N.”

“Agent.”

-----

a/n - wow wow! things are gonna start moving in the next chapter, i promise. the response to ‘in the stars’ so far has been so heartwarming. ive said it before, but this is my first fic and i cant even fathom that people are actually interested in what im writing. your support means the world! im trying to get stuff written before university starts up again, but i dont want to nix quality for faster updates so if updates slow down im sorry! comments always appreciated. leave a reply or ask if youd like to be added to the taglist! if you requested before but arent added, just ask again i mustve missed it on accident 

Taglist: @mac99martin​ @iwaizumiee​ @kylorendrip​ @hqtchner​ @lieswithoutfairytales​ @ssahoodrathotchner​ @midsummernightdream​ @weasleylovers​ @evans-dejong​

no permission is given to republish or upload my fics anywhere else. if you see this story not on my tumblr or ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own criminal minds or any of the characters involved

[michaels-blackhat]

thoughts on evil Forrest 😈

We are going to start out by apologizing. This is very very late. I’m sure when you sent this ask, you meant it to be in the same joking tone that I approach all of my other propaganda posts. Sadly, this is actually going to be a deep dive into a few Evil Forrest related things, including the moment I feel they changed directions, the perfect wasted build-up, and the implications of the change/how it then negatively impacted the story. As I’m sure you already know, by being on my blog at all, I don’t think the story was good to begin with, so we are going to focus on the weird hoops they made themselves jump through to make that story still work. Additionally, I am only going to mention once, right now, how much of a waste it was to not have Forrest ‘fall for his mark’ and complete one of my absolute favorite tropes. Honestly, I think “because I want it” is a completely valid reason to like Evil Forrest. But, the question was “Thoughts on Evil Forrest” and these thoughts have been developing for over a year and a half. So, I apologize in advance.

The majority of this is under a cut, with highlights in the abstract. If no one wants to read this, I understand completely. Go ahead, skip it.

Note: it pains me greatly to not actually have full sources for this essay. Just know that in my heart I am using proper APA citations, I just absolutely do not feel like digging through tweets to find sources to properly cite.

Abstract:

Previous research indicates that Roswell New Mexico has a history of repeating excuses to explain mid-season changes to plots. This essay explores how those excuses are not only loads of crap, but how they hinder the show’s ability to tell a coherent story, misuse the multiple-plot structure to enhance the themes being explored, and lead to decisions that mean the show continuously goes over budget. This also means that characters are not used to their full potential and has led to what some fans consider to be “out of character” behaviors. While these behaviors are not universally agreed on, evidence can be shown that these behaviors directly contradict emotionally important character arc/plot points in the show.

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitment because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

The concept of Evil Forrest has been with the fandom as early as New York Comic Con (NYCC) in 2019, when it was revealed that Alex had a new “blue-haired love interest”. Speculation abounded within the fandom, with some people, including the author, going “yeah, he’s evil” while others rejoiced in the concept of Alex having a loving partner. Speculation increased as fans discussed Tyler Blackburn’s seeming disinterest in his new love interest, prompting some once again to scream “EVIL” at the top of their lungs to anyone who would listen. Very little was revealed, beyond the fact that the new character would show up somewhere around episode 3 of the second season.

Episode 2.04 aired with some commenting on how he barely interacted with Alex- prompting more evil speculation- and others excited to see the characters interact more. The character appears again in 2.06, where he invites Alex to dubious spoken word poetry (which Alex attends); 2.08, where they have a paintball date and go to The Wild Pony; 2.10, where the two are seen writing together briefly at the beginning of the episode; and 2.13, where Alex performs his song at open mic night, tells Forrest his relationship with the person in the song was long over, and they kiss. Forrest was not revealed to be evil during season 2.

Amidst the season airing, Word of God via Twitter post announced that yes, Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, though not the main villain, but it was changed as filming progressed.

The Word of God Twitter post revealed that Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, but they decided that they could not make their “blue-haired gay man” a villain. This mirrors a similar situation and excuse used the previous season, where the character of Jenna Cameron was originally planned to work with Jesse Manes against the aliens, before it was changed because they just “loved Riley [the actress] too much”. Both of these examples occurred while already filming and reflect on a larger problem with the show. Though not the topic of this essay, it is important to note that both characters are white, both in the show and by virtue of being played by white actors. The fact that they couldn’t be villains for one reason or another is not a courtesy extended to the male villains who are all the most visibly brown, and thus ‘other’, members of the cast.

This also highlights the fact that, via Twitter, it has been revealed two other times that occurrences that were reported in season 1 also occurred in season 2. During the airing of episode 1.02, it was revealed that the single best build-up of tension in the show- when Alex walks to the Airstream not saying a word to Michael after a dramatic declaration- happened because one actor was sick at the time and they had to go back and film the kisses later. At the point of airing for episode 2.08, it was revealed that one of the actors were sick and unable to film a kissing scene. Allegedly, this caused the writers to retool the entire scene and deviate from the plan to make that subplot about Coming Out. The execution of this subplot will be explored later in this essay.

The last occurrence revealed via Twitter also revealed larger issues within the show: lack of planning and poor budgeting. During the airing of season 1, Tyler Blackburn was needed for an extra episode beyond his contracted 10. A full explanation was never given, but speculation about poor planning and to fill in because Heather Hemmens had to miss one of her 10 episodes due to scheduling conflicts for another project. During the airing of season 2, yet another tweet came out saying they made a mistake and Tyler would once again be in an additional episode. No explanations beyond “a mistake” were given, though once again speculation occurred. It is the opinion of the author that this was due to changing plot points over halfway through writing, while episodes were already in production. It has been speculated by some that these changes occurred during the writing of 2.08, which was being finished/pre-production was occurring roughly around the time of NYCC 2019.

Previous Literature:

A brief look at different theories of plots and subplots

Many people have written on the subject of plotting, for novels and screen alike. The author is more familiar with film writing than tv, but a lot of the concepts carry over. Largely, the B- and C- (and D- and E-… etc) plots should reinforce the theme of the A-plot. This can be through the use of a negative example, where the antithesis of the theme is explored to reinforce the theme presented by the A plot, or through other examples of the theme, generally on a small scale.

A movie example of this would be Hidden Figures (2016), where the A-plot explores how race and gender impact the main character (Katherine Johnson) in her new job. The B-plots explore the other characters navigating the same concepts in different settings and ways- learning a new skill as to not become obsolete and breaking boundaries there (Dorothy Vaugn) and being the first black woman to complete a specific degree program and the fight it took to get there (Mary Jackson). A TV example that utilizes this concept of plot and theme is the 911 shows. Each of the rescues in a given episode will directly relate to the overall theme of the episode and the overall plot for the focus character. This example is extremely blunt. It does not use any tools to hide the connection, to the point you can often guess the outcome for that A-plot fairly quickly.

This is not the only way to explore themes within visual media. Moonlight (2016) looks at three timestamps in the life of Chiron. Each timestamp has a plot even if they feel more like individual scenes or moments rather than plots as some are more used to in films. Each time stamp deals with rejection, isolation, connection, and acceptance in different ways. So while there is no clear A-, B-, or C-Plot, each time stamp works as their own A-Plot to explore the themes in a variety of ways, particularly by starting out in a place of rejection and moving to acceptance or a place of connection to isolation.

Please note that there are many ways to write multiple plots, there are just two examples.

While there are flaws within season 1 of RNM, overall the themes stayed consistent throughout the season, mainly the theme of alienation. The theme threads through the Alien’s isolation/alienation from humanity which is particularly seen through Michael’s unwillingness to participate and Isobel’s over participation. There is Rosa’s isolation from others, how her friendship with “Isobel” ended up compounding her existing alienation from her support system due to her mental illness and coping mechanisms. We see how Max and Liz couldn’t make connections. This theme presented itself over and over in season 1. While this essay is not an exploration of the breakdown of themes in season 2, it should be noted that there were some threads that followed throughout the season. The theme of mothers/motherhood was woven throughout season 2, with some elements more effective than others. Please contact the author for additional thoughts on Helena Ortecho and revenge plots.

One of the largest problems within season 2 was the sheer number of plots jammed into the season. These plot threads often ended up hindering the effectiveness of the themes and made the coherence of the season suffer. Additionally, a lot of them were convoluted and difficult to follow.

Thesis:

Essentially, season 2 was a mess. To look at it holistically is almost an exercise in futility. Either you grow angry about the dropped plots and premises, you hand wave them off, or you fill them in for yourself. Instead, this essay proposes to look at individual elements to explain why Forrest should have stayed evil.

We first meet Forrest in 2.04 when he is introduced on the Long Family Farm, which we later learn was the location where our past alien protagonists had their final standoff. He’s introduced. He’s largely just there. The audience learns he has more of a history with Michael. In 2.06, we meet him again with his dog Buffy (note: poor Buffy has not been seen again and we miss a chunky queen). There’s mild flirting, Alex is invited to an open mic night, which he attends. For the purpose of this essay, the author’s thoughts on the poetry will not be expressed. Readers can take a guess.

It is after this point that the author speculates the Decision was made. This choice to make Forrest not evil- paired with the aforementioned ‘can’t kiss, someone’s sick’- impacted the plot. We have Alex have a scene with his father- which the author believes could have been pushed to a different episode- and then have Alex go on a date and then not kiss Forrest at the end of the night. Here, the audience sees Forrest hit Alex in the leg, allegedly not knowing he had lost his leg despite ‘looking him up’, which parallels the shot to the leg that happens to Charlie. Besides wasting this ABSOLUTELY TEXTBOOK SET UP WTF, it also takes Alex away from the main plot and then forces a new plot for him. Up to this point, Alex’s plot was discovering more about the crash and his family’s involvement. Turning Alex’s date from a setup for evil Forrest to a Coming Out story adds yet another plot thread to a packed season. It is also the author’s thought that this is where the convoluted kidnapping plot comes in. With Forrest already in 2.10 for a moment, a plot where Alex is evil has Forrest attack him for Deep Sky rather than Jesse abduct him for a piece of alien glass Alex was going to give him anyway and then for Flint to abduct Alex from Jesse. It’s messy. In a bad way. Evil Forrest would have been a cleaner set up: no taking back a piece of alien glass Alex gave to Michael in a touching moment. No double abduction. Instead, there is only Forrest, who Alex trusts, breaking that trust to take him as leverage over Michael.

Implications:

Now, Alex has two plots (Tripp & Coming Out). The Coming Out plot is largely ineffective, as they are only relevant to scenes with Forrest and have the undercurrent of there only being a certain acceptable way to be out. This could have been used for Alex to discover his comfort levels, mirroring Isobel’s self discovery, but there was not enough screen time for that. Additionally, Isobel’s coming out story was about her allowing herself the freedom to explore. Alex’s story was about the freedom to… act like this dude wanted him to. Alex’s internalized homophobia played out often in the series but it was also informed by the violence he experienced at Jesse’s hands and the literal hate crime he and his high school boyfriend experienced. With that in mind, the “kissing to piss off bigots” line comes off poorly. This is a character who experienced what a pissed off bigot could do- reluctance to kiss in public is not the same as not being out. There is more to be said on this topic, but as it is not actually the focus of the essay, it will be put on hold. To surmise: Alex’s coming out is attempted to be framed as being himself, but it is actually the conformity to someone else’s ideals. It does not work as an antithetical to Isobel’s story, as the framing indicates that the conformity/right was to be out contradicts Isobel’s theme.

Further Research:

MAKE FORREST EVIL YOU COWARDS

Author Acknowledgements:

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitement because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

[shuttershocky]

If there ever was a moba, would you want it in the style of LoL/Dota or something like Smite in terms of perspective?

Both styles have their advantages and disadvantages, and ive played a ton of both stylesn(though I dont have many hours in Smite compared to what I had in Super Monday Night Combat and Gigantic when they were still alive). Honestly, I'd be good with either, I just really really love the combination of team PvP and making builds.

I think a classic, top-down MOBA like Dota 2 or League of Legends has the potential to get really wild. With the top-down camera comes the ability to see everything that's going on from the same perspective as everyone else, which means a ton of freedom when it comes to ability and item effects. One of the single biggest differences between Dota and LoL for example, is that LoL leans on skillshot abilities with less powerful effects while Dota has plenty of homing skills (some of them even near instant) and outrageous effects (4 second AOE stuns anyone?) balanced by having so many item abilities and save skills that your teammates can rescue you with that are also targeted/homing abilities. Both grew out of the idea that every player sees from the same angle with the only difference being team vision, both sides know how this can go down and what a winning or losing fight will look like, all that matters now is execution and manipulation of vision (bush in League, trees in Dota). It's much harder to take someone by surprise in this style of MOBA, because even if your teammates aren't communicating with you (tho they should), you can quickly check all their lanes via clicking on the mini map and see what they can see. Someone missing? The enemy could be setting a trap for you.

When a teamfight breaks out in this camera perspective, almost every player in the game will fit into one screen. Battles become a speed game of information retrieval and calculation, you can see (almost) everyone, you can see what they're doing or what theyre planning to do, you have to process this and formulate your own plan of action in the microsecond you have and come up with something that supports your team or hinders your enemy.

3D third person mode plays differently just due to this camera angle. Everyone has their own unique perspective, and you don't have your entire team's information on hand, even if you're constantly communicating. If the enemy reveals themselves to your teammate for a fraction of a second in Dota or League, even if your teammate doesnt notice them, you can if youre following your teammate with your camera. This is simply not possible in 3rd person MOBAs, where all your information is reliant on what your teammate can communicate, and you can only see what you can see. Battles in these games are very action-oriented—there's always strategy of course, it just can't be as laser-focused as the top-down MOBAs—and everyone is running on limited information and trusting entirely on their teammate's communication and their own instincts in order to navigate a fight. You're a bit more restricted when it comes to what ability and item effects can do (since the camera means you can't just hover a mouse over everyone and click on them, so no weird stuff like Dota's Force Staff letting you instantly push someone enemy or ally in the direction they are facing), but 3D opens up so many avenues for action gameplay, ESPECIALLY if it takes advantage of verticality.

I think an FGO MOBA can do a ton with either perspectives. I'd be slightly more partial to top-down since that lends itself to the really weird and creative stuff (shortly after I stopped playing League they introduced a monster champion who was blind and had to make do with essentially using skills for echolocation which was fucking rad and nearly made me reinstall right there) which is the type of thing I believe Type-Moon should be doing more of, but I wouldn't turn down a 3D one either; Gigantic was one of my favorite games of all time.

[kikis-hamster-blog]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay.

I need to give you some background before I launch into this new adventure.

I moved out into my own apartment for the first time during February of 2020. I was optimistic about my new endeavor as a fully-fledged adult in the big city! (Well, as a fully-fledged adult next to the big city, but close enough!) And nearing the end of February I had just finished bringing over all of my essentials; furniture, cooking ware, clothes, hygiene and cleaning products, my computer and internet.. Stuff I would need to essentially survive. In just a couple of weeks I could start bringing over the fun stuff; my video games, my movies, my instruments, my records, my sewing projects. All the things that would keep me occupied in-between recording for my radio show. I mean, there's nothing that could possibly happen in a couple of weeks that could hinder me getting this stuff, right?

Right?

Anyway, Covid lockdowns happened and I was stuck without any kind of entertainment for months. I couldn't go out to see other people. And after a few months of having nothing but a computer screen for any kind of entertainment, everything started to feel very dull. The first half of Covid lockdowns was probably one of the worst periods of my life. It was boring, it was depressing, and most of all, it was lonely. Because I was living all by myself, the only people I would talk to in person were the people at the checkout counter when I went out for groceries once every two weeks. I had people to talk to online, and I love my online friends to heaven and back, but it's not the same as having someone there in person.

It was at about this half way point that I decided that once I had the financial ability, I was going to get a pet.

My friends, now, it is TIME!

But honestly, this being my first time living on my own, I'm pretty nervous about this. I've had pets before living with my parents, but I wasn't the only one taking care of them. Everyone in the house did. This will be my first time taking care of a pet all by myself, thus why I decided on the humble hamster. I figured "Hey, everyone says they're super easy to take care of. The hamsters and cages are both pretty cheap. They sell sunflower seeds at the dollar store. This should be a cake-walk".

Well, if you've seen the post I made on my main blog (and reblogged here), you'll know that's 100% wrong. Thanks to my extreme anxiety, I ended up doing some extreme research over the course of months. I was a dumbass, to say the least. I honestly still feel like I'm a dumbass, but it feels like I've squeezed out as much information from the internet as I can since every piece of information I've been finding is just repeating what I've already learnt.

Now, I'm a believer in the fact that there's always more to learn, so if I see a hamster care video or article covering something I think I know already, I'll look it over just to be sure. Hell, if you send me something now I'll still look it over. I think I'm pretty well-versed at this point, though, and that I'm at the step where I can start preparing a home for my hamster before getting them. I've already started a little with a bin cage I'm working on.

I still need to get more bedding and some sand, and get some help modifying the lid, but the basic idea is that this particular cage will be beach themed, and meant for a place for the hamster to make burrows in. It's going to connect to a fish tank that a friend of mine is giving me from when she used to keep a hamster. I'm still trying to arrange when to meet with her to get it, though. The fish tank, however, is going to be Fraggle Rock themed. Once again, if you follow my main blog, you know how huge of a Fraggle Rock nerd (and Jim Henson nerd in general) I am. I thought it would be a really cute theme to go with and would be fun to construct.

Before anyone says it (because the hamster forum I consulted said the same thing many times), I am 100% aware the hamster is going to destroy the nice, pretty bedding and make a mess within the first day. That's not the point, though. The point is that I want to make sure they come home to a nice, welcoming environment. They can do whatever they want with it once they enter, but I at least want it to look nice for them when they arrive.

Anyway, when my check clears I'm going to be picking up some more supplies for my future buddy! It should clear by tomorrow but the bank has been finicky recently so who knows. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Either way, it shouldn't be later than the end of the week so when I get the hamster supplies I'll make another post.

[schizosupport]

does it still count as a delusion if I think I'm stupid to believe that and that its obviously its not real but I still have like flight/fight/freeze to the thoughts/wrongly percieved event/things in the corner of my eye, or get really scared? Like I don't think that I'm correct in thinking the thing and I don't think it makes sense/has been proven wrong by the person and by testing it lol but also I have a reasoning behind it and still think it? Esp if some of the specific paranoias are very transient (or don't come back) and sometimes triggered by horror content (damn tma t-t) or v stress related ??? I'm trying to figure out if I'm just prodomal probably (bcus I have like a million environmental and genetic risks and Im 16) or actually having delusions now lol ¡¡p but it might be substance induced so :p this stuff has been going on since like, last june maybe and when I started smoking almost everyday since august

(2) HI IM THE PERSON TALKING ABT THE DELUSIONS AND POSSIBLY BEING SUBSTANCE INDUCED !! I think I've also had an increase in negative symptoms in that approximately 1 year time frame than before, even though I'm autistic so experience a lot of the things they list in that stuff :p but that could be because I went through a traumatic relationship or because I've been unmasking over time since I'm not in public and been trying to acknowledge my needs during quarantine :p (3)  hi sorry for using all caps yesterday :(((( I didn't mean to make anybody distressed in any way. Also is thinking as a kid that people may be controlled by larger beings like sims and whenever we die thats because they got bored with us normal weird kid beleifs or ?? Or like after watching truman show I was always thinking abt if I was like it and I still kinda act like there could possibly always be a camera on me or someones watching me but my dad talked about putting cameras around the house and one time when I was getting on my phone because he had taken it away from me a notification popped up on his computer that I was using my phone and if he wanted to look at my screen so maybe its just me being scared cus of that even tho I dont live with him anymore :p and I have no reason to believe he or anyone else actually has access to my phone but they do and its really scary :'((((

Hi anon!

No need to apologize, you’re good, and you didn’t distress me! 

I am very brain-tired there days which makes it hard for me to respond thoroughly, but I’m going to attempt anyways. 

The exact definition of delusions vs magical thinking, paranoid ideation and anxiety can be hard to figure out, and the professionals may have varying opinions as well. The main question, to me, would be - are you very distressed by these thoughts? Are they hindering your ability to live life to its fullest?

If the answer is yes, then I find it less important what they are, and rather I would urge you to look into getting some help managing these symptoms. At the end of the day, knowing the name of what’s going on with you can feel empowering, but it doesn’t actually help much if it isn’t accompanied by an increase in support, understanding and potentially treatment.

Another thing is, you said you’ve been smoking almost every day - from the context I’m guessing you’re talking about weed? 

I know that a lot of people do feel like weed can alleviate some discomfort, and I’m not the authority on drug-use by any means, but I think that a daily intake of any drug, can be a cause for alarm. - No matter if that’s alcohol, weed or “harder” drugs. Especially in people who are susceptible to psychosis (which you seem to be), weed can have a negative effect, and it can definitely increase some symptoms, or even increase the likelihood of a full-blown episode. 

I know it’s easier said than done, and you probably have your reasons for smoking as much as you do, but from a mental health perspective, it does blur the picture. And it can make it harder to get the help you need, because you risk either professional writing off your symptoms as “purely druginduced” or alternatively, they ignore the smoking, and think that you’re more psychotic than you would normally be, which could also lead to the wrong treatment.

(Say for example, you’re smoking to cope with a certain set of symptoms (eg. adhd)- then that smoking causes psychotic symptoms - they treat that with antipsychotics. Now if your original problem was adhd, you would have been better off with a prescription for that, instead of having to take two mind-altering substances as patches on patchwork solutions)

Honestly I’m not the best to ask about the border between delusion and anxiety - professionals have repeatedly told me I’ve long since crossed the border (hence why I’m diagnosed as schizophrenic) but in my own mind I’m still just “a very anxious person”...

I hope this was at least a bit helpful, my computer is lagging and so is my brain, so I’m going to wrap this up here.

Best of luck anon!

Cat

[liliesoftherain]

My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader

Ch. 15 Hakamata vs Bakugou

Masterlist

A/N: OKAY WAIT I CAN EXPLAIN SDFJEVJ- 

A big thank you for everyone who was waiting patiently. I know I haven’t been active lately, and I’ve been getting asks about this story and honestly I felt terrible for not updating, not because I was feeling pressured. So don’t think it was anyone pressuring me, honestly it wasn’t. I haven’t been feeling that motivated to write. School had kicked my ass the last few weeks, especially with this covid and everything happening, I’ve been exhausted. My job was ‘essential’ enough to keep me working throughout everything, and i had been picking up shifts and working my ass off, and honestly? I’m over work but lol need that money right

But I want to continue this story, I want to finish it. I have so much planned and I don’t want to abandon it. So I wont(: Get ready for updates, cause they’re coming. My other stories, I don’t really know what to do, I’ll make a post about that later. For now, enjoy this; it’s short, but I’m already working on the next chapter(: 

SORRY FOR THE FIGHT SCENE THIS WRITING BREAK MADE ME EVEN WORSE WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING THEM LOLOL SORRY HUNS MUAH ENJOY ANYWAYS. 

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, or if i missed you, please send an ask and I’ll add you!!

TAGLIST: @rizamendoza808 !(: @iris-suoh !(: @quicksilverfangirl​ !(: @shortperson202 !(: @noodlenerd101 !(: @matchamidoriya​ !(: @thorsbtch-captainnoobmaster69me​ !(: @pastel-prynce​ !(: @sunkissedneptune​ @monetfatalia​ !(: @legit-fandom-trash​ !(: @lovethewitchofendor​ !(: @dekuxlink​ !(: @water-melone98​ !(: @helena-way07​ !(: @nothing17-7​ !(: @hopelessdisasterr​ !(: @karmaboundlife​ !(: @lunamoonmint​ !(: @ihatemyselftoinfinityandbeyond​ !(: @beew​ !(: @kaylees1414 !(:

You watched the next battle feeling more upbeat, thanking everyone as they gave you their congratulations. You were in awe at the fight between Bakugou and Kirishima, seeing as the former was on the defensive until the latter was suffering due to the overuse of his quirk. Bakugou had sent relentless attack after attack, managing to knock Eijiro out and win the battle. 

“With that vicious win, Bakugou advances to the third round! Ladies and gentlemen, take a look at our final four.”

You glance up to the big screen to see a picture of you along with Bakugou, Todoroki, and Iida on it, the cheers erupting all around the stadium. You chug down your 5th bottle of water before turning on your heel to walk out; you hadn’t sat down, choosing to stand by the entrance just to watch the fight. 

You throw your bottle in the trash as you head down the hallway, spotting a boy making his way towards you,

“Hey, Izuku,” you wave, a smile on your face, “you’re looking, well, better.”

“O-oh, hey! Yea, I guess so,” he smiled back sheepishly, his arm in a cast and he was bandaged all over, “Recovery Girl healed me up, enough to walk at least.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting up then? It’s not smart to make your injuries worse you know.”

“I’ll be fine, really, I don’t want to miss any more battles. This is where everyone’s efforts are paying off, including yours. Congrats on being top four, (y/n).” He beams, there was that excited gleam in his eye, the one he gets when he watches a pro at work. 

“O-oh, thanks-” You blush at the look, being cut off as he starts to rant.

“Tokoyami is super strong, and you managed to win! I mean, since I also found out about Dark Shadows and Tokoyami’s weakness I assumed you would have no trouble taking him down. Not saying you wouldn’t have won without a weakness! I don’t doubt you and your abilities, really, you’re an amazing fighter! I wish I would have been able to see your fight, but at least I’ll be able to watch you go up against Kaachan-”

Your laughter brought him out of his word vomit, and he felt the blush grow along his face. He knew he often had issues with muttering whatever he thought, but for some reason it was worse when he was with you; his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his head was light, and he couldn’t help how he spoke his mind. He liked talking to you, telling you everything he thought. You always gave him your full attention, no matter how crazy, long, or irritating it was.

Maybe that’s why he found you so captivating?

“S-sorry, I was doing it again..”

“Don’t be, and you were with me in spirit Deku! Even if you didn’t get to watch. Plus, I doubted myself against Tokoyami in the first place, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” You watched as his eyes widened.

“But I didn’t! I-”

“I know, thank you. I mean it,” you bite your lip to contain the grin that wants to break across your face, “you always believe in me and I appreciate it. You’re the best, Izuku.”

The large blush that spread across his body made you giggle once more before you continued forward, glancing back to give a dazzling smile. 

“Now go watch those matches, I’ll be listening for your cheers when it’s my turn!”

“Ye-yeah…” The goofy grin stayed on his face the rest of his journey to the stands. 

You made it to the waiting room, breathing in deeply as you steal your nerves for the next match. You were calmer this time, not in the sense of feeling confident, oh no.

You were going up against Bakugou Katsuki; one of the strongest and smartest guys you've ever met. He had such an incredible display of reflexes and skills, for this fight you knew you had to be smart and cautious if you wanted half a chance against him. 

The more you thought about it, the more you felt as if your head would explode. There weren’t really a lot of ways to go about it; he didn’t have a huge drawback like yours or Tokoyami’s, his greatest weakness was most likely the prolonged use of his quirk, and the strain it provided on his muscles and fibers in his arms. He wasn’t stupid either, he quick reaction times and well thought up plans-as long as Izuku wasn’t involved.

He always lost it when it came to Deku. 

The sound of announcements rang overhead, and you snapped out of your thoughts to see you've been sitting for about five minutes or so. You stand and leave the room, heading out of the waiting room and towards the arena. 

Walking up the steps, you saw your opponent already waiting. The pillars in the corners erupting with flames, the crowd being drowned out by the booming voice of Present Mic. 

“And now, Bakugou vs Hakamata! These two have been coming out high in the ranks all day, let’s see which one can handle the heat better! Those destructive explosions or that fiery light! There could have also been sparks of a burning romance between these two, will this be the end of it!?” 

“You’re jumping to conclusions again.”

You desperately ignore the teasing words, knowing your dad was definitely going to have a talk with you once this was all over. You noticed the slight flushing of Bakugou’s face, knowing he must’ve been annoyed by the accusations as well. 

“Oh well, ready!? BEGIN!”

Wasting no time, you spring forward, using your quirk to give you a boost as you drew your arm back for an attack. Bakugou cocked his own right arm, setting off an explosion to get you to back off. You dodge, bringing your arm down and having light extend to the ground to push off and throw you up into the air. Maneuvering behind him you extend your leg, knocking an elongated beam of light into his back.

He let out a grunt, and without missing a beat turning and reaching to grab a hold of your ankle. You willed the light to wrap around your ankle, raising the heat in hopes of him letting go.

“Fuck!”

He still held on, despite any pain, throwing you over his shoulder onto the concrete. You caught yourself, landing in a crouched position. There wasn’t a clear way to beat him from a distance, nor was there a clear victory to beat him in close combat. The longer he continued, the more he’d sweat-the more his quirk would be fueled.

All you had to do was bring the heat, be fast, get him out of bounds. 

Bakugou stared straight into your eyes and saw how determined you were, the steely focus that left him feeling weird. As if he were hyper aware yet dazed at the same time; you were strong, there was no doubt in his mind that you could kick some ass, even if you had some doubt against yourself. 

However, no matter how large your smile was, how bright that stupid sparkle in your eye was after you won a match, he couldn’t afford to lose. He was angry; angry at people for thinking less of him, angry with people assuming he was all talk, angry with Icy Hot-acting as if Deku was more of a threat than he was. He needed to fight to prove himself, and he’d take down anyone in his way. Even if it was you. 

He threw an open palm towards you, a large exploding firing that you couldn’t dodge went straight towards your face. Thankfully you weren’t sent flying back, your quick thinking allowing you to extend your light as a brace to hold you steady at the impact, mentally thanking Todoroki for the move.

Since you were able to steady yourself, along with having the cover of the smoke, countering was a move Bakugou clearly didn’t expect as you lunged forward and landed a punch against his cheek.

“That was a solid hit little miss Hakamata delivered!”

The moment your fist connected you saw the look on his face; that glare and that feral grin of his as it spread across his lips.

“FUCKING DIE!”

His shout accompanied a larger, more forceful explosion, this time successfully knocking you back. You rolled along the ground, quickly picking yourself up as you sent multiple beams of light yourself to counter his explosions. They were hindering your aim, knocking into each other and effectively missing him. 

It was all too frustrating.

You thought of a way you could beat him, but to do so you’d be taking an even bigger risk than you did with Tokoyami. At least in that battle, you were pretty darn sure your light would do the trick. You tried a move, a calculated risk, and it all fell into place thankfully. This time however, you had one chance and if you screwed up; it’d be all over. 

If there was a way to maneuver him closer to the edge, you could rush at him with your light speed and hit him with a giant blast of light to knock him over the edge. 

All you needed to do was get him to step out of bounds, you could do this. 

Throughout your thinking, you had been countering Bakugou’s explosions, and vice versa with him flinging explosions your way to counteract your light. It was getting easier to see his power growing, the more sweat he was able to produce was giving him that boost. While in turn, your body only began to grow even warmer, uncomfortably so. You wanted nothing more than to rip off the new jacket you put on, to cool off in some way, but you were unable. 

This battle was going on for too long, and you couldn’t risk it continuing, so you slowly started to back away and put distance between you two. 

Bakugou didn’t seem to notice, so you hoped, as you made it far enough away to not be so close to the edge but just enough to give you a boost. You grunt, the heat feeling stronger as you let it course through you, glowing once more and rushing at the boy in front of you. 

When you were using your light speed, despite how fast you traveled, you were able to see just about everything around you. The contrast was weird, but it was one you were used to with practice. You were unable to grab or touch anything in this form, since you were practically light yourself, so to be able to get Bakugou out of the ring you had to quickly go back to your original state. 

Doing so, you only had a split second to see Bakugou’s eyes widen as you used your body to ram into his chest. You hear him gasp out, the force of you slamming into him causing the breath to escape from his lungs, as he was sent flying back. 

Your hands on his chest draw light, extending it to help you further, sending you both in opposite directions; instead of following him out of the ring, you fall backwards as he skids across the ground and flies through the air towards the ground.

‘This is it,’ you think to yourself, watching him fall. 

The smile on your face was immediately wiped away as you saw how Bakugou twisted in the air, arms pointed down towards the ground as he used his quirk to propel himself upwards. You try to stand, pushing away your dizzy spell as you try to send more light beams to get him off course and have him fall. 

It was no good. 

Katsuki used his quirk to rush you this time, just as you did him, and sent wave after wave of explosions your way while still in the air. Just like that it was over, the force of his quirk knocked you off, the heat only making your head spin as you fell onto the ground off the arena.

Your body was hot, it was aching, and you were trying to breath but found it difficult to do so-you reached your limit. Two big moves in one day was too much for you to handle, and you saw black in the corner of your eyes. 

The stadium was silent for a moment, Midnight’s voice being the last thing you heard before your eyes fluttered closed.

“Hakamata is out of bounds, Bakugou is the winner!”

[thompsborn]

I'm ~indecisive~ so either parkner, parksborn, or ot3 (Peter/harley/harry), OR just something Harley centric pleeaassee love you hope you're doing well 😊💗💗

wasteland, baby by hozier

be still, my indelible friend

you are unbreaking

though quaking

though crazy

that's just wasteland, baby

[send me a character/ship/dynamic/etc. and i’ll put my music on shuffle and write a drabble/one shot based on the first song that plays!]

-

i have literally no clue what happened with this, literally i saw the song and was like wow yes hozier song for a harley centric ot3 one shot? perfect! and then it just. devolved? evolved? developed. somehow. into this gay panic lonely tennessee boy meeting two dumb fucked up and traumatized boys on a road trip before they start college and ??? i have no fucking clue tbh

tw: internalized homophobia, classic southern rose hill homophobia, a much thicker version of southern accent typing than i usually do, vague mentions/hints of toxic/abusive home life via one mr harry osborn, basically just canon based trauma but only talked about in passing

-

Harley feels life like a pressure pushing down on his chest.

It isn’t heavy, per se, but it isn’t light, either - rather a constant weight, comfortable at times, overwhelming at others. He will carry it down the street like a backpack strapped around his shoulders and pressed into the dimples at the base of his spine and he may wince and he may want to whine, but he’ll just smile with the warmth of sunshine radiating from his skin like he is the sun itself, and he will nod his head in greeting at any lonesome soul he passes.

Lonesome as him, at least. Lonesome as lonesome could ever really get.

He’s got his Mama, is the thing—and he loves his Mama with all he’s got, feels it seize up in his chest sometimes, his heart palpitating rapidly as it tries to process just how much love he holds in his chest like a secret he can’t quite share. Got his Mama and his sister, Annabelle, and her missing teeth that she loves to show off with every dimple cheeked grin that she flashes them, a nine year old girl who loves to have her hair braided back and resting between her shoulder blades like a signature, something that is solely hers. Harley can’t see braids without thinking of Belle and her crinkly nose and the laugh lines around her eyes when she can’t stop the chortles that rise from her chest. Belle and their Mama are all that he’s really got, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

But he wonders if there’s anyone out there who would really understand what he means when he says, “Life just feels a bit heavy today.” His Mama tries to, but she doesn’t get it, feels the pressures and the struggles of life differently than he does, because he knows she feels the aches and pains just as much as him, if not more so, but she has an energy that he doesn’t seem to have access to, an ability to chime a laugh without feeling like it’s too heavy in her poor lungs to make much of a sound. Belle doesn’t show any of the signs that Harley did when he was her age of any sort of weight pushing down her shoulders, because he felt it early, early, early—far too early than any child ever deserves, but he saw his father walk out that door with a half-assed smile and an unconvincing promise to return and that weight appeared like a lump in his throat and a stinging of tears behind his eyes and it’s only grown and shifted and intensified since then, really, but Belle doesn’t seem to have that weight, or any weight at all, and Harley hopes to the heavens above (that scare him shitless on a good day, really) that she never has to feel like him.

Because he is horribly, terrifyingly alone, sometimes. Sitting on the sofa with his Mama sitting to his right, his sister curled up in between them, letting out endearing little snorts when something funny happens in whatever show they’re watching, and his Mama could be brushing back his hair like she did when he was a kid, Belle could be snuggled in his lap and laughing into his chest, he could be surrounded by the two most important people in his life, the only two people in his life, and he could still stare at that television screen and feel a gaping wound in his chest that nothing can fill. There’s weight, pressure, heaviness--and an emptiness, in the center of it all. A vacancy that may never be filled. Like the eye of a hurricane that never seems to rest.

Then a far too fancy looking car rolls up in Rose Hill, parks itself in the dirt lot of the only motel in town, and everything seems to shift.

“I’m Harry,” one of the oddities tells him, when Harley stops by Rita’s Diner because his Mama is taking Belle to a doctor’s appointment in the next town over but wanted him to pick up her paycheck for her. The guy looks nothing like anyone in Rose Hill ever has, a sleek black blazer over a white shirt with a slogan that Harley can’t read from where he’s standing, dark blue skinny jeans and a fancy kind of tennis shoes that don’t have a smudge of dirt on them, his hand extended towards Harley, head tilted to the side, eyes green and piercing as they scan over Harley in some kind of intrigue.

Harley’s been born and raised to be polite, so he shakes the guys hand and says, “Harley Keener. Nice t’meet you, Harry...?”

The ends of Harry’s lips curve, twist. “Lyman,” he fills in, brow quirking. There’s a quiet snort that fills in the gap of silence that follows, and then Harry is turning, hand still clutching Harley’s in an almost hand shake, looking at the guy sitting beside him and reading the menu with amusement on his features. “What?”

“Nothing,” the guy says, glancing towards Harry before immediately looking away and having to smother a laugh in his palm. Harley takes a moment to examine this guy, too - sticking out just as much as Harry is with his beige skinny jeans (kind of like khaki’s, but nothing like them, at the same time) and a dark grey hoodie, looking far too thick for the sunny day outside. His hair is swooped across his forehead in wisps of curls, brown eyes glimmering. “Nothing,” he says again, more insistent, though it doesn’t sound convincing as he giggles more.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back to Harley with a grimace, though his eyes shine in a way that makes it obvious that he isn’t actually annoyed. “Don’t mind him,” he says, gaze flickering down to where Harley is still clasping his hand. Harley pulls back as soon as he notices, yanks his hand away a little too fast. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, for a second, and then smooth. “That’s Peter.”

Giggles waves a hand vaguely in Harley’s direction, then looks away. Harley isn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s he laughing at?”

“Nothing important,” Harry assures with a shrug. “You’re from here, I’m guessing?” Then, with his newly freed hand, he gestures towards Harley’s clothes, the smudge of dirt on his cheek, the slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose and the freckles dotting his skin. “I don’t mean to assume, you just look a lot like a local.”

“Well, I’d bet I do, since you definitely don’t,” Harley muses, brow quirking, resting a hip on the edge of the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t mean to assume either, but neither of you are from ‘round here, huh?”

Harry’s smile widens while Peter flips a fork round and round between his nimble looking fingers. If Harley looks closer, he thinks he can see those fingers shaking, yet it doesn’t seem to hinder Peter’s ability to spin the fork with a flawless sort of ease. It makes him intrigued. Confused, too. A bit unsure. He doesn’t get the chance to voice any of it, though.

Julianna, the manager that’s working today, brings Harley his mama’s paycheck, wrapped up in a neat white envelope with Keener scrawled across the front in scratchy script. Harley tips his head in parting when he leaves, and he catches a glimpse of Peter leaning towards Harry with something forming through a whisper of his lips, so close that he brushes against Harry’s ear as he speaks.

He thinks of them the rest of the day. He isn’t quite sure why, but he does.

(Maybe it was the hand in his, or the way Peter couldn’t stop giggling under his breath like there was a joke that no one else knew but him. Maybe the curiosity that Harley felt bubbling in his chest had, for even just a fraction of a moment, filled that cavern the slightest bit.)

-

“You seem distracted, honeybun,” Margaret Keener says over dinner that night, swooping blonde bangs out of her eyes as she glances towards her eldest child, her eighteen year old son with his shoulders hunched down on himself as he uses his fork to push his food around his plate. Maggie keeps her eyes on Harley, but turns her head to address Belle as she says, “Doesn’t he look distracted, Tinker Bell? Looks a little lost in his head, don’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annabelle responds, nodding her head politely before shoveling a bite of broccoli salad into her mouth. She speaks around her food, using her own fork to gesture towards her brother, and tells their mama, “Candy Jones was tellin’ me that her daddy saw Harley talkin’ to those city boys stayin’ at the inn.”

Harley shoots his sister a sharp glare while a flicker of understanding sparks in their mama’s eyes. “I see,” she drawls, setting her fork down to prop her chin in her hand, resting in the curve of her palm as she smiles at her son.

“It’s nothin’, Mama,” he grumbles, shrinking in his seat under her knowing stare.

Sounding amused, Maggie says, “Doesn’t sound like nothin’, honeybun. If Annabelle can tell me about her crushes, then you can tell me about yours.”

Instantly, Harley is looking at his sister in bewilderment. “You got crushes?”

Annabelle shovels more food in her mouth. “Maybe,” she says around it all, brows raising in a way that challenges him to say something about it.

“But you’re a baby,” Harley says.

“I’m almost ten,” Belle corrects. “Mama said it was okay, Harls. Right, Mama?”

Maggie nods. “Yes I did,” she says, though her eyes are glued to her son. “’Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with having crushes. It’s a natural part of life. So, Harley, why don’t you tell me about these city boys?”

“There’s nothin’ to tell,” Harley insists, looking at his mama with wide eyes. “Honest, Mama. I talked to ‘em for a few minutes while I was waitin’ for Julianna to bring me your check, but nothin’ happened. We just talked. I don’t even know how y’all know that they’re from a city.”

Belle lets out a huff. “Word spreads fast in this town, Harley,” she tells him. “You’d know that if you had any friends that you could talk to.”

“Annabelle Ray Keener, you watch yourself,” Maggie scolds, turning her eyes to her daughter with lowered brows. Belle ducks her head, looks away with red creeping up the back of her neck. “You say sorry to your brother. That was uncalled for, little miss. We don’t talk to each other that way, you hear me?”

Belle sighs. “Sorry, Harls,” she murmurs.

Harley’s head is bowed, ends of his lips tugged down in a frown. “S’alright,” he mutters in response, glancing up at Maggie through his lashes and sounding like nothing but a boy rather than the fresh adult that he is. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to say, Mama. We just talked for a few minutes. They seemed weird, but nice.”

“If you say so, baby,” Maggie softly replies, smile gentle and kind.

He doesn’t say much else for the rest of dinner.

-

Only a few days later, as Harley is strolling down the streets leading from his house to the mechanic shop that he works at part time during the summers, he sees them again. It’s a particularly hot day, and the weight of life is particularly heavy, and he sees them in the only park resting near the center of Rose Hill, small and meek but all that the town really needs. Peter is siting on one of the swings on the old rickety swing set that Harley has personally had to fix dozens of times since learning how to at the age of eleven, and Harry is pushing him, the two of them looking bright and happy under the sunlight. Laughter chimes in the air when Peter says something that has Harry doubling over, and the smug sort of grin that grows on Peter’s face says that he was hoping for that reaction.

Harley stands there for a few short moments, just watches in silent curiosity, and then he walks over without a second thought. Takes his time, doesn’t want to interrupt but can’t stop himself as he approaches, until they spot him, no more than ten feet away, and they quiet quickly, watching as he slows to a stop just a short distance from them. “You’re from the city,” he says - first thing that comes to mind, and the silence makes him itch, so he throws caution to the wind. Adds, as an afterthought, “My sister heard people in town talkin’ ‘bout it. Is that true?”

There’s a short pause, where Peter looks over his shoulder and Harry meets his eyes briefly, and then they’re looking back and Peter is saying, “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Which one?” Harley questions, curious. He makes a point of raking his eyes over their outfits, which still stand out just as much as the ones that they were wearing last time did. “Doesn’t look like anywhere in Tennessee, I assume?”

“Good assumption, cowboy,” Harry grins. “We’re New York, born and raised.”

Harley tilts his head, brows raising. “Cowboy?”

Peter clicks his tongue, tilts back on the swing until he’s practically hanging upside down, hair brushing against the wood chips of the playground, and then he kicks out his legs and uses an odd sort of momentum to swing back up until he’s sitting, grin wide and toothy as he meets Harley’s eyes. “Southern people use nicknames,” he says with a light laugh. “We thought cowboy suited you.”

“It does?” Harley asks, even more confused. “Y’all were talkin’ about me?”

“Y’all,” Harry repeats, an overjoyed and amused sort of look on his face.

Peter cocks his head slightly to the side, brows quirking, just a bit. “Of course we were talking about you,” he says. “Not everyday you meet a cute cowboy, right?”

That makes Harley freeze, heart stuttering over a beat in his chest, and it feels like what he always thought a stupid high school crush should feel like, his lungs weak and his face warm as he looks away, brings up a hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair. “Oh.”

Harry yanks Peter’s ear lobe lightly and snarkily asks, “What happened to subtlety, Parker?”

“What happened to transparency, Osborn?”

Instantly, Harry is shoving Peter’s shoulder, not too harsh but not exactly kindly, either. Peter exaggerates the push and falls out of the swing dramatically, tumbling into the wood chips with a bright laugh. Harry murmurs, “You’re such a dick,” even as he rounds the swing to help pull Peter to his feet, brushing off the dirt from Peter’s shirt and shaking his head with a sigh.

“You chose me,” Peter counters, grinning.

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile pulls at his lips, like he can’t quite fight it. “Dumbest decision I’ve ever made,” he says, pulling Peter closer to him, until they’re chest to chest. “And I let you talk me into this trip, so that says a lot, Pete.”

Peter huffs. “Play the part of the Negative Nancy,” he says, leaning in until their noses brush. “Act like I don’t know any better. As if I don’t know you better than you know yourself.”

“Cocky,” Harry grins. “Y’know, we could put some of that confidence to work if you—”

And then Peter kisses him.

Harley feels like he’s intruding on a moment that was never meant for him, standing a few feet away, feeling frozen and unsure. Part of him knows that the proper thing to do would be to walk away, to leave the situation before it can get too awkward, but there’s a pull, something in his gut that tugs and insists he stay exactly where he is. Not that he could resist that insistence even if he wanted to, because his feet are rooted to the ground like a tree that’s been growing in place for centuries, an unwavering and unmovable object.

Warmth climbs up his neck, blossoms across his cheeks as he simply watches, unable to do much else, while Harry brings up a hand to cup Peter’s jaw, as Peter rests his hands on Harry’s waist and they mould together, like they’re filling in the spaces of one another. It looks as natural as breathing, the way they lean together, the way they pull away in sync, how everything seems to be perfectly timed with one another. Harley feels it clog in his throat, that suffocating lonesome feeling he carries around so much—has to clear his throat in order to breathe around it, but the noise just draws two pairs of eyes to him.

There isn’t any surprise or embarrassment, like they had forgotten he was there—rather, there’s an equal sense of content, as if they were happy to see he hadn’t fled. He clears his throat again, looks over Harry’s shoulder to stare unseeingly at the trees behind the swingset. “I didn’t know...” he trails off, tongue tied.

“We don’t usually flaunt it,” Harry offers, hand sliding from Peter’s jaw to his shoulder, keeps it there even as they step apart. One of Peter’s hands continues to clutch the fabric of Harry’s jacket, like he simply refuses to let him go.

Harley swallows roughly. “Usually?”

A smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Usually.”

“Huh.” Harley looks away, over his shoulder, rubs at the back of his neck. They’re intriguing, is the thing—something about them is pulling him in, making it impossible to walk away. He can’t place his finger on it. “Um, I... I heard—you said trip? That’s why y’all are here? On a trip?”

“A getaway,” Harry offers, tilting his head back and forth, nose crinkled. “Of sorts. I’m emancipated and told Pete that I was thinking about spending a few weeks away from the city, just to take a break before we start our first year at college. He thought of a road trip, and we just... we just started driving. No destination in mind, you know? Just enough shit to last a couple weeks and enough money to keep the tank full, and then we ended up here.”

Harley looks back at them suddenly, because that... he has always wanted to do that. To leave, if just for a little bit, and take a break from how empty and lonely he feels in Rose Hill. He’s always wanted to drive to the nearest city, drive out of the state, explore. But it costs so much, it takes so much time, and his mama... his sister... leaving them, even temporarily—

That’s why he stays. For them. Always.

It takes a moment for him to string together a response, struggling to remember the conversation, what he wanted to say. Eventually, he manages to ask, “Why here?”

Peter rakes his eyes over Harley, the farthest thing from subtle. “Seems interesting,” he says.

“Why not?” Harry asks, his grin wide, toothy.

Harley smiles back—slow, careful, but he does.

-

There’s an old backpack thrown over his shoulders, dusty and dingy from sitting in the hall closet for so long, but it’s stocked up with snacks, jams and jellies and crackers and a couple jars of his mama’s homemade lemonade, lids screwed up tight.

He tells himself he grabbed so much food because he knows he’s gonna spend the whole day at the pond near the edge of Mr. Samson’s property, the one that Harley helps maintain during the winter months that he’s been given permission to go swimming in whenever he wants. He tells himself that he goes to town first to grab a loaf of bread because he has the feeling he’ll be craving jam sandwiches later, too. Tells himself all these lies until he finally comes across them, sitting besides the road with ice cream cones in hand, chatting to themselves under the warm sun.

As soon as Harley sees them, he freezes, doubt creeping into his mind. None of this was for him, he knows—he packed so much and came up with excuses to wander around town in the hopes of seeing them, of inviting them, but now that they’re in front of his eyes, nerves start to crawl up his throat and lock his jaw shut. He tightens his fingers around one of the backpack straps, knuckles turning white.

Harry happens to see him while glancing around, and then he grins, featuring lighting up as if he was hoping to see Harley just as much as Harley was hoping to run into them. As soon as Harry’s posture changes, Peter spins around, scans their surroundings until he finds Harley, too, and then it isn’t a matter of Harley approaching them—rather, the two of them scramble to their feet and make their way towards him, instead. The hands that aren’t holding their ice cream cones are twisted together between them, swinging lightly.

“There’s—” Harley falters, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and looks around anxiously. “I just... there are a lotta not-so-friendly people here. People that... frown on—on gay people, y’know? I dunno—I just... if you care, I, um—”

The sun bounces off of Harry’s emerald eyes on a way that might have been menacing, if it weren’t paired with the small smile gracing his lips. “People can think what they want,” he says with the wave of his hand. “We don’t care.”

Harley shifts his weight from one foot to the other, keeps glancing around nervously. “I don’t think you understand. They’ll get violent, if they see—if they see y’all holding hands. They’re ruthless. You could get really hurt.”

There’s something sharp and understanding in Peter’s features. “Have they hurt you?”

“I’m not—” Harley stops, bites back the instinctive denial that tries to claw it’s way out from the back of his throat. It’s been years since he told his mama and his sister, since he spit bloody globs of saliva onto the contrete and cried because the bullies weren’t just ruthless, they were right, they knew, somehow, what he refused to admit for so long. It’s why he hides it now, from everyone other than Mama and Belle. He never knows if they’ll hurt him or not. But there’s a genuine knowing reflected in both Harry and Peter’s eyes, like they could see his pain, like they’ve felt it. He doesn’t feel the need to lie to them.

That fact terrifies him endlessly.

He clenches his jaw, juts his chin up in a choppy sort of nod. “They used to,” he says. “Before I learned how’ta fight back. Still spout shit ‘bout me all god damn day, but words don’t matter. I know better ‘en to listen to ‘em. But y’all... you’re city boys, right? The guys in town, they’ll think you’re weak. They’ll start shit, and they always finish whatever shit they start.”

“I can take ‘em,” Peter assures.

Harley pauses. “Um...”

“He looks scrawny,” Harry says, “but he’s right. If anyone bugs us, he’ll win.”

Harley wants to protest that, mostly because Peter is at least three inches shorter than him and looks like he’d struggle to do a push up underneath the sweatshirts he keeps on wearing, but there’s so much confidence in both if their voices that Harley feels like it’d be stupid to disagree. Instead, he adjusts his backpack and wets his lower lip, battling internally for a moment before blurting out, “Do y’all wanna go swimming with me?”

There’s a short pause, before Harry shares a smile with Peter. “Come again, cowboy?”

Harley flushes, just a bit, and stares down at the toes of his shoes with narrowed eyes. “There’s a pond,” he says, tone almost defensive, already expecting this to go wrong somehow. “It’s a little bit out of town, but it’s nice, kept clean and looked after, y’know? And it’s never busy like the lake out past the school. I was gonna go, and it was brought to my attention that I don’t have any friends and I don’t wanna go alone, and I—I thought—”

“We’ll go,” Peter says. “Right now?”

Harley shifts the weight of his backpack again, glances up in surprise, but knows better than to question a miracle. “If y’all aren’t busy.”

Peter looks at Harry. “Are we busy?”

“Not at all,” Harry answers with a grin.

It takes a quick stop at the motel for them to change into something they can swim in and multiple stammered out reassurances that there’s plenty of food and drinks in his bag for them to share, but they eventually amble over to the pond on foot, Peter and Harry scanning over the place in appreciation while Harley sets down his backpack and starts to unload it all.

“Christ,” Harry says with a laugh when he sees just how much there is. “Were you planning on having a party or something? That’s a lot.”

Harley shakes his head, feels his face burn, just the slightest bit. “Nah, jus’ wanted to make sure there was plenty to last all day.” Then, holding out the loaf of bread, Harley asks, “Sandwich? I got blackberry jam, and raspberry, and—and some apple butter, and there’s—peanut butter and almond butter, so if either of y’all’re allergic to peanuts, I—”

Peter reaches over, settles nimble fingers around Harley’s wrist and smiles. “You packed all this food for us, didn’t you?”

“I...” Harley has to swallow the lump that forms suddenly in his throat. “I just wanted to make sure that there were plenty of options.”

“You’re so sweet,” Peter coos, bringing Harley’s hand down to rest against his chest, palm settled over his beating heart. Harley feels his own heart start to march over the contact, features burning with a bright blush that must look even more sharp under the summer sun.

Harley settles in that for a long moment, breathes in slowly, glances through his lashes to see the way Harry is watching them with intrigue and interest in his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Harley just clears his throat and croaks out, “Y’all wanna go swimmin’ now?”

With a playful grin and something sharp shining in his eyes, Harry says, “Sure, cowboy,” and reaches down to pull his shirt off.

Harley should have thought this through.

He should have—Christ, does he feel dumber than all hell right now, looking like those idiot pre-teens that burn scarlet at the pool parties in all those stupid movies, the blush reaching the tips of his ears in seconds as he immediately turns his eyes upward to stare at the clouds, almost holding his breath until he realizes that’ll just make his face even redder than it already is. How had the fact that swimming would likely entail a lot of bare skin not crossed his mind? He could have thought of anything else, like going to a movie, or—or roller skating, at the rink a couple towns over, or—

Anything other than this, because it’s a lot harder to act like he isn’t a (mostly) closeted gay dumbass when the most attractive boys he has ever seen are standing five feet away from him, shirtless and grinning like sharks, powerful and hungry and knowing the power they hold.

At least, that’s what it feels like when one of Harry’s hands wraps ‘round Peter’s wrist while Peter’s other hand taps a knuckle lightly against Harley’s chin, a gentle gesture that encourages Harley to lower his gaze—which he does, after a few moments, having to remind himself to breathe normally as he brings his eyes down to glance between swirling chocolate’s and dazzling green’s.

“You can look,” Peter tells him, head tilted, corners of his eyes crinkled with a lovable, boyish sort of grin. “We don’t mind.”

Harley’s mouth feels dry.

Before Harley can try to string together an attempt at a response, Harry cuts in, sounds matter of fact and damn near professional when he informs Harley, “And you can like what you see. It’s okay. We like what we see, too.”

“That’s...” Harley trails off, looks away and looks back because there’s a gravitational pull that he just can’t seem to fight. “That’s... allowed?”

With his nose crinkling up, Harry laughs. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harley wets his lower lip. “‘Cause y’all’re... you’re together, yeah? And on a trip, gonna be leavin’ soon, I bet, and I’m—I’m the idiot from the close minded Southern town. And you don’t... y’all don’t know me. I don’t know you, either, really, jus’ that I—I, um—uh—”

It’s Peter that steps forward, head tilting to the side, just slightly. Almost puppy like, if it weren’t for the sharpness in his eyes. The ends of his lips pull back, until he’s sporting a soft and gentle sort of smile, but something about it feels damaged, too, in a way that Harley can’t quite put a finger on. “Give yourself some credit, cowboy,” he says. “Harry thinks you’re hot and I can’t get enough of your accent, and that’s just what we thought after three minutes of talking at that diner, alright? Sure, we don’t know you, and, fuck, you definitely don’t know shit about us, but there’s something, right?”

The thing is, Harley isn’t an articulate guy. His brain is capable of endless things, he’s smarter than anyone will ever be able to give him credit for, sure, but when he’s nervous, in a situation that’s unfamiliar and hard to maneuver, his instinct is to duck his head and change the subject. Which is why he freezes completely, even though he knows this is an opening, even though Peter and Harry just fully and openly admitted to being attracted to him, at least on a surface level, and Harley—he’s never had anyone interested in him before. None of the girls at school ever swooned over him, none of the boys tried to woo him with flowers and cheesy dates. He was just the Keener boy, with the blond waves that sometimes dry in ringlets that hang in his eyes when it rains, the sloped nose that’s just a bit crooked from breaking it a few too many times over the years (clumsy, at times; unlucky run ins with bullies, for the most part), the jean jacket that almost always has on, pulled over plain t-shirts in the summer, thick flannels in the winter, dark blue jeans that are old and ripped at the knees, but he can’t bother to replace them. He’s a graduate barely two months out of high school and his future’s already set, laid out and chosen for him.

Stay in Rose Hill. Die in Rose Hill. Maybe grow old, somewhere in between. Hopefully content, at peace, but he ain’t bettin’ money on that. Probably work at the mechanic shop full time once it becomes clear that he’ll never afford to go to college and he won’t get anywhere without a degree. Besides, Mama says that Rose Hill is home, and he says that home is wherever Mama and Belle are, so there’s no real harm in just going with the flow of things.

But it feels like being offered a taste of forbidden fruit (and, Christ, would his Catholic grandma turn over in her grave if she heard him using such a phrase, daring to reference the holy text in his sin) when gentle fingers brush across his cheek, bringing him back to reality as he sucks in a sharp breath and finds green eyes looking into his, brown ones scanning over his features just as closely, as intently.

Harry smiles, all lopsided. “Wanna swim?”

It’s an offer, an ability to ease the nervous (excited?) churning in his stomach. Harley swallows roughly, waits until his tongue no longer feels tangled up and knotted in his mouth, before saying, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

(They’re swimming ‘round the pond like little kids until sunset, and Harley walks them back to the motel, ‘cause it’s the nice thing to do, and by the time he gets home, his hair still hanging in his eyes in damp ringlets that Harry had called cute while Peter brushed gentle fingers through them with a grin, there’s a swelling feeling of contentment in his chest.

For a moment, it makes the pressure, weight, heaviness, and that chasm of emptiness in the center of it all that so often overwhelms him, pains him so much, seem like nothing.)

-

They go to the movies the next day, and rollerskating a couple days after that, just because Harley keeps wandering around town while his Mama is at work and Belle is with her friends, going to the lake and having sleepovers because it’s summer and she’s nine and, in a place like Rose Hill, kids start to wander off on their own around the place as soon as they hit first grade. Harley’s got the occasional part time shift at the mechanics, sure, but it’s only ‘bout fifteen hours a week if he’s lucky—five hour shifts, up to three days a week, and with his Mama working so much and Belle having the kind of social life that Harley has never been capable of grasping himself, it’s safe to say there isn’t much else to do to fill up his summer days. Usually, this leaves him terribly lonely, even more so than usual, spending most of his summers in the garage with things to tinker with and a haze over his every thought.

This year, though.

It’s that gravitational pull that Harley thought of before, an otherworldly source guiding him towards these city boys like it’s where he’s supposed to be. He’s always been in the belief that there isn’t a place for him, that he’s just a floater drifting his way among those who really belong, and these two... Harry and Peter are dating—have been for over two years, now, told Harley that they started dating when they were sixteen—and with them is, logically, the last place Harley should feel the most welcome. But, it’s like there’s a space with them, somewhere for him to nestle in, and it feels like it’s purely his own. It feels like his.

Peter is the first to kiss him.

It’s after a day where he wakes up feeling heavier than usual, brain hazed just a bit, chest caving in on that void of emptiness at the center of it all. Mama has a graveyard shift tonight so she passes him in the hall when he shuffles towards the bathroom, presses a kiss to his forehead like he’s a little kid and then makes her way to her room to sleep until it’s time for her to get ready for work, which means that Belle—and her plans to go a few towns over, to go to the sorry excuse for a mall that’s over there, with a couple of her friends—becomes his responsibility to drive around. Which is something he agreed to over dinner last night, but maybe he would have fibbed a bit and said he had his own shift at work if he knew he would wake up feeling like this.

But he takes them, Belle and her two best friends, and spends hours walking ‘round the mall, making sure they’re safe and don’t get lost, holding their bags and offering to pay for all their food when they get hungry at about lunch time, just ‘cause that’s how he was raised to be. By the time he finally parks in the driveway again, all of them having been dropped off at one of the the other girls’ house for a sleepover, his arms are tired, his limbs feel like lead, everything is unclear and slow in his grogginess. He sits behind the wheel for a long time, just trying to breathe like a normal human being, before making his way inside, being greeted bu lights off and silence—Mama already left for work, then. He’s alone.

He’s lonely.

This isn’t anything new—he’s been lonely his whole life, felt it carved into the cavity of his chest like a brand—but it really resonates as he stands there in the entryway, the only light in the room being the slowly setting sun as it shines through the window, illuminates the room with a golden sort of glow. His turns his head so that it’s angled down, curls falling in front of his eyes like a curtain, but even when blocking his vision he can feel it, can hear the distinct lack of sound like a gun shot, save for the distant sound of the washer spinning a load of Mama’s comfy clothes that echoes within his school like an eerie reminder of the fact that no one else is there, and it shouldn’t matter, he’s felt this before and been just fine, but he’s been getting all these little tastes and hints of feeling like he actually belongs somewhere when he’s with Harry and Peter, and knowing what a fraction of companionship feels like...

Harley doesn’t have a cell phone, ‘cause there ain’t no signal in Rose Hill unless you’re on the main road, but that main road is where the diner is, where the bars are, and, of course, the motel. And he happens to have the numbers of two city boys staying at that motel scribbled on a napkin from the rollerskating rink that’s sitting on his nightstand, only just upstairs.

There’s barely a minute of thought before he starts moving towards the staircase, grabbing the house phone along the way, and, a mere fifteen minutes later, he isn’t alone anymore.

He gives them a quick tour of the house after letting them in, mostly because he didn’t actually think of something to do, had only been aching with the need to have someone there, and now he’s basking in the warmth of their presence while trying to figure out something to do in order to not give himself away, but Harry seems a bit more softspoken, Peter keeps brushing fingers against Harley’s shoulder’s, the small of his back, and—

(“I just...” Harley had said over the phone, completely unaware of the empty tone to his words, unable to see the way that the couple had looked at one another, concern and worry and troubled fondness in their eyes. “I’m not busy,” is what Harley had settled on saying, not a lie, but certaintly not the truth. “Are you?”

Peter had been sporting pinched brows and a slight frown. Harry had said, “Never too busy for you, cowboy. What’s the plan?”)

And they end up outside, because Harley takes them out on the backporch for a quick view of the yard and the garden that the Keener’s split responsibility to tend to, and Peter had seen the little campfire set up and insisted they get the stuff for s’mores and have a bonfire. There’s such a simplistic sort of innocent excitement that lights up his features, and it makes Harley wonder— “Have y’all had a campfire b’fore?”

Harry shakes his head. “Always wanted to,” he says. “Pete’s Uncle was actually gonna take us both camping for Pete’s fifteenth birthday, but... um—it didn’t work out, I guess.”

“He passed away,” Peter supplies, when Harley’s brows quirk just slightly, curious but unsure if he should ask. Even Harry looks mildly surprised by the admission, giving Peter a wide eyed look, to which Peter just shrugs and says, “What? I can tell when not to trust someone.” Then, back to Harley, he explains, “My parents died when I was four, so I was raised by my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but Ben got shot when I was fourteen. I tried to slow the bleeding enough to keep him alive until the ambulance got there, but—yeah. Wasn’t able to, I guess.”

Everything else from before—the heaviness, the loneliness, the ache—it all goes away in an instant, morphing into a shocked sense of dread as he looks into the eyes of the guy he literally called giggles in his head when they met. His tongue is tangled. He has to untangle it slowly before he can ask, “You were there?”

Peter shrugs again, but he looks away.

“Christ, Darlin’,” Harley chokes out, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can have s’mores. We can—so many s’mores, as many as ya’want. Jesus.”

“Shit cards,” Peter says. “They happen.” Then, perking up like they weren’t just talking about him witnessing his uncle’s murder, he looks back to Harley and asks, “Do you maybe have some of those jumbo marshmellows?”

Harry rolls his eyes and groans, and, just like that, it’s like the heavy topic never came up. Not in a let’s just ignore that and let it fester uncomfortably below the surface sort of way, but in a that’s all that needs to be said for now so let’s just move on kind of way instead. It feels natural and comforting rather than cold and dismissive, and it makes that chasm within Harley’s chest feel a little less empty.

It’s after the sun has set, when there’s a fire that’s glowing across them and softening their features in the gentle, flickering light. Harley is sat in the middle because they always seem to want him there, the corner of his mouth sticky from melted marshmellow and the taste of chocolate on his tongue, feeling warm and full. Harry’s leaning into Harley, just a bit, but Peter is sitting a couple inches away, features a bit pinched with a thoughtful sort of expression.

Before Harley can voice his curiosity, Peter glances over at them, practically melts at the sight of Harry settling his head to rest on Harley’s shoulder, and slowly says, “Har...?”

“Mm?” Harry responds, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think—I mean, I wanna—do you think—?”

Harry huffs, one eyes squinting over to look at Peter. “Just do it, Parker. Don’t be a pussy.”

Harley barely has time to murmur a confused little, “Um,” before Peter’s brushing gentle fingertips beneath his chin and turning his head and Harley sees beautiful brown eyes getting closer and closer and—a few freckles, dotting along the bridge of Peter’s nose.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s a basic kind of kiss—lips pressed to lips in what often is only a meaningless point of skin on skin, but Harley’s heart races in his chest as soon as he realizes what’s happening, a tingle running down his spine and—warmth, so much warmth that envelopes him in somethiny soft and cozy and his, it’s his in a way that nothing ever has been, and he pushes in, presses into Peter with a hitch in his breath and kisses back like his life fucking counts on it, ‘cause it does.

Christ Almighty, it does.

(Harry kisses him next, while Harley is still dazed and blinking away the stars in his eyes, but Harry is half asleep and doesn’t do much more than hum against his lips before slumping back down, head on Harley’s shoulder, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and it’s so much different yet entirely just the same.)

-

He didn’t invite them to stay the night.

He also didn’t tell them to leave.

When Harley blinks awake, rising with the sun like he was raised to do, there’s hair ticking his nose and a weight pressed up against his side. It takes a moment for him to clear his eyes of grogginess and make them really focus, but when he does, he finds Harry’s head resting on his chest, curled up against him, snoring softly.

Peter is separate from them, curled up on himself on the far corner of Harley’s bed, wide awake and shivering lightly. Harley feels choked up with the moment and everything that it is, everything that it can be, but the worry clouds over that when he hears Peter’s teeth chatter.

“Cold, Darlin’?”

Instantly, Peter’s head snaps up, wide eyed and sheepish. “Um—I, uh—I’m good, I’m—”

Harley lifts the arm that Harry doesn’t have pinned beneath him, shifts the blanket that they must have fallen asleep on top of and somehow manages to maneuver it from underneath them to over them without moving too much, then keeps a corner held up as he looks to Peter. “C’mon,” he coaxes. “I’ve heard I’m like a heater. C’mere, s’alright.”

Peter hesitates, but then he’s moving, crawling under the blankets and curling into Harley with a shaky sort of sigh. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Dunno how you’re so cold,” Harley mutters back, because you’re welcome feels a bit too obvious. “Summertime in Rose Hill can be brutal. Surprised we’re not all dyin’ of heat.”

“M’not actually cold,” Peter tells him. “Just had a nightmare. Almost drowned, once, and I always feel cold after I dream about it.”

Christ, Harley thinks—remembers so suddenly that he doesn’t really know these guys, feels it shock him like a taser. He doesn’t particularly understand why Peter is telling him this, or why he told Harley about his parents and his uncle last night—remembers the shock on even Harry’s face when he had—but it doesn’y feel scary or overwhelming. Just a bit hard to process, feally. Peter doesn’t really act the way Harley suspects someone would after that.

But Harry also doesn’t act like he’s all that traumatized, either, yet Harley can feel the exact moment he goes tense in the shoulders and his breathing takes a hitch. Peter lets out a hum, all too knowing and sad, and reaches out a hand to comb through Harry’s hair. “There he goes,” Peter practically whispers. “Almost had a full night’s rest, too. That would’ve been a god damn miracle, but he needs it, eventually.”

“What happened to you two?” Harley founds himself asking—not maliciously, not demanding, but curious and... upset, maybe, but not at them, of course, rather at the fact that he’s only know these two for a handful of weeks—a month, almost, which is just an odd thought to linger on—and if anyone deserves to never face a bad day in their life, it’s them.

Peter puffs out a sigh as Harry really starts to struggle, brows furrowed, features pinched. “I think we’ll tell you,” he says softly. “One day.”

Harry lets out a pitiful sort of cry in his sleep, and then that’s all that matters, Peter coaxing his partner awake while Harley tries to offer a soothing presence and coo calming words.

Even now, it doesn’t feel like Harley’s an intruder. It feels like he was always supposed to be right here with them, good mornings or bad.

-

Mama comes home from work with grizzy hair that’s sticking up at random spots and finds three eighteen year old boys curled up together on the sofa with a morning children’s cartoon playing on the screen. Despite the shock and the exhaustion etched deep into her features, she only blink once in surprise before smiling wide at them. “These’re the city boys, I’m guessin’?” she asks, plopping her purse down on the coffee table as she looks them over.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter says before Harley can do much more than nod. “I’m Peter Parker. This is Harry Os—um. Harry Lyman. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Keener. You have a lovely home.”

“Honey, you can just call me Maggie,” his Mama assures. She flickers her eyes over to Harry, who is so obviously trying to offer a smile and focus on the conversation but is still so rumpled from his rude awakening, borrowed sweatpants and Peter’s shirt askew, eyes a bit glazed over and features a little sad. Still, his Mama gives Harry a smile. “Both of you.”

Harry looks a bit unsure and grateful by that, while Peter offers a quiet, “Okay, Miss Maggie.”

Mama chuckles, looks to Harley with a soft amusement in her eyes. “Honeybun, I think you must’ve found the only polite city boys around,” she says. “You boys have any breakfast yet?”

Harley feels scolded even before he gives an answer, looks down at his lap sheepishly before telling her, “No, Mama, we haven’t eaten yet.”

“Harley James Keener,” Maggie says—not just Mama, not with that tone of voice, sharp and sure but also exasperated and loving. “I know I raised you knowin’ how we treat our guests. C’mon, up you get, we’re cookin’ up some food before anyone starves into an early grave.”

It looks like Peter is about to protest, but he looks at Harry and bites his tongue, instead offering a grateful smile when Harley squeezes his hand lightly before getting up with a simple little, “Yes, ma’am,” and heading to the kitchen.

He’s flipping over the first of the pancakes when his Mama lets out a soft sort of sigh, glancing up from where she’s mixing together the egg wash for the french toast. Harley knows better than to voicea question just yet, waits patient and proper until she’s ready to speak up, though the last thing he expects her to say is a resigned, “You’re gonna be leavin’, huh?”

The spaltula damn near slips from his fingers in his haste to look at he. “Wh—Mama, what?”

“You were never a Rose Hill kinda boy,” she says, smile soft and sad as she looks back down at the bowl she’s mixing. “I knew it when you were just a kid, Harls. Born and raised don’t mean that it’s home, honeybun, and a small town was never gonna be your place. Too much smart in that brain of yours to stay here.”

“Mama...” Harley trails off, only looks away in order to avoid burning the pancake. ��I’d never leave you and Belle here. You gotta know that.”

Maggie clicks her tongue and shakes her head, action sharp as her tone. “Harley Keener, there ain’t no way in hell that I’d let you waste your potential just to stay here with us. Rose Hill’s where I wanna be, where I fit—but it isn’t that for you and you shouldn’t make it be. Hard to tell with Tinker Bell, she could go either way, but you? Honey, the world ain’t ready for you, and you’ve been hidin’ yourself here and not usin’ up all that potential you’ve got for too long. You’re gonna leave, honeybun. Stayin’ here was never supposed to be your future.”

Harley wants to fight tooth and nail against this, but the more she speaks, the more her words start to settle over him like a blanket. He’s always wanted to leave, and he’s always felt awfully selfish for wanting it, but the way she says it... there’s not argument. He doesn’t belong here. Up until recently, he just assumed he wouldn’t belong anywhere at all.

“Besides,” Maggie adds, glancing at her son with a curl to her lips. “You’ve got two city boys sittin’ in the other room waitin’ for you.”

“I—I don’t know ‘em all that well,” Harley says.

Maggie shakes her head. “I didn’t know your Daddy all that well when I fell in love with ‘im. Of course, your Daddy changed—wasn’t the man I loved by the time he left us, but that’s not the point. Love ain’t knowin’ someone all the way, honeybun. It’s learnin’ as you go and lovin’ all those bits and pieces that you learn.”

Harley’s face is burning. “I don’t love ‘em, Ma.”

“Not yet,” Maggie says. “But you will.”

-

Two and a half weeks later, as June turns to July, Harley finds himself packing his things.

“I’ve got an apartment,” Harry says, looking far too put together to be the same guy who was damn near silent in the aftershocks of his nightmare (and the three other nightmare’s Harley has seen since). “If you think you wanna move to the city, you can just stay with me until you either find your footing or decide to come back here. Pete basically lives there, too, with how much he’s stayed over since I got emancipated and moved into their at sixteen.”

Harley looks up from the shirt he’s folding, a single brow arching. “Sixteen?” he questions. “Same year y’all started datin’, you mean?”

The ends up Harry’s lips pull up, amused beyond belief. Peter’s snorin’ on Harley’s bed, tired (couldn’t sleep super well the night befors, Harley was told) and completely unaware of the way that Harry’s eyes glimmer. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Probably got away with shit we shouldn’t have in there, but May was working and doing school to get promoted at the hospital, so there weren’t any adults giving us the you’re too young talk, you know?”

“Your dad...” Harley doesn’t keep talking, mostly because he’s only gotten a slight scratch against the surface with that topic, so he doesn’t want to push. Still, Harry nods.

“He wouldn’t have done much talking,” is all that Harry offers. “That’s why I was emancipated. I’ll tell you about it, probably, when Pete is up to sharing that shit.”

Harley glances at Peter, sleeping soundly still. “Peter had problems with your dad, too?”

Harry winces. “To put it lightly, yeah.”

“Any chance I can find this guy and beat his ass?” Harley questions—mostly for the way that Harry chuckles fondly, but it’s a semi-legitimate question, as well. He doesn’t take well to assholes who treat kids like shit, even more so when it’s his—when—when it’s Harry and Pete.

“He’s not in our lives anymore,” Harry says, stalks forward and brushes a kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth. “No worries, cowboy. ‘Sides, Pete got a good few hits in, towards the end.”

Christ. “A sight to see, I’m guessin’?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t there for it.”

Harley shakes his head. “So many stories.”

“So much time to tell them,” Harry counters, a wide grin growing across his face.

From the bed, Peter groans. “Stop bein’ sappy,” he grumbles, words slightly slurred from sleep as he turns his face into the only one of Harley’s pillows that hasn’t been packed yet. “M’sleepin’. Can’t sleep if you’re bein’ all—all fuckin’ gay.”

A light laugh rumbles out from the center of Harley’s chest, while Harry just rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed, plopping down next to Peter with a drawn out sigh. “Dramatic asshole,” Harry grouches, even as he pulls Peter into his side and curls an arm around him, features going soft when Peter doesn’t hesitate to lean against him with a happy hum. “We’re driving back to New York in, like, five hours, Pete. You can’t just wait and sleep in the car?”

Peter cracks an eye open, looking absolutwly scandalized. “And miss out on showing our favorite cowboy all our car games?”

“I already know car games,” Harley says.

“Not ours,” Peter says. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Like his Mama said.

Harley smiles. He likes the silent, unspoken yet powerful promise that comes with not yet.

He likes it a whole lot.

[ldrmas]

OctoLolli Full Story

~~ This is based on https://www.instagram.com/p/CB_9reanS0H/ & https://www.instagram.com/p/CDC_IH5nLpg/  by  Ordinary__Art , please go check out her art!! All her art! SHES NOW ON TWITTER TOO AH I’M SO EXCITED!!

This is the full story from the part 1 post. The part 1 was just a tease but this is the full story! 

Btw OctoLolli is Remus and Logan, aka Intrulogical just so you all know! 

This will also mention Patton, Janus, etc. Remember I’m really bad at writing Remus so if he is a little oc I’m very sorry! I have no beta as well so if there are mistakes I apologize for those as well.  

Also Tagglist: @decadentscissorsapricotdeputy  Warnings for Swearing from Remus and Presmut attraction and activities!

 ~~

Logan could admit that he was becoming a hypocrite. He was getting on Thomas’s case anytime he had a chance to about sleeping in a perfect sleep schedule. And it had been that he would follow the same schedule, but lately that was not the case. After Janus had took his seat at the table, Thomas had been slightly more selfish. He had even admitted to his followers that he was finally taking a break.

Logan would never tell anyone, but he had been the one side who had been there to witness Janus’s break down dance in victory after Thomas made the announcement. It had made Logan begin to think. If Thomas could take a break for himself then Logan could be a little less strict. As long as Thomas was getting 7 hours of sleep like a grown adult should, then that was all that mattered. If seven hours were achieved then Logan was alright. He wouldn’t bother Thomas unless he deeply needed to step in and remind Thomas to sleep. That wasn’t the same for Logan. It didn’t just happen one night. It happened gradually.

He stayed up later and later and then it became that he would stay up for 24 hrs at a time. Being just a side, an imagined figment, he did not actually need to sleep. The sides slept so to perform at the best of their abilities. Not sleeping hadn’t hindered Logan yet so for now he would continue to perform his tasks until all the work was completed. But he didn’t always work in his room. It wasn’t his rooms fault. He couldn’t exactly blame his room which had been programmed by him. His room would in a way shut down at 8 every night. When he had been on a sleep schedule in the past, he had wanted it that way. But now not so much. He started working in the Mind Palace Common area, specifically at the table that was just outside the kitchen. He would only have a few lights on so he could see his screen but not bring notice that he was working in the room. The other sides usually were asleep when he was out there working, so he was never concerned about being found out. Then one night an interaction occurred that Logan didn’t quite suspect would happen.   The light sides and dark sides rooms were in two different parts of the MindScape. The Mind Palace usually looked Thomas’s apartment since it was the space they all basically knew by heart and could recreate without any trouble. Up the staircase was where one would find the “light” sides bedrooms. Janus’s room had just been recently added after the events of their latest video and though the others had been surprised, Logan hadn’t really been. Janus and Patton needed to start working together so that if Thomas came against another mature problem then they could confront it as a team instead of sending Thomas into another mental health breakdown. They couldn’t exactly learn to work together and start to get along better if Janus was still living and staying in the “dark” side. Logan didn’t like labeling them like they always had. Not one of the sides could be put in either category of light or dark. They were all just a part of Thomas and were doing the jobs given to them. No more no less. There was a “hidden” door attached to the stairs that led down to the “dark” side common space. The only thing about the dark sides space was that they didn’t have a kitchen. The only kitchen was in the light space. So both sides had to share the kitchen. Logan shouldn’t have been surprised that eventually he would meet one of the dark sides during his nightly escapades. Logan had taken a second to stretch and rub at his neck. The room was so quiet without his loud typing. It was in that moment that Remus slammed open the dark side door and stormed into the kitchen. In the second Remus had opened the fridge, the light of the appliance shined upon him and Logan was able to catch a glimpse of his outfit. His mouth immediately went dry and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Remus was in a simple suite jacket and pants. The jacket was nightshade of black with mother of pearl lapels. The undershirt was Remus’s signature green color but instead of looking bad with the other parts of the suit it just added the perfect amount of color the creativity side needed to make the outfit look drop dead perfect. Logan was also able to see just a quick look at Remus’s face. He had on what appeared to be a very light shade of blush on the high of his cheeks and his hair was slightly curled as well. If Logan had to guess he would dare even say that it looked like Remus’s mustache had been groomed as well.

The dark side slammed the kitchen fridge door shut and started chugging the bottle of water he had grabbed. He must have been somewhat pissed to have grabbed a normal substance instead of the usual stuff Remus consumed. He still had yet to notice Logan was watching his every move. Usually Logan would have wanted to keep it that way. Remus would eventually go back down the stairs and Logan could resume his work. It appeared though that wasn’t something Logan had wanted. He was curious of why Remus was dressed this way and he wanted-no needed to know more about what was going on. So as Remus left the kitchen to go back downstairs, he was just about to grab the door, Logan spoke up.

“Remus?” “MO----ER F----KER, J----US SH-T ON A M---THER F—KING CRACKER!” Remus screamed and Logan held back a chuckle as the light side common place had took the liberty to bleep out Remus’s curse words. That was no doubt Patton’s doing. Remus turned on the lights and faced Logan, looking at him in complete disbelief. “What the f---king h-ll, Logic! You are g-d da-n lucky I didn’t have my mother f--king morningstar or I would have clobbered you to death! Je—s, why am I’m getting bleeped! What I’m saying isn’t as strong because of it!” Remus growled as he looked to the ceiling, as if that was the whole reason he was getting bleeped. “Why the h-ll are you sitting there in the dark?” “I’m working.” Logan answered simply as he gestured to his laptop. He closed it knowing that now he had Remus’s attention he wouldn’t be doing work for a while. Remus moved to the table and sat across from him chugging the water once more. Once he was done with that, he struck the water down upon the table, he leveled Logan with a glare. He wasn’t happy about Logic scaring him. He was usually the one to terrify the other sides. “You’re working out here why exactly?” “Do I get to ask a question if I answer yours?” “Like what we play 20 questions or something?” Remus chuckled as he swirled around the water in the bottle as if it was a fine wine. “I just don’t believe it would be justifiable if I answer and then you just leave me hanging.” Logan replied with a slight shrug. It was reasonable. Janus and Remus were known for not giving answers if they didn’t want to. “Fair enough. I’ll answer all your questions as long as you answer mine.” “You know me, Remus, I could never leave a question unanswered.” Logan answered as an agreement which brought a chuckle from the dark creativity side. “Yeah Yeah, Pocket Protector, now I believe you haven’t answered my question yet?” Remus commented as he waved his hand over his water bottle which magically refilled it. He took another sip from it never losing eyesight with Logan. “Oh yes, of course, I’m working out here because my room basically shuts down at 8 o’ clock every night.” “Shut down?” “Yes, the lights turn off and my power outlets don’t work. You know what I say no electronics 30 minutes before bed, so my room does that. But there is work to be done so I work out here now.” “Okaaaaaaaaaayy….” Remus drew out the word as he took a second to think about what exactly the Logical side was saying to him.

“So you work out here and let me see it’s…” Remus used a tentacle that appeared from his back to move his suit sleeve back. He looked down to a watch that probably just materialized on his wrist to make his point. “…It’s 5 am and how many days have you been out here working all night long?” “I’ve been doing this since the wedding video.” Logan replied truthfully, though he looked away for he realized how bad that sounded.   “That’s what I thought. Yoink!” Remus had actually said the word “yoink” out loud and it was then that Logan realized that one of Remus’s tentacles had wrapped around his laptop, sliding it toward the mustached man. Logan was too late to stop it from happening. One moment the laptop was wrapped in octopus tentacles and the next it disappeared in thin air. “Hey! Remus!” Logan shouted, nearly shooting up from his chair. “Remus, give that back right this moment!” “Nope.” Remus smacked his lips to emphasize the ‘p’. Logan glared deadly at him and held out his hand in demand for his laptop back. Remus only smirked. “Relax, nerdy wolverine. It’s in a safe place in my room. In the next 24 hrs if you sleep for a full 7 hours then you’ll get it back.” Remus explained as he admired one of his several tentacles as if it was a hand of nails. “And how exactly will you know that I have slept for that time?” “I have my ways.” The dark creativity side chuckled ominously as his eyes meet the Logical’s side. Logan shuddered either in fear or in curiosity, he couldn’t exactly tell in the moment. Did he really want to know how Remus would know that he slept? Most likely not. “Alright. I’m not happy about this but there is nothing I can do at this point to change it. Now I believe since you have gotten to ask your questions it is my turn. Why are you dressed as such?” “Heh. Well it’s story-time…” Remus paused with a smirk to let the joke linger. Logan suppressed his own small smile. He had always wanted to hear what “story-time” would sound like from the intrusive thoughts being. “…Anyway so you remember that post Thommy-salamony posted on Instagram the other day?” “The Spotify one with the flower crown, yes.” Logan recalled with an agreeing nod.

“Yep, that’s the one. Anyway, Janus and I were talking about it today. Annnnd long story short you would think with how long I’ve been in creation I would have learned by now that I can’t beat Janus in any bet. Since I haven’t learned it yet, I lost the bet and now I gotta wear this monkey suit for another six hours.” Remus explained once he glanced at the watch on his human wrist once again. “I have been in this for so long that Janus has taken one million and one pictures of me on his phone and if I had to deal with him for one more second I would have done several unpleasant things to him. I came up here to get a f—cking break.” “I understand if this may be rude to say but may I too take a picture of you?” Logan took a chance to ask but wasn’t surprised when Remus growled at him.

“No, you may f—king not! I’ll tell Janus that you want some of his pics, I’m sure our snake-boi will share them.” Logan nodded knowing that was reasonable. Remus was probably on his last straw and the logical side didn’t wish to further anger the manifestation being of dark creativity. Remus laid out on the table with a deep sigh.

Logan could now see just how weary the green colored side seemed and he felt sorry for him.

“Well, despite you hating your attire, I am grateful that you came up here and I have gotten this chance to see you. You say your clothes are a monkey suit, but I must say you wear this suit quite beautifully. It compliments you very well.” Logic went on to say as he leaned back in his seat but didn’t look away from Remus. One could even say he was gazing at Remus as if he was in a trance of sorts. It was almost as if he was trying to take several mental snap shots of Remus to save for himself. It also could have been that he was trying to take in as much detail of Remus’s outfit as quickly as he could in fear that he would never see it again. Remus too was gazing at the navy colored side but for different reasons. “Back up there, Teach, did you…did you just call me …beautiful?” Remus asked nervously as if he was fearful that he had misheard Logan to begin with. Logan coughed into his fist, and since the intrusive thoughts had turned on the lights, they were both able to see the red start to spread across his cheeks. “I did, though I believe I said you are wearing the suit beautifully, which yes means you are beautiful in the suit.” “What the f—ck is that suppose to mean?” Remus asked wanting Logan to explain further on what he was saying. “Well…what I mean is…” Logan started as the blush now was fully engulfing his face. He also looked away from Remus so that he may gather his thoughts.

“…Your regular outfit suits you quite favorably as well, but your current outfit is, I must admit, quite surprising. In a superb way, I mean. I must say that you look so elegant in a way that I frankly never considered that you could….” Logan paused as he too came to the same realization of Remus. He now understood how what he was saying sounded. His blush deepened. 

“Ap-Apologizes, Remus. I-I don’t quite understand where that came from… I think…Please, excuse me.” Logan tried to get up from his seat to escape but Remus was faster. His tentacles had swiftly wrapped around the logical side securing him to the chair. Remus wouldn’t allow him to leave that easily. Though it wasn’t as if Logan struggled against the octopi appendages. Logic knew he would not be able to get away from Remus’s hold.  

He only gulped audibly as Remus came around the table and sat upon it right in front of the teacher like side. The intrusive thoughts being perched upon the table yet leaned forward cupping Logan’s jaw affectionately in his palm.

“Remus…”

“Oh, Lolo, I finally understand. You, Mr. Logic, are Thomas’s suit kink.” “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come on Lollipop,” Remus laughed as he leaned back on the table. “You of all sides understand what my job as “Dark Creativity” is composed of. Intrusive Thoughts, nightmares, blasphemous thinking,  etc etc. And we can’t forgot the juiciest of all?” “Sexual Desires.”

“Very good, Smart Heart Bear! Anyhow, sexual desires includes sexy kinks, fetishes, and or fantasies. I know all of Thomas’s kinks from A to Z. I mean let’s be honest my brother is a f—king deer in the headlights once romance gets to the R-rated scenes. I mean sure RowRow can sweep any partner off their feet but once we to the bedroom, then it’s me time!” “Now so back what to I was saying, kinks! There have always been one or two I couldn’t for the life of me figure out, but I had found where most of them had come from. Oh, do you want to know what Patton’s is?” “Not particularly.”

“Sure you do! Patton’s is baking sex. Or sex in the kitchen. Or whatever he wants to call it. Your Happy Pappy has some pretty nasty thoughts when it comes to cooking twine, let me tell ya.” Remus snickered while Logan suppressed a shudder as he even considered what scenarios that thought could lead to.

“But anyway, like I said, I could see where most of them had come from, but I never had yours. I’m so stupid, I should have seen it. You are turned on by men in full suits. This outfit is turning you on. How did I not see that the man that is always in a tie was my connection to Thomas’s suit fetish? It’s so boringly oblivious now that I see how flushed you are in front of me.” Remus observed while reaching with one of his tentacles to start undoing his cuff links. Logan watched like a man possessed as the cuff links came off and the sleeves wrists unbuttoned. His mouth dried as the sleeves were slowly rolled up by Remus’s elegant fingers. Once both sleeves were comfortably up on Remus’s arms, he also took a second to run his right hand through his curled locks. The simple act turned the tips of Logan’s ears red.

The Intrusive Thoughts side never looked as hawt as he did just then, and Logan would have probably given anything in that moment to freeze time, so that he may enjoy the sight for as long as he wished.

“Holy sh-t, you really are turned on! Heh, must suck to be attracted to the bad guy, huh Logic?” And just like that Logan was snapped out of his distressed state and sat up straight in the chair. The lust that he had once felt was gone and now he wished he had just one arm free. He wanted to reach out to Remus desperately. “Remus…I know this won’t sound as if I’m being sincere because you will think I’m just saying this because of your clothes but I’m still going to say it.”

“Remus, I never once thought of you as the villain.” Logan took the moment to make sure the green colored side was seriously looking at him.

“You are not a bad guy, Remus. You did your job as a side nothing more nothing less. You can’t help that you were dealt the dreadful cards but just because you were, it does not in any way make you evil. Or the villain or the antihero.” “Or even a dark sid-“ Logan gasped loudly as the tentacle suddenly released him and he was roughly pulled forward. A hand had wrapped around his tie and jerked him towards the table, nearly causing him to fall off his chair.

More than that, his gasp was silenced as lips fell upon his in a deep bruising kiss. It was a surprise and just for a moment something within Logan yelled at him to pull away, yet he quickly dismissed such a thought. Instead he leaned into the action and once he got his bearings returned the passion that Remus was sharing with him. It was only when he placed his hand on Remus’s cheek that he realized the other was crying. “Shut up.” Remus wept once the two finally separated but Remus didn’t let go of the tie. He held onto it in a death grip. “You gotta shut up! You-you can’t say things like that when your looking so f--kable, Lo.”

“No.” Logan replied once he was able to catch his breath.

“I won’t stop saying it. You need to know what I think! You need to know that even without the suit, I have always thought you were beautiful. That I secretly have had a small crush on you.” Logan admitted as he tried to turn his head away. Remus stopped him by grabbing his jaw once again. “F—k, Logan.” Remus whispered then brought their lips together again for another kiss. This one just as passionate as the first but was shorter. Remus smirked at the whimper Logan let out once he had pulled away. “Me too. I was mad crushing on you for so long, Apple Watch.” Logic chuckled at the nickname, knowing there was no meanness behind the words. They sat there in silence just holding onto one another.  If there was certainly a moment that Logan wanted to last for eternity, then it would have been this one. The two of them in each other’s embrace letting their feelings be shared by touch alone. “This sucks.” Remus finally groaned as he nuzzled his forehead against the blue colored side’s. “What do you mean?” “I want to f—k you so bad right now. I want to make love to you for so long that you wouldn’t even be able to get up if Thomas called for you.” Remus pressed his lips to Logan’s once more and though he made sure to make it last longer than the second time, he still pulled away too soon for Logic’s liking. “But I won’t. You need sleep. I may be intrusive thoughts, but I won’t take advantage of you when your practically dead on your feet.  I hate to say it, but we waited this long, what’s seven more hours, am I right?” Logan grasped onto the hand that was still secure around his tie. “You promise me that we will pursue this after I sleep? I won’t just wake up and have to go back to believing that I never even cross your mind?”

Logan’s fears were answered with another kiss, a gentle reassuring one this time. “Seven hours, then you’ll never be rid of me again, Glasses.” Logic chuckled at the answer, though it seemed forced. He didn’t want to continue these next few hours alone. Not when they had at last admitted out loud and to each other about what they felt for one another. Remus was right though, Logan was dead on his feet. These last few moments without his laptop had given his body the chance to let the months of backed up exhaustion wash over him. He was convinced he wouldn’t even had been able to stay awake through foreplay let alone other sexual activities. He had Remus’s word. Once he awoke, they would explore this relationship further, or at least he hoped this thing between them would turn into a relationship.

Logan jumped as Remus deeply chuckled. “Go, Logan. Go to bed. I can practically hear your thoughts from over here. We’ll talk when you’re up.” Logan rose from the chair but before sinking out he was the one who initiated a kiss this time. He even made sure to run his tongue along Remus’s lips causing the neon green side to groan loudly in need.

Logan pulled away with a victorious smirk. “Until then, Octo.” Remus smirked as the Logical side sank down through the floor. He ran his fingertips along his lips still faintly feeling Logan’s own lips against them. “I’ll see you soon, Lollipop.” ~ Bonus ~ Remus did his best to stay away. He really had but as the hours dragged on and on, he was getting more and more impatient. It was finally just one hour left. Remus wouldn’t dare wake the side but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go to his room. Right? Remus sank out in front of Logan’s door quietly. It was now the middle of the afternoon. The other sides were up and about doing their daily endeavors. He was thankful that Thomas hadn’t called for them all. He probably would have tried, and of course fail since he was imaginary, to punch Thomas in the face if he had even tried to call for Logan while the side finally slept.  

Remus didn’t think on that any further and instead tried Logan’s door. If he stood out here any longer one of the others might see him. It was a shock that the door opened for him. He didn’t wait too long to think about it and quickly shuffled into the room, silently closing the door behind him. He hadn’t awakened Logan by entering the room. That was a good start. He crossed the room with ease since there was a soft glowing night light on the far side of the room. Once he made it to the edge of Logan’s bed it was there that he paused. Would it be too bold of him to join Logan? He wouldn’t touch the sleeping Logical side but would it still be too much if he got into the blue side’s bed? Before his thoughts to tumble into the mess of what ifs, he took the chance. He let his shirt disappear but left on a pair of comfy sleep pants. He eased into the open space in Logan’s bed and happily sighed as he sank into the perfect pillows and mattress. He let himself drift between awake and sleep, but his eyes opened as he felt Logan turn towards him as the hour came to an end. Logan didn’t react once he felt another being in his bed, he just rolled towards it in curiosity. Once he saw the wisps of white bangs and the constellation of freckles upon ivory skin, a smile shaped upon his face. “Good morning, Octo.” “Morin’, Lollipop.”

~The End!!~~

[thefanficmonster]

Caught Red-handed

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Struggling with migraines 

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having suffered from migraines all their life, Y/N knows better than to give them much attention or let them hinder their work too much. However, their boyfriend is a lot more worried than they are and has taken it as his personal duty to ease their pain as much as he possibly can. 

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to get to it, write and post it, but here it finally is and I hope you come across it and read it! I’ve never experienced migraines nor have I known someone who has so if I’ve misrepresented or written any misinformation, anyone who catches it, feel free to let me know either in the comments or in my inbox/messages! Love, Vy ❤

The first time I got a headache was in the middle of math class in eighth grade. I remember it so distinctly because I had never before experienced such sudden and such intense pain. I got to go home early that day and spent a good portion of the day trying to sleep it off but to no avail.

Since then I’ve grown used to having to deal with a pain so strong it renders me unable to function for a whole day about two times a month. Sometimes, I even try to be stubborn with it - I try to push through as much work as I can despite the migraine, but that never works out for a long time considering it ends up crippling me in the end. That’s never kept me from trying over and over again though!

Now, to contrast my nonchalance and even annoyance with these pesky attacks, is my boyfriend Corpse’s concern over them. I’ve tried explaining to him that I’ve grown used to them and that I try not to let them bother me and that he shouldn’t stress over them so much but I may as well be talking to a wall because all he has to do is see me squint my eyes or cringe and he enters concerned-mother mode. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it to no end, I just don’t want him worrying over something so small. Also, a minor convenience: if the migraine doesn’t hinder me from tending to my tasks, Corpse will. He’ll make sure I’m off the task I’m working and transported into bed in an instant.

That’s why I’m now clenching my jaw, struggling to maintain a poker face as I work on an important project I have to send to my boss by the start of next week. I’ve got plenty of time, but I like to stay on top of my work so it doesn’t pile on top of me, you know what I’m saying. Corpse is sitting on the couch next to me, casually glancing at me every now and then while remaining quiet as to not disturb me. So far so good, he hasn’t noticed anything and, if I didn’t know any better I would sigh in relief. There’s nothing to trigger the pain to arise any further - the lights are dim, I’m staying hydrated, and I downed two painkillers in the bathroom about an hour and a half ago - so I’m sure I’ll be in the clear at least until dinner.

“Wanna watch a movie when you’re done?“ Corpse asks, “Unless you’re tired or anything...“

I flash him a grateful smile, giving his knee a squeeze of reassurance, “I’d love to, babe. But I can’t promise that I won’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I know you’ve got a tendency of doing that.” Giving me a side-glance he adds, “It’s cute.”

I roll my eyes, already sensing a blush creeping up on my cheeks and neck which I hide by turning to face my laptop screen. One thing I can’t hide though is the wide grin that’s spread across my face as I mutter: “Shut up.”

Just then, a particularly sharp jolt of pain courses through my head, testing that ability to maintain a resting face. Thankfully, Corpse is turned in the opposite direction, searching for his phone, so I allow myself a brief cringe at the discomfort. 

Guess the painkillers are dying down on me, I think to myself, a second away from sighing exasperatedly at the thought that I have to down two more. It was wishful of me to think I could enjoy the luxury of a dull ache until dinner, now the migraine is straight up mocking me.

I quietly stand up from the couch and make my way to the bathroom so I can take another dose of aspirin because I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on my work for very long if it keeps hitting me with this intensity. Opening the door to the small cabinet above the sink, I automatically reach out for the bottle of pills but stop when I see a surprise.

Directly in front of the bottle stands a note written in, you guessed it, Corpse’s handwriting.

‘Already losing effect, huh? When are you thinking of coming clean?‘

Well shoot, am I that transparent?

I sheepishly exit the bathroom, walking back into the living room where Corpse greets me with the same stance as a parent greeting their kid who’s gotten home past curfew: legs crossed, arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised, the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, they’re already losing effect.“ I admit, a small apologetic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks burning with an embarrassed blush. “And I wasn’t gonna tell you at all.” I hurry to add: “Please don’t be mad though.“

Corpse shifts slightly, his gaze giving me a onceover as he contemplates how to pursue the case. I’ve already got several arguments/defenses ready - the perks of working for a lawyer - but I know he’ll dismiss all of them no matter how strong they might come off as in court. Bottom line: even statements that would fly in court can’t fly with Corpse sometimes. Especially when my health and well-being are the topic of observation.

“What have we said about lying?“ He finally asks, causing me to cringe and ball my fists in guilt.

However, I still have my arguments ready: “You never asked me so I never technically lied.” One might say I have quite the audacity to plead not guilty right now, even though I’ve been caught red-handed, but what can I say, I’m stubborn in nature. And Corpse knows this, he’s just testing me for his own amusement.

“Poor excuse, Y/N.“ He says with disapproval, shaking his head and fully embracing his disappointed parent persona. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. So, as punishment for hiding the truth from me, you are to ditch that project you’ve been bugging yourself over and come cuddle and watch a movie with me. Bonus points for you if you fall asleep.“

I needn’t be told twice - not only will it wipe that look off his features but it’ll also get earn me a movie night with the additional benefit of cuddling with my boyfriend? - how could I refuse?

I can’t help it, I just gotta push my luck here and poke the bear with a stick, “If the punishments are so sweet I might start being dishonest more often.“

Corpse rolls his eyes, scooting on the couch and tapping the space he’s freed up for me, “I said I was feeling generous, don’t bet on it happening often though.”

Alright, enough luck-pushing, I should be grateful for this generosity instead. I should be using it to the max.

So, what’s stopping you from doing just that?

Good question, brain, good question.

Head still pounding just not as intensely, I slip under the thin soft comforter to find myself not only wrapped in it but also in Corpse’s arm, his warm embrace bringing me instant comfort, walking me on the tight-rope of falling asleep right away.

“Sneaky bastard.“ I attempt to mutter, yawning halfway through. 

I feel his lips on the top of my head, placing a quick and gentle kiss in my hair before he says, “You’re welcome, babe.”

Count your lucky stars, Y/N. You’ve got one of the good ones.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[wearevillaneve]

Killing Eve S3, E2: “Management Sucks (But the Episode Doesn’t)“

With the exception of a relentless onslaught of commercials that are stopping the flow of Killing Eve’s third season dead, I enjoyed “Management Sucks” more than the overstuffed premiere which spent entirely too much time in reintroducing old characters and introducing new ones. I still don’t like Dasha whose supposed “legendary” kills are little more than an aging woman’s trip down Memory Lane and her mediocrity has rubbed off on Villanelle.

Over the first two weeks our fashionable assassin has taken out “dissident” spice shop owner, some middle-aged dude at a child’s birthday party and a wannabee killer who wasn’t ready for the major league.  The kills were more basic and brutal than inventive, or as Villanelle would say they were “boring!” Sandra Oh’s Eve and Fiona Shaw as Carolyn are carrying the show right now as they struggle to find their footing in the new abnormal, while Jodie Comer has been placed in a reactive mode where she has to continually jump through Dasha’s hoops and none of it has made much sense yet.  Why would The Twelve promote their talented, but flaky master assassin to a position above Dasha or Konstantin? Obviously, Villanelle has no business even being considered for upper management as she tends to kill her handlers (Anton, Konstantin,and to a lesser extent, Eve) and would likely continue to do so when crossed.  If I can see that, these evil masterminds should be able to as well.

This was an improvement to the overstuffed premiere that was so busy introducing and reintroducing characters that it forgot to give them anything interesting to do, but the "Kenny committed suicide" line was such obvious b.s. it's no wonder Eve ripped Konstantin a new one.  And if he was involved in Kenny's death, Carolyn is not going to forget that comforting hand on her shoulder may have been the same one that pushed Kenny off that roof.  

Konstantin is such a liar and b.s. artist.  Eve was right that he looks out for Number #1 first and foremost and is completely untrustworthy.   One day he's working for Russian intelligence, The Twelve, MI6 and back again.  Is he a single, double or triple agent? 

Who knows?  Konstantin is a man who has no allegiance to anyone or anything.  He's married with children, but cheats on his wife.  He and Carolyn are like two venomous snakes who will caress one moment and then the fang sink in in the next. Our cuddly Uncle Konstantin is headed for a bad end and he will deserve it, especially if he was involved in Kenny's death.

As we've seen in the first two episodes, Eve is drowning her sorrows and pain in booze and a shitty attitude while Villanelle pretends, she's handling things, but she's bored, her kills lack flair and she's unfocused. Two Murder Baes on a collision course. Sandra and Fiona’s performances were quite strong, and Jodie can even make a clown suit look good, but I never want to see it again.

There was no sight of Niko and that earns the episode an extra star by default.   New characters like Jamie, the editor of The Bitter Pill,  Kenny’s girlfriend,  Audrey,  Geraldine, who wants Mum Martens to grieve with her were introduced, but the one character who actually left an impression was Felix, the young gay man who had a compelling backstory, but had less than ten minutes of screen time before being taken out of the paint.  A missed opportunity there, I fear.

 Overall, “Management Sucks” was a  big improvement over the unevenness of the premiere and has set the table for a Villanelle and Eve reunion that may not break the internet, but will shatter the minds of the collective KE fandom.  I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have some reservations and here they are. I can’t quite put my finger on why these first few episodes have been so ragged, but they definitely have been in a way that makes the much-derided second season look smooth and focused. I’ve tried to defend Killing Eve from the charge that Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s egalitarian spirit was well-meaning in her intention to empower women by passing the showrunner reigns to Emerald Fennell, Suzanne Heathcote and next season yet another, but the lack of consistency has made the show lurch in one direction and then jerk back to another. All these damn, touchy-feely “we’re all in this together” commercials to go buy a Toyota and stop at the McDonald’s drive-thru that are pumping cash into AMC’s coffers aren’t helping. 

There IS something different in how the commercials are being slotted into Killing Eve and how the show cuts to them is much more abrupt and jerky.    So much so, that it is disrupting the flow of a program where you HAVE to pay attention to the dialogue, visual cues, and other little hints that may prove to be of importance. My wife and I were frustrated by how abrupt the transitions were from the program-to-commericals times and then there’s at least four or more commercials to sit through before gettingt back to the action.   ARGHHHHH!!!! What a way to take you out of the mood and KE is very much a show about mood. To fully appreciate it you have to immerse yourself which means you need as few diversions as possible.   If this comes off as complaining that’s because it is.  My ability to enjoy my favorite program is hindered by how they are inserting the commercial breaks.

Still, there is absolutely no way I’m going to DVR the next episode to watch later.  This one, I have to watch in real time and I expect to be screaming and squealing like a happy kid on Christmas morning.  

Fingers.  Crossed.

FINAL GRADE:  B

[anotherisodope]

1: Contingencies

[The Courier discovers far too late that the Platinum Chip does far, far more than House ever let on.]

All was well once again.

His Securitrons were fully upgraded.

The Hoover Dam was under his control.

The upgrade code, still blooming like an incredibly complex flower from his precious chip, flowed throughout all systems currently under Robert Edwin House’s control, slowly awakening dormant subroutines, improving activated ones...making preparations to do far more.

He could feel the alterations in the systems of the Lucky 38, the Strip, Freeside and beyond. Systems that were far more his body now than the withered, half-dead husk he was still tied to. His meat body, burning with pain at the edge of his consciousness, had increasingly become an albatross around his neck--and a hazard to the longevity of his plans.

According to his calculations, even without exposure to outside bacteria, the soft, perishable mess he was still tied to would give out within another decade and a half, and that span of time would become increasingly agonizing. As soon as his brain lost proper function, which it would as soon as the pain intensified beyond even his ability to focus past, all his future prospects would come crashing down.

Fortunately, he had taken the limitations of his stasis chamber into account when he had labored so long over the Platinum Chip. All he needed now was a little more time. A thousand hours of diligent programming completed over two hundred years ago would do the rest.

The Courier would never know just how valuable the chip really was. Benny, who had been in House’s confidence a hundred times longer, had barely grasped it, and it had terrified him into betrayal. What a short-sighted fool.

House was not--especially not now. 

He could see through eyebots as far away as the NCR now. He could create solid connections with Securitrons far further out than before. The web of his consciousness was expanding by the second. Sweeping across the land. Extending his opportunities for control.

But it wasn’t enough. That little, fleshy knot of pain at the heart of it all still hindered him. 

House had always hated his own limitations more than anything else in the world. It infuriated him that he couldn’t reach further. Do more. Be flawless, without all the uncomfortable bounds of human existence.

Especially that fucking expiration date.

[PREPARING FOR UPLOAD]

He sighed physically with relief, trying to ignore the rattling far off in his withered lungs. Not much longer now. 

RobCo had made many contributions to the continued survival of the human race, from modern terminal systems, to essential robotics, to the PipBoy itself. On the one hand, these contributions spoke eloquently of House’s desire to see the human race survive.

Survive, and thrive, under his firm, protective hand.

His gift of technology to the world had been an act of benevolence...with a price, albeit one he considered far less steep than any other alternative.

[SCANNING AVAILABLE SECTORS]

He was a businessman. Of course he wouldn’t put this much effort into something that didn’t benefit him more than anyone else long-term. And now, it was time to collect.

He felt his consciousness get swept along with the scan as it fed him information on every single system coming online in RobCo’s suddenly massively expanded intranet. Subroutines in every robot, PipBoy, and terminal started working to pick up, relay and amplify the wireless signal. The sheer influx of information was dizzying, thrilling. Better than any intoxicant. He felt like a god.

But he wasn’t done yet.

[UPLOAD READY. PROCEED?]

He was about to send the mental command to begin the process when he sensed an attack on his sanctum. A familiar figure in Ranger armor, apparently drunk, heavily armed, and either suicidal or angered beyond reason. The Securitrons couldn’t use their expanded arsenals inside the facility without risk to his systems, and that two-faced bastard was starting to plow through them.

Irritated beyond belief, House initiated a substitute AI to shout at and plead with the Courier while he busied himself sending more Securitrons to buy himself time. Then, calculating that he was cutting it too close not to commit, he gave the mental command.

[UPLOAD COMMENCING]

The last thing his human eyes saw before he closed them for good was the Courier’s red-lensed goggles peering in at him through the dome of his chamber. Then everything dissolved into cool green light, and a rushing sensation that took him far, far away from his deteriorating body.

***

The Courier heard House curse him with his last words as he flooded the chamber with deadly chemicals. He saw House’s bodily functions flatline, his body writhe in agony and then go limp. He read the printed obituary and laughed at it. 

The decision to kill House and leave New Vegas truly free had come at the spur of the moment and the bottom of a bottle, like all good decisions. Thus he could be excused for not noticing a few things.

Such as the two words that flashed at the bottom of every screen in the place 2.2 seconds before he ended House’s life.

[UPLOAD COMPLETE]

He did notice, however, when he went downstairs and found Yes Man had been wiped, its too-compliant personality replaced with that of an ordinary Securitron.

He noticed when he discovered he was locked out of all terminals in the Strip.

He noticed when every Securitron in town turned bodily to follow his movements no matter where he went.

He disappeared into the desert within hours, never to return. As he left, he saw a radio tower slowly extending out of the top of the Lucky 38, dishes blooming all over it like enormous silver flowers.

He could have sworn he heard House laughing at him as he fled.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Game Night

@local-alicia sent me this request:

Could you perhaps write a smut where y/n is having a sleepover with the maknae line and things get out of hand?

So this request I took as ‘things get out of hand with all of them’ :P So of course for a one shot this means there’s definitely some crack and some Ho behaviour; but it was super fun to write... so thank you and hope you enjoy!

Maknae Line x Reader (Sleepover AU)

Genre: Smut, slight crack :P

Rating:18+

Words:2889

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (Oral F receiving, implied M receiving, penetrative sex, thigh riding, tiny tiny bit of throat compressing), mentions of alcohol, spilt nachos (the tragedy).

Enjoy :)

“Hey!” you whined as Tae shoved you in dramatic victory when the kill scores finally came up on the screen.

“You only got two more than me, not exactly a sliding victory” you defended re-calibrating your cross legged position on the sofa.

“A victory’s a victory” he rightly stated beaming that beautiful smug box smile at you, recently washed fluffy chestnut hair draping over his forehead like an ethereal waterfall.

“Fine, snack break?” you’d let him have this round, confident in your ability for the rematch. Tae offered you a hand pulling you up. The douche purposely pulling you too hard flinging you sliding across the wood floor, your socks acting as perfect catalysts. You stopped yourself going any further by grappling onto the divider wall behind the flat screen

“Dick!” you bit, sticking your tongue in his direction in retaliation.The kitchen was neat and open, a large rectangular black marble topped island surround by a few bar stools. Your first mission, find the popcorn. You had a selection of white cupboards above the sides to choose from, your silent hesitation cried for assistance.

“Third cupboard” Tae directed with his head as most of his body was shielded behind the silver door of the fridge, the light illuminating the shine of his brown hair.

“You guys never put stuff in the same place twice” you complained, crinkling of the plastic wrapper from the popcorn, the butter aroma quickly rising to you.

“You really expect us to be organised?” The chip and dip was now joining the box of popcorn on the island.

“Fair point” you agreed beeping in the three minutes on the microwave leaving the pair of you with just the whirring and slow popping starting.

“When will the others be back they know its game night right?” leaning against the island.

“Yeah, you know what those two are like with their dance practice, they shouldn’t be late”

“Well that depends if Jungkook has a shower there doesn’t it”

“You know what, I’ll message them” he announced, you chuckled lightly.

“You’re so pretty when you smile” the camaraderie in his tone had dissipated and all that was left was a sincere compliment.

Weird, this is soo…

Before you’d even shoved your thoughts into order you were pressed against the counter, willingly wrapping your arms around his neck welcoming his lips to yours with an intensity out of nowhere. You didn’t fight any of it fully surrendering, his body pressing to yours. His hands fighting their way under your shirt. His hands traced your outline fingers dancing delicately on your skin.

“No bra?” he breathed taking the easy access in his stride.

“It’s a sleepover night, got to be comfy… easier to beat you” you breathed, suppressing the moans in your throat both of your lips twisted up into a smirk against each other

“How’s that working out for you” his raspy voice replied at your ear

“Its..” your head rolled back, answer hindered by the hand that had trickled down under the waistband of you trackies

“Feels like you like losing” he acknowledge through an impressed exhale at your neck. A faint click reached your ears, a small warning. The pair of you parted; quickly! Launching yourself away from each other. In the fluster and scurry all the tortilla chips scattered across the tiled floor.

“Shit! You exclaimed

“Easy Y/N you started drinking without us?” Jungkook toyed, holdall on his shoulder tugging his oversized black tee revealing the prominent defined collar bones

Stop!

“No, this idiot just thought he’d be funny and tackle me” His eyes grateful for the save while yours told him to sort himself out.

“Honestly Tae, think of the chips” Jimin added filing in after Jungkook slumping his bag at the door.You took an interlude to the popcorn duty and found yourself down on the floor cleaning up the mess, side eyeing Tae disappear to his room.

“Hope you’re ready” Kook checks collecting various bottles of alcohol from the cupboard, clanging them on the side.

“Hope YOUR ready, I swear if you shoot me this time just once. You’ll wish you never been respawned” Jungkook seems to have an ‘accidental’ habit of shooting you despite all of you campaigning on the same team. He’s never quick enough to hide the smirk that grows seconds before he pulls the trigger.

“I’ll do my best” he chuckles.The bass of the sound bar reverberated through the room in a dull boom as Jimin booted up all the sound systems. Tae emerged swamped under multiple duvets, chucking them on the floor before shuffling to fold them and create a comfy space in front of the TV.

“I guess I should go grab some more chips from the shop before we start, and don’t even say they are fine Jeon Jungkook, that’s gross”

“Fine but I’ll come with you”

“I’m more than capable of carrying some tortillas”

“You say that” he motioned his hands to the bin

“Besides the walk will be more fun with me”

“Fine” playfully rolling your eyes for him to see. Genuine lights sparked up from behind eyes as he bounced and grabbed his shoes.

//

The air was surprisingly warm given the 7pm time, everywhere was still bright and a low energy breeze caught you pleasantly as you strolled towards their apartment behind the security gates.

“I reached a new bicep curl PB” Jungkook beamed as we approached a door labelled ‘Gym’ prompting this new development. The hall way was carpeted a light royal blue, the walls papered a pale beige adorned with a more silvery beige pattern of fancy floral design. More like a feature wall than a hallway one but the luxury mirrored the apartment’s status.

“Yeah? Even the 30kg weight I set you?” your tone pitching at the end. He nodded.

“Prove it” you challenged, enabling Jungkook’s pride. It was cute, so you were happy to humour him. He beamed as he typed in the code on the door; thankfully the gym was empty. You followed him past the spotless cardio equipment to the free weights area. Plonking yourself and the carrier down on one of the benches your eyes following his every move as he thinned his layers down to just his t-shirt rolling the sleeves up for maximum bicep view. You certainly wasn’t going to complain.

“I thought you were showing me your bicep curl” you’d watched him step over to the next area with nothing but blue mats and sat himself down

“Warm up push ups”“Oh I see” you lightly chucked mildly unimpressed. His form was perfect, back straight, going low enough and legs straight. He made them look so easy.

“Get on my back” he ordered in his soft tone, smile making it hard to respond in turn.

“What?”

“Sit on my back” he said again. You made your way over to him with hesitant steps.

So they ARE easy for him

You exchanged amused glances, two people unsure of where this was going. You slid off your shoes and did as you were told.

“Mmm higher, more in the centre of my shoulder blades” he instructed adjusting to your weight.

“Here?”

“Perfect, try and keep your weight all in your body and not in your legs so much, ready?”

Nope

Your right hand was pressed at the base of his neck the other was screwing his shirt up within your fist for any type of support. The ripple of his muscles did not go unnoticed beneath you, the room was silent, just his concentration and his controlled breathing as he slowly lowered and pushed you back up a few times; you giggled as you wobbled slightly. He followed suit his concentration and strength breaking as he collapsed under you. You fell backwards tumbling half on the mat, your legs nearly clipped his head. He shuffled onto his back in beat while you quickly found your way to your knees.

“So you’re not THAT good then” you toyed

“You distracted me” he countered, his hair half covering his forehead in a messy picture framing his face.

“You asked for it!” you protested smacking his side. Before you could retreat you hand was gripped in his. You followed his pull caving in to where he wanted you.

What is with these boys today. Why am I not complaining? what is wrong with me?

“Can I ask for this now?” so innocently spoken, like a puppy asking for your last biscuit and not palming you through your loose trackies;

“Think you need to be more specific” you teased greedily rolling in to his palm biting your lip through a smirk stifling a moan. Your body flushed with adrenaline, you needed some kind of relief especially after earlier. You took his hands at your mercy pinning them above him your hips rolling being greedy for all the contact of his bare thigh, shorts had been pushed up slyly on purpose by yourself. His eyes latched onto your movement

“Don’t go shy on me now Kook!” you teased nudging his head to the side stealing a gasp, lips nipping at his collar bone.

“I want this” he breathes

“I want to see you fuck yourself on my thigh” hips grinding harder for a stroke.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm”

“But I want to feel you” he added, you’d do anything for those eyes, hazel shimmering pools of lust right now so you slipped off your trackies.

“And the rest” he added eyes greedy transfixed on your underwear falling to the floor. The direction of your focus however was on the door.

“No one comes in here at this time, trust me!” oddly you did, if anyone was going to know the extent of the gyms usage it was him.You both unanimously groaned at the contact

“Good?” you breathed holding your hips motionless

“Feels really fucking good” Your hands found their way underneath his shirt and your nails lightly indented at his chest, you damn well wanted to feel those muscles tensing underneath you. This was clearly a thing for the pair of you.

Your hips took no time in finding the perfect rhythm, the way his eyes stared at down at his thigh watching every movement. His eyes beautifully blown out often switched up to you watching your face crease in pleasure. Seeing his face crease equally was a sight you wanted etched in your mind; the small breathy groans tied your stomach in knots adding to the build-up you could feel in your core.When your hips started pushing harder into him happily gaining momentum chasing your high he threw his hands pressing into your sides stopping you.

“I want to be tasting you when you cum” Supporting you with one hand he had you on your back, tracing down your body with kisses gently nipping your breasts. You pressed your hips up to him when his mouth covered your clit hands tangling in his soft long hair.His tongue flat licking the length of your folds before honing his attention to your throbbing bud. Sucking lightly before going side to side in rapid movements, simultaneously thrusting a finger into you

“Jesus Jungkook” you cried. He hardly faltered only stopping a few frustrating times to catch his breath.

“Right there, god don’t stop”

You bucked your hips harder against his tongue and stilled his head gripping tighter in his hair as the sweet pulses surged oxytocin through you. He carried on applying pressure until the aftershocks had finally stopped.

“We better get back” his chin glistening with his work, satisfied smirk plastered at his lips.

“I don’t think so” you disagreed pressing up onto your elbows pulling his chain having him captured in a kiss.

“You are not going anywhere until I’ve sorted that” head looking down at the bulge in his shorts

//

“Seriously where have you guys been, we’re snack deprived wasting away here!” Taehyung moaned, pausing the race Jimin and him were competing in.

“One that’s not dramatic at all is it, two we just got chatting on the stairs, sorry” poker face level pro.

//

Finally managing to beat all the boys in the arena mode! You’d spent months coming second to JK, victory was definitely sweet. It was standard on game nights to finish with a film, after much procrastinating on Netflix you’d finally agreed on Thor Ragnarok. None of them ever stayed awake for the whole thing. It wasn’t strange for you to cover them with blankets, they were dead adorable when they were sleeping. Another bonus of this was there was three beds free for you to choose from. Like the old Goldilocks story you always went for Jimin’s because his was the softest. It was like sinking into a marshmallow, absorbing you to sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

Nudged awake by the feeling of the bed depress beside you. A gentle smile adorning your lips feeling him slowly creep up so his chest was flush against your back. Head nuzzling into the back of your neck; you shuffled back into him, grinding once your ass into his crotch. Big mistake, but not really.

Taking this as a que he ground back, this carried on until you felt him grow hard against you and the warmth began to pool in between your legs and your breaths had become more audible. His hand travelled underneath your shirt, exploring your skin. Leaving a trail of goose bumps up to your chest, kneading them still pressing into you from behind. Nipples perked with him rolling them in between his fingers. His warm breath fanning your neck in between the wet firm kiss at the top of your shoulder and the side of your neck. He pulled your hips more into him, legs slightly widening allowing him access to the top of your waistband. The tease ran his fingertips along your inner thigh upwards avoiding where you needed attention.

“Please, stop teasing” you whined in a whisper.

“But it’s fun” you rolled your head. He carried on teasing driving you insane; until you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed his hand and forced it onto your core. You moaned rolling your head forward into the pillow, his moaned dragged from yours.You left your hand resting on top of his as he took over circling your clit, only stopping to tease his fingers at your entrance. Enticing you to want more than his hand. Pulling his hand away, turning to him enveloping your hand either side of his head and pulling into you, kissing him with everything you could.  He rushed, desperately clambering on top you. Knee in between your legs giving you something to have contact with.

“God I can’t wait to fuck you” he panted scrambling both of your t-shirts off.

“Please, hurry up!” you whined still quietly conscious of the noise; disturbing the other boys.Bottoms discarded somewhere on the floor. Nipping at your neck, collar bone and your hand gripping round him in an attempt to hurry him up.

“So impatient” he smirked.

“Mmmhmm” you breathed. Following your wishes he finally lined himself up at your entrance.

“Beg!” he asked. Forehead against yours moans mixing in between you.

“Serious?”

“Yep”The teasing of his cock at your entrance rendered you way more than happy to beg.

“Fuck Jimin, please fuck me, I can’t wait to feel you inside me. Need to cum around your cock” you pleaded.

“Jesus didn’t know you could be so sexy with your words” approving thrusting into you. Your cry was uncontrolled and loud. One which tugged hard at Jimin’s pleasure centre. As much as he wanted to see how loud he could make you; he did not want the others to know, tarnishing his innocence. His hand lightly pressing against your mouth.

“As much as I wanna make you scream, you gotta be quiet baby” you nodded, completely agreeing.His hand slid down from your mouth, your moans sheltered as best you could. His hand gently compressing at your throat. Your head rolled back louder moans escaping. He just felt so good and the compression on your throat blew your mind, making your thoughts cloudy and blissfull. More moans escaped you, his brows knitting together leaving you empty and clenching around nothing.

“On your front, if you can’t be quiet at least the bed will absorb some of it” he rushed passing you a pillow to put under your hips. You lifted yourself onto your elbows only to be shoved face deep in the sheets. Good thing as he thrust back into you, fists curled in the linen, angling your head directly into the bed. Any cries now muffled.

“Much better” he grunted, hands planted at your hips keeping them secure. The angle he was hitting your sweet spot had all of your muscles at your core taking a heated run up to your release.

“You gonna cum for me baby?” the words had you clenching tight around him resulting in him choking out ‘baby’ and leaning forward more onto you. Lifting your head up from your hair as he re-stabilised.

“Fuck..Jimi…yes” You were gone. Seeing stars convulsing around him. Jimin’s hips jerked into you cursing your name.

“Please can this happen every game night” he panted crashing beside you on the bed.