#i keep forgetting to make this post but its here now

[worstgenerationloser]

,, Who the hell is FireFist?! ''

Synopsis... Unable to resist the temptation of an internet argument, you accidentally end up dooming yourself by responding to "FireFist." Now, he's obsessed with pissing you off.

Word count...

Warnings... There are crude comments and remarks, profanity, internet harassment, ... Be advised of this as you read!

Fic Masterlist here!

Tags: @neospade ; @lilink ; @bluetokie ; @kanekisheart ; @ren-ni ; @hauntedlunaa ; @mylifeisamess ; @euriiverse ; @j014xio ; @fruitncandy ; ; @ally-wow ; @spyderst4r ; @kiberrymatcha ; @valkyrie-8

A/N: I know there was a super long wait but surprise surprise i have gotten rather busy and straight up forgot to post this...

Everyone knows the internet is dreadful at times with differing opinions and hateful comments towards one another, some people trying to turn themselves into the embodiment of peace and happiness on their social media pages despite being the literal incarnation of evil… Now, you won’t try and say you’re all sunshine and rainbows, but maybe you get a little defensive when it comes to the things you like, and that may or may not lead to a few arguments in comment sections. Which is exactly your current predicament.

The notification wall on your phone's lock screen displayed one notification from Instagram. There was no doubt in your head that it was the guy who had become the reason for your most recent internet argument.

FireFist replied to your comment: “ dont care, didnt ask. “

Three tips for dealing with internet trolls, and you managed to break the most important one. Everyone says not to engage but you can’t resist the temptation, and that is a bad habit you’re eager to break; but it can also wait for another year or two. Naturally, your anger gets the best of you over an Instagram comment, and you click on his profile again to see if there’s something to use against him. Unfortunately for you, his account is private, and he has five followers, so there is zero chance of you sneaking in even, on a burner account. Just your luck, you had no fuel for your fire besides the fact that “FireFist” had terrible opinions regarding music, and his username sounded like a shitty porno. Despite that, you began to type away, forgetting whatever it is you were doing to try and come up with a comeback.

You replied to FireFist’s comment: “then why r u still responding lol thats sad.”

Not even a minute later, his reply lit up your phone screen.

FireFist replied to your comment: “i can say the same for you LMAOO u want me so bad!!”

Okay, they are just trying to rile you up. And unfortunately for you it was in fact working alarmingly easily.

You replied to FireFist’s comment: “i wouldnt touch u with a 10ft pole, ur probably infectious”

He replied quickly that time, too.

FireFist replied to your comment: “sounds like u rllyy wanna touch me bcz u keep responding to me… its ok to say u want me”

The asshole twisted your words. Do you get defensive, insult him more, or block him? Blocking people is for pussies, and that definitely makes you a hypocrite because you have blocked so many people you reached the limit more than once, but you feel such intense hatred for this internet stranger today that you don’t want to block them. For a while, you try to figure out what to say back without sounding too offended… Ultimately, it's a losing battle, and you can’t figure out where to go from here. Your heart is racing and you feel anxious but you don’t stop to think about why you’re doing things like this despite the reactions they give you.

Then, your screen lights up again. Moving slow as a snail, your hand shaking from anxiety picks up your phone. Yes, it was who you’d expect.

FireFist replied to your comment: “don't be shy, im open minded ;)”

That sets you off. Really bad. Clenching your jaw uncomfortably tight, your hand clicks on his profile, then the three dots in the corner. There, that bright red text greets you. 

Block.

Are you sure you want to block FireFist? They won’t be able to…

After seeing that text a thousand times over, you just don’t care anymore. You blocked him, and you aren’t expecting anymore of his odd messages anytime soon. Simmering in anger alone in your bedroom, you’re interrupted by a knock on your bedroom door. It’s probably your roommate, Franky. He’s an eccentric guy with electric blue dyed hair that he styles differently every other week, a ridiculous amount of confidence in himself, and that’s not even mentioning his weird obsession with cyborgs. You are sure in another life Franky is living out his cyborg dreams, still having his outbursts of energy.

“Y/N! Wanna come to the pet store with me? I gotta get a new filter for Jinbe!” Franky yells obnoxiously loud through your door. Jinbe, his pet fish who he swears has the spirit of a whale shark, but to be fair, that fish is pretty badass. 

“Sure! Let me get dressed!” You yell back, tumbling out of bed towards your dresser. Your phone can wait! All you need now is to throw on a little something that won’t make you look like you have a bleak life.

“Hm? Were you cooking? The smoke alarm is going off!” Nonchalant as ever, Franky gently pushes open your bedroom door. Wait, why is he holding Jinbe’s tank in his hands? Disregarding his question you stupidly focus on the most irrelevant thing, before your eyes widen in shock. Without an utterance of any words, a string of noises escapes your mouth.You throw yourself out the door, dashing towards the kitchen. Okay, fixing your temper is now number one on the bucket-list, if it allows you to make a mistake this big then maybe it’s a problem.

And with that, you manage to subject yourself to a few months of signature Franky-style teasing. The whole situation is so absurd, even you have trouble trying to wrap your head around why you got so worked up… Looking over at your roommate on the couch next to you, something tells you that he's about to offer some clarity.

“Y’know… You spend a little too much time online. Seriously, you have no idea how many angry DM’s I get from people you argued with in a comment section or whatever. Kinda tiring.”

Franky blurted out loud, cleaning the salt from his chips off of his fingers with an obnoxious sucking noise as the loud crack of a can of cola follows along. It had become a sort of biweekly tradition for you and Franky to sit on the couch and put on some sketchy movies which if the law asks, you legally acquired. Despite him having literally no reason to, he took you in when reality hit you right in your soul upon moving to this town; Franky even invites you places and offers to buy you things when you’re short on cash. He does still annoy you, but it’s in more of an older brother way instead of the way a regular old roommate would.

“There’s no room for you to critique me. I haven’t seen you drink a drop of water since we started living together four years ago.” A rather extensive sigh highlights your softened speaking voice, though only Franky picks up the dash of sarcasm found in your words. He always ends up parroting words and promises you utter to yourself, it’s annoying but you guess he’s just gotten to know you excessively well. You don’t really like being told what to do anyways.

“Hey! That’s a completely separate matter! I am my own person. But–...” Tapping his chin, Franky licks salt from the corner of his mouth after he trails off for a moment. The blue light from the T.V screen makes his hair look luminescent in a silly way and that’s all you can focus on.

“I have seniority over you. I showed you the not-so-local scene, hidden gems, and I let you stay with me dirt cheap! I also know that I’m practically your only friend. Maybe listen a little, because sometimes I worry about you like my own family.” 

Well, he’s got you there. You have definitely neglected your social life— yourself in general. After turning eighteen you bought a lottery ticket, won a decently sized prize; realized that you didn’t wanna live with your parents forever— and following the scent of freedom you landed yourself in this stupid town with a significantly less amount of money, and barely a plan. Eighteen is still very much teenaged, so you thought you would maybe be able to work things out after only having maybe $400 left and the brand-new car you got with your lottery money… No apartment lined up, not thinking of the fact you would have to buy furniture or get a job, just living off the adrenaline rush that came with a change of scenery. It’ll be four years since you moved here in a month or two, and sometimes your life feels just as messy at times.

Looking over at Franky you feel eternally grateful, he would laugh if you ever told him something like that to his face, so you keep emotional words to yourself. With a permissive nod, Franky settles back onto the couch and stares right at you.

“I know you're technically an adult, but I can't forget the eighteen-year-old girl I saw sulking in the streets. It's fine if you wanna be introverted, but you don't go outside if you aren't shopping or going places with me. Plus, being angry at internet strangers is terrible for your mental health. I’m not super into these corny talks, just try and do something without being mad all the time. Start a blog, take up video gaming, things like that.”

Franky leaves you with his words of rare wisdom, he turns the volume up on TV without looking back in your direction. Taking his advice into consideration, you tune out the noises coming from the television and start reevaluating the choices that have led you to this point. 

Pros; you got Franky and a cheap place to stay that isn't a total shit hole.

And the cons… It's best if you ignore them for now, you'll end up on a downward spiral, and not the good Nine Inch Nails album kind of downward spiral.

There's barely any luck when you try to make small talk with the cashier at your local supermarket, and online 90% of the time whenever you voice your opinions it makes somebody angry— the other 10% is when you're upset with someone else's opinion... When you put things like that you start to wonder if you're the problem. Socializing without Franky would be the first step towards becoming a better you! Starting off small is the key to success in your case.

“Okay, now let's just relax and forget all about my blog. Gotta wait for some likes… But I guess here they're called hits.”

Closing your laptop, you sit back in bed. There's an odd rush of adrenaline running through your veins, something's telling you that this is going to be a success. Here you're going to make some cool mutuals, engage in friendly conversation, and hopefully if someone thinks highly enough of you— you’ll get yourself a fan. That's wishful thinking, though. If things go sour you have to abandon this platform forever. The moment you get comfortable and reach for your phone, a soft knock sounds at your door, and you already know it's one of the only people you maintain a relationship with and live with.

“Y/N? Just wanted to make sure I didn't overstep earlier. I know you've never had an issue with it before, but I tend to overthink. You also know that. Tell me you aren't upset so I can post Jinbe on my story with a clear mind.”

Without even seeing him, you can tell by his voice that he's got his face pressed against your door. 

“I’m not!” You shout aloud, getting back into a comfortable position.

“Are you sure?”

“...I’m sure.”

“Okay, but are you sure that you're sure?”

“Rest assured I’m not upset with you in any way or manner, Franky.”

“...Alright, but are you confident?”

He's doing the thing again. Angrily, you walk towards your door and fling it open— but Franky is already scurrying to his room, giggling along the way. His joy is infectious, and you forget about your worries and previous annoyances. Today was productive enough in your book; Franky made some burgers on the grill earlier and invited a few of his more sociable and interesting friends, mentioning how bummed he was that some girl… Whatever her name was, couldn't come over. Even if they weren't there for you it was still nice to have a few laughs with new faces. Then you got in some sun and just let your thoughts drift away; until the creation of your blog, which is still in the densely populated space of your brain.

You forgot all about it until you were dressed up the next morning, scurrying to open your laptop in a daze. More anxious than ever, the color blue highlighting the numbers over your notification's inbox reading “99+” damn near killed you. You move your mouse over to your profile picture in the corner, and check out your post, a simple photo of your outfit with less accessories than usual.

800 hits total. 12 comments. 46 reposts. And your post was added to a few collections, you'd say maybe 20 people did so. That leaves 722 likes. 

Something tells you to check the comments, and after skimming through them, you're comforted when you see nothing negative. You felt comfortable saying this since he hopefully wasn't omniscient, but you're glad you didn't see that FireFist dude in your notifications. Honestly you can't even explain to yourself why he came up just now, but he did. He pissed you off a great deal, so it's valid you're still thinking of him. The positive comments distract you more than that asshole does, though. Starting from the top you begin to read.

NamiLuvsMoney: “def not my style but super cute <3”

When you checked her profile, you saw that she seemed to have amassed a large fan base doing the same as you. That wasn't even mentioning how beautiful she was in her profile picture, so much so that you followed her immediately after verifying it was really her of course. Your eyes move on to the next comment.

SuuperCyborg: “i need my belt back”

It's Franky, you nearly forgot you gave him your blog handle. He doesn't post much but he has an introduction on his page, you follow him after giggling at the familiar profile picture which was the same on each social media page of his. It was the one a show photographer took of him spraying cola everywhere with his hair in a huge Mohawk, there's a few of his friends whom you barely remember holding him up and laughing. It makes you want to go to a punk show with him.

The next comment is just a thumbs up emoji, and the person who commented has no profile picture set. Checking their profile, they only seem to repost historical things. You block them under the assumption bot interactions will mess with your blog's engagement, you did so well on this first post, and you don't wanna ruin that. Goodbye to the blog titled “Bookmark”, it's a stupid name for a blog but FireFist is worse. 

SaDbo: “this outfit reminds me of my little brothers friend. he's pretty kickass and I kinda want his closet, but his eyes are intimidating sometimes. i think you wear it better 👀”

Oh, you've made it. After scanning his profile obsessively, your ego experiences a massive increase. This hottie complimented your outfit. This gorgeous blonde man? Stay calm, racing heart. When you dig a little more you see that he reposts a bit of everything, and you find yourself a little curious about him. Any sane person would follow him. Anybody. Franky would give you a round of applause right about now.

The page suddenly refreshes on its own, and there you see it now placed at the top of the column of comments.

FireFist: “i see you!"

FireFist: “did ya miss me?”

His comments were immediately deleted, but apparently this website didn't allow you to block people on new accounts, so you decided to send this guy a DM in hopes of maybe getting him to fuck off. Preparing an angry DM you try not to sound too aggressive to risk your following of 78 people, which is still pretty impressive if you do say so yourself. Enough about you, more about your aggressor.

“this is really creepy of you to do”

On the other side of the screen, you like to think this guy is old and greasy, maybe even divorced or something. Again, his profile is bare. Nothing at all, just a black profile picture.

“you're the one playing hard to get babe”

His response came quickly, like he was waiting for you to message him. When you read his message and see he called you “babe” that makes you think it would be for the best if he wasn't an old man. This wasn't your first time being harassed online, but this was the first time someone found an account with an entirely different email address linked to it, not to mention there was no indication that it was you. Every other profile is bare, besides your close friends' stories.

“youre harassing me???? on the internet? do you have any hobbies?  no sane person has this much free time”

“how did you even find me, my user is completely different” This bizarre situation is gonna leave you with long lasting paranoia regarding social media. Three dots pop up and fade in and out in the bottom corner of your chat, showing that FireFist is now typing.

“yah i knew you would have a fuckass handle like this bcz wtf does this even mean”

Is your handle really that cringe? The essence of social media is that you can do things with less cares than usual, so you begin to think letting your imagination run wild and ironically choosing your username was a mistake. Does everyone know its satirical?

“youre one to talk, FireFist”

Another message of yours trails behind. The typing begins, but then it stops. And it doesn't pick back up after that. You refresh the page over and over whilst not even blinking, itching for a response so you can say something else without seeming obsessed— but it never comes. Guess that's the end of it. 

At least that's what you thought at the time. Fifteen minutes later is when it happened.

“Y/N! Who the hell is FireFist?!” Franky’s yelling is close, and then your door swings open with such force, the brass doorknob comes crashing into your drywall at record speeds. When the door lightly swings back and forth and lets out of the wall, there's a circular hole from where the doorknob made contact.Damn this shitty house and its fragile walls. To make matters worse; when you look up at Franky he seems angry.

“Shit. Did he do something?” Your anxiety is killing you to the point you barely manage to speak to Franky. Is it wrong to think that this is kind of scary? It's just some dude online, but he's everywhere now. That means the chances of seeing him in real life are slim… You think.

“Something? Did he do something?” Franky hangs his head, his hand gripping the side of the door while he seethes in his anger.

“He trashed my base in Cyborg Utopia! Uh, why are you so nervous anyways?” Then comes Franky’s dramatic outburst, and suddenly the tension in the air dissipates a bit. But you can't shake the feeling that this isn't the last instance of him popping up places.

“Huh? Oh, well— er…”

Maybe you shouldn't worry Franky. He would probably end up embarrassing you by making a few thousand angry posts about him if you told him you had a new internet… Stalker? FireFist falls into that category you suppose. You choose to keep quiet about it all. Franky looks at you expectantly, but you just shake your head. Don't worry about it. His eyes betray him and showcase his momentary worry as he walks away, shutting your door softly.

Wait a second.

“Hey! My wall, asshole!” You scream and stand up, shouting closer to the door so Franky could hear you a little louder.

“Not my problem!”  Franky yells back even louder than you.  The slamming of the front door is heard all the way from your room, followed by the sound of your roommates' noisy, beat up motorcycle speeding off. It's almost twelve in the morning, and he's off again.

Fuck, the week isn't even over. A stalker, a hole in your wall, and an odd sense of loneliness. You do still need friends, after all.

[willgrahamsbecoming]

despite the abundance of hannigram content out there my brain has gone and gotten attached to a silly little rarepair so i present to you: my silly little will graham/frederick chilton "fake" marriage au!

it's got the general setting of the edwardian era since i was thinking about maurice when planning it but i'm not sticking to that too strictly, this is just a self-indulgent fic

some other significant characters in future chapters include freddie lounds, margot verger, and probably beverly katz!

chapter 1 is posted here:

[pokimoko]

I can't keep being fundamentally changed as a person by animated movies, it's just not sustainable.

[angstfactory]

It was easy to see that Winter wasn't exactly comfortable himself, trying to explain any of this. And Tripps even felt he was overly concerned about what he might think or feel about it, too. Why he cared what a guy he could barely remember may consider of this, he wasn't sure. "Honestly, screw what I feel?" he said, a bit amazed by the selflessness of it. "I'm not the one who lost his memory in some freak accident, having to keep post-its on every surface of my life to keep myself straight. Clearly, you've got your own things to worry about, so forget about how I'm doing."

Besides... Tripps wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. He was bothered, sure, but only about his own shitty behavior and how dismissive he'd been. It embarrassed him. Quite frankly, he was shocked Winter had bothered to tolerate him at all, let alone bring him back to the house to prove himself.

He watched as Winter leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, looking as if the entire world was on his shoulders despite how he tried to dismiss how 'used to this' he was. Maybe, the guy was used to all of it, but that didn't make any of it better. "I don't know man, this..." Tripps came forward, unable not to feel sorry for him, "this all kinda does sound miserable." He knew, from his own personal history, that Winter might not appreciate the pity or want it. But it wasn't like he was able to shut off compassion like some type of switch.

Winter was going through a really fucked up thing. Alone. That part, was what bothered him the most, actually.

"Christ, Win, why aren't your parents here?" Tripps shook his head. "Look, I get that you're able to function and get around on your own, but whatever happened to you..." and whatever that was, he still had no idea, as Winter was being rather tight-lipped weirdly, about that in-specific. "It was clearly something serious, and I can't believe they've just left you here to go through it all by yourself anyway." Now that he was looking at him, like really looking, he could see the paleness and fatigue in Winter, the sag in his shoulders. Quite a difference from the bright and cheeky guy from two years ago, that drank a little too much and threw caution to the wind in a random hook-up.

"I didn't say I want to leave, chill." Winter had said this a number of times now, actually. That Tripps could go, he would understand. Tripps already knew he was able to split any second he felt like it. And honestly? Something like this normally probably would have scared him off and been too much to bother with, even in a bedroom buddies kind of way. So, he wasn't even sure why he hadn't left himself, either. He just hadn't.

Maybe there was a part of him that understood, or sensed, that Winter wouldn't want to be alone. Tripps had felt that too, before. He knew what it was like to have to pretend everything was okay when it actually wasn't.

"So.." Tripps paused, fingers stroking through the short strands of hair at the back of his head as he considered Winter, the notes, and the room itself at large. Trying to figure out what to do, before ultimately deciding to attempt to inject some levity back in before he stressed Winter further. The guy had enough on his plate. "Forget the bees," he said then, forcing a more casual and teasing tone once more, coming to stand before Winter. "I've been here for ten minutes already, and you haven't once offered me a beverage or given me the grand tour... Some host."

Things had shifted. Whereas before Tripps had been joking around with him, had seemed so loose and carefree, now he was tense and rigid, like he was upset about something. And Winter thought he knew why. For a moment, he just stood there looking at the man, still surprised by his sudden change in demeanor, but Winter didn't really know why. They probably only knew each other peripherally, and Winter had laid a lot on him. "I know it's a lot," Winter said sheepishly, looking at the floor and sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on it a little. It was a lot, clearly too much, and Winter wished he'd somehow covered up how bad it was. Maybe he shouldn't have brought Tripps here; maybe it would have been better if Winter had let him believe that he was being coy. Another moment passed in silence, and then Winter had to say something. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," he apologized. "I'm acting like we're close friends who share private, intimate details of our lives, but I'm...probably just some guy you know casually. And I just dropped so much on you." Winter wished he could go back in time and change the way this whole interaction had gone.

"I saw a doctor after it happened," Winter told Tripps. "They did scans of my brain, all kinds of tests, I talked to specialists, but no one could figure it out." Because it's magic, he thought, though Winter didn't say that. "I think this is just life for me now," he answered Tripps. "But it's not like I'm miserable. I've got a lot of good things in my life, and I'm used to this now. I manage well enough, though I know it's overwhelming. I'm sorry again." Winter sighed once more, and he added, "It's okay that you don't like bees, and it's okay if you do like them or feel neutral and just want to go. I'm not going to be mad at you if you leave. I get it." Winter leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead, thinking about how all of this was his fault.

[ourtalechara]

I'm not getting over this

[benetnvsch]

WHOS READY FOR THE HOSPITAL SCENE IN DUB TODAY :DD!!?!?!?

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[todayisafridaynight]

everyday i constantly think of masato's wheelchair and if that's his only one/main one no wonder he's so pissed at everyone

[kuiinncedes]

starting a darker shade of magic >:0

[moonske]

slowly making my way through more moobies this year...

[chatterbox-juice]

Juno is important. according to AJHQ on their insta, Juno is NOT an alpha but an ancient hero, which is interesting, because if Juno isn't an alpha, then canonically the arctic wolves has no alpha. for my AU, i've been considering reviving Juno, not because of author's bias, but because narratively, Juno is THE protector of Balloosh, the newest land added to the game. and I don't want to create an Arctic wolf alpha bc

A: shamans can't create anymore shamans after the phantoms (which i'm changing a bit)

B: that's boring

C: the implications of bringing someone from the past back to the present is somewhat horrifying

but yeah, Juno is OLDER than the shamans, and in my au I said "nuh-uh" because I couldn't think of a way of Juno being older that fits the timeline. correction, I just didn't like it.

in the game, they have two major connections to presumably (100%) dead alphas; Star and Fang, the direwolf and sabertooth alphas respectively. Fang is unimportant, and Star is mildly more important than Fang.

Now, while Balloosh really shines in the Juno Era to the Hexagram Era, it existed as far back as the Culture Era, if we're talking about it being established. the land Balloosh was established on most likely existed in the early history eras.

but anyway, to make sense of Peck, Greely, Gilbert, Liza, Graham, and Cosmo being the original six shamans, Star and Fang will no longer be shamans. they'll be important figures, like pack leaders (did sabertooths and direwolves form packs??), but not shamans. Juno doesn't exist here.

Star and Fang are older than the six in terms of age, just to establish that. Juno is younger in age. So how does Juno come to exist?

they're a gift from Mira. prior to this, Star and Fang joined their packs together and wandered just like that, a massive culmination of canine and feline. this most likely takes place in the Dominion Era, so collaboration between different species was unheard of. Star, Fang, and their pack was shunned, pushed to the far marshlands, but Mira had a sort of respect for it. so she gifted them Juno in the form of a feather.

this is also why Juno is nonbinary. they weren't created with a gender. (also they didn't feel entirely comfortable with gendered pronouns later in life)

these marshlands would also later become Balloosh, founded by Star, Fang, and Juno.

but anyway, Star carries around the feather with a piece of twine, treating it as the second coming of God, whilst Fang leads the pack with one of the leaders fixated on a feather. Fang found it redundant, and he always scolded Star for it, but Star herself did not care about what he had to say. Mira respected them. Respected them! if it wasn't obvious, this is from Star's point of view. to Fang, he acknowledged the feather as a gift, but felt that Mira's attention was fleeting. ultimately, in some way, shape, or form, he wasn't entirely wrong.

one day, during the Settlement Era, the feather glowed as bright as the sun, and soon it grew legs, and fur, and ears, and oh god it's a pup now. this pup was baby Juno, the arctic wolf born from a feather. Star and Fang became parents, almost. they were both a bit feral for Juno more tame demeanor, but they loved Star and Fang nonetheless.

[keebwee]

when u don even know if ur aroace at this point bc fics make u long for such a connection . even tho the thought of that connection also icks u out majorly . this is a 4 am post beware of tags ...... i dont know what i will release....

[catiuskaa]

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

syn. the nights were mainly made to worship all that we loved during the day —in chan’s case, there’s nothing else, as he crawls back to you, always.

wc. 3.8k

cw. minsung mentioned, chan is a simp, they are whipped for each other, someone has daddy kink (and it’s both of them), teasing, explicit content, oral (f.rec), a healthy dose of marking, protected piv sex (love to see it), soft soft aftercare, fluff + smut convo honestly, and i think that’s all, folks!

req! by annonie right here. i see ur vision pookie, and i hope i did it justice! i fear i maybe did more smut than aftercare…? idk… sorry i took so long too</3. hope you like!

[☆★🤎★☆]

Honey, I’m home.

It’s such a common statement. A way of not only announcing the fact that one’s finally back from the hardships they had to endure during the day, there it be copious amounts of work, bullshit from dumb colleagues who wouldn’t know common sense from a toaster even if it burned their house down, how Jisung managed to forget his lyrics yet again, and his phone is dead, so he has to call his “husband” —his words, not mine— and make Minho bring him his charger to the studio…

Overall, in broad, general sense, the statement is used to express the feeling of welcomeness that being not just back in one’s house, but home, always brings. Not only that, but it too serves as a way of expressing it to whoever waits within those walls of comfort.

And, for the first time in a long while, it so happens that Chan was already home when you arrived.

But there was none of that when you closed the door behind you, took your shoes off by the entrance and headed to his room, knocking on the already open wooden surface.

Chan turns his head first, moving the desk chair on its axis to face you propperly.

“You’re back,” he smiles.

His eyes don’t leave your figure, not as you lean on the doorframe, not as you let out a soft chuckle and finally get close to him.

For some people, love is felt most clearly through touch—the warmth of a hand on the back, a lingering brush of fingers, a head resting on a shoulder. Being touchy isn’t about neediness, but about closeness, about wordless ways of saying “I’m here” and “you matter.” It’s how comfort is given and connection is deepened, in gestures that feel small but speak loudly. Whether it’s an absentminded thumb tracing a palm or a full-body hug after a long day, physical affection becomes the language that says everything else doesn’t have to be said.

That’s how Chan knows something’s up. Because, instead of throwing yourself to his bed face first, ready to tell him about the day you had —common when your day was specially bad—, you make it a point to stand between his parted legs, your hands traveling to his neck, threading in his hair.

You’re biting your lip. He’s one second from cheekily offering to bite it for you, when you finally speak.

“I was scrolling down Twitter in the bus,” you say softly, your voice smooth. His hands travel to the back of your thighs as you keep on speaking, a sheepish smile on your face. “Someone… someone posted something I think it’s funny.”

He blinks. He’s a bit lost now, but you chuckle, seeing it in his eyes.

“It was a reply to a post a stay made,” you giggle, blushing. “About your solo act in tour.”

“What did it say?” He smiles, giggling with you.

There’s a light pause, and in your eyes you’re pretty sure it’s obvious the ginger hesitation from stating what the post said out loud, but then, staring at his eyes, you just let it out.

“I hope someone can give him head to thank him for this amazing performance.”

Chan dies.

It’s the way you say it—soft, almost teasing, like you know exactly what you do to him. Your voice brushes against his ear, low and playful, and something in him just short-circuits. His hands, already resting on your waist, tighten instinctively, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shift closer. Suddenly his pulse is everywhere—thudding in his chest, his throat, and lower. His breath hitches, and he drops his head a little, trying to compose himself, but it’s no use.

Get fucked, ‘honey, i’m home.’

“I liked it. Reposted it, too.” You confess with a soft chuckle. “And then I thought, you know.” You swallow dry, blushing , which almost kills him again. “I can. Matter of fact, I have.”

He hums in response, and tugs you closer, making you sit on his lap.

“Okay,” he chuckles, sinking his head in the crook of your neck, into your hair, and you move your arms around his neck, giggling too. “That’s a way of getting me off my computer.”

“Good,” you tease softly, next to his ear. “It’s late anyways.”

“It’s going to be so much late when I’m done with you,” he confesses in a low voice, not bothering to think if that’s correct grammar or not.

Instead, he presses a soft kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, until he moves back, one of his hands moving from your ass to cup your cheek.

It starts with a single kiss. A soft peck, quick and familiar. Then another. And another. Each one lingers a little longer, his lips pressing into yours like he’s testing the edge of restraint —whether yours or his, he doesn’t really know, merely wsiting to see who breaks first. Secretly, he knows he will.

His hands pull you closer until the chair that holds the both of you groans from the combined weight. When he finally pulls back, just a breath apart, he’s already smiling—low and crooked, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“I missed you today,” he says, voice rougher than it usually is. Then he’s kissing you again, deeper now, slow and intense, like he’s trying to make up for every second you were apart. His mouth moves with purpose, stealing your breath, and when his fingers slide up your spine, you arch into him without even thinking.

You move from him, peppering kisses all over his face. It’s coaxing, or at least you attempt it that way, until you notice him smirking.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, pouting.

“Why, princess?” He smiles, faking innocence, letting out one of those squeaky laughs of his. “Something wrong?”

You groan dramatically, hiding your face in his neck as he laughs and holds your body closer.

“You’re a meanie,” you mumble against his skin.

“And you’re blushing.”

You huff. “Meanie.”

His hands stroke your thighs slowly, up and down. “You’d like me even more if I was meaner,” he grins teasingly. “Wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Moving away from his neck, you pout again.

“I’ll leave,” you squint your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chan tongues his cheek. He wonders if he can tease you a bit more, which he knows he probably can, but there’s only so much he can resist you. So he licks his lips, smiling at you.

“Really, princess? You’d leave daddy alone, even after what you’ve told me?”

You can’t stop smiling, not as he looks at you like you hung the stars, as your stomach flutters and as your cheeks burn. You try to play it cool, but your laugh comes out a little too breathless, and he definitely notices. The way he touches you doesn’t help either—his hands cheekily going anywhere they want, fingers brushing your arm, his hand resting low on your back like it’s always belonged there. You’re giddy, lightheaded, way too aware of how close he is, how good he smells, how your body is already leaning into his without asking permission. Not to him, exactly —that’s saved for a different night—, but to you, your own brain closing the door behind and leaving you all alone.

“Finally,” you kiss him cheekily. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The kisses start playful. You’re still giggling when he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, and you feel yourself melt against him, warm and dizzy from how good it all feels.

Yes. Home. Finally. Sitting in his lap feels too easy, too natural—like you were meant to be there. And then, without thinking, your hips shift—just a small roll. Unintentional, but nevertheless, the second it happens, you both freeze. His breath catches against your skin. Your cheeks flare hot, the air between you thickening.

Chris lets out a somewhat breathless chuckle next to your ear, threatening to send shivers down your spine. He bites your cheek, teeth not sinking in, but rather like a way of teasing you back. Judging by how your breathing stops and hitched, he stands corrected.

He smirks. The look he gives you threatens to rip your clothes off one by one, undoing you almost entirely. That slow, knowing smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, equal parts smug and hungry.

“Oh,” he says, low and teasing, like he just discovered something dangerous. His hands slide over your hips, firmer now. “You sure you missed me just a little?”

Your face goes warm immediately, and you bite back a smile, ducking your head just a little. Of course he noticed. Of course he’s smirking like that. You nod, sheepish but honest, and he chuckles softly—the sound low and familiar, the kind that always makes your heart do a flip.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, already slipping his hands lower, settling them on your hips like he’s done it a thousand times before. He moves you slowly, guiding your body against his with that quiet confidence he only ever shows when it’s just the two of you.

The grind is subtle, teasing, but the heat it stirs is immediate. You let out a shaky breath, forehead brushing his as your fingers curl into the back of his neck.

“Missed you more than a little,” you whisper, and he grins—cheeky, warm, already leaning in for another kiss that promises he missed you just as much.

“Daddy missed you too, princess.”

His lips find yours again, deeper this time, and the way he shifts beneath you makes your breath hitch. The chair creaks softly under the weight of both your bodies, his hands steady at your hips, but it’s not enough—not anymore.

He kisses you once more, slower, like he’s making a decision, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice rough with warmth, and in one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him like it’s second nature.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking, arms around his shoulders as he carries you the few steps to the bed. The room blurs around you, all focus narrowing to the way his hands hold you, the way your bodies stay close, connected. When he lowers you to the mattress, it’s careful—reverent almost—but there’s a promise in his touch, in the way he leans over you again like he can’t stand being even a breath apart.

The mattress dips under his weight as he follows you down, never quite breaking the kiss, just shifting it—slower, deeper, until it’s all heat and breath and the soft rustle of the bedsheets. Chris’ hands roam, familiar, but still making you shiver.

He kisses you again, deeply, tasting you like a candy he’s been craving to have before he starts trailing those kisses lower. Down your neck, over your collarbone, taking his time, savoring every inch of skin. His hands glide down your sides, smooth and steady, until he reaches the hem of your shirt and helps ease it off with a sudden softness that somehow he always carries and still it makes your breath catch.

He glances up at you as he shifts lower, and there’s something in his eyes—affection wrapped in heat, like he wants to give, not just take.

He watches you the entire time, eyes dark with focus, with want. “God, I love when you look at me like that,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Your hips shift slightly under his hands, your fingers mindlessly scratching his hair, as they lock around his neck.

“Like what?”

“Like I could ruin you,” he says simply, before kissing your collarbone, “and you’d let me.”

His mouth never fully leaves your skin—kisses trailing down your stomach, each one slower than the last, until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you with that teasing glint in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse trip. “Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, and then he leans in.

You feel the scrape of his teeth first—light, playful—just before his lips close around the zipper. He tugs it down slowly, deliberately. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet between your breaths, each inch building the anticipation curling low in your belly. When the zipper’s undone, his hands take over, easing both the denim and your panties down your hips with a touch so gentle it borders on worshipful. And then he’s leaning in again, kissing the newly exposed skin with a smile against your thigh, like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

When he settles between your thighs, he doesn’t rush. His hands stroke your hips, your thighs, grounding you as his mouth finally finds you. The first touch of his tongue is slow and warm, and the sound you make earns a satisfied hum from him. He keeps going like that—unhurried, attentive—learning every reaction, every twitch of your hips, every moan and every gasp.

It’s not just about pleasure to him. It’s about you.

And when your fingers slide into his hair and your back arches off the bed, he only holds you firmer, as if to say, I’ve got you. I’m not stopping until you fall apart for me.

You shiver and tremble beneath him, letting out heavier moans and whines. He hums, the sound traveling through you, threatening to make you come already.

Your fingers tug his hair, and he smiles against your thigh. “Seems you’re already letting me ruin you,” he bites your thigh, cheeky. “Like when daddy ruins you, princess?”

You gasp at the bite, a shiver running down your spine. His words send a thrill through you, and you can feel yourself growing more excited by the minute. You feel your cheeks flush as you imagine what he's promising.

"Yes, daddy," you whisper, your voice already a little breathless. "Please ruin me, make me yours."

He chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his lips tracing a path up your thigh, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. "And you know that I always take good care of my princess, don't you?"

His fingers slide along your inner thigh, his voice dipping.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, hand still in his hair. “If you stop now, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Your fingers curl and your nails scratch his back without thinking, and he lets out a soft gasp, his shoulders going slack as he leans into your touch.

“Anything for you, princess,” he whispers, licking his lips, almost drunk on the taste of you, his gaze already completely under your spell. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but please, keep touching me like that.”

He moves up and kisses you, relishing on the moans he swallows that spill from your lips as his hands move to take place where his mouth has just been, his fingers moving, slipping inside with wet ease.

“Oh, princess. You’re close already?” He watches you nod, moaning almost breathlessly, and slows down. He chuckles softly at the sound of your whine, unable to resist the adorable look on your face. "You're so cute when you're needy."

Nibbling on his lower lip, he pulls back just enough to reach toward the nightstand, eyes still on you, lips parted like he doesn’t want to be away for long. He grabs the foil packet and flashes you a look —half teasing, half focused—before tearing it open with his teeth. It’s effortless, practiced, but the sight alone makes your stomach flip.

His smile fades into something softer as he finishes rolling the condom on, hands steady but reverent, like he’s handling something precious. Then he’s back over you, fitting between your legs with ease, his skin warm against yours, his mouth returning to your neck, your collarbone, every place that makes your breath catch. The pace slows for a moment—like he wants to savor it, like rushing would be a waste. His forehead presses to yours, noses brushing, and he whispers your name like it’s a secret, grounding you both in the quiet, electric space between heartbeats.

When he finally presses into you, it’s slow—measured, but deep. You gasp, legs tightening around his waist, and he groans low in his throat, the sound rough and honest. His hands slide under your back, pulling you impossibly close, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that’s all heat and promise. The rhythm builds naturally, guided by every stuttered breath, low whine, and whispered name, until it’s just you and him.

He builds a steady pace, slowly losing it’s rythm as pleasure takes the lead.

“You sound so… so good… so, so… f-fuck…” he moans against your skin, his body holding you so tight, his movements getting just a bit more desperate and rough as he attempts to hold back, trying to last just a little longer.

“S-so close… I’m so… so c-close…” You moan, desperate, your body shaking and trembling, on the very edge of a release.

His hand finds yours, interlinking your fingers. He whines lowly as you come, his heart pounding and body shaking. He can’t hold back any longer, his body completely overwhelmed by the feeling. He moans your name, every second feeling more intense as you continue to move against him. Holding onto you tightly, he comes not too long after you, almost letting his body fall over yours, unwilling to let you go.

He clings to you, feeling completely raw and vulnerable, his body trembling with the aftermath of such intensity. The world goes black and white, and for the smallest moment, time seems to almost stop between the sounds of your breaths in sync, the trembling of your body, the heat your body lets out… It’s all so intense, in his mind almost impossible to explain or describe.

The two of you stay like that, for a few moments, breathing in sync, holding onto each other as the aftershocks take over. You feel him pull away, and you can feel the loss of him, but in the blink of an eye, he’s right there, condom discarded, but he’s still right there, as he helps you get under the bedsheets. Holding your face in his hands, he kisses you, softly, gently.

He stays close, arms wrapped around you like he needs to keep you there, grounded against him. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, and his voice is quieter now, softer.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. You?”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never better.” He shifts slightly, reaching for the blanket at the edge of the bed, draping it over both of you. “How’s that? Warm enough?”

You hum, already melting into the calm of him, nuzzling into his neck. “Mmhm.”

You’re curled up against his chest, legs tangled with his, your breath soft and steady as your fingers absentmindedly trace circles on his arm. He’s quiet—so quiet you glance up to check on him. But he’s already watching you.

That look in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s intense, unguarded. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and falling all over again.

“What?” you whisper with a smile, almost sheepish under the weight of his gaze.

He shakes his head a little, smiling like a fool, like the feeling in his chest is too big for words.

“Nothing. Just… you.”

You giggle.

“That’s not an answer, mister.”

He laughs under his breath, then kisses your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Want me to run you a bath?” He offers softly.

You lay your hand over his, stroking the back of it as he cups your face. “Only if you join,” you wink.

His answer is immediate. “Done.”

He shifts to sit up, but not before giving you one more kiss—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I’ll be right back. Stay cozy.”

You hear the soft creak of the faucet turning on, the gentle rush of water echoing faintly from the bathroom. He moves around quietly, opening drawers, setting things down, and humming under his breath as he prepared this little ritual he’s done a hundred times for you.

When he returns to the bedroom, he’s shirtless, damp towel in one hand, and smiling like he just lit every candle in the world just for you. “It’s ready,” he says, voice warm. “Perfect temperature. Bubbles and all.”

You sit up, letting the blanket slip off your shoulders, and he immediately steps forward to wrap it back around you, his hands brushing down your arms with affection. “Want help getting there?”

You nod, and he lifts you easily, bridal style, because of course he does, earning giggles from you. He carries you into the softly lit bathroom, where the tub is already steaming, the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet in the air.

“There we go,” he smiles, helping you in. The water ripples as he steps in behind you, warm and careful, settling in with a low sigh. His arms come around you almost automatically—slow, steady—and you melt back into him with a sleepy grin.

His chest is pressed to your back, his legs on either side of yours, and his chin rests on your shoulder. He exhales deeply, his breath brushing your skin.

The warmth of the water surrounds you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his skin against yours, the way his fingertips draw slow patterns along your arms beneath the surface. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your shoulder or cheek, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world just to love you like this.

Your fingers stay twined with his. You don’t talk much—there’s no need. It’s one of those rare, quiet silences that says everything. He leans his head against yours and lets out a little hum, content.

Eventually, the water cools just slightly, and he shifts, his lips brushing your ear. “Come on,” he whispers, soft and coaxing. “Let’s get you dry before you fall asleep on me in here.”

You let him help you up, both of you dripping and a little giggly as he wraps a towel around you and one around himself. He dries you off gently, his hands sweet and familiar, pausing to kiss your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your forehead.

You step out of the bath, feeling the steam cling to your skin, and glance at him with a sheepish smile. “I just need to pee real quick,” you say, before slipping away toward the toilet.

Bathtub empty, both of you dry and spent, he pulls the blankets down and helps you crawl to bed first, then slides in behind you, pulling you into his chest like it’s instinct. His arms wrap around you again—just like in the tub—and this time, the sheets are warm, the room is quiet, and your skin is still damp in that post-bath glow.

He kisses the back of your shoulder once more before whispering, “You okay?”

You nod, sleepy and safe. “Mhm. You?”

His reply is immediate, low and sincere.

“Never been better.”

Home has never felt so warm.

[☆★🤎★☆]

~kats, who has listened to hozier’s cover of “do i wanna know?” an unhealthy amount of times.

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung @staytinyluva

[tbaluver]

Hewoo! I'm so so soo weak for your family fluff headcanons aaa can I request a scenario of the little kiddies of LADS men sneaking off with reader's phone and made a video call to their papas because they've been away from home and/or simply making a silly video call to brighten up their papas day? 🥺🫶🏻

˗ˏˋ Incoming Baby Call!˗- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb genre: fluff fluff summary: your child(ren) sneak off with your phone to call them a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ WAHHH THANK YOU MWAH i love writing them as dads like i fear i want no husband as long as its them .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. this one is not beta read so i apologize for any mistakes! i have so much wip of them as papas that i hope to post soon <3 anyways i hope i did this request with justice ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ i hope you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier was exhausted and hungry, his mission dragging on longer than he’d hoped. He couldn’t wait to get back home, pick up some dinner for his family, and finally relax. He couldn’t wait to wrap up this mission and be back home with you both.

Just as he refocused on tracking the wanderer, a soft ringtone caught his attention. Without a second to spare, he answered once he saw your name flash through his screen. But instead of you, his little boy appeared instead holding his plushie-shaped cookie.

“Hi, little buddy.” Xavier smiles softly. His son, as usual, flashes a cute peace sign in front of the camera. It was a little habit he did whenever there was a camera around and it’s a habit that you both hope he’d never outgrow.

“Papa,” his son whispers, holding up the tiny plushie to the screen as if he were offering it to him.

“Are you offering me a bite?” Xavier asked, playing along as his son nodded eagerly. “Thank you. It tastes great,” He adds, pretending to chew thoughtfully and giving a mock critic nod. “I think we should get more of these.”

It warmed Xavier’s heart to see his son share food even through the screen. Perhaps it’s something he’d watched you both share meals often and picked up on it. “Don’t forget to share with mommy too, okay?” His son nods enthusiastically, his chubby cheeks puffing out. “By the way, where is mommy?”

His son placed a finger to his lips to quietly shush him as he tilted the phone to the side, revealing you peacefully napping close to him, a plushie tucked under your arm. Xavier chuckles softly, not wanting to disturb you.

“Alright, let’s keep it quiet so we don’t wake mommy up okay?” He whispers, “If you take a nap now, I’ll be home before you know it.”

His son nods sleepily as he snuggles up closer to you. Even in such a small and simple moment, Xavier couldn't help but feel grateful. It reminded him just how lucky he was to come home to a family with so much love.

Zayne:

It was another busy night at the hospital. Multiple reports to go through before checking up on several other patients who are waking from surgery in a few hours. Another stressful night, but he’ll manage like he always does. Just as he was about to settle down in his seat, he checked his phone.

11 missed calls

Concern floods his body as he immediately calls you, only to find your baby daughter on the other end. “Papa!” She coos, her sweet little smile makes him feel slightly relieved. 

“Hi my love, where is Mommy?”

“in the bafroom,” She replies casually, his heart easing. That would be correct, her snowman pajamas tell him that you both should be getting ready for bed right about now. “Papa! I miss you..Are you going home now?” She pouts into the screen and Zayne only chuckles into the camera, adjusting his glasses. 

“Not yet my love.” He says softly, her pout deepening further. “I’m sorry but it seems that I’ll be here for a while.” His heart twinges at his own words. As much as he hates to disappoint his daughter, he knows this is a part of his job, something she’ll understand better as she grows older.

“But whyyy? Can’t you work here instead? You look tired papa.” She whines with pleading eyes, hoping this time she can make her father come home early again. 

He chuckles, he must’ve heard you both talking about his reports in the morning and mistaken it for something like homework. “Not tonight my love. Unfortunately, some patients need me right now”

She pouts, her head turning away, and he can’t help but feel worried. Did he upset her? He would hope not, he would want her to sleep well tonight. Maybe he should come home early or he can make it up by getting secret sweet treats together again.

“Papa, how about I read you a book then?” She asks, breaking his thoughts. She held up a book that she’s been practicing with. Maybe she noticed the bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and is trying to cheer him up in her own little way.

“Of course,” A smile tugs on his lips as he adjusts the phone so he can hear her better. She opens the book, sounding out each word with Zayne occasionally helping her with the tricky ones. His heart swells as he watches her, she’s already growing up so fast.

She stops reading when he hears your voice in the background, asking her what she’s doing. “I’m talking to papa, mommy! I’m reading to him right now” You chuckle, thinking she was talking to a picture of him on your phone again but don’t realize she’d manage to call him this time.

“Sorry, Zayne! We can call you another time!” You quickly grab the phone to see your handsome husband’s face on the screen. You know at this hour isn’t his break but before you can say anything more, Zayne gently cuts you off.

“No, it’s fine. Stay, please. Let her keep going. I haven’t taken my break yet anyway.” His voice softens with a chuckle when he hears her cheer in the background. You smile, adjusting the phone and settling her on your lap. Together, you both help her continue reading her story before you say your goodnight’s.

Rafayel:

Boredom isn’t even the word to cover it. Rafayel felt tired, drained, from the endless back and forth conversations with multiple collectors, sucking away all the energy from him. The more he conversed with them, the heavier his eyelids became. He wanted to yawn, to make it clear how uninterested he was in their never-ending rambling. However, if he did, Thomas would surely give him an earful later or worse another due date for another art project.

He glanced around the room, jealousy gnawing at him as he watched a group of an artist's family admiring art together. He wished you and the kids were here with him. He would’ve had you here if he hadn’t procrastinated to accept the invite, the room’s capacity was already maxed out and the lists of invites were soon closed.

As the collector rambled on, Rafayel could feel his eyes slowly drooping, surely soon enough the glass in his hands would drop. Luckily, just when he thought he might lose the last bit of focus, his phone ringing caught his and the collector’s attention.

“Excuse me, it’s my wife.” The collector nodded, walking away, giving Rafayel the perfect opportunity to slip into a private bathroom.

As soon as he answered the phone, his heart lifted. On the screen were his little bundles of joy. “My little glubs!” A wide grin spread across his face, his eyes lighting up as the kids' tiny smiles beamed back at him. “What are you guys doing? Where’s Mama?" He asks, tilting his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of you through the screen.

“She’s cleaning!” One of the kids chirped, earning a playful shushing from her siblings. Rafayel chuckled, they had definitely taken your phone again.

“Papa, can you come home now? We’re bored and we miss you!” Their pleas echoed from each other, hoping he could understand that they really missed him. His heart ached, he could practically feel their tiny arms reaching out to him through the phone.

“Just a couple more hours and I’ll be home, I promise. Then we can play all night long, yeah?” He raised a brow, tilting his head.

“No Daddy! We made something for you!” One of them piped up, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Yeah! We made our own art...ex..exa? examission?” The word came out cute, and Rafayel’s sure he meant to say was exhibition. Rafayel didn’t know yet but they had planned to surprise him with their own little art show that you were secretly setting up in the living room. You figured it would be a good idea to cheer him up after a long day without his family. However, you didn’t know the kids would take your phone while they ran off to go ‘play’.

“Papa, you have to come soon or else we’ll close!” His youngest insisted. Raf smiled, realizing this was one of their clever little ways of getting him to hurry home before they had to go to bed.

He paused for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin. His kids waited in anticipation, a playful grin spreading across his face as an idea sparked in his head. “Got it!” He said, snapping his fingers. “I’m coming home now!” The sounds of cheerful giggles erupted on the other side of the line.

Rafayel quickly exits out of the bathroom, Thomas follows behind closely while he asks where does he thinks he's going. Rafayel mentioned briefly that he had another art exhibition that was way more important than this one, making it enough to leave Thomas confused and stop in his tracks.

Sylus:

There’s nothing more infuriating when the tradesmen don’t want to cooperate even if they’re tied up. They whine and complain but the moment they realize no one’s listening, they cry out for help. But before their pleas can even form properly, Sylus silences them with a single look, fear flickering across their faces.

“One moment,” He says, raising an index finger to quiet them. Everyone's attention shifts to his ringtone, a melody of a childish tune unexpectedly playing from the speakers. The tradesmen freeze, exchanging confused glances at each other.

“Bossman said one moment!”

“Yeah, one moment!” Luke and Kieran chimed in, nodding as they let Sylus step away

Sylus taps the green button, his brow furrowing as he sees your name and contact photo flash on the screen. A wave of concern washes over him, did something happen while he was away? But that worry disappears when he sees his daughter's bright, familiar face light up on his screen.

“Daddy!! Hi daddy hiii!!” She chirps, waving excitedly at him.

“Hello, my little dove. What’s going on? Are you and Mommy alright?” He feels the tension in his shoulders ease when she nods rapidly, her little pigtails that you tied bouncing up and down. His heart melted at the sight of her, she looked almost identical to him, with white hair and red eyes yet her personality reminded him so much of yours.

“She’s in the kitchen,” She whispers as if she was sharing a secret. He assumes that she’s taken your phone in secret again. It should be fine, he has taught her to use the phone for emergencies. This wouldn’t count as much as one but he needed to take a step away before he caused one. “Papa, are you okay?” Sylus pauses, taken aback by just how perceptive she is. Perhaps it’s the vein on his forehead that’s threatening to pop. She’s sharp just like her mother.

He exhales deeply. “It’s just a rough night sweetie.”

Her brows furrowed with concern and her pout deepened, pitying her father. How she wished to hug him through the screen. “Papa, how about I sing you a song!” She offers, earning another soft chuckle from Sylus. He always sings her to sleep or cheers her up with a song so it’s no wonder she picked up the habit from him.

“Go ahead, my dove.”

Her vocals were very much like her father’s. When she spots his grin, her confidence grows, making her sing even louder.

“Make it stop!” One of the tradesmen suddenly screams, his voice cracking in desperation. “I’ll give you whatever you want- just please make it stop!” He cries, making Sylus’s ears twitch, the vein in his forehead threatening to make a reappearance.

“Papa, what was that?” She asks, tilting her head innocently.

“I think it was your audience dear. They seemed to enjoy your performance.” Her face immediately lights up, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Can you give me a moment sweetie? I’ll be right back,” He quickly mutes the call and shuts off the camera. Quickly he extracts the necessary information before the men are lifted from the ground, their feet dangling helplessly in the air as red tendrils swirl around them. Despite their begs and cries, they vanished into thin air, leaving the room finally quiet.

With the problem dealt with, Sylus flips his phone back on. He hears your daughter’s cheerful greeting from the other end of the call, her innocent enthusiasm makes his smile return.

“Looks like you brought some good luck little dove. It seems we’re heading home early tonight.”

Caleb:

It had been a long, grueling shift in the skies. Nothing but endless stretches of blue with a few clouds to break the dullness. The minutes dragged by, each one feeling longer than the last. Caleb sat in his cockpit, his elbow propped on the console and his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at his screen. He could handle a shift here and there but ever since your family has grown, miles away from everything he cared about, it weighed on him.

That’s when a familiar, cheerful ringtone broke through the silence.

Caleb immediately perks up, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees your name and a photo of you flash on the screen. However it wasn’t you on the other end, it was someone much smaller and cuter and very much identical to him.

“Dad, dad!” The little boy grins ear to ear. Caleb couldn’t help but grin back, the weariness from his shift fading away.

“Hey there, squirt! What’s up?” Nothing seems to be wrong as he reads from his son’s facial expression. “Where’s mom? Everything alright there?” But of course, he just had to make sure. He would not hesitate to fly this ship back around.

“Yeah! She’s in the kitchen cleaning up. I ate all my vegetables just like you said!” His son beamed, making Caleb chuckle, shaking his head fondly.

“Good job! Don’t forget to thank your mom too, alright?” Your son nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling but Caleb couldn’t figure out why he could be so hyper until he held up a thick book about the Jurassic era.

“Dad, I finished this whole book!” He said, flipping through the pages to show his dad the pictures. “Did you know black beetles are one of the only creatures that survived the Jurassic era? We should go find some!” His tiny finger lands on a picture of a massive beetle, his eyes wide with awe.

Caleb chuckled, his heart melting at how much his son was almost like him. “That’s awesome buddy. You know, I think-”

Before Caleb could say anything more, a soldier by his door interrupts him. “Colonel, sir-!” Caleb’s fingers twitched, slamming the door shut before he finished his sentence. 

He returned his attention to his son, letting him continue his chatter about dinosaurs, and beetles while Caleb would chime in, sharing a little fact or story like how he used to tell you when you were walking on your way to school or just to help you fall asleep at nights.

Time seemed to slip away as Caleb listened to his son’s excited ramblings, the hours of his shift seemed to go faster than he realized. Even though he still had a while to go, hearing the voice of his family was enough to keep him going.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject

pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: reader seeing her ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of a miscarriage, just pure agony! wc: 1.8k inspired by the song 'touchy subject' by peach prc. originally posted 11/21/2024

part II & part III

a white baby gate fixed in my hallway stays haunting the house with the angels we made; sometimes, i dream, a decade away, we meet in a grocery store; you look the same, with just a few grey hairs. the blonde little girl who tugs on your shirt with your smile looks nothing like me.

it had been four years since you had last been on kildare island; four years of trying to forget the life, or the ruined bones of one, that you'd been escaping from.

after ending your engagement with your fiancé, you'd traveled all around the country in your beat-up truck, hoping to find a place where you'd belong; only to end up back in the outer banks. they say there's no place like home, and in a way, it was true. you can leave kildare island, but kildare island will never leave you.

"everything okay?"

you're startled out of your thoughts by the melodic sound of your mother's voice, and when she follows your gaze to the baby-gate attached to the door leading to the kitchen, her mouth twists into a frown. "i was meant to take that down before you got here..." she chewed on her lower lip, a pang of guilt almost punching her in the chest.

"it's fine." you shrug, trying to lift the ends of your lips into a smile, only for it to look artificial and rehearsed. "i should start unpacking."

"alright." your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, but should've been a comforting gesture, made you feel like you were underwater and the hand was simply pushing you deeper.

you stood alone in the living room of your apartment, the only thing to be heard of was the ticking of the clock your mother had already mounted on the clock, mixed in with the sounds of passing cars, so unlike the day you first moved into the apartment, yet so much like the day you were last there.

"you should keep the apartment."

"rafe, i can't do that. it's way too much, and i'm leaving-"

"it's already in your name." the man sighed, smoothing his hand over his shaved head; he looked so different than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making him look like he had aged ten years, his usually tan face almost pale. "you can do whatever you want with it. keep it, sell it, i don't care. it's yours. i never want to step foot in this place again."

your feet were almost moving on their own, the hardwood floor cold under your feet, leading you to that door, and even though you felt your blood run cold, every cell of your body telling you not to open it, you couldn't help but nudge the door open.

you didn't know what you were expecting.

stepping into the room, you let your hand trail over the soft-pink wall, still remembering the smell of paint.

"you know, you shouldn't be doing that." he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "i can just hire someone to paint the walls."

you roll your eyes, your denim overalls covered in the soft pink paint as the paint stained the white wall, "i want to do this. i'm not gonna hire someone to do everything for me when i'm perfectly fine doing it on my own."

"you're not-"

"hush." you pointed the paint roller at rafe, "i'm doing this. now pick up a paint roller or quit whining."

you look down at the crib, lined with white lace, picking up the brown teddy bear that used to belong to you when you were a child, brushing your hand over the fur, straightening the pink bow around its neck.

hung above the crib, was a picture of a couple that had just gotten engaged, wide smiles on both of their faces; a couple that had once been so familiar to you, but now, it was like you couldn't recognize either of the people in the photos.

it felt like everyone was staring at you as they walked past you; four years clearly hadn't been long enough to make the people of outer banks forget about you, and as you made your way towards the local cafe, you couldn't help but think about how long it'd take for the person you didn't want to know you were in town to find out.

you were strolling down the street, rafe's hand in yours, your fingers intertwined. you licked the ice cream cone, deep in thought, letting rafe take the lead.

"what's going through that pretty head of yours?" he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, your engagement ring glimmering under the sunlight.

"baby names." you shrug, "what should we name her?"

"do you have any names in mind?"

"i was thinking..." you pursed your lips, not sure if the name you had been considering would be appropriate or not, chewing on your lower lip as you turn your head to face your fiancé, an expectant smile on his lips and his brows lifted in question, "evelyn."

when the name left your lips, you saw his mouth fall open, and for a moment you thought that you never should've spoken, but after rafe cleared his throat, there was a clear smile on his lips, his blue eyes glassy.

"you- you uh, wanna name her after my mom?"

"yeah." you smile, squeezing his hand. "i do."

for the millionth night, you were laid in bed, looking through pictures, featuring the faces of the couple above the crib in the room next door. pictures with the man's arms wrapped around the woman's waist, ones of them holding hands, ones where one was pressing a kiss the other person's cheek, ones from the several midsummers parties they spent together, ones from halloween, thanksgiving, christmas...

the girl in the dress she had planned to wear on her wedding day.

"rafe, where are you taking me?" you laughed, the blindfold covering your eyes, "if the blindfold's for some kinky purpose, you better forget about it."

rafe laughed, continuing to lead you, his large hands on your waist, "come on, have a little faith in me. i'm not that bad, am i?"

"oh, you definitely are. just last week we were an hour late to ava's party because you just thought i was irresistible."

rafe snorted, "well, that's because you were." he pressed a kiss on your cheek, "you can take it off." he whispered, taking a step away from you.

untying the blindfold, you blinked a few times, letting yourself get used to actually being able to see again, only to be startled by the sight of your boyfriend on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, "rafe...?"

you wiped away the stray tear that had left your eye without permission before it could reach your jaw, continuing to scroll through the pictures, knowing that it'd be yet another sleepless night, but when you saw a picture of her, you paused.

you weren't sure who was more nervous, you or rafe, even though you were the one in the examination chair, your shirt pulled up and your rounded stomach on full display. his hand was tightly gripping yours, the man's jaw clenched.

"let's take a look, shall we?" the ultrasound technician smiled, and you nodded, feeling her spread the cold gel onto your stomach, a slight yelp leaving your lips, making rafe squeeze your hand even tighter. you looked to him, nodding reassuringly, speaking softly, "it's okay."

rafe's grip loosened slightly and he softened his grip, both of you turning your heads to the screen, and the moment you saw the little lump on the screen, you couldn't help but feel tears stinging in your eyes.

"look. that's our baby."

"shit..." rafe stared at the screen wide-eyed, letting out a low breath, "that's our baby."

just like on any average day on the island, the sun was shining, your skin radiating with warmth as you walked down the street, looking in through shop windows; it had been a few days since you'd first stepped outside, and it seemed like your arrival had become widespread news, and you didn't receive as many stares as you did before.

you arrived at rafe's door, bringing your hand up and pounding on the door before you could stop yourself and chicken out for the third time that week. you were a wreck, unable to sleep, to think about anything other than how much you knew you needed to talk to rafe.

you waited, tapping your foot against the ground and biting down on your lip, when finally, the door slowly started opening, a small smile forming on rafe's lips when he realized that it was you.

"hey baby," he chuckled softly, placing his hands on your waist, "you miss me so much you couldn't even text me to let you know you were coming?" he grinned.

"i have to talk to you." you pull away from his embrace, taking his hands off your waist, the blonde looking down at you with furrowed brows, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, clearly alarmed by the slight frown on your lips.

"what's wrong?"

"i'm pregnant."

without even realizing it, you had stopped in front of a jewelry store, gazing inside at the things on display as you were going down memory lane inside your head. you let out a small chuckle, about to step back and continue walking, when your blood ran cold, the smile fading away from your face, feeling as if someone had stabbed you in the heart.

to anyone else, it would've just been the backs of two random people. but even without seeing his face, you could recognize the only man you'd ever loved no matter where you went.

his short-sleeved white collared shirt was tucked into his dark jeans, riding up slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, having grown out slightly since the last time you'd seen it, his signet ring on his middle finger.

you saw him let out a chuckle, and you could almost picture how it'd sound, his hand going to rest on the back of the person he was with.

a younger woman smiled up at him, and even just from her side profile, you could tell that she was gorgeous, her flaming hair flowing over her shoulders, the smile on her face genuine, matching his.

and when you saw what she was holding up and showing to him, the knife in your chest was twisted.

an engagement ring.