#hopefully im not being condescending either

[commodorez]

Anything I should know before trying to set up a microphone for my laptop the first time?

That all comes down to what kind it is, but for the moment I'm going to assume something for general purpose consumer use. For the moment I will demonstrate with Windows 7 because I'm old and stubborn, but 10 gives you many of the same options in the fancy newer layout. Just look for similar terms as you go. I haven't used a mic on a Mac or a Linux machine in a very long time to get specific to that.

If it's USB, plug it in and hopefully it sets itself to become the default device.

If it's a classic computer microphone with a 3.5mm/1/8" stereo TRS (that's Tip Ring Sleeve) audio jack, you want the connector on your laptop that might be indicated with either a microphone symbol OR it might be color coded pink (do they still do that for laptops sometimes?). Just plug it in. Don't plug it into the Line In port, that's not what you're after here (it might be light blue).

You want to check in your sound devices section (either in control panel/settings, or selected by the speaker icon on your taskbar next to the time).

If it isn't already the default, first go to the Recording tab, then select the device in the list, and click "Set Default". After that, you may want to do some level adjustment, so select "properties". From there, you can go to the Levels tab and adjust accordingly.

For either type, it doesn't hurt to do a test recording with something and play it back, see how it sounds. Tweak as needed.

If you're actively hearing yourself while you're testing it, that might be because you have "Listen to this device" selected in the Listen tab (just to the left of the Levels tab)

Individual programs will let you select which device you would like to use as your audio input, and it doesn't necessarily have to be your default device.

I can't really speak to using bluetooth wireless audio devices, as the only one I've ever used worked better with the accompanying USB wireless dongle on my work laptop. More or less if it's connected, it will give you the same options as before

I know modern earbuds and some varieties of headset have TRRS 3.5mm connectors carrying audio for the headphones and the microphone on the same connector. You'll have to check if your laptop has a connector that can accept that (check the spec sheet), otherwise you'll need to find an appropriate splitter cable to make it work in a standard TRS microphone connector.

Hopefully that answers your question. If it doesn't feel free to get more specific.

[kunikame]

helloo! i love ur work and was wondering if i could request your last leo work with izumi and natsume? thank u have a wonderful day/evening<3

hellaur hellaur! im so glad you liked it! ofc you can dear, please enjoy!

[ leo ver. ]

bandaids - s. natsume & s. izumi

he was reading one of his spell books when you stormed into the house in tears, which was surprising in itself.

naturally, he got up to follow after you and find out what had you at your wits end. hopefully nothing a little magic trick couldn't fix.

when you agreed to tell him he made you both a cup of hot chocolate (or tea, whichever you prefer) and sat you down in the living room, ready to listen to whatever troubles could have possibly dimmed your shine.

you told him about your day and how shitty it was and mans was flabbergasted

what do you mean your boss mistreats you??? he couldn't believe what you were saying. this random dude with a company was being sexist towards his s/o? by what right??

"now now, kitten. if it was so, you should've told me sooner. this is nothing the mighty sakasaki natsume can't possibly fix with a little di-"

"you can't make him disappear, sume."

"what do you mean i can't?"

good job, now he's the one grumbling.

"i still don't like you working there anymore. don't you want to look for a different job? you could manage switch, though i don't trust tsumugi near you either. he's not as bad as your boss of course, but he's... tsumugi. either way, if anything like this happens ever again, please let me know sooner. i want to be able to help you. however, my offer of managing switch still stands. if you ever decide to accept it, we'll welcome you with open arms."

izumi already knew how bad your work space was from when he visited you one time, he never told you to quit because of how happy you seemed when talking about your coworker and how you were happy your paycheck was big enough to help him with paying the bills so it didn't feel like you were using him for his riches.

which, by the way, nobody thought in the first place. izumi wouldn't mind paying everything himself, he would never use that against you. he had tons of cash he didn't even know what to do with, it would honestly be the least he can do.

anyway, he figured one day you'd also realize you need a better job, and he's prepared for when that day comes. when today you weren't replying to his messages, he thought maybe the day has finally come. oh how right he was. he just wishes it didn't involve you having a mental breakdown.

"it's alright dear. come, let's sit down and talk about it, alright? please don't cry."

with each word that came out of your mouth his anger increased. he knew it was bad, he just didn't think it was to this extent.

"hm. your boss and coworkers need someone to talk some sense into them. what? oh, quit looking at me like that. i won't do it myself of course, i have a reputation to uphold. doesn't mean i don't know people who will do it for me. now you're glaring at me, but if you had listened to me and applied for that other job i told you about, this could've been avoided. ow! i'm just saying!"

if glaring fails, simply elbow him. always works. he may sound condescending or whatever but i promise he means well. he just wants you to be happy.

".. shi .. you 'nt..."

"what?"

he sighed, "i said i can't offer you a job since we just got a new manager- leo's girlfriend or whatever- but arashi mentioned she needs a manager or something like that. the other agency i told you about have no offers anymore, but since it's arashi i'm sure she'd hire you in a heartbeat. if you want, that is."

he's a little hard around the edges but he loves you more than anyone, and you can bet on that.

ੈ✩₊˚TAGLIST : @hugs4shizu @mikctp @meiquipo @ibaraluvr @venusflwers @tokusaatsus // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you’re in bold i can’t tag you)

[kakujis]

i've finished the demo! do you think the last scene will change depending on origins? there is a possibility like alchemist would be more link to leander. it's advertised as a dark gothic romance novel for mature audiences but i think since the game is nowhere near finish, they cannot put an age rating on it yet.

oh, i didn't realised you could add additional items to your tier, i'm new to kickstarter so i have no idea lol. that's good but i've heard the cost of the shipping is pretty expensive too.

ais might be the true route for the game like with other otome games, you have to play the characters in certain order to reach the final/canon ending/route.

there are character sheets??? i feel like mhin is a character that grow on you and leander is the ideal one to start with and vere, you either love or hate him.

really? i thought ais intro was intense esp with that soundtrack! his music theme is the most memorable one. if there are changes, hopefully they will just add more piercings to sen or something like that considering she already have a nose ring.

elyon (?), i felt like he was deliberately designed like that because of his mysterious brief profile information like trying to find the one thing that money can't buy.

what do you think the potential new stretch goals could be? i think we are at the last one. i hope they add more physical merc for the basic tiers then because a lot of fans had chosen them.

omg maybe! i know each origin comes with its own special trait of some sort!! i wanna play sum more when i get home later this week!!! wbu?? r u gonna play thru again using a diff origin? alsooo my fren actually did play thru as alchemist and the dialogue for kuras in particular are diff!! not sure about leander but i thought about that too!!

also yesyes!!! on the touchstarved blog theres chara sheets for all of em! it tells u what they like + dislike alongside their fatal flaw! leanders is cut out im pretty sure soo im sooo curious abt hims. :3 also omg real! mhin is soooososososo pretty eee n i do enjoy their personality buuut, leander is def ideal eep!! vere is super cute to me, but i feel like id stutter to talk to him irl and then perish cus i give in too easily LMAOOO

also yes!! i agree w sen!! give her more piercings shes so damn hot im passing OUT!!! also also, i think leander n vere’s intros kinda swooped me away…. like i literally was dming my friend like: PLs i hope its not vere next ill pass out AND DIE… and then he showed up n i died. poof. GONE. (；ω；)

okok so the whole ais thing w me was like, hmmm. ur hot yes and ur music slaps but that was about it for me! i agree it was really intense! IM NOT EVEN SURE WHY i just felt like. nuffin towards him when i played it LOL. but the scene where he almost borderline kills tht one dude was so hot fusjdjjdjdjkaka. i have a whole lil drabble rn about ais and said alleyway…. im … hes…. hes so. (>_<)… on the floor SOBBING!!! if he is the true route i wont b mad!!! like they do put him in the middle of all the promo art sooo… i could see leander being a true route also. hes soo sweet. i wanna *** him.

yea yea i also agree abt elyon! he’s super handsome tho i bet his route will be great! i wonder what his personality will be like doe… like condescending? rude? patronizing?? hmm hmm. ohh also b4 i forget! yesyes u can change ur tier n do add-ons on the page! it’ll say edit tier or somthin like that! i think shipping will probs b 15 but i am a fool w a lil bit of extra monies. ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

personally i gots nooo clue for stretch goals but im the same thinking as u!! im praying for more physical merch. I WAN AN AIS DAKIMURA PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS telepathically trying 2 connect w the devs rn… HEAR MY PLEAS!!!

[sagendipity]

reminder i'm sage i used to be notplanningshit until i accidentally deleted my blog so now im reposting my works!

info: quackity x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, no warnings

on frizzy hair and the pursuit of perfection

Intellectually, in the rational side of your brain, you know that what you’re feeling is stupid.

You see the Instagram posts talking about the importance of self-affirmation and mental health. You see the tweets saying that people are more than their family’s perception of them. You realize that having a condescending and judgmental family is almost a right of passage for your generation.

These are all things you know, intellectually. But knowing something intellectually does jack shit for actually convincing your heart of whatever you know. You can yell at yourself all you want, but it’s clearly not your rational brain making you tear up at yet another text from your dad that was along the lines of “cool, could be better, though.”

You just want someone, just once, to celebrate an achievement with you. You want to be excited to share something with someone, without fear of them scoffing in the face of your pride and excitement. In your family- hell, in the world, certainly- someone has always done better, and you’re damn sure to be reminded of such.

It’s been years of this same behavior, ever since you can remember. It’s not just your dad, either, it’s your whole family- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. The whole town you grew up in had this haughty, arrogant air about it, where everyone was constantly competing, even if there was no reason for it. Take the hardest classes, get the least sleep, get the biggest scholarship. Even your friends would flex their better test scores at you, and refuse to help you with the homework, in case you somehow got a better score on a test than them. You know it’s how they were raised, they’re just a product of their environment and don’t know how bad it hurts, but it still stung then, and probably always will. You’re still in contact with a few of them, and it’s just more of the same whenever you exchange a handful of quick texts every couple months.

You know you should stop giving information about your achievements to them, but when your dad texts and asks how you are, there’s not much you can reply with other than “good, got a promotion at work!” From there, it’s a slippery slope of him asking what new benefits you got, and then the judgmental few moments where the gray dots disappear and reappear while he tries to compose his thoughts about your inadequacy in the least-abrasive way a middle-aged man can. That is to say, not un-abrasively at all. In fact, his words are often delivered with the finesse of low-grit sandpaper on soft wood.

Well, could be more. Work harder and maybe you’ll get an increase next month. I got a lot of bonuses at work when I was your age. All you have to do is take the bad shifts and get some good customer reviews. You’ll get there.

You stare at the fresh new message on your phone screen before clicking it off with a bone-deep sigh, your eyes betraying your rational side by, again, tearing up. You shove the heels of your hands into your eyes and rub until the tears are forced away and you see spots.

That’s how Alex finds you, sat on the foot of your shared bed with your hands rubbing fiercely at your eyes. He’s probably just come to grab a hoodie- the setting sun brings with it a cool breeze that washes through your open windows and cools the house from the warmth it’d gathered from the day’s sun.

“You good?” He asks, opening his closet door and pulling out a hoodie. He wrestles it on over his head as he waits for your response- when he pushes his head out the other end, hair mussed and static-y, you still haven’t answered. “Baby?”

He comes and sits down next to you. Your eyes, red-rimmed but still dry, track his movements before flicking to catalog every tuft of disheveled hair protruding from his head. With a superficial smile, you reach up to smooth his long, black locks back and down into place. It doesn’t matter; he’s going to slip on a beanie sooner or later, but for now, you distract yourself by combing gentle fingers through the soft strands.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Alex murmurs, brown eyes searching your face for an answer to what has you upset. “But what’s wrong?”

“Just my dad,” you whisper, not trusting your voice not to crack. You avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed stubbornly on his hair as you finish your work. “There. You looked like a hedgehog.”

He huffs a little laugh, but scoots closer to you and grabs a hand out of your lap- you’d curled your hands into tight fists, your nails digging little red crescents into your palm. He uncurls the hand he’s holding and reaches for the other, but you save him the work by instead grabbing onto your own thigh tightly, redirecting the frustration. He rubs small circles into the aching skin of your other palm while he waits for you to gather yourself and explain, now that the ice has been broken on the topic.

“He always acts like whatever I do is just not quite good enough for him. They all do- him, my mom, even my fucking friends.” You rub your free hand down your face, trying to alleviate some tension. It does not work. “I don’t know why I’m still upset. They’ve been doing it forever.”

“That’s probably why you’re still upset. You hope they’d grown up enough to stop doing that.” Alex presses his thumb into the center of your palm. It grounds you, and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

“It’s not even a matter of immaturity- it’s not as simple as a pissing contest. It’s just who they are. They don’t think perfection exists, but they want me to achieve it anyways.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That sounds exhausting.”

He sounds so sincere, so genuine, like the idea of you being treated this way is deeply upsetting to him. You’d never really… experienced that. Someone recognizing your struggle, and admitting that it must fucking suck is something you’d never been graced with.

His brow is furrowed in a display of concern, eyes gentle and searching. He’s not lying, he means what he said, and he’s not going to follow it up with a “but-,”.

Eyes beginning to sting again, you lean forward until you’re resting your forehead on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his hoodie immediately calms you, along with the warmth you can feel emanating from him. It makes sense, after all, that the personification of pure sunshine would have such warmth about them.

Alex scoots forward, gathering you more closely in his arms, his legs awkwardly folded so that you can sit right in front of him. His hands come up to hold you, one fisting in the fabric of your sweatshirt, and the other resting on the back of your neck, gentle, but firm. You let out a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Not going to cry.

“I got a promotion at work,” you mutter, taking a long, deep breath. You brace yourself, waiting for a dismissive response. “That’s what set my dad off- I got- he-.”

Your voice cracks, and you trail off with a small sigh, clutching at Alex’s hoodie even tighter. It’s thick and soft under your fingers, and you knead at it like a cat.

“A promotion?! Baby, that’s amazing!” Alex pulls back just enough to take a glance at you, his own expression steeling from excitement back to sadness as he sees that you are still fighting back tears. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the only person to ever cry after getting a promotion.”

A little laugh escapes your chest, huffy and wet, but still a laugh. Alex’s lips curl into a smile as he reaches up to smooth back some of your stray hairs, like you’d done for him a moment or two ago. You smile, reaching up to intercept his hand, and lace the two of you’s fingers together.

He squeezes your hand where it’s resting in his grip, looking at your linked fingers briefly. “Also, your family is wrong.”

“About what specifically?” You huff, wiping at your eyes for hopefully the final time.

“About perfection not existing. It does, and I know exactly what it looks like.” Despite the serious words, Alex is fighting back a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, already anticipating the next thing he’s going to say. “It looks like you, dumbass.”

You groan, feeling a hot blush rise to your cheeks immediately. You tip forward to bury yourself in Alex’s neck, this time hiding your flustered face and stupidly happy grin.

“I can feel your smile against my neck, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off-.”

With the hand that’s on the back of your neck, Alex coaxes you out of hiding just to press a kiss to your forehead. “Really. I am proud of you. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me about your achievements because of what your family has done to you.”

“Okay,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

He hums in response, tilting his head and looking at you with what can only be described as pure fondness in his eyes. Then, he leans down to meet you for a delicate kiss, and your eyes finally stop stinging.

[all-about-seggs]

Sultry Blues-

Rating: ❌18+, Explicit❌

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Insecure! Fem Reader

Word count: 2.5 k

Warnings: Trigger warning for insecurities (not specified), Body Worshipping, a bit of food play, cunnilingus, Semi-public sex.

The faint sounds of ringing bells from the shrine was still in the air as you made your way to the inner structure of the prestigious Jujutsu academy. The path to the meeting room was straight and lined with stone carvings which gave the entire place an ancient look. You had a lunchtime date with your boyfriend, who would, hopefully be on time so you could be on your way.

This place always made you uneasy, not because of the dangerous connotations it brought in everyone’s lives but it was the people who freaked you out the most. To you, each one of the teachers as well as the students looked like some characters straight from a book, elegant, strong and perfectly capable of doing things normal people like you could only read about. Not having enough confidence on yourself physically or mentally worsened every time it dawned on you that you were dating the most perfect being of them all.

Perplexing wouldn’t even began to describe your state of mind when Satoru first took interest in you, sure looks or status didn’t meant anything to him but even in terms of personality you never thought the two of you would get along, so much so that you would become such an irreplaceable part of each other. But you knew his feelings for you did nothing to stop the ache in your heart when you saw him getting ganged up on by a bunch of women. Women attractive than you, smarter than you and definitely stronger than you.

This was exactly the place where all those kind of women lived making you feel even more of an outsider in his world. Not wanting to cause Satoru any worries you tried to psyche yourself up by picking up your pace only to be met with a hard shoulder to your cheek.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking”, you looked up at the stranger, she was tall, her sturdy figure seemed like she was also a sorcerer but her ID pass was tucked on the breast pocket of her coat along with her youthful face indicated she was a student, you squinted to see that her name was Lisa and as you were about to apologise when you saw her sneer at you.

“ Ugh… outsiders. Don’t you know how to walk properly? Or did you not learn that in your no name school?”, her condescending tone took you aback.

You knew you didn’t exactly belong here but she wasn’t cutting you any slack for being a civilian either. You wanted to ask her why was she being so rude but your queries were cut off as by the girl.

“ No need to explain yourself I already know who you are, I’ve seen you following Gojo- San like a lost puppy a lot of times, seriously it’s like you don’t even have a presence without him.”, with a pause you finally thought her pointless berating would come to a stop but she went on.

“ He has a reputation to uphold here so don’t go around embarrassing him with your airheaded and average looking face”, now with THAT she crossed the line but as much as you wanted to give her a comeback all you anger turned into self loathing in a matter of seconds and you stood there dumbly not being able to defend yourself from the onslaught of verbal attacks that even you partially agreed with.

Not even bothering to look at her when she passed you thought about her mean words that were half untrue. You knew dating a popular guy would include more that just a little bit harmless envy of girls. At this point you’d be lucky if you didn’t get attacked by one of your boyfriend’s fangirl. But, It wasn’t about Satoru anymore, you thought. It was about how you were letting the jealousy of his superficial admirers who didn’t even knew only knew his name and face. Before you could delve more into your darkening thoughts you heard a cheery voice call out to you.

Bag at hand, which probably contained some sort of dessert you saw Satoru gleefully making his way towards you. It took you a few seconds to plaster a believable smile to your face so you could greet him normally.

“ Wow I can’t believe IM the one who had to wait around this time”, placing a tiny kiss on your nose he pulled you in for a hug, his warmth seeping into you put your mind at ease and help you distract yourself from the horrible encounter before.

“ The meeting was pointless and even the snacks turned out to be lame”, whining a little he waved the bag in front of you. A convenient store vanilla sponge cake with a packet of strawberry sauce was right in front of you and honestly if it were you, you’d probably eat it without question but knowing his love for quality sweets it was understandable why he’d complain.

“ Well actually, with the right toppings and modifications even convenient store packed cakes can taste top class!”, thinking about all the ways you’ve experimented watching diy food videos you started thinking up of ways to serve it to him.

“I see, that’s a good idea and I think it’ll give us some headstart for our date wouldn’t it?”, saying that he gestured you towards one of the buildings that lead to the back exit.

Walking hand in hand Satoru came to a stop which seemed like a closed off gate that was not in use anymore.

“ Why are we here? I thought the back exit was the other way around?”, confusion painted over you face you turned to face your mischievous partner.

“ you said you’d help me eat them, and I think it’s a pretty good place, don’t you?”, stepping closer he urged you to take a look around. The area didn’t have any benches, buildings or even people around and the only sound you could hear was the birds and the small artificial streams of river that flowed a few steps away from the closed off exit.

If Satoru was insinuating something you started to get the hang of it and you soon felt you face get hotter. The afternoon sun did nothing to help you cool down as you struggled to make sense of the situation. His hands were all over your body, caressing, pinching and feeling you up.

“ What’s wrong? Not up for it in semi public style?”, his breathy voice got lost in the crook of you neck where he inhaled your scent, “ you know nobody’s gonna come” with a slight push, he pinned you againt the vine-covered gate, “Except for you”.

“what the- WAIT! It’s still so bright out here not to mention we’re in PUBLIC Satoru!”, wide eyed you try to grab at his hand that was halfway done unbuttoning the top of your blouse.

“Do you want me to blindfold you?”, throwing these words nonchalantly he started licking every bit of exposed skin he could find from your ears to chest.

His mouth made contact with your covered breasts and without bothering to remove the piece of clothing he latched his mouth onto your hardened nipple to give it a gentle bite. Holding back your own moans you placed you hands on his broad shoulders, a feeble attempt at stopping him.

“How would THAT resolve anything?!” already half naked, your retorts seemed like pathetic excuses even to your own ears. It wasn’t until you heard a sharp rip that you realised your underwear was no longer on your body anymore. With a horrified look you saw your unusable underwear in Satoru’s hand.

“ I don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore my sweetness because I want to see ALL of you”, dangling the fabric from his long fingers he made a show of tucking it in his pocket. Hiking your skirt up with one hand he caressed the soft flesh with his thumbs.

“I knew you had no sense of danger but this could even get us arrested”, your reasoning seemed to fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend, already half way down on the ground, pulled his blindfold down with ease. Looking at up at you with his ethereal turquoise eyes that lied beneath strips of heavy white eyelashes, this part of his face was something you couldn’t see all the time.

“You’re beautiful……”, the genuine nature of his words felt unreal when compared to his everyday frivolous self, “at least I’ve always thought so”.

All the voices in the place except for his, got drowned out by the throbbing of your heart in your chest when he kneeled right in front of your crotch. The warm smile on his lips contradicted with his tantalizing actions but he enjoyed it precisely because of that.

“Open your legs a bit more y/n, I need more space to eat”, with his haughty smirk back he exposed more of your pussy with his fingers and dribbled the strawberry sauce over it until it started trickling down to the ground underneath it.

“This looks like a good dessert, waaay better than the one I was offered before”, making one last smartass comment he threw the now empty packet away and your sugar coated pussy was soon met with Satoru’s soft, warm tongue as he buries his face in it. His tongue worked it’s way beneath the layer of your pussy hair and down to the soft flabby skin underneath. Your natural slick combined with the dressing sauce tasted even sweeter in his mouth, the pleasant hums falling uncontrollably from his mouth made you wetter.

All the blemishes, scars and your self imposed flaws started melting into something more complete and unbreakable in its nature when you felt Satoru touching you, feeling you and tasting you from the inside and out.

His warm hands firmly gripped your thighs to lap at the soft peak in between. All the sensations his tongue was providing you made your vision turn black and your body heated up to the point of burning. The broad daylight and your exposed form added to the fear of being found out but your trust in your boyfriend outweighed everything so you let him have his way.

“ Hmmm, yeah y/n…”, the exaggeratingly loud slurping of his mouth came to a stop as he looked up at you, his pink lips glistening even more when he spoke, “Even this cheap stuff tastes better when I eat it directly from you”.

You were a panting mess, already having lost the ability to make coherent words you kept you eyes on Satoru as rose to his feet.

“ Let’s move on to the next part shall we?”, after smoothening out your skirt of you he held out his hand and your need for release took over all rhyme and reason so you put one of your shaking hand in his. The next few moments were confusing as a white light enveloped both of your forms and by the time your vision returned you found yourself in an unknown room.

The place itself was nothing out of the ordinary, some books, a cupboard and a vanity. The single bed near the curtained window was properly made. It was clearly not Satoru’s room but the neatness of the place also suggested that it wasn’t an unused room either.

“ Hey we’re are we?”, you question the white haired male when he casually made his way to switch on the lights.

“Don’t worry we’re still in the academy premises, you wanted to finish this right? And I didn’t wanted to go another second with hearing your pretty voice, so you can scream now,” his voice dangerously low, he held your arms in both of his hands and guided you to the single bed in the corner.

“ and I didn’t meant that as a request”, flat on your back you had no time for further questioning as your exposed cunt got filled to the brim in a single thrust. The stretch made you cry out and remembering Satoru’s previous warning you didn’t bother covering your mouth. The light in the room was enough for him to see all of you, even if he had all of you memorized at the back of since the first time.

Your twisted face that you’d consider ugly was nothing if not arousing to him from the kneeling position of his at the edge of the bed, endearing even at how the side of your eyes well up everytime he fucked you so hard, the creaking of the bed acted as a proof of his brutal pace that threatened to break the furniture.

Each powerful thrust of his made your entire body lurch from its position, your juices flowed endlessly down your thighs, on Satoru’s cock and down to the sheets. Your voice ricocheted off the walls and gave life to the entire building.

Having your orgasm cut off before, the anticipation that had build up made your upcoming release feel even ore intense. Your walls started clenching around his shaft, already feeling waves of ecstasy you waited for it to reach its peak.

“ Y/n...Come for me”, in between his grunts he placed on of his hand on the side of your head, lowering himself till your noses touched. Breaths intermingling, you came with a loud cry of his name. Euphoria spreaded through both of your bodies making a gush of liquid come out of your pussy when Satoru pulled out, both of your mess soiled the sheet.

Few minutes of silence passed by as a fully clothed Satoru sat beside you, stroking your head until you calmed down.

“ Hey y/n?”, abruptly his cheeky tone filled the room and you looked up at him questioningly,

“ Wanna take a pic? ya'know, as a momento”, the odd question made you come to an obvious conclusion, which now seemed obvious considering your boyfriend’s not so secret rebellious nature and with how much of a brat he can be it was nothing short of hilarious.

“ It’s Lisa’s room isn’t it?”, barely controlling your laughter you tried to pry an answer out of him, the soothing motion of his hands never coming to a stop he took out his phone with another.

“ Yeah, it is, I’d say it’s an excellent way of showing her our ‘bond’ dontcha think?”, his cringey answer made you burst into laughter. The first real smile he’d seen on your face since you got here was something Satoru wanted to be a constant thing, always there when he wanted to see it just like a still photograph.

Bending his face down his lips softly met your forehead and before you could open your eyes back up you heard the click of the camera go off.

“ Heh, so how is it?”, propping yourself up on your elbows you tried to peak at the screen but it was pulled out of sight just as quickly.

“ It’s perfect”, with a warm smile that reached all the way to his eyes Satoru put his phone down before peering into your eyes, “and it’s mine”.

[wasflypaw]

This is gonna be my new pinned post, so people visiting my blog to send me anons cant accuse me of stuff for no reason! I'm not gonna turn off anons because the nice anons I get make me happy

I am Flypaw. I'm that annoying blog that's always in the Dream SMP tag because I'm hyper-fixated on it and have a lot of thoughts (critical or not) about it at all times :] Here's a list of stuff I usually get accused of:

-I dont only see c!Phil as a father figure. I literally dont even see him as Tommy or Techno's dad canonically. Please stop accusing me of this whenever I'm slightly critical of his actions of helping destroy a nation

-I may be critical, but I dont dislike any characters, and I dont only watch Tommy's POV. I watch absolutely everyone on the SMP, every POV of every event. I have been watching every POV for 7 months, so I'm not new either

-Im not a Tommy apologist it's just fun to use the word. I dont defend his every action or think he's done nothing wrong. I just like correcting common misinformation about stuff he has/hasnt done and talking about his POV to hopefully help people realise he's not the spawn of Satan people think he is

-When I make an analysis, critical or just general post I am not looking for an argument so please dont be condescending and rude in my replies if you dont like my opinion

-Since I've been borderline accused of ableism twice now, once for something that I literally didn't say / refuted and twice for accusing Wilbur of doing a Bad Thing during his literal corruption arc I'd like to point out I'm neurodivergent and I literally cannot live my life properly please dont accuse me of ableism over Minecraft roleplay its actually quite offensive thank you!

-I dont think c!Techno, Phil, Jack or Niki are villains or irredeemable I literally just think their actions arent justified regardless of what theyve been though. That's it

-I dont think The Butcher Army are entirely in the right just because I dont think Techno is entirely in the right. The situation isnt black and white

-I dont hate you specifically because I'm ctitical of your favourite character. You're not being attacked. I promise I probably dont know you exist. I'm not forcing you to share my opinions or saying you cant like a character

-The posts are all for fun. If I was genuinely annoyed I'd step back. I dont care if you're a casual viewer, my posts are for other people who post similar critical and analysis stuff to me. I'm not critical of the story, I just like talking about who I think is in the right/wrong/Inbetween. I will love every plot point they throw at me because I love the story in general regardless of what I think about the characters

I will add to this as time goes on

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

so this morning, while scrolling through my fb feed, i came across an nyt opinion/advice piece from a 27yo (ie basically me lmao) who is obviously lucky, in a sense, to finally land their “dream job using my (their) skills” etc. like obvs i can’t read it bc of the stupid “you get one free article a month if you either don’t have an account or subscription” (my one free article was used up reading an article about adult adhd like last week)….. thing that nyt does.

but anyway. back on topic lol. the crux of the article in both the headline and the quote snippet was that the advice asker was really dissatisfied with the 40 hour work week that came with her “dream job”. with how having this 40hr workweek gave her no time to do her busy chores like house cleaning or laundry or didn’t even give her time to let her have her hobbies/creative pursuits (whatever they were/are).

however, in the comments on the article (and apparently from those who read the article on the comments, the advice/opinion column writer) a good bunch of like gen Xer’s and baby boomers (im assuming) were ganging up on the asker like “suck it up princess, it’s what life is!!! i work 70+ hours a week and LOVE IT and have just resigned myself to the fact that i have NO time left over to do my “chores”! learn to O U T S O U R C E these life admin tasks to someone else!!! everyone MUST LEARN this in america!!! it makes life so much easier ☺️” and such.

of course, there were plenty of the same bs comments that you see on anything about careers or home ownership towards millennials/gen Z’ers about “learn to go WITHOUT and save save save and squander your time so that you NEVER live and HAVE FUN or TIME FOR HOBBIES! my bet is that your parents did that and they survived just fine while also raising your ungrateful spiteful ass (not including any type of health issues they might have picked up from such long hours/shitty working conditions) so why can’t you just L E A R N to do the same you precious spoilt brat!!! because the reality of Real Life™️ is that you can’t have it both ways!!! then you’ll have early retirement guaranteed, hopefully!!! and know that hobbies really are time wasters most of the time ☺️ or at least they were for me!!! and your precious so-called “creative pursuits” most definitely are time wasters. no one needs THOSE.” and so on so forth.

they also had jibes for her bc the asker wanted to start a family at some point apparently… and apparently it’s “much worse” once you have kids. like. thanks geraldine and henry. you’ve just told us how much you’ve resented having your kids/family in one fell swoop. your opinion which you’ve framed as unhelpful, condescending advice is now voided.

like. i don’t know how rhonda or paul or deandra or philip could miss the point so fucking entirely. why the fuck should anyone- nay everyone (bc that’s what they make it sound like)- learn to outsource their busy chores like laundry/house cleaning/grocery shopping or god knows what else- to someone else???? why is that apparently a standard expected to be learnt in the US???

like why the fuck are you so desperate for people not to have free time to do these things (unless of course they live in some of those shitty nyc or other big city apartment blocks that don’t come with individual private laundries in the self-contained flats or a communal laundry on like the bottom floor or w/e for example) frank????

deidre why the hell are you so bitterly hankering about “be grateful that you have it easier than most and learn that hobbies mean jackshit and just sell your soul and time to your boss!!! when will the generation stopping being “me me me!!!” and “work life balance!” and think about the company’s bottom line!! learn that “work life balance” is never important! work like a slave for 50 years and see if your valuable experience is needed then! that’s when you’ll learn that those hours where you were never being lazy, instead of just expecting life to be handed to you, will have paid off!” or whatever other ridiculously toxic capitalist bullshit they were spitting out.

obviously there were FAR MORE people actually supporting the question asker and echoing the idea that the 40hr workweek is now redundant. they were also putting down the opinion/advice piece writer’s advice to the asker….. that was apparently similar to the all the bitter people on the comments saying that the 27yo was just “asking for too much” and had to “learn to suck it up instead of being a petulant and overly selfish dick!!” etc etc etc. we all know the spiel as thoroughly as the macarena now.

because whats so fucking wrong with wanting time to yourself and wanting time to do your busy chores??? why the fuck should i be outsourcing these to other people (unless of course you’re still living at home and your parents are still like “hey what clothes do you need washed i’m doing a load rn” or you have a partner that works from home or has some type of parental leave etc)???? i want to do my own laundry. i want to do my own gardening (ok lawn mowing or tree lopping (if needed) i’d actually outsource bc i can’t lift or push lawn mowers bc they’re heavy af for me or and i obvs can’t use a chainsaw)… but i want to do my own grocery shopping. i want to do my own cooking (although i would consider the meal kit services once i had job that allowed me to afford like $50 a month for one of those meal kits sub services) i want to do my own cleaning.

why, if i lived in the US and not australia, am i just expected to learn to outsource all of these tasks even if i don’t have the money for it??? like why the actual fuck are so many of you so fucking weirdly proud of being absolutely worked into the fucking ground for your “great country” (although this is actually bleeding through to australia too and i hate it); working like literally close to 100 hours a week???

because i wasn’t aware you had to be whatever the fuck his name is from 127 hours and cut your fucking limbs off just to fucking survive a job in either corporate america or just let alone any goddamned job in america….. all so they can supposedly “learn to like working for free and devaluing your worth even more to your employer through overworking yourself and always being available!!! mental health is for those who aren’t built for the Real Adult World™️!!! this person is a prime example of the younger generations being weak and dissatisfied with life so often because of their “oh poor little me!!! care for me!!” act. NO ONE CARES FOR YOU today. stop being so over-expectant/demanding and juvenile!!! only YOU care yourself and you should NEVER expect someone else to pick you up from YOUR bootstraps!!! you’re fucking whiny and conceited babies. the lot of you!!!”

because i honestly don’t know who the fuck would enjoy working 70+ hours week with no time to themselves to do what they enjoy doing…. or enjoy having zilch time to catch up on errands and life admin duties or just general house chores; especially if you’ve moved cities or an entire fucking state/s away from your family and support network. let alone doing the same thing on 40 hours a week.

and on top of everything, let’s not even get started on the time spent commuting to and from work or even commuting for life errands/tasks etc etc- especially if you’re like me and you’re nowhere near the capital city’s centre (ie sydney australia for me) for there to be reliable enough public transport and longer commute times to certain places in those cities (that i’ve bitched about plenty before on other posts on here about work/jobs).

get your head out of your asses warren and viola et al and realise that work life balance is literally NOT ASKING FOR MUCH and is asking employers to just have basic respect for their employees time if they work fulltime. it’s literally detrimental to ones health if they have to sacrifice what feels like (or what is literally like) their entire fucking existence to their employer just for meagre pay and just to fucking survive.

because i read a heart-breaking article last night from huffpost (posted by buzzfeed on fb) about a woman in the US who literally hid her having a second baby from her employer for an entire fucking year (literally the entire pregnancy and birth of the baby and the first 6 months post pushing the baby out) during the pandemic all because she was scared she would get demoted or lose her leading of a project and lose her bs “temp” job which had really turned into full time work although the employer never said anything about it being actually full time hours or whatever…. and plus the lady herself was apparently to scared to ask to be put on the books fulltime too for some weird reason.

like honestly. fuck capitalism. fuck thinking that “work life balance is just too hard for employers to add and regulate. it’s an excuse and ploy for workers to be unprofessional, unproductive and lazy!” or whatever the fuck. everyone deserves time to themselves to pursue their interests/hobbies and busy chores/life admin. no one deserves to waste their entire life working 70+ work weeks for those employers who literally have no respect for their employees personal lives and time.

and particularly during the time that is the pandemic as we’ve seen so many companies having to learn to wholeheartedly embrace working from home and more flexible schedules for their workers. worklife balance is absolutely fucking beneficial for everyone involved.

america fix your bullshit work ethic right now lmao.

[burnpygmalion]

hm yknow what im ok with the mercy changes now

[skullrock]

the partners, chapter four - Steve x Reader

chapter four: heaven knows I'm miserable now

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff]

chapter summary: You and Steve tip toe around your feelings; You find evidence that might link Chief to the death.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, pining

word count: 4k (oof!)

a/n: here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. would love to give the biggest possible shout out to @comedy-witch who helped me go through this entire plot line and find the essence of the story!!! em is the best and im love her. I hope you folks enjoy this chapter!

------

“And so Tommy was like –“ You make a stupid face. “’Oh, look who it is!’ And Steve was like –“ You make an exaggerated frown. “’Oh, hello!’”

“That’s not what I said,” Steve laughs.

“Um, I think I’d know, I was there,” you respond, then continue. “And so Tommy was like, calling me a slut, and – oh, and Carol touched Steve’s hair – and then Tommy got really close to Steve—”

“And Y/N shoved him away, and I tried to stop her, I did –”

“Yeah, but I was really mad, and then Tommy called Steve a fuck up, and that really made me mad, and so I took the lid off my slushie and I went –“ You mimic pouring the slushie over Steve’s head, and he makes a shocked face. “And then I was like –“ You grab Steve’s arm and twist it behind him, gently enough so it doesn’t hurt him.

“Holy shit,” Mike says, leaning forward.

“You did that to Tommy?!” Lucas says in disbelief.

“Oh, that’s not even the craziest part,” Steve says. “Then she was like, ‘Tommy, if I hear you say Steve’s name one more time, I’ll kill you,’ and then, she was like - “ he turns to you, intending on reenacting when you kissed Tommy’s nose, but decides against it. “And then she kissed his nose!”

“No way!” a few of the kids gasp in unison.

“It’s true, I was there,” you repeat.

“It was so badass,” Steve says. “I thought she was just gonna tell him to tuck his shirt in or something –”

“Steve, when have I ever –”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he says, and you slap his shoulder.

“And you didn’t get in trouble?” Will asks nervously.

“Not yet, hopefully never,” you respond.

“Tommy’s got a thing against girls standing up to him, he won’t say shit.” Steve assures.

Your watch starts beeping – it’s 10 pm. You have a shift in the morning, while Steve gets the day off.

“I’ve gotta run, guys,” you say, grabbing your jacket.

“Don’t beat someone up while you’re at it,” Max jokes, and you roll your eyes.

While talking to everyone, you didn’t notice Robin standing in the corner, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. Her eyes narrow even more as Steve grabs your arm when you try to go, telling you to be careful. She watches as your face flushes and your hand tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.

You walk out to your car, and Robin bounds up behind you. “Y/N!”

“Oh, hey,” you say, as if it’s the first time you saw her all night. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she asks, scoffing. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” you ask, laughing nervously.

“Are you kidding? Y/N, when have you ever been physical with someone for someone else?”

You shrug. “I’m emotional.”

Robin laughs. “Well, sure, but you’ve never been outright violent.” She narrows her eyes again. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

She laughs in disbelief. “You’ve got it bad for Harrington!”

“No, I don’t!” you defend, but your face turns red and your eyes shift over to the right. “We’re just friends.”

Robin sighs. She reaches out for you and pulls you into an embrace, which you return happily. She pulls back, placing her hands firmly on your shoulders. “You need to be careful with him.”

You furrow your brows and open your mouth to question it, but she cuts you off.

“Steve has completely shut down after last year,” she explains. “And I’m very happy he’s letting you in, he must think you’re really special to have done that…. But he’s definitely not ready for any type of relationship. I’m worried you’re going to fall for him, and not be able to have him. You both deserve to be happy – I don’t want this to end badly for you guys.”

“Robin,” you say, irritated. “I’m not catching feelings.”

She rolls her eyes at first, but her expression softens. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “Robin, I promise.”

She bites her lip and starts to smile. “You would be cute together, though.”

You blush, smiling, but quickly shake your head. “I’m not into him, Robin. I promise.”

Robin clicks her tongue. “If you do get into him, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

=====

The next time you patrol with Steve, you are acutely aware of just how much Robin was right.

Every time Steve would smile, you’d notice how cutely his nose would crinkle. You got goosebumps when he would laugh, and you found yourself laughing at almost everything he said. One time, his forehead creased, and you reached out to smooth it, stopping yourself just in time.

Keep it together, idiot, you tell yourself, diverting your hand to act like you’re rubbing a crumb off of Steve’s shirt.

“What do you think about the Chief?” Steve asks suddenly, making your brows furrow.

“I mean, we’ve agreed he’s pretty odd,” you say. “I don’t have much of an opinion beyond that. Like, he taught me everything I know – how to shoot, how to detain… how to bully guys from high school.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, and you laugh. “What’s your latest problem with him?”

He continues to bite his cheek, and you wait for an answer. Finally, he talks. “Before you got to the scene last week, it was just me and Chief…. Well, those weird government guys were there, too. And… I don’t know. Chief was being really condescending, and he kept deflecting me when I said I thought it was something worse than a suicide. He seems pretty hell-bent on not letting either of us around this investigation, too. I don’t think that’s what we signed up for, do you?”

You shake your head. “I think it’s weird, too. They won’t even let us look at the photographs.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Right. Something really doesn’t seem right with this. And don’t you think it’s weird that he was first on the scene? It’s usually the lower level people who respond first.”

“Damn,” you say, leaning back. “You’re right.”

“I know,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “Something’s up.”

At that moment, a car goes down the road. It wouldn’t be odd, except it was irrefutably Chief’s yellow ’67 Corvette. Your brows furrow and you lean forward. Chief never comes to this side of town – he lives on the outskirts on the very opposite side. You don’t even have to tell Steve your thoughts; he’s right there with you. He quickly puts the car in drive and begins to follow him from a distance.

“We really keep having these coincidences, huh?” you ask. “First Tommy, now Chief.”

“I think he’s heading towards the Source,” Steve breathes.

“The source?” you ask.

“I mean – the crime scene,” he corrects quickly, licking his lips. “You know – the source of the crime.”

That statement doesn’t sit right with you, but you don’t question it.

You follow Chief all the way to the west side of town, on the very outskirts. You watch as he pulls down a side road, and Steve takes another one, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. Your anxiety continues to grow, as does Steve’s, and you notice his jaw clenched tightly.

“Steve, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you say.

“Sorry,” he says, absentmindedly, and unclenches his jaw only slightly.

Steve’s confused. He thought Chief was going to Rimborn, but now they’re on the other side of town. Nothing makes sense, but he thinks something is about to happen. He’s not going to give up now.

A bright building illuminates the end of the road, surrounded by thick woods. A neon sign reading Bartini hangs off of it. Chief’s car pulls up to the front, and Steve continues down the road a ways before pulling over. You both whip around, Steve grabbing a pair of binoculars off the floor.

“Bartini?” you ask. “That’s lame.”

Steve shushes you, and you scoff. “Do you think you can hear them from he—”

“Shh!”

You both watch as Chief gets out of his car. He goes into the bar through a side entrance instead of the front. The side door is guarded by two tall people – Steve thinks they look an awful lot like the government men from the other night. He watches as Chief flashes something – it’s too dark to tell what – and Chief enters the building.

“What’s happening?” you whisper.

“He went inside,” Steve whispers back.

“Riveting,” you reply.

Steve turns back around in his seating, letting out a sigh. He brings the binoculars to his lap. You see that same thoughtfulness from earlier. You again wait for him to speak.

“I know it sounds weird. I know it does. But something bad is happening. I want to get to the bottom of this. I wish I could explain this to you, but I can’t. And I really need you to believe me on this.” There’s a desperation in his voice that you haven’t yet heard. It makes your heart hurt.

“I trust you,” you say, despite being confused as all hell internally.

And you mean it. You would trust him with your life. Even though his vagueness and attitude are a bit annoying and frustrating, you believe his judgement. You can see in his eyes that he’s not messing around.

“You’re my partner, remember?” you add. “I’m in this with you. I believe you.”

Steve sighs, looking at you gratefully. “We’ve got some sleuthing to do.”

=====

The next few days at the station are spent sneaking around. You both would wait until Chief went to lunch or to a meeting before raiding the office, trying to find anything to work with. You both knew most of the evidence for the case was in the evidence room – ironically, made from Hop’s old office, despite your protests – and that room was under strict lock and key.

While you tried to find things from the investigation, Steve researched building permits for the town at Town Hall. He finds the one for Starcourt Mall and sets it aside. He feels disgust churn in his stomach as he reads Mayor Kline’s signature, signing off on making a capitalist nightmare that nearly killed him and his friends a year ago. A pang of guilt runs through him. He shouldn’t have added you to this mess. If his hunch is right, you could be in serious danger. But he swallows the feeling, knowing he needs your support and help more than anything right now.

Not long after finding the records for Starcourt, he finds the records for Bartini. Steve’s heart races as he reads – Bartini was proposed the same day as Starcourt, built by the same company, and also signed off by Mayor Kline. Steve shakes his head, mumbling a “you son of a bitch,” and jumps up from his seat with the records in hand. He wants to believe that the government wasn’t that stupid, that they had realized this coincidence and checked it out. But the other part of him remembers the atrocities of the lab and thinks maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all.

At the same time, you find scans of the photographs from the crime scene. They’re shoved haphazardly into an empty drawer in the main office, and you truly can’t believe your luck. You scan through them carefully for any clues, and you strike gold. In a photograph of the back of the body, you notice a napkin sticking out from the man’s pocket. You grab a magnifying glass and look further – an illustration of a martini glass with an olive inside is printed on it in red ink. The emblem looks familiar, and you think for a moment before realizing it’s the same emblem that was on the Bartini sign.

You jump up and at the same moment, Steve walks in. He looks equally ecstatic and like he’s seen a ghost. He holds up the files with a small smile and settles at his desk. You run over and stand beside his chair as he pulls them out.

“This one is for Starcourt,” he says, placing it down. You scan it over and nod at him.

“And this one is for Bartini.” He places them side by side, and while you notice the similarities, you’re still confused.

“If Starcourt just caught on fire, then why does it matter if they are related?” you ask. “I mean, I know Kline was a crook, but what’s the connection?”

Steve curses under his breath. He forgot you didn’t know the whole story. He briefly considers telling you at least some parts but decides against it. You’d already agreed that you would take the information you were given, and you can’t break that agreement now.

“Just trust me on this,” he says slowly. “I think there’s a connection here.”

“I mean, alright,” you say, also slow. “I do have something that may reinforce your theory.”

You show him the photograph and explain the emblem on the napkin. Steve’s eyes widen and he grabs you, spinning you around. Your heart leaps and races as you laugh. He puts you down, beaming. He still holds on to your arms though, and his warm palms are all you can think about at the current moment.

For a fleeting moment, Steve’s stomach flips, thinking of how beautiful you look when you’re happy. But he pushes those thoughts to the side with an anxious pang in his gut.

“This is it!” he cheers. “This proves it. The bar is involved.”

“Bet you’re happy you let me help, huh?” you ask.

“You’re wonderful,” he says. “I knew I could count on you.”

You feel yourself blush, so you quickly pull away, walking towards your desk. “Do you think the napkin would be in the evidence room?” you ask, looking anywhere but at him.

“Most likely,” he says. “And I know just the way to get in.”

=====

Steve’s idea was admittedly pretty stupid, and a little rude, too.

His plan was simple – flirt with Veronica, who has the key, get her to go in to find the napkin, and bring it to him.

“Veronica’s not an idiot,” you say. Something about the plan makes you feel sick, but you push it down - again. “She’s not going to just waltz in and steal evidence for you.”

“You underestimate my charm,” he says. He’s looking into a mirror in the annex and fixing his hair.

“We don’t need the napkin,” you say.

“Oh, but we do,” he replies. “Chief went to that bar last night, remember?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t have a memory problem like you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Chief. The bar. Starcourt. Body. Chief goes into a private entrance at the bar – that implies that he is some sort of VIP, right? The bar’s emblem is on the dead person’s body. The bar was made at the same time as Starcourt. Chief probably has something to do with the bar, Starcourt, and the body. He doesn’t want to be caught, so he takes evidence and destroys it. We need to get that napkin before he does.”

The feeling of dread and uncertainty permanently attaches itself to your stomach, and you feel nauseous. “What if you’re wrong? What if Chief isn’t involved?”

He turns around from the mirror to look at you. He did fix his hair up pretty nicely – the handsomeness he exudes sidetracks you for a brief moment.

“Don’t you think he is involved?” he asks.

“I mean, I guess, but Steve, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here,” you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “And if we get caught, we’re done for.”

“We’ve been living on the edge for a while now, Y/N.”

“Patrolling on our own is completely different from breaking into the evidence room and stealing evidence.”

Steve sighs. He walks over to you, taking you in his arms again. “Don’t you trust me?”

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. It feels good to be in his arms. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Steve.”

“Do you think so?” he says cheekily, flashing a smile. It’s enough to make your knees weak.

Still, you force yourself out of his grip. “I’m sure Veronica will think so.”

You both go out to the reception desk, meeting with Veronica. Veronica was usually a pretty quiet gal, but when she saw Steve, she could not stop talking. He flashes her the same smile he just flashed you, and your heart equally leaps and sinks.

“Veronica,” he purrs. “What’s been up, doll?” Steve admittedly does not really remember how to flirt with women, but is trying to channel his high school self as best as he can right now.

You scrunch your nose in disgust – doll? – but quickly go back to being pokerfaced.

“Ugh, it’s been so busy today, oh my god. First Chief has a ton of meetings, then Callahan isn’t here, so I have no one to talk to, and did you see what happened on 8th and Oak this morning? What a wreck, probably going to take a while to –”

“Veronica,” Steve interrupts sweetly. “Can I ask you a favor?”

She smiles brightly. “What can I do for you?”

Steve pauses – he didn’t think this far ahead. He looks back at you with his mouth slightly open, then back at Veronica, smiling cockily again. “Any chance you could grab something from the evidence room for me?”

Now you know why this display is sickening to you. Steve’s treating her like a pawn to help him excel in his mission, and it kind of feels like he’s doing the same to you. You remember what Robin said – how he isn’t going to catch feelings – and the impact of those words settle in your stomach like a rock. You are no different from Veronica; just a girl helplessly infatuated with a boy who will never reciprocate, wanting to help him as much as you could in the hopes that maybe he would like you back. These thoughts pull you from the situation unraveling, and you don’t even notice Veronica skipping off.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, bumping into you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” you say after a pause.

“I got her to go in,” he says.

You force a tight-lipped smile, and his falters. “What’s wrong?”

You bite your tongue, afraid to speak. Is it even worth it to bring it up? Would it give your feelings away? But you decide to do it anyway, because ragging on each other is kind of your brand.

“Just seems kind of mean,” you say slowly.

“What does?”

“Using Veronica to get shit done for you.”

His brows furrow and he shakes his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Steve, she’s like, in love with you,” you say nervously, “and you’re using her to break into the evidence room. She could get fired for that, man.”

Realization dawns on Steve’s face, and he looks disappointed with himself. His epiphany calms you, because at least he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

Either that, or he’s just a really good actor.

“I didn’t think of it like that,” he whispers, eyes downcast.

“Yeah,” you say. “Maybe you should reexamine your relationships with wo—”

“Stevie,” Vanessa calls as she walks out of the evidence room.

Steve spins around on his heals, dashing smile plastered on his face again. “Yes, sweetheart?”

It infuriates you that he goes back into this bullshit façade, but you decide to question him on it when you aren’t in front of Veronica.

“No napkins are in there,” she says.

Steve furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“No napkins,” she repeats. “Nothing that even looks like a napkin, actually.”

Steve stills and your mouth falls open. Someone did tamper with the evidence.

“Oh, well, thanks, Roni!” he says quickly, and pulls you back to the annex, leaving a confused but happy Veronica in your wake.

He shuts and locks the door and starts to pace.

“Holy shit,” you say, stunned.

“We’ve got to go in there,” he says, voice wavering.

“Into the evidence room?”

“No, no, the bar,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair – a nervous tick you’d picked up on – and he taps his fingers against his crossed arms. “Chief took the napkin, I know it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

You swallow, hard. “And what are we supposed to do there?”

“Get to the bottom of this,” he says. “Find out what Chief goes for, see if there is anything up with it. Try to find out what the connection is, who owns it, who runs it.”

“We’re underage,” you point out, and he deflates. You sigh and add, “But I know a guy.”

Steve spins around. “A guy?”

You sigh again and pull out your wallet. You hand an ID over to him – it’s a fake. Steve looks between it, back at you, then back down at it, mouth open. “You have a fake ID?”

“How else was I supposed to drink when I was at school?”

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

“Does it matter?” you snap, snatching it back. “Look, if we are going in, we have to be disguised to the max. I’m talking wigs and an entire wardrobe change. We cannot be found out, because if Chief finds us, underaged in this bar, we are getting kicked into the sun.”

“Or he could get his Russian cronies to kill us,” he mumbles. His eyes widen and he looks like he regrets it immediately.

You know it’s against the rules to push, but you do it anyway, because how the fuck can you be quiet after that? “Russians?”

“I said – I said he would be rushing – rushing to get cronies to kill us.” He laughs sharply. “Uh, damn Y/N, get your hearing checked.”

You narrow your eyes. “If you don’t explain this shit and stop gaslighting me in five seconds, I’m out.”

Steve grabs your hands and pulls you towards him. This is getting ridiculous, you think, as your heart yet again goes crazy over his touch. You look away from him, but he softly says your name, so you look back. You see sincerity in his eyes, and he looks solemn.

“I promise when this is over, I’ll explain everything,” he says. “But I can’t tell you until I know you’re safe.”

“Oh, like you care about me,” you say. You try to smile through it – like it’s a joke - but it’s still a bit painful.

Steve’s brows furrow and his face goes soft. “I’m not trying to use you or Veronica. What I did with Veronica – that was stupid, and you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. But I really do need your help. I’m not telling you things because they can really hurt you. I should never have let you in on this anyway, but I need you. You keep me going, Y/N. You’re….”

He trails off as he takes your face in. The innocence in your eyes, the rosiness in your cheeks, your widened pupils. How beautiful you are throws him off guard again, and he swallows hard, recovering and pushing past his anxiety and attraction. Being with you is simply not an option, and he feels foolish for even having the fleeting thought.

“You’re my best friend,” he finishes. “I couldn’t do this without you. Honest.”

You stare at his chest for a moment before smiling. “I thought Dustin was your best friend?”

“Oh, I forgot about Dustin. You’re right, he’s my best friend.”

You both laugh and the tension dissipates. You sigh and look back up at him. “Saturday night, we go in.”

Steve steps back and offers you his hand, and you shake on it, but you can’t help to notice how nervous his eyes look.

=====

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[fizzingwizard]

;______; just heard that from September we’re gonna have three students in our cluster who are under 1 year old... (5 in the school total)

aaahhh im exhausted just thinking about it

and whats crazy is in one of the classes with under 1 yos there is a kid who is between 1-2 yo and she cannot walk yet. We have been trying to help her learn and have begun wondering if there is some reason beyond her mother just didn’t really encourage her to walk before. (Like maybe she needs leg braces etc.) So far no news on that but this kid only drags her feet around, obviously she needs constant help, and there are 12 other kids in the class, two of whom are under 1 and three teachers, HOW are they supposed to do it???

and the class that will have three under 1s has two first year teachers in it, that makes me so nervous... They’re both awesome coworkers, this is no shade on them, but under 1s can be TOUGH, it’s SO easy for them to get hurt. idk it feels like an accident waiting to happen.

i’ve been at schools where 5 students was an entire class, if we’re gonna have this many under 1s we should just have a class for them, come on! I love them but they are twice the work of kids on year older than them.

Also the recommended teacher-student ration for 1-3 yos is 1:6, which we abide by, but I believe it’s actually 1:3 or 1:4 when the kids are belong 18/12 mos. Apparently the head office does not care.

These kids are not in my class, I currently teach 2-3s, however I am a long care teacher and I look after them during morning and after care. I do their nap and their snack and play time supervision etc. From 10-2 they’re part of their class, but the rest of the day they belong to all of us.

More work ranting under the cut because I guess I just need to vent to the air.

And we have a LOT of students now - two clusters of going on 30 in each, in very small classrooms where the teachers are expected to watch them like a hawk AND keep constantly busy with numerous tasks at the same time.

Plus our prep time has been cut down this year despite additional work getting put on us, and we have no extra help.

If one teacher is out sick, no one gets prep time.

Don’t remember if I whined about this before, but a month or so ago we had a meeting in which the leader said “If you find you don’t have enough prep time, that’s on you to manage your time better.” It was super condescending and annoying. I’m like, dude, my contract says I get 1 hour prep and 1 hour break. We never ever EVER get the full two hours (and I should mention this is never consecutive, it’s 15 min here, 30 min there, 1 full hour if you’re really lucky). It’s usually at most 1 hr 45. But a 30 min break is fine! I’d love to take a 30 min break. Almost never do. Way too busy.

Like, I won’t get into it, but the laundry list of Stuff To Do recently has been ENORMOUS. In my class, I have 19 students. One of my co-teachers is part time, meaning she’s not around to help during much of prep time, and the other is a leader meaning she’s constantly in meetings or doing leader assignments. They are both fantastic co-workers, but yeah, this means I do ALL the class stuff. I prepare all the crafts, I do a ton of the organizing, and I’m often the only teacher from my class available in the afternoons because part-time teacher went home and leader teacher is in a meeting. So I end up with a lot of the after care stuff.

We have to hand out these big projects that teachers are responsible for preparing for each student on 8/16. We know these are coming and prep for them as soon as possible, but like, I won’t get into this either lol, but it’s so hard. It’s time-consuming by itself, and made worse because all the school computers are crap (like takes-15-min-to-start, another 10 to open the browser, 5 to go to the website, then it freezes, then 5 more, another freeze, etc) and like you have 15 min break time hahahahaha.

I wanted to get such a head start that I just started doing what I could back in the beginning of the year but we lit can’t do the bulk of the work until a certain kind of envelope is delivered and that doesn’t come till summer for some stupid reason. Soooo our long prep days in April when there are no kids around... can we use those to prep for this project? Heck no!

Anyway. This year’s is due on 8/16. This coming week we are off for obon break. This year also, the company is doing the project slightly differently. Instead of staggering what class gives out their projects to their students when, we all have to do it at once. We are our company’s biggest school, sooo my honest thought is no one at the head office thought about us when they made this change. The other schools don’t have to stagger anyway, they have at most two classes. We have four.

So this means everyone is printing their projects at the same time. For one student, you need 10 sheets on A3 paper. For my class of 19, that is 190 sheets of paper. For four classes, we’re over 700 sheets total. THAT IS A LOT OF PAPER.

So I get to work this morning and boss says “Yeah so we’re out of A3 paper.”

!!!

IT’S DUE MONDAY.

There was a little bit left so I just charged and printed as much of my stuff as I could in the morning before anyone else could. Then, miraculously, another packet of A3 paper appeared out of nowhere, and we were able to print most of the rest of our students’ projects. (My coworker who is a leader has not printed hers yet because she is super busy and isn’t finished. Again, she’s an awesome coworker, I wish I could have helped her more, but uh, I’m also swamped and not taking breaks, so. Hopefully she can do it before we really do run out of A3 paper.)

Getting more paper is no big deal, it’s just that no one has the time, and this is due Monday.

So I was super stressed. Sooooo super stressed for such a dumbbbb reason. And I don’t understand why these projects have to go out on Monday anyway. Some kids don’t even come to school on Mondays. Like. Just make sure they get them next week, isn’t that good enough?? Why make us stress and panic.

Everyone else seemed fine though, I was the only one tearing my hair out because I’m the type who finishes everything a day early so I have a day to check it over... I am not spontaneous and I hate to rush...

I lit told my coworkers, because regardless of the paper situation we are still behind because we have not had any time to organize the projects, that I will just stay late tomorrow to do it. It’s the Friday before a break so I don’t mind too much. I am really tired tho and would of course rather just go home and sleep but. I’ve done this before. Finishing up this project will take 1.5 hours - 2 hours at the current state it’s in, IF I can just sit down and do it uninterrupted. (Have I mentioned these projects are HEAVY?? And there’s 19 of them?? It’s a big job just to take them out and start putting them together >.<)

So tomorrow evening that is what I will likely be doing -.-;

There are INNUMERABLE other STUPID parts of this project - the idea behind it is great, but the way we are required to make it is absolutely bonkers and desperately needs a revamp but does anyone listen to a preschool teacher? heck no lol

uggh.

I feel better after venting tho.

I like my job, I just wish humans in general gave a shit, not even about quality of life (since obvs that’s expecting too much lol, also as a person with privilege I’m aware I’ve already got it pretty darn good), but just about not making jobs that are ridiculous. Just plan them out better, sheesh. There’s no reason for all this running around. The projects don’t need to be printed. Or they don’t need to be so huge. They don’t need all this fuss and nonsense. They are a good idea, but we could do them in a way that would be sooo much less stressful.

(The funniest part of all being, it’s a project for the parents mainly, and the parents... don’t like it x’D No they really don’t. They are happy to have the project, but first they’ve got to get it home, and it is HUGE and HEAVY and UNWIELDY lmao. And some of them are carrying twin 2 year olds and both of their futons home as well, and we’re like “here you go, two giant projects for you to take home!” And the parents are like “thanks????”)

[kiss-me-kira]

2 Encounter w/ Kira

just second meeting nothing really exciting

cut for length 

The beach was lovely today. The Morioh sun was warm and the breeze was brisk. Maybe a little too swift because it kept blowing my hair in my face, but all in all it was very enjoyable. I had found a nice little cove downhill from some wild looking orchard. It was quiet and peaceful, so I brought out my sketchbook and some books to read. 

My sketchbook wasn’t working well with me, the pages were too big and kept swallowing up my doodles. So I switched to my pocket sketchbook and was working on a rough sketch of the sea and horizon line when my hands refused to do what I told them. So I took a pause and decided to rest my eyes. I laid back in the sand and pulled my arm across my eyes to block out the sun for just a few minutes. 

“This is private property you know.” I shot up, there was someone immediately behind me. I jumped when there wasn’t anyone there, but I heard rustling in  the trees so I looked a bit up and there he was. 

“I-Im so sorry is this your house?” He looked so familiar but I couldn't quite remember who he was. Surely I wouldn't forget such a handsome face. 

He exhaled sharply, as if that was his version of a laugh, and hopped down from the orchard’s embankment down onto the beach just a few steps away from me. Something told me he was so familiar, but it was on the tip of my tongue, as if he had just walked out from a dream. 

“No, it's not mine. But you shouldn’t be here.” His face showed no effect, but his voice seemed jovial? Was he teasing me? Was this some sort of inside joke I should remember? 

“Im sorry, I'll leave right now.” I gathered my things, not like I had many of them, but when I saw the book I remembered. He was like a dream, or at least I had thought he was at the time, but he was Dr. Holly Joestar-Kira’s son. 

“You’re Kira.” that came out sounding more like an accusation than I intended but it served its purpose. 

“Kira Yoshikage. And you are?” He extended his hand, his long delicate fingers hanging there waiting for mine. Oh god I hope he didn't see me staring, I scurried to move my things to my left arm and meet his hand in a shake. 

“Constantin. Nice to actually meet you.” Because coming into my room when I was fairly certain you were a fever dream really doesn't count.

 His skin was so soft, but his handshake was firm. I couldn't help but think of all the things he could do with those hands. Maybe he was a violinist, or a pianist, or perhaps a painter or sketcher. Ugh I bet those hands would feel even better under my dress or around my neck… Oh god that is not a good road to go down when he's right in front of you Constantin. 

In an ill attempt to quash those thoughts I nodded to him and turned to go back the way I came this was about as good a time as any to duck out. Which i probably should have done as soon as he mentioned that I was trespassing on private property. 

I turned and started walking down the beach towards the way I came. 

“Wrong way.” I turned around to see him standing there in an odd little pose with his hips cocked to the side and his arms crossed. 

“It's the way I came.” No response. 

“Well then show me the proper way.” If he was going to be short and curt I could easily do the same. He spun on his heel and started walking away. I guess I'm supposed to follow him? Of course the beautiful man who fell from the sky would not be talkative. There was no way I could completely hold a conversation on my own, at best I can reflect the energy that the other person puts in and he was not doing much of anything. 

“Like the Roman Emperor?” He asked, quirking up his eyebrow. Well that was surprising. 

“Yes yes, the one who moved the capital to Byzantium and converted to Chirstianity. My family is Italian and big on history.” It was usual to have this conversation with new people. It's not exactly a common name so I figure i have to justify it a bit. 

“It's an interesting name.” Was apparently all he could think of as a response. 

“Hm so I’ve heard.” Many times. God im so fucking awkward what the hell am I supposed to talk about when Im being escorted off of someone elese’s property? 

Kira led me down the beach for a few more meters then gestured up a small slope. I scrambled to the top, with him a few steps behind me, and tried to regain my bearings. Sure this was only a few hundred meters down the shore from where I was but nothing looked familiar. I didn’t even see a road nearby, just a tree leaning dangerously over the wall eyes. I shuddered remembering fainting there a few days ago. Drat, I would have to ask him for directions. I steeled myself up, ready to be met with a cold and partial response but he spoke first. 

“What do you know of Morioh?” What an odd way of phrasing a question. Was he trying to offer me directions? 

“I’ve been here about a week, so all I know is my hotel in the city center, the beach where I just was, the Wall Eyes and the hospital.” Hopefully 

“Which way is the hospital.” The way he phrased it was more like command than a question. And why the fuck was he asking me he lived here. Ugh he's testing me, that condescending little jerk. I flexed my hands so I did not clench them in fists, it was a good thing I had a pretty decent internal GPS. Yeah there was that one time I convinced my family I knew my way around Rome because I studied Latin for 6 years, but as it turned out a lot had changed from the 2000 year old maps I knew. 

“That way,” I pointed confidently over his shoulder and to the left. I was pretty sure that was where I would have ended up if I had left the beach the other way. 

“No.” He said flippantly, as if he’s disappointed I didn’t know better. I stood there like an enraged dead fish, glaring with my mouth hanging open. He was being cold and dismissive yet I still wanted to show off. I cracked the knuckles in my right hand and took a deep breath in I can be a nice person. 

“Would you mind showing me the way?” I asked in my best imitation of a regularly pleasant person. 

Kira blinked in a way that looked affirmative, or I was imagining things, so I followed as he turned around to walk around the wall eyes.

Once I stopped being as embarrassed and afronted, it was a nice walk. We were still close enough to the beach to feel the breeze on my face, and every so often I caught a glimpse of Kira batting his hair out from his eyes. Which as much as I hated to say it, was pretty cute. I couldn't help but want to reach out and brush it out of his face for him. But that would be quite rude and creepy, so I restrained myself. Of course I stole some other glances at him. He walked very purposefully, each step was assured, and he kept a nice rhythmic pace too. 

I cleared my throat, it had been silent for a long time, and now that i was actually calm I didn't want to come off as rude. He had been kind in his own weird little way. 

“Do you live around here?” Hopefully that was friendly and not ‘I'm going to stalk you’... 

“I live by the harbor.” He had slowed a little to match my pace. That was considerate, I think. 

“Ah yes I know where that is.” Shit that was too sarcastic. 

“You do?” He quirked an eyebrow up. 

“No of course not, I already told you all the places I know.” I forced a smile, and an awkward laugh. Please think this was a joke. 

A noise, he madea  weird noise, like a sharp exhale without moving his face.

“Guess you did.” That was a laugh? Maybe? 

“But that does explain-” I gestured loosely to his outfit, “this.” 

“How so?” His voice was lighter, and I could almost hear a smirk in it. But his face still showed no effect. He must be warming up to me.

“You work there, no? On a ship?” 

“Yes,” he looked impressed and I hated how that made me excited, “I do. How did you know?” He couldn't seriously be asking me that right? He was dressed like a 1940’s sailor. He had to know that. 

“Well you either work on a ship or you just learned the yablochko…” I nervously laughed again. Everything is fine. 

“I'm a surgeon.” He said in the lightest tone I’d heard him use yet. But wait, that didn't quite make sense...

“Oh-” 

“On cargo ships.” He clarified.

“Ah…” so he wasn't mocking me, “Oh that's very interesting actually.”  It was so interesting that apparently I hadn’t realized we had made it back into the city. Or the outskirts of it at least. It wasn’t like we had been talking for long, or about much, there was just something about him that stole all my attention. 

But now that I recognized where we were a little, I let my eyes stray. I think he said something, but everything was drowned out by a literal monster in the street in front of us. 

I grabbed Kira by the arm, not so gently jerking him back to keep from walking closer to that thing. It was pink and tall, with odd pointed ears and what looked like armored plating. No one else was paying it any mind on the sidewalk, but I felt my nails digging into his arm and didn't think I remembered how to breathe. 

He was very calm when it turned around to look at us. Kira glanced a few times between me and whatever the hell that was before speaking. 

“Ah, so you can see it now.”

[harrieatthemet]

Signature

in which your sister gets engaged and Harry needs the sheet of paper. 

im baaaaaaaack!

He’s absolutely green with envy.

Riddled, consumed, and enveloped by jealousy. If he wasn’t so good at putting on a show, surely someone would’ve picked up on it by now. But he is; he’s made a career out of it, after all.

His eyes linger modestly on your sister as she sits vertical from him at the table. And he smiles as she gushes about her news, trying his hardest to match her excitement as he cracks a smile.

“It’s beautiful,” you coo, your grin almost as wide as your sisters, “let me see it again.”

Harry stares with adorn as your sister extends her hand across the table, placing her palm to rest in yours for the third time.

Platinum silver. He prefers rose gold but he sees how content your sister is, and decides to compliment her on her fiancées choice in color. He can’t tell quite how many carats it is; 2, maybe 3? Not that it matters. Modest, he thinks, but again it’s his own preference. He likes to be dramatic, but that’s his preference.

He knows asking will only fuel the jealousy even more, but he can’t help but give into curiosity.

He directs his attention to your sisters fiancée, “how did you propose?”

Without even so much as glancing at your sister, he can see from the corner of his eyes the way her eyes light up; almost like she had been waiting all night for someone to ask that very question. Your expression doesn’t lack enthusiasm either, with wide eyes and a child-like grin.

The two of you both sit and listen, your sister fiddling with the new diamond sitting comfortably on her ring finger.

Harry zoned out around the first couple of sentences. And it’s not because he isn’t happy for your younger sister; he’s over the moon. She’s as good as family, if not better, to him. Seeing her happy and engaged makes him feel good, at least, it should.

“M’happy for yeh kiddo,” and Harry means it sincerely, “gonna make a brilliant bride.”

His comment is genuine, even though as he makes it he knows you’d be twice as beautiful in an all white gown. And though the engagement story, for the small amount he was mentally tuned into, was nice he knows he’d propose to you far more creatively.

The mere thought of if makes his throat go all dry, in the best kind of way of course. Butterflies flutter subtly inside his stomach. The lighting in the kitchen is dim enough so no one can ask him why his cheeks haven’t gone a bit pink.

He’s so meticulous, so he knows his proposal would be so well planned. It would play out so nicely; romantic for sure. Private as well, not that it would matter; he’s sure that the occasion, even the gesture itself, would be so intimate it would feel like you and him were the only two people in the world.

“Your next.” 

He feels your sister’s voice almost before he hears it. And his neck cranes back from their brief hug goodbye so she could see the expression on his face; puzzled. 

“M’sorry?”

“You’re next.” the second time she says it is more giddy, her hand subtly raised so she can wiggle. her ring finger before you catch her. 

And even minutes later, as he trails behind you through the front door of the house, he’s still got the image of a sparkly engagement ring ingrained in his head. 

Your hands put the keys in the dish, then they’re twirling the stray piece of hair hanging from your bun. With knitted brows, he watches your hands, your barren ring finger in specific, and imagines a blinding diamond. He imagines how you’d react when he asked; would you cry? Hopefully not, if you cry he will too. 

“Too much wine?”, Your voice is even more melodic in real time than it is inside in his head.

He can peek just over his shoulder in order to get a clear shot of you, nestled comfortably into the sitting room couch. Your shoes are plopped down just at the bottom of the couch, while your feet end up finding relief atop the coffee table he’d just shelled out thousands on. Usually he’d hiss at you, swat your heels off because hello, smudges! But it’s an argument he’s willing to retire for right now; he’s divulged in half a bottle of red and his daydreams have him feeling as though he could walk on water. 

A pat on the open seat beside you is more than enough to lure him from the opposing end of the room, bringing with him that dorky smile. He also makes time to toe off his shoes, sprawling out his body along the couch so his head falls into your lap. 

“Had a nice night,” he sighs contently, letting out the words all in one breath, “never seen y’sister smile f’so long.” 

He lets out another small puff of air, his eyes fluttering closed as he succumbs to bliss. You know he loves this; loves when you run a couple fingers through the tousled pieces of hair at the front of his head. He’e fell asleep right here, in the middle of the living room, if he didn’t have plans to initiate a marital conversation.

“Mmm,” you hum, “me neither, s’good for her. Good for them.” 

“Innit?” and now he’s ready to lead this conversation where he’s been wanting to, “was a bit of a surprise, though, yeah?” 

“A surprise?,” you reiterate, and he modestly looks up at you as a way of agreeing, “Not really, no. It surprised you?” 

“I mean,” he hesitates, “it did a bit, yeah.” 

There’s a brief pause amidst the conversation. You haven’t got a clue as to what he’s eating away at him. Clearly something is; it’s blatantly clear in the way his eyes are cautiously peeking up at you before randomly roaming about the room. And each time he opens his mouth to continue speaking, he promptly shuts it before allowing anything to come out. 

“Gonna tell me why?” and that’s all it takes for him to start blabbing. 

“I just,” he exhales, “dunno, always thought we’d be engaged before her. Hell, thought we’d be married before her.”  

A quick pause from you is enough to send his heart race inside his chest. His eyes are glued to you, blinking barely as he watches you gaze down at your hands tangled in a few strands of his hair. But you shrug. There’s a calm laugh coming from you, too, and he’s not sure whether to be relieved or put off by it. 

“It isn’t a race, you know.” you remind him.

“I know,” he agrees, “I know.” 

“Besides,” you sigh, letting your hand retreat as you ward off sleep, “never really saw us as the marrying type, anyways. 

A once steady breathing pattern has become irrationally ragged as he sits upright, eyes wide as he somehow has rid himself of a wine haze and a bit of a sleep fog. naturally, his eyebrows weave together in curiosity as he tries to play back what you just said to him. 

He doesn’t have enough thinking space to process you’re bewildered reaction. And he doesn’t have enough thinking space to understand what it was that got you to say that. How did this not come up sooner? How did he not know? How were the two of you not. on the same page. 

“Not th’marrying type?” he repeats your comment slowly, word for word. 

As much as he wishes he wasn’t, the longer he stares at you the more anger seems to bubble. The nod of your head as he repeated it made him want to physically crawl out of his skin and disappear. You seem so unbothered. 

“Tell me, than,” and his voice has become more condescending, “what exactly do you ‘see’ us as?”

“Are you mad?” your tone is much smaller now upon getting a look at the grim expression on his face; 

“G’on ‘n answer me.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “comfortable?” 

He sits for a minute longer, clearly a prisoner to his own thoughts. For a couple more minutes, it’s just silent. The dishwasher in the next room is the only thing making noise, until that stops and it’s radio silent in the sitting room. 

Comfortable. Comfortable. It could really mean anything. And in any other context, he’s sure that you being comfortable with him was a flattering compliment; one he could enjoy. But not right now, because all it’s doing is sitting uneasy in the pit of his stomach. 

So he gets up. He decides that the longer he sits, the more unwell he starts to feel. And he’s assuming you’ll be respectful enough to give him a moment of peace; that’s the impression he’s under as he wanders out of the sitting room and turns for the kitchen. But of course, the padding of feet on hardwood is enough of an inkling to tell him he’s got company following on the heels of his feet. 

“Well I’m not a mind reader,” you snap, “so if you’re feeling some kind of way right now, it’s best that you grow up and tell me.” 

It’s calm for a moment; eerily calm. It’s the kind of stillness that occurs before a storm. It’s a warning of something somber and treacherous; you could say the same for the expression on his face once he turns to look at you. 

“Bold of yeh t’decided we just aren’t th’marrying type,” he barks, “don’t quite remembering agreeing t’tha’.” 

You’re a bit taken aback, because you hadn’t necessarily realized just how cross he really was. He’s practically seething and, although a bit alcohol may be at a fault, you’re sure that 95% of this is all Harry. 

“I didn’t decide that,” you rebuke, “I just assumed it!”

“S’one hell of an assumption, than.” he snaps, and you roll your eyes. 

“S’been fucking years,” you jeer, “if we wanted to be married we would’ve done it by now.” 

He’s not entirely sure if you know just how low of a jab that was. If he wasn’t riding an anger high right now, he would be sure that you were unaware of it. But he’s decided that you do understand, and it only seems to make things worse. It only makes things more tense. 

“Y’right, yeah?” he laughs, but it’s bitter, “ ‘Cos my career is nonexistent, right? M’never busy?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

He knows. At least, he thinks he knows. But it doesn’t matter. He’s angry and proving his point is the only thing he has the urge to do right now. 

“It’s a stupid piece of paper with our signature!” you argue, “It’s a sheet of fucking paper that we don’t need!”

“Maybe I need it,” he retorts, “maybe I do need the stupid sheet of paper!” 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” you shout, “you absolutely don’t, and you’re only saying you do to piss me off!” 

“Can’t build a home with comfortable,” he rebuttals, “can’t have a family with comfortable.” 

The words settle with you differently than he had intended them to. It’s almost as though you can feel your stomach flip a bit. It’s like your heart dropped to your stomach, demeanor softening a bit because as the words that just previously flew so freely from Harry’s mouth have no left you with a heartache and an overwhelming sense of disappointment. 

“So I’ll go,” you breath, “I’ll go, than.” 

[lenin-it-to-win-it]

just gonna rant about my health issues to no one in particular for a bit under the cut sooo

im just so fucking tired of being sick all the time like. its been almost 2 years now of actively Going To Doctors And Having Tests Done And Trying To Get A Diagnosis and fucking!!! nothing works!!! and i only have until the end of this coming school year to get it figured out before my insurance runs out otherwise im just fucked!!! because im sure as hell not gonna be able to afford a fucking mri every six months making 10 bucks an hour at some retail shithole but so far ive seen SIX different fucking doctors (not counting 2 ER visits) because they all just keep shuffling me back and forth like “idk maybe have someone else deal with this? weird lol” or like “have you considered that maybe you might have anxiety :) you seem stressed :)” 

like yeah its a fucking stressful situation getting progressively fucking sicker for two goddamn years wasting thousands of dollars and reaching the end of a fucking ticking clock because almost every doctor ive seen is an incompetent jackass who does NOTHING but waste my time and money and then fucking condescend to me about anxiety like!!! yeah i probably DO have anxiety and depression and autism and what the fuck ever else but this isnt THAT 

and the literal ONE TIME i had ANY treatment that worked AT ALL helping with my eye spasms (literally One of Many Symptoms that i deal with on a fucking daily basis that still manages to completely fuck up my life) is something i cant take anymore because it damaged my fucking eyes!!! possibly permanently!!! i already HAD issues wtih light sensitivity that this medicine made WAYYY fucking worse and guess whats one of the WORST things at setting off my eye spasms??? anything to do with fucking light so YEAH thANKS for that @ the opthalmologist who had me take those damn eye drops for two months straight, which other neuro opthalmologist said was bullshit when i saw her again, not that im letting HER off the hook either since she REFERRED me to that incompetent bitch in the first place and then had NO solution other than “hm well you definitely shouldnt take that medicine again, but theres literally No Other Treatment, maybe blow another $400 in a few months to come see me again so i can continue to Not Help You In Any Way”

and its getting wORSE ALL THE TIME!!! and the best thing doctors can think of is “hm well maybe wait a bit to see if it gets worse? and maybe then we’ll know what it is?” well its getting worse!!!! but they still dont seem to know what it is!!! like at first it was just my vision going out of focus for a few seconds at a time, then it was a few minutes, then i was having visual distortion (or maybe hallucinations? who knows! certainly not any of the fucking doctors ive seen!), then awful fucking eye strain headaches, then spasms in my neck, then my jaw, then my arms, then my legs, now all fucking over, and now i get sick and dizzy just by moving my HEAD too far or too suddenly and like at work earlier today i was just stumbling around for two hours bc there was too much pressure in my head and everything felt tilted and i was just grabbing at every surface trying not to fall with my head like on my shoulder bc keeping my neck straight was too fucking hard and i swear to fuckign god a couple nights ago there was this weird buzzing on the side of my face??? and like it felt like my mouth was moving slower than it should??? but i dont even KNOW if thats a Real SymptomTM or if i was just freaked out and tired and imagining things or if i really am just getting to be a paranoid delusional nutcase about my health because every little thing terrifies me at this point, like ive been coughing for a couple weeks and instead of being like “oh its a bad cold” im like “maybe now my immune systems fucked up too maybe this is A New Symptom” i literally cant tell anymore i have no fucking idea 

and i dont WANT to think about all this All The Fucking Time but i do!!!!! i literally HAVE to bc it affects my life in every fucking possible way and i cant escape it like even rn the light from the fuckign computer is hurting my eyes and i cant even see what im typing half the time bc my eyes keep going out of focus and my teeth keep chattering and my head hurts or ill go to get a drink of water but then just Stand there for a few minutes bc i dont trust myself to hold a cup full of water and not spill it bc im having spasms or ill have to wear sunglasses at the dinner table bc my fucking idiot asshole dad got the BRIGHTEST possible lightbulbs for the dining room and i physically cant stand them 

or like im already dreading having to explain all this shit to my professors this semester about how like “oh so i probably wont be able to keep up with daily readings, especialyl not if theyre on physical paper and i cant scale up the text because my eyes just spontaneously stop working and i cant read..... and ill need a computer to take notes, i can Usually hold a pencil but one time i had a spasm in class and flung it across the room and it was super embarrassing and i ltierally skipped that class for weeks because of it so id really rather not deal with that again.... and even though im a fuckign AMAZING public speaker like, state champion debate level public speaking, ill still probably get super fucking nervous and suck at any kind of in class presentation bc ill just be thinking about my spasms the whole time and wont be able to focus....... and ill have to wear sunglasses all the time too so hopefully thats not an issue........ and also ill probably miss a lot of class bc whether or not i can handle walking half a mile Varies Wildly from day to day and also i have a lot of doctors appointments and sometimes im on medicine that completely ruins my sleep schedule so you know... looking forward to a great semester, hope i dont completely fail your class” 

and i have fuckign work tomorrow where ill have to deal with trying to pretend like even the most minor tasks arent painful and difficult and deal with awful btichy entitled customers complaining that im not SMILEY enough for you like the motherfucker who asked me how i was and i said fine and he was like “jUuUUuuuST fINE” like shut the everlasting FUCK UP with that ive met my obligation leave me ALONE my day isnt FINE im in awful pain and i HATE you and everyone like you or ill have to deal with my coworkers giving me weird looks while im having spasms or outright MOCKING me for them like the asshole that called me TWITCH (and a whore, but thats Another Fucking Story) or just not knowing how to deal and making bad taste jokes like when my teeth are chattering bc I Physically Cant Make It Stop like “haha are you chewing an invisible piece of gum lol” like no bitch im a neurological nightmare and my brain doesnt work and im Barely Holding Together would you PLEASE shut the fuck up 

and most of the time i just feel like everyone thinks im a fucking freak like even just sitting in the waiting room to see the neurologist or opthalmologist or whatever and everyone else there is Old and im the only person even remotely close to my age there and even the doctors dont seem to take me that seriously bc of it like “oh shes young, cant be that bad, all these old people out here are gonna die like tomorrow so why worry about this girl, its probably just anxiety from being on her period or having a test to study for lol” like straight up when the movement disorder neurologist was examining me she was like “im not used to seeing anyone this young or healthy’ and i know she meant it relatively speaking but like!!! clearly im NOT healthy or i wouldnt BE here like obviously something is wrong with me and its ruining my life and its serious and id like it fixed thanks!!!!! 

and i feel like No One Gets It like, obviously there are people wayyyy sicker than i am who suffer a lot more or people in similar situations but like. i dont Personally Know someone like that i can just talk to and like, of course i have friends who can Listen but.................................. theres a difference from being able to listen and being able to actually Understand and sometimes you just cant Get It unless youve gone through it like i really dont think ANYONE in my life has any idea how serious this is or how much it affects me and i know i cant expect everyone to just Always Think Of My IssuesTM but little things!!! like maybe NOT having the brighest possible lightbulbs in the dining room!!!! my brother NOT having his birthday party at dave and busters, which i had TONS of spasms at last time i went (and im even worse now!) AND the staff gave me shit about wearing sunglasses so now im nervous about That too or just! idk! people respecting and listening to me when i tell them that i Cant Do Something or that Doing That Thing Hurts and not just brushing me off or telling me im overreacting and then getting all shocked pikachu face when their dumbassery actually physically HURTS me and i get pissed with them for it!!!!

i dont think anyone gets how much it scares me all the time or how its Always on my mind and i literally cant think about anything else like. this could be the rest of my life. this could end my life. i dont know what i have. i might get diagnosed in the next month and have it completely cured, i might get a diagnosis and still be sick forever, i might not find out until its too late and i have LITERALLY NO FUCKING IDEA WHICH ONE!!!! ITS GREAT!!!!!!!! WELCOME TO MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sometimesimawriter]

Mirror Effect

Part 3

A/N: so a little confusion but big gaps and/or switch in perspective or sudden shift in scenery often means a new paragraph for my style of writing! But yeah, have some budding romance and more newly found information. Stick around for the next part and see some more rising action and intensity- every story needs a build up.

Side note: after I’m done posting this whole story, I’m going to start up with another Academy fanfic because yeah well it’s my favorite show. Definitely plan for more action in that one though.

And back to your regularly scheduled program:

"This place is amazing" Klaus kept walking around the lab, touching the plants Kayla had deemed nonpoisonous, and opening then closing cabinets. The old house had four levels, a basement, kitchen/living area, bedrooms and infirmary, and then the attic which had been transformed into a greenhouse and lab area. It wasn't modern, and some panels above the plants looked as if they had been shattered, possibly by time? Kayla's work area was clean, save for a few papers scattered about, filled with formulas and equations. Klaus picked up one piece of paper, he didn't understand all the symbols on it, but he recognized a name, "Maximus Battle? Badass name."

"Yeah thats Razor, and not so much of a badass as he is a pussy." Kayla walked behind him and looked over his shoulder at the paper, "That's his DNA makeup, basically what I've figured out is that he heals faster than a normal person, his bone's are thicker due to a higher calcium concentration in his blood, and since he heals faster, thats makes sedating him real tough. Horse tranquilizers just make him yawn and then he's back at it." She scrunched her nose a bit, "Gets real fucking annoying when someone won't just lie down and knock out, you know?"

Klaus giggled at this, he liked her, she had a personality sometimes. He turned around to her and studied her for a bit, and his eyes landed on a gold chain tucked inside her shirt. He lifted one hand and gently picked it up, and a gold cross fell across her chest, "You're a Catholic?"

She gave a devilish grin at this, "No where near it. I guess I'm agnostic, I like studying it though. Religion is a strange concept, but what i do believe in is an afterlife."

Klaus gave a bright smile, "Woah, I'm agnostic too! Though i did have some questions after i met what i think is god; she was a little girl on a bike with flowers and pointed me to a cabin where my father who apparently killed himself gave me a real nice shave..."

He stopped when he noticed she was giving him a strange look.

"Wait let me explain more, so I can- um-" He gulped, hoping this wasn't going to ruin his chances with her, "I can talk to the dead."

Her mouth opened, then it looked like an idea popped into her head,

"So can you like, find out if Kurt Cobain actually killed himself or if Courtney Love murdered him?"

This caught him off guard, he was used to people dismissing him, normally his brothers and sisters, but she accepted this so...easily.

"I mean, I could try- no guarantees though."

"I suggest you try to not move this arm so much, I have a sling you may want to use." Christina fidgeted a bit around Five, obviously still flustered from the scene in the kitchen. She rummaged through drawers, and Five looked around the room. There were posters hung up, some about the biological makeup of a person, different bones, muscles, etc. One poster was of a kitten hanging on a branch with "Hang In There!" In bright pink letters. Christina caught him examining that one poster and blurted out "Oh no thats not mine! Kayla.. put that..there". Again, her faced turned pink and she kept moved through drawers. This was definitely her space, it was a complete mess. One corner had a nice alcove near the window, overlooking the neighbor's gardens. It had some papers on the floor around it and pasted on the walls near it. Lots of Beatles and Arctic Monkeys posters, like, a lot.

"You like alternative music." Five stated- no shit Sherlock but we'll let them have this moment.

"Yeah, love it actually. When Kayla and I were 16 we went and saw Arctic Monkeys in (God i hope I'm right im sorry chris) Brooklyn. It was in a tennis stadium, and she didn't really know a lot of their songs but it was a great time. I am in love with Alex Turner." She turned back around, thinking "Why the fuck did i say that last part ?"

But thankfully, Five turned out to be a music nerd too,

"If I weren't straight, I'd go gay for him too."

She let out a laugh, kind of choked, but eased into it as Five laughed with her.

"So Kayla and Emma were telling me that you play music, tell me more."

Christina beamed at this, she loved talking about music- so much so that Kayla and Emma tend to leave the room once she begins a tangent.

"Well, I really go solo as of now. I write some of my own music but I do a lot of covers too. I play the guitar and occasionally the ukulele."

Five leaned towards her, he was still sitting on the cot where she had just reexamined his arm.

"And-um- I try to get discovered. Really has opened some doors for me. Kayla and Emma go to every show they can. I've had some producers come up to me after shows, they seem a little shady though. I don't want to get trapped in some record deal either."

"That's understandable. What do you think of Bowie or Arcade Fire?"

Christina turned back around at him, beaming. "YES."

Five slipped off the table, moving next to her and lifted a sling from the drawer, "Is this what you were looking for?"

"Oh um yeah thats it, I guess i didn't see it. If you want me to put it on for you i can-"

She was silenced by his slow, lazy movement, leaning closer to her face. He stood about six inches taller than her, and he hovered above her, tension building between them. He moved closer, about to kiss her...

"ChRISTINA I- well we- FOUND SOMETHING" Emma's voiced boomed outside of the infirmary. Five cursed under his breath and retreated, "Hopefully something worthwhile, Diego?"

Diego and Emma moved into the room; Christina noticed that Emma had left the house with her hair in a messy bun, but now she had it hanging past her shoulders; something she would only do when she absolutely needed to look decent. Emma saw her studying her and made a face, with an unspoken message: "say something and i'll hit you".

Diego spoke up, "yeah, found a blood trail. Led a few blocks down to an abandoned storage facility." He then held up two limber blades and smiled, "Got my knives back."

Five looked between the two, "Did you go inside?"

Emma crossed her arms and tipped her chin up at him, obviously not liking his condescending tone, "Of course we went in,"

"Went in where?" Kayla questioned, entering the infirmary with Klaus trailing behind her.

Emma turned to face her, "remember that storage place on East Ave? Where Brendan had that party that got busted last week?"

"Oh yeah, i got fucked up there, man. Oh and him and Matt are coming over today, they got word that the Academy was in town."

Klaus perked up at the mention of two other guys, "Who's Brendan and Matt?"

Christina answered this, "They're our verbally adopted brothers."

Five gave her a questioning look, "what does that even mean?"

"We grew up with them, so, why not call them our brothers. That's what you guys do."

Diego snickered, "yeah, that makes sense when you put it that way. So why are they coming here?"

Kayla turned to him, "Well they also have their abilities-"

Five looked at her incredulously, "Wait, how many people do you know with powers?"

Emma, seemingly deciding she didn't like him, remarked, "if you kept up with your origins, there were 43 women who gave birth on the same day, same circumstances. Y'all a'int that special."

"So what are they're abilities?" Klaus seemed unnerved by this.

"Brendan's like a shapeshifter, minus the shape shifting. He can turn into any material he touches. Matthew is a telepathic son of a-" Kayla was abruptly interrupted by a voice, but it wasn't connected to a body, except it was in her head, well, everyone's heads.

"Fuck off maybe?" The voice rumbled.

Kayla started in, obviously accustomed to hearing voices in her head, "Yeah well how about you show up so i can kick the shit out of you?"

Then another voice, behind the group, "Bet."

Two men, one with a buzz cut and the other with a middle aged man's haircut stepped into the room. Buzz cut then placed his hand on a medical metal tray, and his fingertips turned silver, as did his forearm, and then the rest of his body. His now metallic eyes turned to the other guy, presumably Matthew, "Your turn."

Matthew grinned at him, and a millisecond later Metal Man flew across the room, smashing into the cot that Five was on a few minutes ago.

Kayla crossed her arms at them, "Hey asshats, stop wrecking shit in my house."

The Academy brothers looked at the two new guys, Diego and Five looking torn between deciding to fight or continue to stare in awe, and Klaus was holding in a laugh at the scene. Matthew looked each brother up and down, then glanced at the distances between each guy from girl. He knew Kayla, Emma, and Christina long enough that at least one of them had to be trying to get with one of the brothers, and seeing by the proximity of each to the other, he could make out the forming couples- not even needing to read their minds to figure it out. He then extended his hand to Klaus, him being the closest, "Matthew." Klaus tried to mimic the formality Matthew had just introduced himself, despite the hilarious scene of Brendan trying to untangled himself from the wrecked cot, "Hey pal, name's Klaus, sometimes I go by Seance though."

Matthew looked at his hand, noticing "goodbye" was written on it, "Yeah, you're the medium of the Hargreaves family."

Diego was the next one to approach him, "Diego, and if we're giving super names, Kraken." Matthew shook his hand and nodded, pulling his lips tight together as he did it. He had a habit of doing that, made his cheeks look real chubby. Next, he approached Five, "Five. No super name."

Brendan finally got himself to his feet, now his skin resembled the linen on the cot. He nodded towards the group, "Brendan. My girl calls me Metamorph."

Klaus looked at Matthew, "I think your name should be... Professor X- no wait, copyright- Mind Seeker- no too wordy... Psionic!"

Matthew seemed to think this over, "I like it. So Kayla, what's the deal with Max. I heard he's responsible for a bunch of the murders?"

She looked down, visibly upset by the situation, Matthew moved closer to her a put a hand on her arm, "Hey, sorry, that was too harsh."

She gave him a weak smile, and moved away, taking in a deep breath. "We're working on it, trying to find a way to take him out without killing him."

Brendan turned his skin back to a normal human hide, "I say we take out this motherfucker, I wanna strangle him."

Emma rolled her eyes, "Brendan his nails can rip through metal."

"So I'll turn into a rock."

Christina sighed, "Dumbass, metal is stronger than rock."

Brendan gestured towards Matthew, "Why doesn't he just get into his head?"

"Tried that. The guy doesn't have a single coherent thought. Dumber than the guy who can turn into a rock, surprisingly." Brendan flipped him off. "How's the tranquilizer going, Kayla?"

Klaus spoke up in her place, "Not well, we gotta-"

Matthew didn't like this, "I'm sorry, didn't realize your name was Kayla. Speaking of, where's your engineering degree, huh buddy?"

In return, Diego didn't like someone picking on his brother, "How about you calm down pal-"

Matthew turned on him, "No i won't calm down, I just saw one of my sisters get out of an abusive relationship, and there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen again-"

"Well my brother isn't fucking abusive, you self-worshipping bit-"

"Both of you shut the fuck up," Kayla's voice was low, and it was a distinct change from her normal, happier temperament. "We are working on something, I was hoping Klaus could help. Matthew, I am fine. Diego, don't start with him. Got it?" She looked between the two, and they nodded. "Good. Now, why don't we go back to the storage facility and check for anything?" She turned and left the room, and slowly everyone followed.

[junionigiri]

BNHA Rarepair Month - Day 17 - Future

for @bnha-rarepair-month​ -- waaah im late

Summary: Shiozaki Ibara is concerned about Hatsume Mei's future.

Relationship: Shiozaki Ibara / Hatsume Mei (ShioMei)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: Flanderized, yandere!Shiozaki (but I don’t think it’s as extreme as it could be)... also, OOC Mei

Links: AO3 | FFNet

The moment Hatsume Mei lay her eyes over Shiozaki Ibara, she knew that this girl will be the end of her.

She can’t even remember how their paths crossed. Mei isn’t one to remember names or faces of her classmates or of her clients in the hero courses, instead she remembers them by their distinct traits and the support items they use--for example, billboard muffler-legs and broken-arms with supports and brainwasher with artificial vocal cords. She can probably pick them out in a crowd and tell you with confidence how the items she’d lovingly made worked with their quirks. But ask her about who that person is, their hero names, what they stand for? She'd probably stare at you quizzically, with a I don't understand the question and I refuse to acknowledge it kind of expression on her face, and resume working on her babies.

Yet, Shiozaki Ibara… of course the first name she remembers is hers. It's baffling and astonishing that Hatsume Mei recognizes a human being other than Powerloader-sensei,  and she is loath to admit that fact to anyone, even herself.

She remembers her as clearly as the blueprints to her baby jetpack legs--a girl from one of the hero classes who thinks that most hero costumes are useless vanities and support items are massive displays of human arrogance. “One needs only their God-given quirks to fight,” she declared loudly enough for Mei to hear, as a response to some extra or another who asked her why she has chosen to fight her battles in nothing but a flimsy white pillowcase. Without even bothering to wear sandals, even in the wintertime. Her power remains fearsome, all the same.

It’s impressive to many, yet all Mei sees is, funnily enough, a massive display of human arrogance.

For the first time ever, the machinist feels a strong human emotion for a fellow human being, and not a machine. And of course, of all things, it has to be contempt. Granted, Mei doesn’t know that it’s contempt at first, because all her life she’s never felt anything but detachment for organic life-forms.

Which is why, on this fateful encounter with her, Mei declares her beliefs loudly for the thorny girl to hear. “I don’t believe in God, I believe in science.” And she does it while she’s working on one of her latest babies, the leg-engine glasses dude’s set of armor. It’s merely an experiment, of course, one that’s admittedly loaded with bias with poor outcome measures, but she tries it out just the same.

Shiozaki turns her frighteningly blank green eyes at her, and she knows her hypothesis is correct. Mei feels a little proud of herself for being able to produce a frown on that perfect angelic mug of hers.

She makes a show of ignoring her, instead keeps her eyes on the machines in front of her. From the corner of her eyes, she sees the mesmerizing way she moves, as if she’s walking on water on a dark and stormy night. The scent of olives tickles her nose, even through her face-mask, as the vine-girl comes closer to her.

“I see a lamb lost in the valley of the shadow of death.” Her voice is chilly as it enters Mei’s ears. A thorny vine curls around her neck and pricks the bottom of her chin lightly, as Shiozaki uses this to turn her head to face her.

“What was that? Sorry, I can't hear you over the sounds of sound scientific reasoning,” Mei quips, in a tone that’s hopefully sharper than her thorns.

Shiozaki stares at her, her mouth slightly agape at her retort. It’s satisfying only for a second, because in the next moment there’s an absolutely condescending look in those cold eyes. As if she’s looking at a wretched orphan caught stealing from the church coffers. “As I’ve said, I see you are truly lost. Swayed by earthly temptations, misguided by these these idolatrous adornments. You godless machinists are all the same.”

Mei is wearing a set of thick goggles and a face mask, but she finds herself fighting to keep a straight face at how piercing Shiozaki’s gaze is. The tightening vines around her don’t help, either.

She tries not to falter as she says with a challenging grin, “I’ll take godless machinist as a compliment, thank you. But do me a favor and not call my babies earthly temptations. They don't deserve being sullied by the likes of you.”

Shiozaki hums contemplatively. She keeps her two hands clasped in front of her, like she’s praying to God for strength and enlightenment. “A shepherd must return all sheep to its flock. What must I do to bring you to the path of righteousness and away from eternal damnation…?” she mumbles, blatantly ignoring Mei’s yelps as the vines keep winding around her, closer. Tighter.

Mei’s arms are bound to her side as they entwine around her like ropes. The thorns poke through her clothes and through her thick work gloves. They draw no blood, but perhaps they will if she struggles. It’s only a matter of time before the machinist is lifted off the ground by Shiozaki’s quirk.

“I for one, forgive you for all your transgressions, my little lamb. If I act quickly… I can see your future in striking, heavenly clarity, Hatsume Mei,” she says with an enlightened smile that’s creepy in all possible ways. “I know now what I must do.”

Before she can ask what she means by ‘her future in striking, heavenly clarity’--because it sounds suspiciously like the girl has every intention of sending her to the other side, if such a thing exists-- thick vines wrap around Mei’s mouth, sealing any and all future complaints. The scent of herbs and flowers floating across a quiet stream overwhelm all her senses, until her mind forgets the comforting and familiar scent of grease and iron and steel. Quickly, before she is able to struggle and let the thorns shred through her skin, Shiozaki is already calling out to the dim areas of the support office, “Powerloader-sensei, I am borrowing one of your disciples. I need to save her from eternal damnation.”

Mei starts to protest, but the blasted vines are still around her mouth. Powerloader is just a tad surprised at the development, but shrugs. “Um… sure, Shiozaki-kun. Can you feed her something while you’re at it? She hasn’t eaten anything in a day.”

“Ask and you shall receive. I shall feed both her body and spirit,” answers Shiozaki, already turning away. “For man cannot live on bread alone.”

Mei doesn’t need bread, she needs science! Besides, from this interaction alone, she’s sure that Shiozaki’s going to feed her tasteless flatbread without anything on it! Not that Mei would oppose to that--she’d eat anything, if she can eat it quickly and has enough nutrients to last her until her next meal 24 hours later.

Her sensei is unperturbed though. Even seems relieved that Mei’s having such a prolonged interaction with anybody else, even though that person happens to be someone with serious delusions of grandeur. “Uh, sure. That’d work. A bath would be nice too.”

“I shall submerge her body in waters as pure as the River Jordan and cleanse her spirit anew.”

More like slam-dunk her in a nonconsensual baptism! Some of the vines move, as if they’re ready to undress Mei as soon as Shiozaki wills it. She screams fruitlessly once more.

“And sleep?”

“If she is weary, she shall rest forever in the fields of Eden after I am done with her.”

“Okay, that’ll do. Thank you kindly.”

You Judas! Powerloader-sensei!!! While Mei isn’t one for biblical references, this is what she chooses to uselessly scream within the vines as she feels herself being carried away.

After she’s threatened to feed her bread, drown her, and take her to her eternal resting place with Powerloader-sensei’s blessing, she gives an eerie, self-satisfied smile up at the struggling Mei. “Worry not, little lamb. I shall be the angel who will guide you to the light.”

“Mmmmph!!!!” cries Mei, locking in her zoomy eyes over her beloved teacher, who looks a little too much like a man who’s suffered centuries of misfortune (or a semester full of explosions in his precious laboratory) suddenly had something right happen in his life for a change.

“No flirting in my office, please,” Powerloader calls out brightly as they leave the room.

[pastel-flapflap-blog]

The Holy Grail, ch3

Thea sat on the grass next to Mads for a long moment, still more than a little shell-shocked over Rick’s complete one-eighty in temperament. She didn’t know what to do next: continue her trek into the back woods to hide in case they did find Negan, or stay and hope she could pretend to be innocent as long as they were around searching the area. Or, did she come clean and point them directly to the upstairs closet?

She’d be rid of one stranger and hopefully the three others looking for him would forgive her for lying when they asked her about his whereabouts. But, if Negan ever escaped from them or he had people that figured out what happened here today, she could kiss her sweet life in the suburbs goodbye.

It was a tough call—not the first one she’d had to make today—but she decided to stay and continue to feign innocence. She could think of all sorts of ways that running could bite her in the ass; in her mind, she could see all paths diverting from that timeline ending violently with either Rick finding her or Negan’s men finding her, or the loss of her home in the cul-de-sac which she had fought so hard to secure and maintain. If she stayed, she could ensure the best ending for her and Mads.

Thea took a moment to mentally steel herself by squeezing Mads’ scruff through her fingers and taking a few deep breaths before she hefted herself to her feet. She grunted with the effort it took; she was neither fat nor out of shape, but she was beginning to wear down from the stress from today. She could really use a glass of the cheap red wine she pilfered from two doors down when she first found the cul-de-sac. A bubble bath wouldn’t be half-bad, either, but she would have to make do with the wine.

She dusted off her pants, grabbed her knife from where it had fallen beside her in the grass, and headed around to the front porch again. She stomped up the steps as loudly as she could. Mads followed her quietly, only making a small groaning noise when she eyed Rick begin to follow them up the steps. Thea ignored him as long as she could, but when she sat down on the swing, she acknowledged the man with a sigh. “Yes?”

“I take it this is yours,” he said. His blue eyes swept across the front of the house before meeting hers again. The previous threatening demeanor had disappeared completely and was replaced with a hesitant politeness.

“You’re correct,” Thea answered. Her words were short and crisp, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. She had her fingers on the crown of Mads’ head, scratching lightly. Mads enjoyed the small attention and Thea used the touch as an anchor so she wouldn’t drown in the anxiety that was bubbling up in her chest.

Rick made a small noise of affirmation before placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head slightly as he looked at her. “We’re gonna need to look inside,” he said. He wasn’t asking permission, and Thea hated it.

“This is my home,” she said. “Just because it’s the end of the world, doesn’t mean you can barge inside someone’s home whenever you damn well please just because you’re looking for someone—who I haven’t seen, by the way—and that person happened to run in my general direction.” Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Thea cut him off before he could utter a single syllable. “But go ahead. Invade my privacy.” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

Rick paused before awkwardly nodding and opening the door to walk inside. Thea felt hot tears of anger tingle her eyes and she furiously rubbed them away with her palm before they could fall. That familiar ache that had begun to blossom in her chest was spreading all the way throughout her body again. She felt stupid and scared and hated that she might be showing that to these people.

Once her tears were gone, she crossed her ankle over a knee and spread her arms behind her on the back of the swing. If she couldn’t feel indifferent, she could at least look like it. Fake it ‘til you make it.

She eyed the cul-de-sac as she began to swing back and forth gently as she had an hour ago before this whole mess had started. Mads was lying down, massive head in her paws, and making small noises when sword-wielder would exit a house and enter another one. When Daryl came back around their house, the wolf-dog lifted her head and groaned loudly. It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was a noise that nonetheless made the archer pause for only a moment before coming back around the porch to the steps.

<I don’t like him at all, Thea.>

“No arguments there,” she replied.

“Wha’dja say?” Daryl had begun up the steps and stopped midway, face screwing up slightly as he started hard at Thea and the wolf-dog.

“I said, you’re an asshole.” Thea felt fire in her veins and found it difficult to say everything that was on her mind.

“Yeah, well, tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he said. He began to move the rest of the way up the steps when Mads began to growl in earnest at him now.

<Should I rip his face off?>

“Call off yer mutt,” the archer demanded. “I’m going inside.”

“Oh, are you? Your friend is probably just fine by himself tearing my house apart looking for some asshole I’ve never met,” Thea said, the fire in her veins turning into molten lava. She remained as casual as she could, still swinging back and forth.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone, anyhow? Seems real fishy to me,” he said. He squinted at her again and she knew that he was studying her face for any tell of the lie she was propagating. It made her angry again that he just assumed that she was lying; she was, of course, but he didn’t know her from Adam. What had made this group of people so distrustful of other human beings? Sure, she stayed away from people in general, but she wasn’t sure if living in such a way that made one mistrustful of everyone they met was any way to live. It must be hell on the psyche.

“I told you, I don’t like people. They mostly turn out to be assholes.” Thea paused, wondering if she should continue to goad him; she paused only for a moment—a blink of an eye—and she knew that there was just something about this redneck man that made her want to piss him off. “Today just proved it. I should let my mutt rip your throat out and be done with you.”

Mads felt the stress build in the air and began to snarl again but stayed put next to Thea’s legs. <I’d very much like that.>

Daryl’s stare was deadly and he took another step forward. Mads stood, hackles raised. Thea had second thoughts about egging the situation on, but she maintained her heat and glared right back at the man in front of her; she leaned slightly forward, ready to spring into action if Mads pounced for him again. She had no doubt that he would kill her friend in order to protect himself—one didn’t really get to live this long in the apocalypse without taking a few lives in exchange for their own.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Rick said from the doorway. He stepped through the door and Mads stopped snarling, turning her head so she could look at both men without having to move but an inch or so in either direction. Thea leaned back again, as if she hadn’t been having homicidal tendencies and tried to look unaffected.

<I kind of like that one,> Mads said, her tail very lightly sweeping the porch behind her. <He seems like he’s smart.>

Without thinking, Thea hummed in agreement. She didn’t miss the archer’s questioning—slightly less angry—look. She instead turned to Rick. “And the verdict is?”

Rick sighed and looked toward the man in front of him. “He’s not here. We have to keep moving.”

Daryl spit on the ground beside him, right where Thea’s would-be hydrangeas would have been. Thea clenched her fists in her lap, but kept her mouth closed. “I think you need ta look harder,” he said.

“We don’t have time for this,” Rick said, stepping closer to the man and leaning in. Thea could barely hear him and tried to hear what was being said without looking like she was interested.

“I’m tellin’ ya to look again. I didn’t see no signs of him out back.”

“And I’m telling you that we’re wasting time here,” Then men seemed at odds with one another.

“The trail ends here,” Daryl said. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Rick sighed and lowered his head, hands on his hips again. He turned to Thea.

“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone run through here?”

Thea scrunched her face. “I told you,” she said in a condescending tone. “I didn’t see anyone. I saw your group and tried to hightail it before you even knew I was here.”

Rick searched her face and seemed to believe what he saw. Either she was a damn good liar, or he was a poor judge of character. Maybe a little of A, a little of B. He just nodded and turned back to Daryl. “We’re going. We can’t afford to waste any more time here. Maybe he doubled back.”

“He didn’t double back,” Daryl said forcefully. “I ain’t leaving ‘til we find ‘im. He’s here.”

Rick just shook his head and started walking down the steps. Daryl darted one last dirty look toward Thea and Mads before following him. The two men talked animatedly with each other but didn’t come back. Thea stayed outside long enough to see them meet up with the dark-skinned woman and begin to head back into the woods across the cul-de-sac before she got up and turned to walk inside.

<We’re just going to believe that they’re done with this place?> Mads followed her through the door. <Even if they don’t find him, there’s still plenty here that they could probably use for their camp, wherever they’re from.>

Thea locked the deadbolt noisily and headed back upstairs to her ward. “They’ll have to break down the door or a window if they come back tonight. He’s hurt and I want him out of here as soon as possible. I can’t do this anymore.”

Mads began to pant as they reached the top of the stairs. <You should never have agreed to hide him in the first place.>

“If he had been Toby and no one had helped him—” Thea began.

<He isn’t Toby, and plenty of people tried to help him. Things happen. You have to get over it.>

Thea felt hot with shame and didn’t say another word to her friend on the way to the closet. Negan must have tried stacking what he could up against where the entrance to the hidey hole would be before shutting himself in, because Thea had to shove aside more than a few boxes and empty luggage before she could get to the small hole in the wall where she could open it.

She grunted when she lifted the piece of the drywall away and met Negan’s dark eyes with her own. He looked ready to start swinging and when he realized it was only Thea, he broke out in an uncertain smile. “Well, doll, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Thea nearly rolled her eyes before looking down at his chest. “You didn’t bleed all over my shit, did you?”

“I don’t know what shit you’ve got in this fucking shit-hole, but yeah. I probably bled all over it.” The corner of one side of his mouth turned up in a smirk and Thea fought a groan.

“Well, come on then,” she told him, putting her hand out to him. When he grabbed her forearm, she put all her weight into pulling back before he was ready for it, causing him to topple over on her stomach. She did groan then, more out of frustration than annoyance.

“Fuck! Ever hear ‘one, two, three, go’?” He sounded like the wound in his chest was painful. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, “Although, this is mighty fuckin’ comfy.” He moved an arm slowly up and it brushed Thea’s thigh. She swatted it away and pulled herself out from beneath him, causing his chest to slam on the floor. “Fuck! Easy on the merchandise.”

“You’ll be fine,” Thea grunted as she sat back up. She crawled to the entryway of the closet and stood, holding her arm out to him again. “One, two, three, go?”

Negan gave her a half-cocked smile and grabbed her forearm again. They were successful the second time around and Negan was now standing in front of her, his shoulder slightly hunched in where she had seen the blood. She moved toward him and grabbed his jacket, shoving it aside. “Damn, babe, no foreplay? I gotta tell ya, it’s a little unorthodox but I’m hella into it.”

“Oh, shut up and take off your shirt.” Thea saw him grin again and had the grace to look mortified. “I just want to check your wound.”

“As long as you’re okay telling yourself that,” he laughed. Damn, he had a great smile. Thea shook her head as he slowly shrugged off the leather jacket, taking care of his left shoulder, which seemed to be the source of the bleeding. The sooner she was sure that he could make it on his own, he was gone. She’d gotten away with lying and risking Mads’ life; she wasn’t going to make it a moot effort by having him die of infection before he got to where he needed to go.

<Oh, he’s handsome.>

“Shut up.” Thea glared at Mads.

Negan had the shirt halfway over his head, so he didn’t see that Thea wasn’t talking to him. He just gave a grizzly chuckle as he took the shirt completely off.

<I’d love to use my teeth on him,> Mads said suggestively. Thea felt her face burn as she wondered why the hell her wolf-dog was talking like that.

“Sit on the bed. I’ll get the first aid kit.” Thea’s words were clipped and robotic, and her movements were stiff as she turned to go to the adjoined bathroom. She didn’t see his face, but could imagine his suggestive smirk. She sent an icy look toward Mads, who didn’t notice and was sitting next to the bed where Negan sat. She was panting and her tail was thwomping on the floor behind her. Traitor.

She returned with the kit and sat next to Negan, pushing Mads out of the way with her leg. <Hey, hey. Don’t get mad because I was about to get pets from him.>

Thea did her best to ignore her twitter-pated words and the thwomp of the tail on the floor; she tried to concentrate on wound care but as soon as she placed a hand on his broad shoulder, she became flush again. He really was built quite nicely.

To his credit, he didn’t once make a lewd comment. When Thea looked up him through her lashes as she cleaned the area, she noticed he wasn’t even looking at her. He was probably just some tough guy who did a lot of pretending and grandstanding. Fake it ‘til you make it. The words went through her mind again as she looked down at his shoulder.

“What got you?” she asked, attempting conversation to get his mind off of whatever pain he could be experiencing and to alleviate some of the awkward tension she felt all the way in her bones.

“Fucking arrow,” he nearly growled. Whether it was caused by the memory of being shot or the stinging of the alcohol she was using to wipe over the small hole in his chest, she didn’t know. But she immediately thought of the archer and shuddered.

<Well, I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t shoot at me,> Mads said, continuing to pant.

“Yeah,” Thea said. As soon as she saw the strange look Negan gave her, she regretted it. She quickly turned to grab some gauze from the kit beside her. “I don’t really know how to do this,” she admitted. She refused to meet his eyes when she covered and taped up the wound.

“There,” Thea said, getting up quickly and collecting her kit from the bed. Negan smiled and looked like he was about to thank her, but she didn’t let him get the words out. “When it gets dark, you should leave.”

<Damn, girl. That’s harsh.>

Thea left the room before she could hear or see his reaction. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she and Mads could back to being safe.