#i'm sorry this is so aimless and all over the place

[detransdamnation]

My bad no not dysphoria i meant the learning disability part in the prev ask

Gotcha. My apologies. As is evident, my learning disability affects my reading comprehension lmao

Before I answer this, I think I should give some necessary context since I have never named my specific disability (and would prefer not to, at least publicly, for the sake of my privacy). My learning disability does not impact my cognition; in other words, it has no bearing on my IQ, my ability to communicate, my ability to take care of myself, and so on and so forth.

However, my learning disability does impact what I am able to do academically, which spills over into a myriad of everyday life skills. My learning disability is also very severe.

Now that that’s been said,

In a friend group or acquaintance circle, I don’t expect—or even necessarily want—for other people to help me with things, largely because they can’t. I honestly do think that that is the absolute best way for someone to be supportive of me, is to accept that they cannot help me, they cannot explain things to me, and they cannot help me understand anything that I do not already understand. I don’t mean that to be pessimistic. It’s just the reality of the situation.

This incessant want to help is a pattern that has expressed itself throughout my entire life and it is annoying for a couple different reasons, one of them being that “help” only ever centers my learning disability when it would otherwise exist in the background.

I can generally “hide” my learning disability throughout my everyday life, and even in areas where my struggles are more prominent, I can usually brush them off. As a result, people don’t tend to fully grasp just how severe my learning disability is until they try (unwarranted) to help me through something that I struggle with—because it is only then when they realize that I do not actually have any foundational understanding of any of the concepts that are involved. In the areas that my learning disability affects, I have the comprehension of a child.

So, they have two options. They can meet me at my level and attempt to explain something to me the same way they would explain it to a child—which, although probably objectively better than jumping straight into something I am completely clueless about, has also never been accomplished without my being infantilized, or talked down to, to some extent.

Alternatively, they can take my age into account and explain something to me the same way they would explain it to any other adult—but then that doesn’t generally take into account what I can and cannot comprehend. Sure, my feelings may be spared, and it’s arguably the more ethical approach in that I’m not being treated light years younger than I am—but then they’re not actually teaching me anything at all because the approach assumes that my understanding of the topic at hand is far more advanced than it actually is and is able to be.

Even if either of these approaches worked and the person was somehow able to explain something to me whilst still retaining my dignity, it still all comes down to the therapy-resistant part of my learning disability. I do not retain anything I learn in my problem areas. I cannot retain anything if my learning disability is involved. Even where there is a line of success, it is part of an unsuccessful cycle.

These efforts are also made when I never ask for them. The onus, then, is on me to either A) grin and bear it, or B) interrupt the person and tell them to stop. Once again, this is a lose-lose situation. The former makes me feel guilty because I know that their efforts are going to waste; the latter usually makes the person feel awkward, and then I’m made out to be an asshole because they were “just trying to help.”

Most everyone wants to be the person to give that one explanation to make it all “click,” yet for some reason, it is never considered that this made-it-make-sense explanation does not, in fact, exist. I believe the fact these explanations are attempted, anyway, speaks to an ignorance of the nature of learning disabilities in general, even if they are held subconsciously (i.e., “Sure, you have a learning disability... but it also depends on how you’re taught”).

In many cases, I also believe it speaks to a greater discomfort with how my normal differs from that of people who do not have learning disabilities (or even those who do, but do not have a case as severe as mine).

I have accepted where I am at and I have tailored my life to accommodate my deficits. This does mean that I walk through many areas of life, navigating them through pattern recognition and logical reasoning, but not really understanding what I’m doing. I will always be a bit clueless when it comes to many concepts and skills. I will never be able to do certain things without outside guidance, or even at all. None of this will ever change. I have made peace with that. I am content despite my challenges.

But there are very few people who are content with my contentedness. It is my own experience that people like to think that they are accepting of my disability right up until they come face-to-face with the fact that my disability results in inabilities and they do not like that. They can say they understand or that they sympathize to my face—but they do not truly understand and they absolutely do not sympathize because they still evaluate me as if I have a non-disabled brain and it shows in their constant attempts to help me “improve” or “understand” or “do better.” It all too often insinuates that my successes as a person can only be deemed successful if I achieve them in the same manner as a person without a learning disability.

Some alternative ways that a person could actually support me include (but are not necessarily limited to) asking if I would like something to be explained before explaining it and not offering up an explanation on an entire thing when I am only asking for clarification on a specific part. Respect my limitations, do not challenge them. Never assume that I can do something. Also never assume that I cannot. The most supportive people in my life are the patient ones who are unafraid to ask questions and actually listen to my answers.

Above all else, as previously stated, the best way that one can be supportive of me is to accept that they cannot help me—because through acceptance of my struggles, I stop being a poor thing that needs to be “taught” and am instead seen as a whole person who just happens to have a learning disability. This is all that I want and expect from my loved ones.

I hope this gave you some perspective, Anon. However, I can speak only for myself. Please remember that the best way to support someone with a disability is to ask the individual how you can do so.

[jolapeno]

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

[jester089]

Gotta say, massive fan of the work you’ve pumped out, especially for TADC (it came out two weeks or so ago and there’s this much already what?!)

That said, could you write for the gang (separately, I’m sorry l know it’s a lot) who’s s/o resisted abstraction? Like, they were halfway through but turned back through sheer will? *Insert John Wick reference* This has been ping ponging in my head for a while. Thanks for listening! XO

Glitchy pain

I've written for something like this before. And I wasn't sure if you wanted angst or fluff. But since what I wrote before was angst I'm gonna just donna do my ideas on this one. Also to anyone else who feels like requesting don't be afraid to ask for a lot of characters. My max is like 10 and only because Tumblr doesn't like super long posts. I honestly don't think I would have a max if not for that. But really from like 7 pm to 4 am I got a lot of free time and the want to write. So ask to your hearts content. TADC crew x (kind of) abstracted reader

Caine

Caine was floating around when he heard what sounded like a pained and glitchy scream? He quickly floats over to where he heard it from only to find you clutching your head crumpled up into a ball on the floor. He was about to float down and ask you what happened before he noticed the random glitches, black spiky flesh, and randomly colored eye balls all appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. So he backed off, a little sad over the fact you were abstracting but life goes on. Until you let out another pained scream, it was almost like the abstraction reacted as the second you screamed it reverted a bit and slowed down. It continues like that for who knows how long. You in a mental and physical battle with abstraction. Caine just staring completely taken back by what he was witnessing. After enough time you vomit a nasty and seemingly living blob of black goo onto the floor and pass out. Caine stares at your motionless body for a few seconds before snapping out of it. He puts the weird goo blob into the cellar and takes you back to your room. He doesn't even know how to react, so he sits there at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Once you do he is relived to find it's still you, speaking in full sentences and everything. Sure your voice and body have the occasional glitch but overall you're ok. So he leaves you be, mostly. He still needs to study your code for how you did that. But past that and him being a bit more "walking on egg shells" around you, but nothing really changes. And not wanting the others to think your a threat, you and Caine don't tell anyone.

Gangle

Gangle was wandering around looking for you. Her comedy mask broke again and you were the only one who knew how to fix it properly. She could patch it up sure but it never lasted long. Much like Caine she heard you scream out, only difference being she recognized your voice. She quickly changed from casual and aimless stroll to sprint with reason finding you leaned against a wall holding your stomach looking like your about to throw up. She runs up to you and places a hand(?) on each side of your head staring into your eyes. She in a panicked voice asks "Are you ok?! What happened?!" You half shove her away a garbled and messy version of your voice half screaming out that it isn't safe. You quickly regret taking the energy to speak and move as a giant surge of pain jolts up your digital spine forcing you onto your knees. You let out another pained groan/scream as black goo starts oozing out of your mouth. It's only then that Gangle realizes your glitching! She panics and tells you to stay calm while she gets Caine. Gangle sprints off with a mission luckily finding Caine rather quickly. She especially screams at him to help her/follow her. He listens and follows her. When she gets back to where she left you, your passed out. But you aren't glitching anymore. And your not fully abstracted. She carefully walks over to you and sets a gentle hand (ribbon) on your face feeling a whole lot of relief when you half swat at her hand in your sleep. She'll watch you while you sleep making sure you aren't disturbed but when you're awake and she's sure you're ok you are going to be getting a whole lot of cuddles from her. Her comedy mask can wait.

Zooble

Zooble was missing a leg and was hobbling/jumping her way towards your room to ask if you'd seen it. She knocked on your door only to receive no response. She knocks again. Nothing. So she unlocks it with the spare key you gave her. She is stunned by what she sees. Obsessive scribbles covering your walls. Wall paper torn and dirtied. She takes a few cautious steps before finally hearing you say in a horrible sounding voice "P̵̛̣̤̪̑̈́̄͆̚p̴̹͇̆̑̐͠ṕ̷͔̼͙̅̀͐̿͋͜͝P̵̢͚̩̱̮̭̉͜͠l̵͔̟̰̘̼̹̼̯͉͆ḛ̴̣͈̖͛̈́̏̏͌̕͜a̴̢͇̣̮̠͕̮͆̾s̸̡͉̣̺̯͚̾̈́͋̃̑͊͘s̵̼͛̃͛̄̏̊̊͜͠ͅs̷̨̯̬̯͊e̵̢̪̜̗͙̞͈̠͌̔͠s̸̢͔̝̳̞͈̭̲͂͆̇̄͛́́͗ͅͅ ̴̗̻̳̗̜̙̹̘͒̒̑̅̂̎̚͘w̴̰̘͂͊̌̒͘w̸̢̦̑̍̈́͊W̷̨̄̑̌̂̚͝W̵̦̙͇̝̲̪̝̫̜̰̄͑̚w̶̮͐̏̀͊͠h̴̬̤̠̩̰͋͗̾̓̈́̍̅ó̴͍̭͇̯͚̮͔̽̓̔̈́ ̶̥̑͋͒̿̀Ê̶̼͎͇͍̳̯͌͋͐̓̋v̸̢͓̩͗͜͝v̴͇͇̮̻͖̪͕̰̹̫̔̌̎̇̑́ë̷̪̤̫̪͌͂̓̕͘e̵̢̨̱̘̗͙̘̱̱̩̎̾̀v̸͍̄͠ë̶̡̙̠̣̰̠́͜r̸͇̰͖̍͑͌̆̌ ̷̯̼͕͍̭̭̲͙̰̽̈́͝y̷̪͉͓͗̿̀̐̈̃̆õ̷̢̜̮̬͒̈́͒̿̀̽̈́͂̈́ǘ̸̡̟̭̩̠̜̬͙̃ṵ̴̭̮̹̯̺̜̤̈͂̽u̸̬̠͉̺͍̰͉̦͌̋́̃͌̊͘͜ ̵̲͖̩̹̲̊̐͂͝͝a̵̰̩̻̗͕͎̮͈̥̫͂̂̌̆̆̎̑a̴̭͒͐̏̎́́͝à̶̛̘̮͍̟̻͕̰̽̍͛̽̈́̃͛͝r̴͎͚͇̻̞̬͑̂̅̿͋̅̂͊̔ą̴̛̱̱̗̔̈́̈́̔͒̆̌͘͠r̵̺̰̬̹̮̬̘̜̈́̊͗͛̅̌͌͘͜ę̸̛̺̞͚̹̘̱̥̲̒̍̏̔͛̌̚ȇ̴̩.̶̛̖̙̦̝̹̰͔̉͂̆̉̐̾̐͠͝ ̵̘̙͎̼̻̩̬͖͌̉̾̂̄͜J̵͐̏̇̈́̑̃͜͝͝j̶̛̠̬̟̓͗͗͆̆̀̈́̿̂͜j̴̢͍̦͉̯͑̍̓J̷̨̧̢̳̟̠̯͖͖͚̐̈̏̓̈͐̎̐͝j̶̫̞̬͖̯̯̹̺̩͆̾̽́̈́̄ͅJ̵͖̘̫̓u̷̡̧͔̥͇͕͔̞̠̇͛̈́̎͂̌͂͘̕ş̶͕̫̎ṫ̷͈͖̲̩͉͌̅̍̈́́̿ ̷̠͕͕̖̜̻̯̻̖̃̏̀͂͑́l̷̳̣̼̓̈́̊̈́̈̎̀́̋̚͜L̶̡̜̣͔͔̼̠̗̎̇̈́̕Ļ̴̞̟̱̹͓̹̪͖͚̂̐͐̑̂͆̐̓̚͠ḽ̶̢̧̙̺̯͖̰͓͐͗̽̈́̃̔̀̾̕l̴̢̢̳̜̣̦̎́́̔̕̚e̷͔̫͉̘͉̓̓͋͊̀̿̄̕͝ͅã̷̡̢̝̮͔̮̰̱͒͌̈͊̾͂͠ͅͅv̷̗̼͎̠̝̋̓͒͛̂͐͜͜è̶̪̟̲̘̃̓ ̴̺̊̉͑̉̽̅́̕̕m̸̧̦͔̙͍̘̭̲̄͂m̸̧̫͎͌̀̃͜ͅM̴͍͍̫͚̺͚̪̺̿́̒͋̂͐̿͗̚͘m̴̛̘̼͔͑̿̏̅͌̊̾̕e̴̩̟͈̙͑̏͐̆̓͆̏̚͠͝ ̵̳̤͉͉͙̬̥̉̓́̀̓̃̀̌̊͜ͅḁ̶̧̗͈͍͍̉͂̀͆͗̾̆́̚͜͝l̴̜͓͈̄͌̓̈́̉͊͊̍͝a̵̲͒̋̂͐́̊̕̚͝â̶̢͕̫̘̮͈̻͕͙̩͑̂ḹ̵̨̮̓̓̊̍̕̚͝o̵͖͔̥̳̊̐̀͠n̵̺̥̲͔͔̿͋̊ë̶̯̤̻́̌̎̎́̾͋̄̄̋.̵̪̑͆̀̎" (Please whoever you are. Just leave me alone.) She cautiously walks over to your bed and peaks over it. Your laying there curled up into a ball torn and broken items surrounding you. Y-your abstracting?! B-but... Zooble doesn't even really register the fact. She's in shock from seeing you like this. (I mean I would be too) You let out an ear piercing scream and claw at your own face with enough force to tear the skin, if you weren't digital at least. The glitching gets much much worse for a few seconds before just, stopping. No rhyme or reason that she can see. But you can bet your a&$ that after like 5 seconds pass and you stop showing signs of abstraction she's going to huddle near your spitting out so many questions. Mainly ones like "ARE YOU OK!?!" and "Your still with me right?! RIGHT!?!"

Kinger

Kinger would more likely then not be there when your first started glitching. And that might make him officially lose it. Your the second person in this hell (Queener) who he felt close too. And he outlived you too. Still you aren't abstracted yet. Maybe their's still a chance! So he sprints off screaming out for Caine in a voice that is loud enough to make you go deaf if you were too close to him. When he finds Caine. And he will find Caine he grabs him by the shoulders and sprints towards where he last saw you. He basically throws Caine at your glitching form and yells at him to fix you! In that second you stop glitching Caine did nothing and Kinger will basically tackle you. He'll pick you up and hold you over his head like a spear and sprint towards your rooms. Once there he will set up the comfiest coziest pillow fort possible then get you all comfy inside. Once he's sure your at least mostly safe and he's at least mostly calmed down he'll ask you about what happened. (Despite him being pretty crazy I really do feel like out of everyone he would be the best at communication in a friend or relationship. I mean he's that crazy and yet he still has manners and knowledge about a lot. Tbh he might become my fav. Idk it's possible.)

Ragatha

You were helping out Ragatha with a surprise she was making for everyone to lighten their moods when you said that you feel kind of sick so you were going to call it a night. She nods thanks you for the help you gave then gives you a quick peck to the lips as a send off. Not to much to her surprise you choose to lay in her bed instead of yours. Just something you do when you don't wanna be alone. She shrugs it off and keeps working actually quite grateful that you decided to not leave, not fully at least. She keeps working but stops when she hears some very concerning noises coming from your sleeping body. She turns around to see you tossing and turning an abnormal amount in your sleep, as well as making a lot of noises that sound like when someone is choking on their own blood. Concerned she carefully walks over to check on you only to recoil when she notices the glitching. She trips over her own foot and falls over onto her back. She quickly but clumsily gets up and gets back to you. She shakes you a bit trying to wake you up, but you don't only concerning her more. She yells calls out for Pomni who pokes her head through Ragatha's door a second later. Ragatha nearly screams at her to go get Caine. Pomni startled by Ragatha's tone turns heel and runs off to look for Caine while Ragatha stays with you. She keeps whispering things like "You're gonna be ok" and "Pomni's getting Caine just hang in there". Always keeping a hand on you not caring when it starts glitching out too. When Pomni returns with Caine, Ragatha full on yells at him to help you. He looks at you, then back at her, then with a apologetic tone says their isn't anything he can do as abstraction is one of those things he doesn't have control over. Ragatha breaks into tears. So she's gonna lose you, she was even there. BUT SHE CAN'T F@%#&$* HELP?! She holds onto you like you're her last tether to reality. And you seem to get better. Your at the very least don't seem to be in pain anymore! So she squeezes you, really f&$%@#* hard happier then should be possible that your improving.

Jax

Jax found you in his room voice glitching you huddled over in pain. At first he thought it was a revenge prank and acted accordingly. "Haha, very funny Y/N. Now get out of my room I need to do something." That is until you vomited up a ton of pitch black goo. Then he started taking it more seriously. He quickly crouches down and wraps an arm around you to try and provide some support. He freaks out and quickly pulls his arm back when you vomit up more goo and starts visibly glitching. He panics and quickly looks around his room locking onto a like 3 day old unopened water bottle. He opens it and hands it to you as well as a thing to squeeze that half yells to just hang in there he'll be right back. He sprints around not even knowing who to get. He sees Ragatha and half tackles her. He shouts directly into her face that you need help and that you in his room. He tosses her in the direction of his room then continues sprinting around not long after finding Caine. He grabs Caine ignoring his protests and runs back to his room where he fins Ragatha sitting next to his bed you tucked in. Your not vomiting anything and you aren't glitching. You're just shivering. He hears you mumble his name and literally kicks Ragatha and Caine out quickly getting to your side. After he feels he wont get hurt he quickly gets into bed holding you close "If you ever do that again I'm going to take back my vow to not tease you." He falls asleep with his chin resting on your head.

Pomni

At first when you started glitching Pomni didn't really know it was abstraction. She's never seen someone abstract after all, only seeing the finished product. But when you keep getting worse and worse she realizes that something is wrong. So she leaves you with a quick kiss then runs off to the communication thing Caine made after the whole Kaufmo incident. She calls him and when he picks up she screams into the phone that your glitching out. When Caine appears next to her she runs back over to where you are not even checking if Caine is following. When she gets back to you, you're still in really bad shape. She turns back to Caine and yells at him to help you. When he tells her that he can't she starts hyperventilating, then she sees him pick you up and the cellar hole open?! OH F&#$ NO! She basically punches Caine then clings to you protectively, ready to throw hands with Caine if she has to. Caine tries and pull her off when she starts glitching but she has the grip of a professional rock climber. So Caine has to keep curing her glitches at they appear. Cause in his mind your beyond help but she isn't. Then you start to improve. No more coughing and the glitching has slowed down! Pomni glares at Caine then turns back to you with a scared and tired smile on her face. Once your ok enough to talk you are going to get an earful. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER YOU WERE FEELING BAG ENOUGH TO ABSTRACT?!?!?! (Sorry this was so long. I got a little carried away. And surprisingly I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[anantaru]

— telling him “i'm glad i didn‘t break up with you that one time”

including scaramouche, diluc, alhaitham, kaveh x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, a little sad (kaveh's part), we‘re so evil

— scaramouche

feathery, fluffy clouds breezily dotted the expanding sapphire blue sky as the incandescent radiant rays of eternal warmth— like fireballs, drifted across the sizzling nation of pristine wisdom.

scaramouche mellowly declined his head into your supple lap while you were indulging your trusted presence on a secluded area a bit away from sumeru city— his hair was deep tinged and glinted eminently, dark indigo locks that were lucently aglow from the smoldering sun riveting your frames.

you can still remember it vividly, the spellbound rays tottering down on your body as you nimbly closed your eyes for a second while carelessly scurrying your hand over his silky hair. It was rather comforting to him and you were aware that your boyfriend must've been immoderately drained from his taxing work load.

and by any means whatsoever, within the strong comfort of the fateful consolatory spot, a— you could say, brilliant yet a shade evil idea transited into the deepest edges of your psyche.

you pretended to listen to whatever scaramouche had to proudly talk about as your hand carried on to gladsomely delve further around his scalp, jovially motioning aimless symbols on his head.

his eyes wander shut at the closeness of you when he idly shifted the conversation into another topic, "this is fine." he speaks mousy— his breathing was fluttery and bounteous with love, yet although his voice was not lined out of lustrous silk, it did not trickle in an even consistent tone, you had treasured it nonetheless and his voice was your glaring favorite. "this— this feels fine."

that was it, the perfect timing, you suppress a devilish grin and got ready for your disguised scheme coming into wicked play, "it really is." you tried to respond in a false articulated stainless voice, "—and i'm so happy i didn't break up with you that one time."

bordering on a comical sight right under where your boyfriend was presently marveling on your lap, scaramouche had now instantly bolted up to meet your eyes in a part spread sight— but now something changed, an expression akin to filtered shock and discontent. "what?"

in all respects, he was done with his spoken words, because what made you want to break up with him in the first place? what instance in your past togetherness had been enforcing those negative, cruel emotions in you that you even thought about it?

it was a hurting, clear thought— additionally pestering him and it was more horrific than anything else pressuring his goddamn mind.

"what, what?" you silently ask beneath the lines of your regulated breathing, scaramouche never looked so lost before and you tightly bristled your lips together in an pursue to not blast your evil cover.

"what did you mean by that?" if he had to choose, scaramouche would rather have someone repeatedly run him over with a carriage than be in this clashing conversation, "you wanted to break up with me?"

to your appreciable surprise, he did not let his inner rage come to broad daylight, rather was he willing to figure out what has been going on that made you think that. Now, with the concern being all written across his pretty features, you felt as if you should come clean before he actually gets a heart attack from your wrongful play.

"tell me what i did, i will fix it—" the compression in his emotions had inflated as you snappily got a hold of his squishy cheeks, instantly cupping his face, "i'm so sorry, i'm messing with you." though you ended up awkwardly laughing with a sorrowful grin as to lighten up the damaged mood, scaramouche's mouthing took a turn— slightly dazed but also fed up, the penetrating gaze of him, previously a tone lower but now plumb with a diverting split on his lips.

"you.." the little mewl exposed more than a simple intrigue, "you will regret this." with an eye on him you leaned forward to kiss your boyfriend but scaramouche was one step ahead. He speedily took both of your wrists in his palm and dropped you on your back— making you lose stability of your body.

"oh, what's gotten into you?" he asks— innocently enough for you to believe it at first before he was puncturing specific places on your stomach, fronting matter to pinch and tickle the skin, "ah!" you cry out, whining at the burn, "i'm sorry i'm sorry!"

"don't do that anymore." scaramouche kept you on edge— exactly where he wanted you to be, "or i'll give you a taste of your own medicine."

— diluc

inside the limits of your prevailing ventures, you so happen to find yourself nonchalantly strolling over to your boyfriends tavern— the angels share, where he was, at this time, in the midst of closing the bar after another successful night.

in related manner was it a regular practice you'd follow closely, it being to do your utmost greatest to spend as much time as possible with your primarily preoccupied partner— granted that it was centrally you both walking home and then falling asleep shortly afterwards in your shared bed, though that alone made it worth it to you.

diluc found himself greatly engaged in properly cleaning up the bar counter and putting away a bottle of unused dandelion wine as you ardently knocked on the door with your signature thumps— so he knows it's you, before letting yourself pass through.

pristinely, diluc did not have to look up to see that it was you entering the bar— for one, as mentioned prior, was it the initial bangs on the large door the both of you had originally turned a habit as a humorous joke, as well as the recognized spreading presence of you being more than enough for him to figure it out.

he composes himself as his warm eyes then, without an ounce of wavering, flicker without delay to wholly greet you with his comforting calm manner, "you're early." he reminds you, thinking out loud, each new articulation of his being thoroughly tempted out in an urged chatter— it's noticeable, how unmistakable worn out he was.

"i told you i'd come visit before you're closing the tavern." you listlessly slant back on the barstool to take a convenient seat and you lively smile at him while diluc carried on to clean a couple of the utensils that had become irksome obstacles yet shyly quelling a spiking sneer in him, unreservedly molding himself into your homely aura, "i'm glad then."

in passing, you idly watched him for a brief while until diluc unexpectedly turned to you again, catching you off guard, "oh, i have something for you." he surprisingly hummed along each new syllable and you find yourself admiring the view in front of you, his face generously shading red, "i saw them and had to take it with me."

you recollect your focus on him when diluc spoke in a charming way that sent a beguiling spike through your pounding heart before you noticed something large in his hand; a bouquet of your most beloved flowers.

his posture stiffened a little— most likely because of a miniature impale of nervousness scurrying through his flaming veins, because what if you end up not liking the well scented, thoughtful gift?

though you had loved it, of course— even more than that and as he was eyeing your reaction up close, sensing how your widened eyes coursed brilliantly as you accepted the flowers in your hands, you gaze at him in a darting loving way, tightly squeezing the bouquet in your right arm to be able to give him a hug and express your utmost gratitude to him— for him, because he simply was the best in your eyes, the most attentive boyfriend to have ever existed.

"I do hope you fancy it." his rippling skin felt comforted back in your cosy cuddle with his large hand being closely pressed on your lower back as he made you turn on him closer. "i love it."

"— and I'm so grateful i didn't break up with you that one time."

well, just hold up a second? what.

"...umm, thanks." he earned yet another eruption of laughter from you though you had roughly closed it sunkenly in you, so diluc wouldn't figure out you're actually not being serious right now, at all.

diluc— though now greatly overwhelmed but rather leaning into a more confused state of mind in terms of your sudden exclaim, manages to huff out a low sigh while bringing his attention back to you, slowly drawing himself away from your close embrace.

for a fleeting spell, you both looked into each other's eyes boundlessly astounded and bowled over— stated in a more frequent type of way; it was in actuality diluc who was looking wholly rendered at loss of words when you tried your dearest to keep your wicked giggles in check.

but then, he talks again, although pumped full with overthrowing worry in his once glowing eyes, "I'm not certain on how to appropriately tackle this conversation." he mumbles while virtually thinking out loud, "can you perhaps tell me what i did wrong so i can get better— get better for you?"

quite frankly, you couldn't take it anymore and soon your whole body was filled with great misdeed, he may not have a clue right now but in total truth you were only trying to get a glimpse of a somewhat saddened reaction out of your boyfriend— which now, might've been a little evil, though, after all, you couldn't really pass up on that perfect presented opportunity.

"you did nothing." you squeal in panic, gently placing the flowers on the bar counter to keep your attention on him, "i'm sorry i was messing with you."

you pretty much fell into his arms and diluc instantly had hugged you right back— though still in shock, his eyes growing in the size of saucers. You lied close into his shoulder and tried to lift the mood with a humane touch of your hands on his back.

"you menace." diluc reveals an adorable sigh as his chest heaved up and down, the shock still lingering deep but a smile minimally lifted at his lips when he turned to hearteningly pant out a shaky heave into your arms. "you absolute menace."

— alhaitham

"and that’s correct." alhaitham kindly affirms towards the region of your direction while being patiently sat before your pretty eyes, fixedly gulping down the nascent saliva in his mouth to enunciate his following words, "—now to the next question."

undoubtably and much to your sweet pleasure, your boyfriend alhaitham took his current, new acquired position, awfully serious!

on the whole, he was an excellent tutor— strikingly perfect for your upcoming exam which had caused you a countless amount of sleepless nights, while he was aware of your struggles, he had put it upon himself to aid you as much as he was able to.

bizarrely to you, he was a bit too serious and stern, bound and determined while forgetting to keep it natural. Yet alhaitham understands and recognizes your strengths, turning it attainable to solicit 100% of your greatest strong point, presenting you with your highest amount of concentration to study.

"how does this look?" you ask, rather confident in your mannerism as you firmly shoved the fully scribbled paper into his close direction. He looks at it with hawk eyes and crinkles his brows a little— that being an usual trait whenever he found himself in large engrossment.

"incorrect but i didn't expect you to figure it out anyways."

unfortunately to you, alhaitham had a— let's say, interesting habit of spelling out his words before actually thinking his sentences through enough, or maybe he modestly didn't give a damn about how he was perceived or presented to the audience, didn't matter to him if the person he was talking to is a stranger or his significant other, you.

one quiet, internal thought ultimately, without sweet decorations, turned into two hellish thoughts and you had yourself wonder if you were even capable to pay him back just a little bit, in your usual, evil fashion.

"that's rude!" you falsely squeal out, fearing he may have a clue on your new doings right away as you dramatically drew your hand above your heart to act out a pain in your chest.

"you asked — i answered." you could clearly see he didn't think his wording was incorrect or maybe a minuscule portion grating, so you decided to sprinkle a little sass on him, "you're right and i'd be lost without you." your eyes innocently trail to his face, "i'm so grateful you're helping me study."

you were on the verge of exploding, really, the tempting laugh was overfilling your insides but you pushed through, ending your sentence at last, "— but i'm even more grateful to myself that i didn't break up with you that one time."

alhaitham quirks a brow but did not face you right away, did you want to argue with him? or were you trying to be funny again? because speaking from past lived occasions, he wasn't new to you pulling one of those particular intrigues at him.

well, then again, what if it wasn't a tasteless, blundering joke? what if, you were serious this time, honestly would he even blame you? after all, alhaitham knew himself better than anyone else did.

"so, a break up?" he leans back into his chair before crossing his arms around his body, slowly eyeing you from your eyes, to your collarbones and back again. "mhm." you agree with a hum, although both of you being sat, he was easily towering over you with his stance alone, only making you fuse further into yourself.

"and when?" in fact, he will not let this die down, he will manage to get everything he required out of you while barely leaving you to gasp for air.

you wonder if he had already figured it out (he did), your eyes skimming over the entire table to bring your heedfulness somewhere else. "umm, i don't know!" the comedic side of it all was extremely whimsical to your boyfriend— and his plan to lure you into where he wanted you to seem to succeed as well.

"look at me." that damned voice change, nothing that you cannot withstand, nothing but that precise grab his gravelly tone color had on you.

right there, you met his doubtless, assertive eyes, unshaken in his own views. alhaitham unhurriedly leans forward into the table while holding eye contact with you, you're watching him, waiting for chaos to unfold or him laughing at how silly it was for you to even try to fool him.

"maybe next time you get lucky." he quickly wipes his tongue over his mouth, "do you know that you're really bad at acting? it's rather comical watching you try."

heavily exhaling the stored air in your strained lungs, you, wholly fed up with him, rolled your eyes at your oh so confident boyfriend who just didn't know when to keep his mouth sealed tight, "oh shut up!"

— kaveh

love and enchantment, a formidable devotion for another, highly arising out of real personal ties and notable attraction.

for kaveh, those meanings were everything and all, the totality all at once.

beyond a trace of a single doubt, it was unmistakable visible on just how much immeasurable energy and serious effort your boyfriend put into having your blossoming relationship as uplifting, easing and heart warming as possible.

you're his absorbing soulmate and his riveting gratitude and love for you— which he most definitely conveys through those honeyed, dreamy smiles on his plump lips, were sticking out a mile.

from all accessible appearances, one might as well pick up on the nurturing connection that is shared by you lovebirds and how kaveh would always come up with newfound actions to have it shown to everyone in many different varieties.

tonight, it was outside of sumeru city— on top of a idyllic meadow, with the boundless sky being set ablaze by the setting sun right above you, soon to follow was the pale, ashen crescent turned moon, vividly luminous like a silvery claw and fuck, that glittering glow in your eyes as you watched from afar, kaveh wasn't sure if he could fall in love with you even deeper than he already was.

"this is so pretty." the fresh feeling of your body thoughtlessly sloping back into the consoling ground locked out each and every paining worry from your gladdening thoughts.

"i knew you'd like it, i just knew—." kaveh keeps himself from embarrassingly tumbling over his own spoken words, his nails now clawing into his palms and leaving marks— it might've been the nervousness, he fears, although you both had been together for a good while he can catch himself quite frequently becoming shy in his mannerism.

but his phraseology meant nothing, his passing wordage, blank.

there could be sure up to a million and one descriptions to intently describe this current moment happening yet nothing would ever explain it how he saw it, how he perceived you.

aside from that, you also breathed fresh life into his somewhat monotone one, with your sneaky intrigues keeping him on edge the whole time.

"this was a good idea." you're revealing a soft glare to him, a hidden one that from the outside, appeared to be angelic and endearing, though from the inside— salted away an evil plan that was camouflaging your entire mind for the whole day.

call it stowed up curiosity or simple boredom of your person, but you cannot keep yourself from passing up on it, longing to witness kaveh leaving his protective, calming bubble for once in a while.

sure, obviously, he could get mad at you, aggravated or purely stare at you through dead, saddened eyes, but then you'd always be there to make it up to him, in your own charming ways.

kaveh plushly lays on the warm ground before idly securing one of his hands under his head, uncaringly bolstering himself up, "this reminds me of something." you suddenly claim in the direction of your lover so he can hear you, no matter what, "of what?"

in the general run of things you couldn't help yourself but smile at how quick kaveh could get fascinated or absorbed on a random topic you unhurriedly throw into his course of line— no care in the world on what it was, but if you don't tell him and keep the desired answers away, he'd regularly think about it, day on day, until you do end up saying it out loud— which you then, do. "ah, it's nothing!"

"— i'm just glad i didn't break up with you that one time, you know?"

.. silence ..

"..."

"..."

"..."

"kaveh?"

"..."

you might enquire some sort of exclaim or wonder now, did he pass out or? no silly, of course not! it did feel like he was about to suffer from a large heart attack though.

"b-break up?" he soundlessly mutters, panic, immense panic, if he can afford to say anything coherent at all but he was as still as a mouse, indistinct, until ..

"as in, breaking up? a BREAK up?!"

"oh it's nothing." you hushedly wave your hand in front of his anxious face, without concern leaving yourself to fall back and carry on to glimpse up at the moonlight sky.

"what do you mean n o t h i n g?"

"this is tERRIBLE." - "utterly TERRIBLE." deficient panic pitifully munched on your boyfriends entire being, deeply festering itself into the pitched shadows of his now darkened heart.

"wait please stop." your words did not hit him, it's like he turned himself on autopilot, his eyes large as he looked into the distance, muttering something underneath his pebbly pants which you couldn't decipher what he was babbling over. "it's a joke, please look at me."

no because maybe you did go too far and after encircling your arms around kaveh's body you held him close to you, so the repeated knocks of your heart could be sensed by him.

"i'm sorry i will never do this again." you are met with his— now glassy laced, scarlet eyes, not once does he speak anymore, because quite frankly, for a second he was scared to his very core, in a frenzy, because life without you, is no life at all, no substantial vitality.

but then, a tone of him, irregular and broken, "don't do this." - "again."

you mildly wipe the warm tears off his face and lovingly keep a couple kisses on his forehead— left cheek, right cheek, his cute nose and ultimately finished your sweet attention on his soft lips— that always tasted like roses and felt so tender on top of yours, easily crawling yourself into his lap.

"i'm sorry, i love you and i'd never break up with you, ever."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[jymwahuwu]

I'm SO ADDICTED to your yan!jing yuan fic, And I was wondering if u can write more. Maybe like he come back from work(idk) and unexpectedly he bought her fav dessert, but little did she know he put a little special 'icing' on the dessert (+along w/sleep dru#) but she refused to eat Infront of him and screaming asking to go away. And he did surprisingly, but then she eat the desser because no way in hell she can resist those.At the night she fell asleep, he takes the opportunity to broke into her house and fck her lmao 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🕴🏻

sorry if this made u feel uncomfortable :(

CW: yandere, non-con, somnophilia, sleeping pills, mating press

Don't worry, you didn't make me uncomfortable! I can totally see Jing Yuan taking advantage of this! He knows what your favorite dessert is and has checked which dessert shop in the entire galaxy has the highest rating for this dessert ☺️😚 He ordered his assistant to buy this dessert, and he brought the dessert to meet you after work.

You've grown numb to finding the general standing at your door. Once, you tried to ignore him, but the door lock was smashed. You insist on not opening the door, "What are you doing here?" On the electronic monitor screen, Jing Yuan is waving the dessert box in his hand, explaining that he just wants to give you dessert. After getting your rejection, Jing Yuan sighed regretfully. He pointed out that this dessert brand has the highest score in the galaxy, and customers usually need to make an appointment, which is rare and precious. You really don't want it? Isn't it such a pity? It's hard not to be tempted by these rhetoric.

"Then- then you put it in front of the door, I don't want to taste it in front of you." You replied in a low voice.

Unexpectedly, Jing Yuan agreed and did not break into your home as usual. He nodded, put the dessert box on the ground, and left. In the eyes of the General, you act like a vigilant stray cat, waiting carefully for the humans to leave before swallowing the food left behind.

After waiting for ten minutes, you quietly opened the door, picked up the dessert and put it on the table. You open the box, terrified of what a trap it might be, and what you get instead is fragrant that fills your living room. That is a delicate dessert with decorations on it… Um, it seems that there is still a little icing? As you savor, that heavenly sweetness melts on your tongue.

The night is… poured serenity - A wave of drowsiness washes over you… your eyelids can't support the weight, and aimless thoughts beckon you to the soft bed.

"Hey baby, are you asleep?"

Tall shadows loom over you in dim light. There is no response, your chest rises and falls peacefully with your breath. "Today we can have some new fun. It's okay, I'll be gentle." Jing Yuan removed your quilt, and put his palms into your panties, pulled them up to your ankles, and placed them next to your bed. Depending on the type of pajamas you're wearing, the general unbuttons your pajamas, or adjusts your posture slightly, strips you of all your clothes, and leaves you naked on the bed. Without the protection and cover of quilts and clothes, the body appears fragile and can be manipulated. He admires you in awe and snaps some pictures, leaning down to massage your areolas and rubbing and attacking your breasts. His lips and tongue kiss and adore your chest, muttering about how the body you have was wasted. No one can treat you like him.

Jing Yuan checks your private parts and finds that it is already covered with crystal liquid, glistening and waiting for attention. "ah…um…m…" you whimpered so faintly that few could be heard in sleep. He grinned and knew you were aroused. He prides himself on all the sweet reactions he brings to you. His thumb is stroking your clit as he pushes the head of his cock into your needy, tight wall. Every inch his cock advances, the faster he circles your little pearl, until your waist bounces and your inner walls tighten to cum on his cock. This is not the end but just the beginning. Jing Yuan slaps slowly in your twitching, orgasmed walls, with loud liquid churning. Under the influence of the drug, your eyes move restlessly under the eyelids. Determined to go one step further, he holds your face and kisses you affectionately, and lifts your legs up and presses them against your chest, pressing his fat, wet cock into your deepest part, squirting thick seeds.

Jing Yuan doesn't mind you knowing this. Lovers don't hide secrets. He yawned, took you into his strong arms, and fell asleep together. As the morning light shines into your house, you wake up, naked and sore with a startling realization of what he's done to you. "You- why are you here…!! "

He rubbed his eyes and greeted. "Wake up? Baby. Morning."

[bunnys-writing]

Hi there!! Its been a while since i sent a request so i hope im doing this alright qwq

Can i request for Lyney x fem!reader who is an artist (a painter specifically) who is insecure about her art and what people think of her in general? And Lyney perhaps comfort her with reassuring words a lil flower :) tysm in advanced!

"HIS FAVOURITE ARTIST"

...in which Lyney finds out you're going through a bout of art block thanks to your mental health, and has to make sure his favourite artist knows how much he adores her!

(author's note at the bottom!)

"Hello (Y/N)!"

The singsong voice of your favourite man at the door pulled you from your thoughtful haze. You looked back in your stool at him and he beamed.

"Ah, Lyney! It's not already that late, is it?"

You looked around the art room, lamenting the lack of clocks, before looking out the window to see it was still twilight.

"Ah- no no, tonight's show was cancelled. Some ruckus in the crowd drew us to a faster end than planned."

"Oh, I see. Are you and your siblings okay?"

"Yes of course, not to worry, none of us were anywhere near it."

Lyney had travelled the large room to you at your canvas, hands wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Hmh, not feeling much motivation today either?"

You looked at the canvas; a few light, aimless strokes of lead were the only proof you'd even touched it. You frowned a bit, fidgeting with the pencil still in your hand. "...No."

This had been a recurring issue for a few weeks now. You had always painted such beautiful works, but larely, you'd been in a rut of sorts. You'd try to get started on a piece only to fall short a few minutes in.

That's what your boyfriend knew.

What he didn't know was that the reason you continuously failed to inspire yourself to draw was because of all the raging feelings inside of you. You were a nobody in the art industry, and what was worse, you were a nobody to yourself just as much. You didn't have any real talent in your own perspective.

So you'd sit and mull over every thought, every comment, every wrong look you or your art had ever endured, and you'd only really zone back in if someone or something came up. It was a viscious loop.

".../N)? (Y/N), you're spacing out again..."

Right. Your boyfriend.

"Sorry, Lyn, I'm just a little tired I think..."

Lyney looked at you with concern. He knew you were hiding something. He knew this had started after the most recent art expedition you'd been to. You'd refused to talk about it, but Lyney was beginning to think the only way to help was to pry a little.

"(Y/N), at the gallery, a few weeks ago," You didn't catch yourself flinching until it was too late. Lyney noticed. "You came home tired and never told me what happened. Then you started losing your motivation, and now...you're barely engaging with your art anymore...What happened?"

You looked into his eyes. He looked so concerned. You looked away to mute the guilt.

"Just some critics. People were...very honest. It was a bad day, that's all..."

Lyney gently guided your chin with his hand, getting you to look at him again. His heart broke at the exhausted look on your face. Your heart broke in tandem.

"(Y/N)...You are the brightest soul I know. Your art is inspirational and moving, and...it's always such a blessing to see the world through your eyes in your paintings.

People won't always agree with me, or see your vision, but the point is that it's not their vision to understand. It's wholly and truly yours."

His other hand gently placed itself on your chest. He felt your heart skip a beat. The hand under your chin travelled up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

"I love your works. I love to see the fine details. I love when you explain your perspectives and your creative choices, because it's your heart on a canvas, and I get the first look. It's really one of my favourite parts about your art. They don't get that privilege, you know?"

You smiled, relaxing in his hold as he smiled in turn. He brought you in closer for a hug, and you found yourself squeezing him just a little tighter.

"Thanks Lyney."

"What can I say? You're my favourite artist in the whole of Teyvat."

Your next piece was showcased at Fontaine's next expedition. It featured spirals of purple, red, yellows and browns, highlighting a beautiful rose in the middle that was speckled with gold.

Coming up with the title was simple. It was based off of your lover, after all. Your magician, your light, your forever...

Your 'Muse'.

Thanks for requesting!!

As an artist, I totally get the feeling of insecurity that comes with publishing any works, and sometimes it really does feel like the hours and days you pour into your craft don't end up meaning much, but as Lyney said, as long as it's your vision, that's already perfect.

Thanks for reading! 🫶

(Requests are open! Check out my pinned for more info!)

[rockkal]

HOMESTUCK BEYOND CANON NEXT UPD8(s) PREDICTIONS (I'm delusional, btw) /SHITPOST

We get to see Jack Noir be a pathetic little meow meow and has depression because he's too busy working at the mine coal to see his wife

The Felt come into the screen, also somehow snowman, and they all say "We voted for Obama" (this is very important homestuck lore, btw)

Brand new character called HEROIN ADDICT is introduced. Son of Karkat and Dave. Has a brother named John Egbert Strider Vantas

Clover flirts with Jane and gets sent to the weed dungeon. And not like the good weed. I mean like the weed that really feels like shit

Jake becomes new leader of the Felt and Crowbar becomes his dad (Crowbar dad AU, write that down, it'll be on the test)

We get to see Death, the character, talk with ULT Dirk and he brang along the Midnight Crew, Mom Lalonde B1 and Dad egbert because he thinks they're cool (also, Mom Lalonde and Dad Egbert kiss a lot in death's office and have tea and buscuits with the Midnight Crew)

CALIBORN COMES FOR A SINGLE PANEL AND MAKES JUNE OFFICIALLY TRANS! BECAUSE HE HATES JUNE AND HE HATES WOMEN SO HE COMBINES THE TWO THINGS HE HATES INTO ONE (this is a joke, btw. I honestly want June's transitioning to be more in character then just the gremlin guy I like does it for me)

Ms Paint. becomes narrator of both Candy and Meat and it's just a podcast about different types of paint

Something related to The Midnight Crew's creator, Professor Mayasaka or however the fuck ya spell it, something translated into midnight. Whatever. I just wanna see the professor man come in and do something

JANE REVIVES AIMLESS RENEGADE SOMEHOW AND HE GOES GOD TIER! (His Classpect is Mage of Blood because I say so)

Sollux and Eridan kissing

B

Roxy breaks the fourth wall and says "it's Roxy Lalonding time" and Roxy Lalondes all over the place

A bucket appears and yeah

We see Andrew Hussie in a bath robe

Terezi manages to give back the legal rights to Beyond Canon back to their creators (sorry, I forgot your name, mister cool homestuck guy. I forget easily :'(]

Vriska dies. (I hate Vriska! (In a Kismesis way))

Equius comes back to say "I require horse" and then he gets prototyped with the universe frog

Matchsticks gets a personality and we learn he wants to become an actual fire fighter and save people since he was a kid

Stitch becomes hella cool by partnering with Kanaya to beat the shit out of Dirk

Rose just stays Rose because I forgot she existed

21 again but with Dave

June Egbert gets two new dads and they're Eggs and Biscuits from The Felt because it reminds her of her dead dad's cakes

Diamonds Droogs/Draconian Dignitary x Dad Crocker 20 hour oiled up make out session flash animation

Calliope has a child with Roxy. (comment what ya think they would be called)

Dirk eats a baby (it's John Egbert Strider Vantas)

AR gets to have a robo body and becomes friends with AR and Aradia and also Aranea is there to keep them in check and they call eachother the "AR squad", but Aranea is the out cast because she is blue

Eden Gardner (homestuck OC of @springselkie) gets a mention.

Monkeys become relevant to the plot

Jack Noir gets to show us his stabs

Bold Eagles are Aimless Renegade's second power, because he's the only AMERUCAN character in homestuck

Jake gets a beard and celebrates by showing us his level 100 GYAT

What Pumpkin office remains is an important location in the story

Mommy Condie comes back and marries Earth C's version of Colonel sassacres

Freddy Fazber, new character, literally the best. Hor hor hor hor.

Something related to drugs, I guess (I'm running out of ideas)

Fortnite becomes canon and everyone loves it

Deltarune reference

Jack Noir eats money and becomes lamborghini

Jack Noir villain arc where he and June kiss (their kismesis, it's ok. They want to kill eachother)

Rose's wifi is STILL shitty! COME ON, IT'S BEEN 10 YEARS, FIX YOUR INTERNET CONNECTION, GURL!

Kanaya gets to make something Lord English related

We see Doc Scratch because he's awesome

Wayward Vagabond comes back from the grave and does ANOTHER revolution against monerchy. He is truly the best diplomat.

MLP gets mentioned

Problem Sleuth shows up for 5 panels and then dies

Nepeta gets to kill Pickle Inspector

Eridan smokes weed

[S] Terezi: Do the mackarena

Weed chapter

Karkat gets a period cramp

Something something Lord English in black void, becomes normal Caliborn, being room mates with Equius, Gamzee and AR (auto-responder)

Free Bird fight sequence

Joe Biden gets a mention because he was probably in office before the clown fuckers took over D.C. Washington

Cockaine chapter

MSPA reader gets hella blazed and yeah

Caliborn kisses a rule 63 version of a Miku body pillow

Pic Yaoi sequence or smth

Sawbuck stays a fat fuck and eats the earth at the end

Itchy dies from tripping on a rock

Doze unslows himself and does a break dance

Trace and Fin make out session

Quarters gets to shoot ULT Dirk and is declared a war veteran

Bog from RHG shows up to eat a chocolate bar

I'm high

Ok, that was the end of this dumb shitpost. Hope ya got a kick out of it. Or not.

Wait

Shit

I should probably add an image so that I could look cool

Give me a sec

Yes, God of Yaoi.

Perfect for this.

See ya

[lovely-showtimes]

Hello! Can I request this.. sekai boys x reader who is afraid of doctors/hospitals?

Thank you in advance, have a nice day! <3

hospitals.

characters - akito, toya.

type - scenario.

contains - reader is stated to have anxiety, because ... well, i do, and i can best describe being scared of something if i use my own experiences, if that makes sense.

a/n - thank you, nonnie!! i hope you have a wonderful day as well <3 i was gonna just make these hcs but i thought maybe a small drabble would work better? also i'm sorry that it's only akito & toya, i truly couldn't think of anything interesting for tsukasa & rui (╥﹏╥) please forgive me ...

It's just a check-up. I'll be fine.

Those were the words you told yourself repeatedly as you pace around your living room, trying to ignore the pit of anxiety in your stomach.

It's fine. Just like always, they'll tell me everything is fine, and then I'll go back home. It won't be as bad as I'm expecting.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to reason with yourself, your fears stayed present in your mind, gnawing at you and making your anxiety even worse.

While you were pacing around, lost in thought, Akito reenters the room once more. He was holding the glass of water you'd asked him to get for you a few moments ago.

He sighs, placing the glass down on the table and walking over to you.

"Oi. Stop pacing like that. You're not making yourself feel any better, you know?" He places his hands on your shoulders firmly and gently spins you around to face him.

"But I can't stop thinking about it." You rub your face and groan quietly.

Akito frowns and lets go of you once more. He can't stand to see you like this, but Akito has never been particularly good at comforting people, especially when they're anxious like this. Hell, he doesn't even know how to cope with it when it happens to himself...

"You know what," he speaks after a few moments of silent contemplation, "After the visit's over, do you wanna come to this cafe nearby? It could be something else for you to think about instead of the visit, I guess."

You lift your head in surprise. "That's... That's actually a great idea, 'Kito!! Thank you!!"

You throw your arms around him in a sudden hug, causing him to stumble backwards slightly. He soon steadies himself forever, and hugs you in return.

"It's nothing, really," he chuckles lightly. "I'm just glad you don't seem as worried anymore."

You exhale loudly, tapping your foot absentmindedly on the carpeted floors. Currently, you were hanging around the arcade with your boyfriend, Toya.

Well, you were supposed to be. He had gone off... somewhere. You could guess where, but seeing as you don't go to the arcade often, you're not sure where to go to seek him out.

You sigh again, fidgeting with your shirt. Toya took you here because he wanted you to have a nice time before you had to go for your check-up, you were aware of that. But your fears clawed at you, making you unable to enjoy the atmosphere.

You begin wandering around, searching for Toya. Maybe if you're with him, you could relax a little. Maybe...

It took quite a while of aimless wandering (you could have just called him and asked where he was, but that would mean admitting you were lost... which you would very much prefer to avoid), but you found him eventually.

Toya was right where you expected to find him, at the claw machine. He was utterly engrossed in the game, a level of concentration you didn't often see from him.

You took a few quiet steps closer, eyes wide in awe. You hadn't ever actually seen him play this before, and it was strangely mesmerizing, despite how simple the gameplay was.

Before you knew it, Toya had gained yet another plushie from the machine. He carefully drops it into the bag he'd placed beside the machine and goes to input another coin to play again.

"Ah, Toya," you hurry over to stop him from spending all his money on crane games. "I've been looking for you. I-I have to go soon, so..."

You trail off, averting your gaze. You wish you didn't have to go, but there was nothing you could do to. You had to go at some point...

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten about that." Toya picks up the bag of plushies he'd obtained (wow, there was way more in that bag than you'd originally thought) and holds it out to you. A soft smile appears on his face.

"Here. I got these for you."

You slowly take the bag from him in bewilderment. Did he really just come here so he could get a bunch of plushies for you...? It was a fairly good idea on his part, to be honest... It's an easy way to get lots of plushies for relatively little amounts of money.

Your eyes made contact with a particular bunny plushie in the bag. Somehow, its cute little face managed to temporarily make you forget about your fears.

"Toya, you're too sweet!" You quickly meet his eyes once more and beam. "Thank you for all this, you're the best!"

Toya's smile grows. "It's nothing, really. C'mon, we should get going."

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 59

I perched on one of the many tables in Tony's lab, my heels long discarded and my elegant dress swapped for a simple shirt and yoga pants. The air was thick with tension as we grappled with the aftermath of Ultron's attack. The realization that he had infiltrated and compromised all our systems was a bitter pill to swallow. He had access to everything, including nuclear codes.

"Nukes? He said he wanted us dead," Natasha remarked, her voice tinged with worry and disbelief as she paced the floor.

"He didn't say dead. He said extinct," Steve corrected, his tone somber and resolute.

"And he also mentioned he killed someone," Clint added, his voice trailing off as he wandered around the lab, his steps aimless and heavy. The loss of Jarvis weighed on us all—Ultron had targeted him because Jarvis was our last line of defense.

Thor erupted without warning, storming across the room and seizing Tony by the neck.

"Come on, use your words, buddy," Tony croaked, his voice strained but still carrying a hint of his trademark sarcasm.

"I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark," Thor thundered, his eyes blazing with fury, his grip tightening. His anger was palpable, bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin.

Steve took a step towards them, his voice firm and commanding. "Thor. The Legionnaire."

Thor released Tony, who stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. "The trail went cold about a hundred miles out," Thor reported, his voice still laced with anger as he continued to glare at Stark. "But it is headed north. And it has the scepter."

"Now we have to retrieve it. Again," Thor continued, his tone dripping with accusation. Dr. Cho, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "I don't understand. You built this program. Why is it trying to kill us?" she asked, directing her bewildered gaze at Tony.

Tony started to chuckle, a sound that seemed entirely out of place given the gravity of the situation. I looked around at our collective confusion, our faces mirroring each other's bewilderment.

"Tony has finally lost his mind," I said, my voice exasperated and tinged with disbelief. Bruce was shaking his head vigorously, his eyes fixed on Tony. Before he could speak, Thor's voice boomed across the lab, "You think this is funny?"

Tony turned to face him, a strange mix of humor and frustration in his eyes. "No, it's probably not, right? This is very terrible. Is it so... It is. It's so terrible," he said, his voice tinged with laughter that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation.

"This could have been avoided if you had not played with something you don't understand," Thor reprimanded, his tone harsh and unforgiving.

"No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It is funny. It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this," Tony retorted, stepping forward until he was almost chest-to-chest with Thor. The tension between them crackled like electricity.

Bruce tried to intervene, his voice calm but urgent. "Tony, this might not be the time."

But Tony was having none of it. He turned sharply to Bruce, "Really? That's it? You just roll over. Show your belly every time somebody snarls?"

Bruce's eyes widened in disbelief. "Only when I create a murder bot."

"We didn't. We weren't even close. Were we close to an interface?" Tony asked, his frustration boiling over. The tech jargon flew over my head, adding to my growing headache. The night had stretched on far too long, and our nerves were frayed beyond repair. I had to admit Tony had a point. The attack on New York had starkly demonstrated that Earth needed some form of protection against the threats lurking in the vastness of space.

"We are the Avengers," Tony declared, his tone intense. "We can tackle arms dealers all day long, but that up there—" he gestured toward the heavens, his expression grim, "—that's the endgame. How were you planning on beating that?"

"Together," Steve replied firmly, his voice carrying a resolute determination.

Tony’s gaze was unwavering as he stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Steve’s. "We’ll lose," he said bluntly.

"Then we’ll do that together, too," Steve answered without missing a beat, his resolve as unshakable as ever.

We all retreated to our rooms, the exhaustion from the night's events weighing heavily on us. Sleep was urgently needed. I collapsed onto the center of the bed, my thoughts still tangled with the chaos of the evening, when I noticed Steve removing his shirt.

Amid the ongoing Ultron crisis, I had almost managed to push aside the troubling memories from the maze. But now, all the guilt came crashing back, a tidal wave of remorse overwhelming me. I squeezed my eyes shut, only to find that doing so intensified the pain, making Bucky's face the only image that lingered in the darkness.

Steve collapsed onto the bed beside me with a weary sigh and began tracing gentle circles on my stomach. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me, and I opened my eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern, but he offered me a reassuring smile and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead.

Tears welled up as I felt the comforting weight of his presence. The softness of his touch and the simple act of lying here with him brought a profound sense of solace amid the turmoil. His brows furrowed in concern when he saw the tears streaming down my face. Gently, he wiped them away with his thumb. My eyes fluttered shut at the feather-light touch, and I leaned into the warmth of his palm.

"I know it's been a tough night, but we’ll be okay," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he kissed away my tears.

Despite his comforting words, I felt like the worst person in the world. The weight of my guilt was unbearable, and I lacked the courage to be honest with him, paralyzed by my selfishness. I cupped his face in my hands and gazed up into his eyes, my tears continuing to fall. "I love you, Steve," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I love you so much... I’m so sorry..."

His brow furrowed in confusion, though a faint smile lingered on his lips. "I love you too," he said softly. "But why are you sorry? I don’t understand..." My lip quivered as I stared into his eyes, my mind racing through all the possible outcomes of telling him the truth. The weight of my decision felt unbearable, and despite knowing that honesty was needed, I couldn't bring myself to speak. The reason? A paralyzing sense of selfishness.

As the silence between us grew heavy, I felt a surge of desperation. Unable to bear the weight of my unspoken truth and the agony of not being able to share it, I reached out and pulled him close. My lips crashed against his with an urgent, feverish intensity. It was a kiss born from a mix of fear, regret, and an overwhelming need to connect.

Steve’s initial surprise gave way to a passionate response. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me even closer as if trying to absorb the whirlwind of emotions that had overtaken me.

His hand slid to my thigh as he hovered above me, our tongues and lips meeting in a fervent clash. I grasped the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward to reveal his broad chest. The need to be as close to him as possible drove me to quickly discard the rest of our clothes. We were soon pressed together, our bodies bare and entwined, skin against skin.

"I love you so much," I whispered between labored breaths and gasps as his fingers traced fiery paths over my skin. Each touch ignited a new wave of desire, making my body arch toward him.

Steve's eyes locked onto mine with an intense gaze, his expression a blend of raw passion and deep affection. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear as he murmured, "I love you too. Always."

I pulled back, my breaths coming in heavy gasps as his eyes fluttered open, surprised by my sudden hesitation. He searched my face for an explanation, but I remained silent. His hand gently cupped my cheek, his voice soft but laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in my throat. The weight of what I needed to say felt overwhelming.

"He was here... Bucky... during the party," I stammered, unsure of how he would react.

His eyes widened in shock. "Why didn’t you tell me? I thought he was leaving... What did he say?" His voice grew almost frantic, a mix of worry and agitation evident in his tone. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. "He said he was scared... that he didn’t want to leave without me," I confessed, my voice trembling.

Steve's expression shifted to one of deep concern, and a heavy silence settled between us. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone serious. "Well, tell him I want to talk to him."

"I don’t have a way to reach him," I replied, my voice tinged with frustration. "He just appears and disappears, like a ghost."

Steve nodded, a look of determination in his eyes. "Then let him know that next time he shows up. Is that everything he said?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "That’s it..."

He looked at me for a moment longer, then sighed deeply. "We should try to get some sleep. It’s late." He got up, pulled on his shorts, turned off the lights, and settled back into bed, facing away from me.

I spent the rest of the night wide awake.

Tags: @capswife

Next Chapter

[skinnypaleangryperson]

All I wanted in life was to be a mother, a loving wife, to raise a beautiful family because that is what feels like the most profound spiritual human gift of God to me, so much to the point that I can't even stand it even just with a stimulation of consuming or thinking about it for a few moments. I wanted to live in the city for a little bit of day-to-day diversity and to have a feeling creative career or at the very least have some sort of modest side product of a career, I wouldn't have been to picky in that aspect.

I reached my conclusion years ago and of the gradual devastation of realizing that none of those things would ever be even remotely possible to me or for me, and on top of that, did not even have a support group for profound grief, or even just general community and general for anything other than soulless people on apps all day that argue about things that don't matter and have no compassion for those that are spiritual and had actual human goals and dreams and to live meaningful lives outside of being a slave, aimless hobbies or temporary passions, and arguing about things like selfish appearance, or political opinions or things that true late, down to the absolute core nub if you're anybody who thinks or has any soul or self-awareness at all, does not matter. On the contrary, The people who stand for all these things is all that I have, who don't care about anyone or even themselves, much less incredibly spiritual gifted people like me who just wanted to live a human fulfilling dignified regular life with spiritual and creativity fulfillment.

These past couple of days, months, have been even enough because of the very two people of my parents who I am forced to stay alive for after they saved me for my suicide attempt from these very conclusions a couple of years ago, and living with them and living for them is just fulfilling enough that even though it does not save me from the profound mental and spiritual suffering I am enduring every minute of every day with very little relief, it is just enough to put me into this strange stagnance despite the suffering, like sitting in the middle of a fire, while waiting for the two people that occasionally pour a tranquil of water on me to keep it just enough so that I sometimes forget I'm sitting in the fire, which I've become numb to as much as anybody can become numb to that kind of pain and is forced to live with it for the sake of the two people pouring on the trinkle of water now and then.

There is never been any such thing as friendship for me, there will never be a community again, the few people that I even just saw casually around me in college I will never even have again even just remind me that I'm not the only person existing on this earth. There is no happy ending, there is not even anything that resembles anything even remotely tolerable, there was only a slow decline of death, watching my parents die and then immediately ending my own life as soon as I can, but having to deal with the profound physical and emotional suffering that comes with having to end my own life and having to wait for so long and day-to-day existence and of being crushed everyday with seeing the superficiality and the literal subhumanity around me that is my generation no matter where you look, that is turn the profound grief that I have of a lifelong suffering of never having a family and of having nothing that I can do about it into nothing but soulless malicious gas lighting, of telling me that I can do something about my problems, to not feel sorry for something that is of a prone suffering I can't even around I had around that I cannot fix, of telling me that I need to get over it, as if I could ever get over something, and all the while not even having the luxury of being able to end my own life that is told time and time again that does not matter and isn't even allowed to grieve, or be seen, or to even discuss things say for posting over towards places where I essentially am just talking to myself on a digital screen instead of to the literal void in reality where I can no longer perceive or understand reality or that I exist, where dysfunctionality and suffering increases daily.

The suffering can be beautiful sometimes, but only in the sense that it reminds me that at the very least I will die for a genuine true human reason unlike the majority of people that I am forced to see everyday just to fight off psychosis and to give me stimulation of human interaction even though no one is really human anymore or even understands what that means, and you can see it in the posting that is on every app everywhere daily, how a soulless, rude, loud and how aimless people are. It's reached incomprehensible points where there's not much point in even trying to keep up with that at this point.

I just want to go, I just want to not stuff for anymore. I've had everything taken away from me, even the ability of being able to talk with people who respect my profound grief and my perspective and as to the conclusions that I've reached, and I have nothing but full grown man and woman children that have reduced it to a joke of telling me "just to get a plant". I am one of the only few human beings left on this earth, and as a result I have been left alone with my grief, and as if the loss that I've experienced wasn't enough of the dignified life that I wanted to live, I don't even have a community or people who are at the very least offer the baseline sense of decency or sympathy, or even humanity, towards that grief, and it is suffocating inside my head like a wretching grief only getting more confusing as I get older.

Please, fate, let me go. Everyday I will my body to give out.

[aspoonofsugar]

What do you think of the songs from RWBY volume 9?

Hi!

Sorry for the long wait and thank you for the patience <3

So, I love volume 9 soundtrack! It is wonderful musically-wise and I am very happy to see that Casey, just like Jeff, uses the songs to explore the characters' arcs. Volume 9 is really the return of character-driven songs and I am grateful for that!

Here is the list of some metas I have already written for some tracks:

Chatterbox (Neo + CC's song)

Worthy (BB's song)

Quiet (Jaune's song)

As for my favourites:

Guide My Way

Chatterbox/Quiet/Checkmate

Worthy

Trapdoor/Inside

The Edge

Guide My Way is one of my favourite RWBY songs ever, so let's analyze it a little!

GUIDE MY WAY

The Red Like Roses trilogy explores Ruby's feelings over Summer, as she sings to her mother. In particular, the red like roses motif shows the layers and the evolution of Ruby's grief.

Initially, we are simply told that:

Red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest.

Red roses remind Ruby of Summer Rose, so she goes to visit her grave:

This is the premise of the Red Trailer, but no other indication is given. This fits Red Like Roses being about RWBY as a team, which mirrors Ruby's tendency to carry others' burdens and to repress her own.

However, Red Like Roses Part II reveals Ruby's reaction to Summer's disappearance is raw and complicated:

Both voices: It doesn't matter how The petals scatter now Every nightmare just discloses It's your blood that's red like roses Voice 1: And no matter what I do Nothing ever takes the place of you

It is Summer's blood, that's red like roses. So, Summer becomes linked to violence and death. However, Ruby refuses to face these dark emotions. It is this hidden trauma, which leads to Ruby's spiral and breakdown in volume 9. Here is where Guide My Way starts:

Saw you In a dream Are you who you seem? Was it always in the cards for me To be aimless? No direction, nothing pulling me down From the sky it seems like I always get too High Oh the air is cold, I don't know how to breathe I'm begging, can you Guide my way out Of this place?

Ruby is aimless and there is nothing pulling her down. This choice of words is interesting because they tie into the gravity imagery, which fills the Atlas Arc:

Keep dreaming 'bout a better world You keep wishing for some clarity Always hoping that a lightning bolt Is gonna save you from this gravity

Gravity is linked to limitations. It is something that chains and makes people fall. People like Ironwood, for example, who is crushed by this force together with his kingdom. And yet, Ruby is designed as a person able to defy gravity. As a matter of fact Petal Burst lets her basically move unbounded by the laws of physics:

And yet, this freedom slowly becomes a burden. Ruby is never tied down by bad things. She can inspire everyone. She can guide everyone. She always flies higher than everyone. And yet, this in itself is a problem:

Past Ruby: That’s right! It’s up to you to make things better, isn’t it? Everything all depends on you! Your sister needs you, your friends need you, the whole world needs you to keep fighting, forever and ever, against an invincible monster that took your mother!

Ruby is so above everyone else that she finds herself lonely and lost:

She drinks the tea and ends up in a strange dimension, where she has to choose alone who she is going to be. In this dream world, she meets the person who fills her dreams:

Red like roses fills my dreams

Guide My Way is just a long monologue Ruby tells Summer. Basically a prayer:

Open wide You were born to hypnotize them all They said their prayers (Can you, can you) can you hear me up there?

Through this one-sided confrontation Ruby affirms herself as a person still strongly defined by her mother:

I can't define Would it even be enough to change my mind? Your memory ever-lasting at war with my foolish pride What is left? I know it's you and I, when I look inside

And yet, a different individual, as well:

I'll be who you were and I'll be even more

She is still incomplete:

Otherside, Did you mean to make me half or whole? Will I ever be (complete)? When will I become all of me?

And yet, she realizes Summer may not be complete herself:

What survives After all the dust has gone? Were you there till the end (the end)? Were you at least called a friend?

Ruby doubts her mother for the first time. Was she at least able to be herself until the end? Like Penny, who was at least called a friend? Or did Summer become her own antithesis?

Who is Summer Rose?

A broken pedestal.

And who is Ruby Rose?

A shattered mirror.

Or is she?

A moment of quiet is all it takes To reclaim a life and a promise made

Just like Jaune, Ruby only needs a moment of quiet to realize who she is supposed to become:

I am the reflection of who prevails I'm what inspired the fairytale

Her own reflection prevails on Summer's one. In the beginning, Ruby wants to be like Summer, that she equals to the fairy tale heroes her mom reads her about:

Ruby: I love books. Yang used to read to me every night before bed. Stories of heroes and monsters… They're one of the reasons I want to be a Huntress!

Still, Ruby is the one who will make the fairty tale into reality:

Blake: The real world isn't the same as a fairy tale. Ruby: Well, that's why we're here! To make it better.

As a result, she doesn't need fairy tale heroes anymore. Rather, she is going to inspire fairy-tales. Actually, she has already inspired one:

She inspires Little to grow into Somewhat. She helps a literally fairy-tale character. She is the childhood hero (Huntress) to Little. Just like Summer is Ruby's childhood hero:

Somewhat: You do feel… familiar. Like a happy dream I can’t remember.

Ruby is a happy dream Somewhat can't remember. Summer is a happy dream Ruby can't remember. This is why in Red Like Roses Part III there is simply:

Red like roses fills my dream

Red like roses here is not linked to death (it doesn't bring Ruby to the place Summer rests) or violence (it isn't Summer's blood that's red like roses). It is simply Summer's color, which fills Ruby's happy dreams. Even if she can barely remember Summer, she still loves her. Not as a hero, but as a mother:

Summer: I love you… just the way you are. Always…

At the same time, Ruby herself becomes someone else's dream. Specifically, she becomes the dream of her inner child (Little). She doesn't need to idealize Summer anymore because she is growing to be her own hero. She is going to take care of her inner child in Summer's place. This is what it means to become an adult.

This is what the refrain of the song hints at. It starts with Ruby begging Summer, but then it slowly changes through the song, until it reaches its powerful ending:

I'm begging, can you Guide my way out Of this place?

Guide my way out Of this place

Guide my way out Of this place (I can guide me, I can guide my way out) Guide my way out Of this place

Ruby herself can guide her way out.

OTHER SONGS

Here comes some quick miscellania thoughts on other tracks.

Chatterbox: I love how it plays when the Jabberwalker appears and it is impossible to understand who is singing. It is a beautiful nod to Carol's original non-sense poem and it ties with the CC and especially Neo's arc

Quiet: The sound of clocks, the reference to Pyrrha and the mention of a miracle as a nod to Jaune's allusion make it a fave. I also love it plays in one of my favourite scenes of the seasons.

Worthy: I like it musically and I love how it describes Blake and Yang's relationship through the metaphor of falling, which calls back to the episode Worthy itself.

Checkmate: It is one of my favourite musically, but I don't have much to say about its lyrics. I think it beautifully introduces the viewers to the season and it calls back to player and pieces in many ways. It also references the chess motif throughout the series.

Inside: I love how its lyrics reference the Blacksmith's speech about living with Balance and beautifully illustrate the theme of the season.

Trapdoor: I like it musically, but I have not much to say about its lyrics. I think it is kind of self-explanatory as a song.

The Edge: My least favourite track. It is good enough, but not my piece of cake.

Thank you for the ask and have a nice day!

[mariana-oconnor]

The Final Problem pt 1

🎵It's the Fi-inal Proble-em🎶diddle-uh duh! Diddle-uduhduuuh!🎵

And now that's going to be stuck in my head all week.

I have seen multiple adaptations of this story and I believe I have read it twice in the original as well as having used it a few times for reference back in my days hanging out in the Sherlock comms on lj. So I know it pretty well. No rampant speculation this time, although there may be several highly inappropriate memes. I'll see what I can do.

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes was distinguished.

Ah, here we find the true dichotomy of Watsonian vs Doyleist, as depicted in the diagram below.

My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred.

ANOTHER FUCKING COLONEL! Colonels are the worst. I'm sure that at some poitn in his life ACD was in some way drastically wronged by a colonel in the British army whom he never forgot or forgave. Not a Major or a Lieutenant or a Captain, but definitely a Colonel.

Also, I thought Professor Moriarty was also called James. Did their parents just lack imagination? Or could they not be bothered to learn more than one name. Does it matter which child turns up, as long as one of them does? Is James just the name that ACD uses when he can't think of any others?

I alone know the absolute truth of the matter...

Are you sure about that, Watson? I feel like maybe there's like... one tiny thing you don't know. Just one. Absolutely minuscule thing. Not important at all. Barely worth knowing.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.

Literally the other day you were living with him in Baker Street again, and it seems like you spent more time with Holmes in the months after your marriage than you did with your wife or at work, so I'm not sure that starting this true account of events off with a bald-faced lie is the best course of action, but sure.

Reading these stories in this order and seeing with complete clarity that ACD paid no attention to his past writing with regards to timeline and continuity is kind of funny. There were only three cases in 1890? I'm sure we've had more than three cases give us specific dates in 1890. I can't remember exactly when he got married, but it wasn't that long before 1890 (1888 wikipedia tells me, and many stories take place in that nebulous 'months after I was married' period. The timeline is honestly just chaos. One of the last stories was set in 1892, which from the date of this story is clearly impossible, so... Watson just makes up the dates to suit his own agenda?)

I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and from Nîmes...

Now that I know he was recently in Nimes, I am going to be picturing Holmes in a pair of jeans for the rest of this story. That's just how it is. Sorry. And before you say it's anachronistic, denim trousers became popular in the 1870s in the states, iirc, so it's entirely plausible.

"...I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall."

Watson I have come to close your shutters, smoke a cigarette and climb over your backwall, and I'm all out of shutters and cigarettes.

"Is Mrs Watson in?" "She is away upon a visit." "Indeed! You are alone?" "Quite." "Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away with me for a week to the Continent."

Oh, and also to invite you on an impromptu romantic getaway to the continent, seeing as your wife's not around. I'm in fear for my life, but it's going to be great fun.

Watson suggesting that this is an 'aimless holiday' is odd. Watson, if your friend comes to you and admits that he's afraid of being shot and has been in a fight, wants to leave your house in an unconventional manner that will help him avoid being seen and simultaneously suggests you leave the country. It might be connected. The destination is clearly less important than the departing.

"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.

This reveal was kind of spoiled for modern readers with the Colonel's name earlier, which is a bit of a shame. But I guess ACD had no idea that Moriarty would become such a household name that just this in itself would be able to make readers a century on go 'Oh!' Still a pity, though. Having that whole 'in danger for his life' thing and THEN the Moriarty reveal would be a better build up for modern readers.

"His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by nature..."

👀

"...with a phenomenal mathematical faculty."

What is an 'army coach'? I mean, I know what I feel like it means, but I fail to see how it would be a good job for a professor of mathematics. Did he coach them in maths?

"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them."

Me, trying to find the most ridiculous gif of Macavity from Cats (2019): There's so. many. to choose from.

"Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection."

When I first realised that Moriarty appears in only 1 of the Sherlock Holmes stories, I was kind of astonished, because he always seemed like he must have been a recurring nemesis to have made such an impact on the canon. But no, it really is just this story and ACD gives him a lot of hype. It leaves a lot of space in the narrative, and as we all know, the plot holes are where the fanfic gets in. Sherlock Holmes, I believe, is the most adapted character in English literary history. More than Robin Hood, more than King Arthur, more than any Shakespeare play. And you've got to wonder if part of that is because of the gaps in the narrative that are mentioned, but not fleshed out.

I wonder if, at the time, there were Sherlock Holmes fan groups who pored over past cases trying to find evidence of Moriarty's hand in previous stories. I bet there were people scribbling their own ideas of what happened between Moriarty and Holmes and reading them to their friends and family in the evenings. Just as I bet, after this story, a million fix it stories were written/told. I've never heard of any existing, but it feels like there must have been.

"I was sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me."

"His appearance was quite familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in this head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion."

Police officers are mammalian and criminal masterminds are reptilian. Good to know.

"'You have less frontal development that I should have expected,' said he, at last. 'It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.'"

"You have a small head." Interesting opening line. Although it is fair to say that he's right about the gun. Not best practice.

"'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he. "'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied."

These lines are iconic, but also, as someone who has written on occasion, also genius. Why bother trying to work out a suitably intelligent and ominous conversation when you can do this instead and have it work ten times better. It's a lovely bit of writing.

"'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.'"

I do also love this matter of fact little summary, where Moriarty has clearly had his thesaurus open at the word 'blocked' and just picked words at random. The exasperation and yet strange calm of having this all written down in his diary is great. Moriarty is very well constructed as a character.

He goes on to say 'tut, tut' as well, which is just such a supercilious, condescending little thing to say. He is eminently hateable, and yet simultaneously has done nothing actually wrong on page.

Holmes refers to him as Mr Moriarty to his face and Professor Moriarty to Watson, which is a nice little bit of pettiness. Technically he isn't a professor any more, but just that little bit of disrespect to his face. Beautiful.

"I took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day."

Oh hai, Mycroft!

So far, Holmes has escaped death 3 times today. So he's doing pretty well.

I do find it odd that with so many days advance warning, Moriarty can't find another way to not be arrested on Monday that isn't killing Holmes. Can't he just... stop whatever thing is happening on Monday?

"The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an accommodating neighbour. I should be glad to come."

The return of Watson's accommodating neighbour, the true unsung hero of these tales. There had better be a fanfic on AO3 that's a bystander POV of Watson's long-suffering doctor neighbour and all the times Waton pops his head in and says 'I have to have adventures today, you don't mind keeping an eye on my practice do you, old chum? Splendid! See you in a week!'

I'm sure all of Holmes instructions about how Watson should get to the station are justified, but they are also very funny.

"...dash through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine."

Ah yes, I know exactly how quickly to run through the arcade to make sure I get to the other side at exactly quarter past nine. Who doesn't?

This is only a two parter, and the next part is due tomorrow, it says, rather than on Tuesday. So, everyone get your mourning bands ready.

[robodove]

SHOW US THE PIRATE STUFF DO THE MERMAID STUFF ALKNASDAS

OKAY I FINALLY HAVE A LITTLE TIME ARRGAGRG I hope this aimless infodump is readable

so! Their designs and junk are a mess rn but I do have some stuff of them!!

Ignore the little dragon in the last I'm still working on Lloyd's whole... business. And! Don't mind the text in the pink one, I was just tryna think up silly nicknames!

Anyways! They aren't really... Traditional pirates? Y'know.. cause their crew size is like 5 + a child and ancient beast.

Under division is a small ramble

Cole's the "captain" and is a selkie (although I know they're usually seals I accidentally chose a sea lion)! He's the sea lion in the pictures and I'm desperately trying to work his skin into the design. I thought it'd be silly since he was raised in dance and entertainment.. and hey! Sea lions are known for that too!

(he wasn't meant to look so forsaken here, sorry Cole)

Jay is a mermaid (thing?) When in the water, he has the lower half reminiscent of an electric eel (I saw reminiscent as there are some major differences)! No one really has powers in this but he can still shock like that,, Ed and Edna are still human in this and I'm trying to remember if they still lived at a scrapyard or a shipyard.

Both Kai and Nya are only half mermaid! Nya ended up inheriting way more mermaid traits than her brother, who doesn't even have a tail in water, but still has a lot of human drawbacks. She can only breathe underwater for so long and ironically Kai can last down there longer. He just chooses not to since I thought it'd be funny to still let him be scared of water in this 😭 sorry Kai. He still has the recognizable sharper teeth and has bits and flashes of shimmery scales but is overall the most human of the bunch once you count out Cole's unskinned form.

I couldn't resist myself on Zane and ended up making him a siren. Mainly because.. bird! And also if he was going to be organic, I wanted to isolate him from the other sea related creatures. He has the wings and feathers of a gyrfalcon and can't swim as well in the ocean! He ends up bonding with Kai over this Kai originally hadn't liked him too much! Reasonably so since.. y'know.. sirens eat people. And mermaids in this.. although Zane eats human things as he was raised on it by a still very human Dr. Julien (who I guess is more of a bird-oriented wildlife scientist in this? ornithologist?). insert joke about him being a hand raised bird.

I don't have my sketchbook with me right now so I'm scrambling for pictures but ! Like all their designs, he's still a work in progress. Will most likely make his legs longer or something but this is just my ideas LOL

And anyways! Onto Lloyd! (And the others?)

I was struggling to decide what Lloyd should be,, like? A dragon could still very much work and his normal version is already so cool?? However, I ended up on leviathan.. a baby one. The serpentine aren't decided but Lloyd's still pretty much not taken seriously by the town. Still winds up being taken in by the "ninja!"

Garmadon is still locked up, although now at the bottom of the ocean! The Skulkin are drowned/dead pirates?

Wu is who I've been struggling to decide on as well! For whatever reason I've been contemplating making him like just some statue in the Destiny's Bounty that speaks to them.

There's plenty of other things going on,, Kai and Nya come to them on accident and Jay is over the moon to see other moons and wants to show them their "ways" despite having never even met others before. Cole is desperately trying to keep everyone in one place as they've accidentally made the perfect collection of the world's most valuable pelts.

Kai still raises Nya at the forge (which in this, is beachside), but years later there's a rise in pricing for the scales of mers and the boy decides that they need to leave in effort to protect her. Nya is devastated because this is their home! Where else would they even go?? They barely have any cash! Kai's decision is further inland AND with the money they get from selling the forge. Yadda, yadda, the buyer turns on them and they wind up in the ocean near their home! Kai's knocked cold, which is for the better as Nya swims them further and further into open ocean.

For the first time, Nya meets another mer as she tries to save her brother, and he helps them aboard a ship! The Destiny's Bounty! (Or perhaps a ship before it? It's all still up in air)

I'd expand more but I'm out of time </3 please give any suggestions if you'd like to! I'd always appreciate criticism

[phantom-fleetways]

I loved your neo chaos sonic au

If it's okay to ask could you tell us more about it👀👀

Oh! Of course!

Frankly I haven't done much world building for it, since I have other AUs who are utter attention whores and life just LOVES to make me unable to draw for some stupid reason or another. But I do have some simple concepts I would love to share! If you feel like you can bare my aimless rambling, feel free to read the rest under the cut.

First off, setting. Generally speaking, Neo Chaos Sonic's timeline takes place after the events of Season 2's finale and the early portion of season 3's episode one.

But instead of Building Alpha Grim Sonic after a lot of dilly dallying on Nine's part, he decides to fight fire with fire. (And maybe he's a little scared of being alone, although he would never admit it.)

So he rebuilds Chaos Sonic instead. And to insure that he'll be able to beat Sonic, Nine decided to give him untethered access to the Paradox Prism.

This of course leads to Chaos Sonic deeming his normal build being to... Easy to deal with. And he is allowed a modicum of freewill by Nine. So who is he if he does not ascend to godhood to ensure the plan's execution? It's gonna be a temporary upgrade. And Nine did give him full access to the Paradox Prism.

Leading to this beautiful outcome!

It's a MAJOR upgrade. And it comes with a hip skirt! And who is she to go against a hip skirt?

After choosing a new form of befitting of his newly born Goddess status, NCS decides to make the Grim their perfect little paradise. Their powers are simple, as she is all powerful but not all knowing or anything.

NCS can change their appearance however she sees fit. Although due to his vanity, he mostly stays hedgehog robot shaped. And generally before war is brought to her doorstep, she just stands about as tall as NMS would. So they definitely Tower over Sonic and Nine easily. They also can pool liquid metal off of them and when the liquid metal touches the ground, they become Grim Sonic Troopers. All of which seem to reflect different small aspects of her personality. Also she has glitter beams and shit. He's a magical girl, they gotta have their glitter attacks.

After a while of their new arrangement, NCS stops referring to Nine as either "Best bud" or "Sir". And starts calling him Martyr or Prophet. Treating Nine as a prized possession and less like a friend or even someone they wish to protect and keep happy.

Nine isn't initially concerned about this though. Since he's certain that they are still loyal to him. Which is true, he is. But ultimately that loyalty does not outweigh her natural selfishness.

I believe that inevitably, there will come to pass a point where Neo Chaos Sonic decides to "sacrifice" Nine to herself. If only to make Sonic run a fool's errand. If you know ANYTHING about the ending of KH3 and the whole "Save the 7" segment with Riku? Like that. (For those who don't know, imagine Nine floating above an altar of some sort with his body partially transparent blue.)

I don't really know if Sonic and Co from prime would succeed, since I really just designed Neo Chaos Sonic for the sake of designing him. But I would say that in order to take down Neo, Sonic would need to brace the abyss™️ to find Shadow's missing Chaos Emerald. Since I'm a wedger a bet that Shadow would be logically able to use Chaos Control in the prism that Neo Chaos is using to power themselves. Buuut in order to do that, Shadow would have to get close enough.

There is the possiblity that allowing Sonic to shatter himself would fix everything too. But ultimately I have no clue cuz I just haven't thought far yet.

Overall, the AU is very shallow at the moment. And seeing as I have other far more complex AUs I'm working on, it might be this way for a while. So, I'm sorry about that! But I did enjoy rambling a bit, albeit a bit aimlessly.

I just really love this design and I really love how pretty they came out! Neo Chaos Sonic is a treat of a concept to me, since I adore Neo Metal Sonic. Favorite flavor of Mets to be honest. And I figured a Neo form for Chaos Sonic would do them good!

[sweetest-florida-blue-peach]

Southern Roots Series:

Song: Why'd You Come In Here Lookin' Like That

Artist: Dolly Parton

Characters for Scenario: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

{{And before y'all come at me with your pitchforks and torches, HE IS AGED UP, so stop clutching your pearls and quit looking at me like I scandalized a nun}}

Warnings: None that I can think of other than Bakugou's usual potty mouth. Part of the scenario takes place in a bar, so there are mentions of alcohol and drinking, and cigarettes. Not sure if any of these are relevant for a warning, but I'm adding them just in case. Oh, and breakup angst, because, why not?

Notes: Tried to keep the reader GN. Concept is almost entirely from Reader’s perspective, so lots of usage of the pronoun ‘you’. Bartender calls Reader “sugar, hon, darlin’,” etc. Bartender is ‘she/her’. {Bartender is my self-insert, and no, this post was not intended to be all about her, but she is integral to the underlying story}. Uses they/them pronouns when discussing Reader. If I slipped up anywhere, politely tell me, and I’ll go back and edit.

Word Count: Bruh, I ain't got the mental capacity to count right now 🤣😭

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★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

For @trashpotatoess.

Sloane, my love, my darlin', my dearest, my wonderful friend--I am so, so, SO sorry for the lateness of this, and doubly sorry if it’s absolute garbage, but I sincerely hope you enjoy your requested scenario. 💙

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

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Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?

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The bass of whatever song is croaking through the speakers is doing nothing to help the ache that’s been building up in your head for the last few days. Between that and the seemingly never-ending hangover, your brain was constantly pounding against your skull. 

It’s been three months. Three months of tears, anger, denial, depression, alcohol, and mornings where you struggled to get out of bed. Three months of staring at the cracked screen of your phone, hoping for a notification from him. You had thrown it at your bedroom wall in a fit of rage after he had texted you for the last time asking for his things back. One half of you wished that you’d never deleted your social media, but you did it because you were prone to stalking his account, and you were glad you did. You were downright terrified of what you might find on there. Or who you might find on there. The other half wished that he’d text again, perhaps even be so courteous as to call. Just so you could answer and tell him to go to hell before hanging up. 

Three months of this back-and-forth war with yourself was about to drive you absolutely insane, as was the thought of spending another aimless night holed up in your apartment. So you did the logical thing. You came to the only decent bar Yuuie had to offer and were drinking your sorrows away--for the eighth time this month.

As you down your second drink of the night, you stare down at the brim of your empty glass, mulling over how you found yourself here. A pair of crimson eyes, ash-blonde hair, and a devil-may-care smile flash through your mind. Sighing, you lean your elbows on the bar, bringing your fingertips up to your temples to massage them, trying to rid yourself of some of the discomfort.

The worst part about the breakup wasn’t actually the breakup itself. Sure, there was the screaming and the arguing before he eventually hopped in his truck and left you in a cloud of dust, but that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the fact that everyone knew about it almost as soon as it happened. And it’s all anyone had been gossiping about. For weeks. So even if you wanted to try and forget and move on, you couldn’t. The price and curse of living in a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and you have no kind of privacy whatsoever. You couldn’t even nurse your heartache behind closed doors because someone was always dropping by your place to “check up on you”. 

It also didn’t help that your ex was practically famous. A traveling bull rider and Yuuie rodeo champion for the last six consecutive years, he’d made quite a name for himself.

His rodeo stage name was ridiculous. 

The Great Explosion Murder God and his equally explosive steed, Dynamight. 

That was the title the papers had graced him with after his amazing win on the bull riding portion of the rodeo. No one expected him to last eight seconds on Yuuie’s most notorious bull, Samson. Samson was the bull that put more cowboys out of commission than any farm accident ever could. But your ex craved challenges just as much as he craved the sweet taste of nicotine in his favorite cigarettes. So he rode Samson. And hung on for twenty-three seconds before being flung off. He’d been the town hero ever since. 

Around rodeo season, everywhere you looked, pictures of TGEMG could be seen on every visible window, telephone poll, and building wall imaginable. But you never saw him as the golden boy of Yuuie. You saw him for who he was. A troublemaker with an explosive temper, as hotheaded and stubborn as Samson the bull. To Yuuie, he was The Great Explosion Murder God. 

But to you? He was simply Katsuki Bakugou.

Just the thought of his name caused a sour taste to build up in your mouth. Running your fingers through your already messy hair, you seriously contemplate banging your head onto the polished bar.

“Can I get you another, sugar?” A sweet voice draws you out of your thoughts. You glance up and see the bartender swiping down the counter with a wet cloth. Her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun, with a few loose strands hanging out here and there. Light, subtle strokes of mascara cling to her lashes, accentuating the color of her eyes, two different hues of brown; the left eye a much lighter shade than the right. 

A black Jameson Irish Whiskey racerback clings to her curves, accentuating her hourglass figure. A delicate silver chain hangs around her neck, an unknown pendant playing hide-and-seek in the plunging neckline of her tank. 

She cuts her mismatched eyes to your glass. “Do you want another, or are you calling it a night?” 

Without a word, you shove it toward her. She raises a questioning brow at your actions, lips quirking up slightly, but to your surprise and thankfulness, she doesn’t say anything else. She just grabs the bottle of your favorite liquor and refills your glass for the third time. As she works, you take a moment to study her. 

She was new in town. Landed a job as a bartender. Quiet, kept to herself. A walking enigma as no one really knew anything about her. Hell, you weren’t even sure what her name was. All anyone knew was that she moved to Yuuie shortly after you and Katsuki had called it quits. But from her accent and manners, you would’ve thought she was a local. She fit in well enough, seeming to belong with the rest of you, as if she’d been here the entire time. 

Setting the glass back in front of you, she gives you a small smile. “Here you go, darlin’.”

You blink once. Twice. You then seem to realize that you still need to pay for your drink. Snapping out of your daze, you reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet. Your fingertips barely brush the stash of bills you have tucked away when the bartender shakes her head. 

“On the house, hon.”

You stare incredulously at her. She shrugs, grabbing up empty beer bottles. “You look like you need it.” 

You wince as the coolness of the glass seeps into your palms. “That obvious, huh?” 

She snorts, wiping down the counter again before throwing the towel over her shoulder. “I’m a bartender; it’s my business to be observant. Kinda part of the job description.” Brushing back the stray hairs dangling in her face, she sticks out a hand. “I’m Blue.”

This time, it’s your turn to raise a brow. “Blue? Like the color?”

An expression settles on her face as if she’s in another place, another time, but she doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it or even ask what she’s thinking about. The look disappears almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a wistful smile. “Exactly like the color.”

“That’s not your real name is it?” You ask. Again, you lived in a small town. And small towns came with a variety of names. Some were vintage, a little older but still respectable: Beau, Imogen, Pearl, and Edmund. Others were very Southern: Cash, Oakley, Easton, Wes, and anything that ended in ‘Lynn’. And then there were the off-the-wall ones like Cooter, Gator, Coon, Younique, Texas, Amarillo, and a few others that were just plain ridiculous. All in all, Blue wasn’t too bad a name to be saddled with.

She shakes her head, a small chuckle rumbling through her. “No. It’s....a nickname. Well, one of them. Two different nicknames gifted from two very different people. Blue and Peach.”

“Peach?” The dubiousness of your tone causes her to throw her head back and laugh. 

“A long story from a lifetime ago. I got so used to them when I was younger that I sometimes wouldn’t respond to my actual name. Feel free to call me either. I’ll respond to both, but if I’m being honest, Blue is my preferred choice.” 

Stretching out your arm, you take her hand in yours, giving it a firm shake. “Well, nice to meet you then, Blue.”

Her eyes sparkle, wrapping her fingers around yours. “Likewise.”

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Even though the clock on your phone reads only a quarter past ten, the tavern was nearly jam-packed with patrons.

Several people crowd the bar. Few were playing pool or making bets on a game of darts. Others had paired off and were line-dancing on the dance floor to whatever playlist Present Mic had geared up for the evening.

Laughter bubbles in your chest as you take another shot. You were tipsy, borderline drunk, your giggles growing louder and louder, everything becoming funnier by the second. You were finally beginning to unwind and relax a little.

Okay, you had relaxed A LOT.

Blue made you hand over your keys after your fourth shot of vodka. When you tried protesting, she silenced you with a glare that nearly rivaled your mother’s.

“I’ll give you a lift when my shift ends. Until then, these,” she jangled your keys in front of your face before dropping them into a glass jar that she stashed behind the counter, “are staying with me.” 

You begrudgingly but gratefully accepted, especially as you were aware of the way Sheriff Enji Todoroki had been cracking down on drunk driving lately. You didn’t want to take any chances of getting thrown in the slammer and giving the town yet another reason to talk about you. The breakup was enough fuel to keep the fires going for a good long while.

To keep yourself from reliving the event and becoming a blubbering mess, you impulsively decided to ask Blue to tell you about herself.

She gave you a look that you couldn't quite perceive before sucking in her bottom lip and whistling to her partner.

"Neijire! I'm taking ten."

Your eyes travel in the direction of Blue's attention, landing on the bouncing figure of the other bartender. She wore nearly an identical outfit to Blue’s, but her shirt was more strategically ripped to bare more skin and bore the Jack Daniels logo instead of Jameson. She was happily putting a hefty bill into the Tip Jar, but Blue's words turned her mouth down into a pout.

"You're just now taking a break? Blue!" Neijire scolds, throwing a rag at the back of Blue's head. "You need to take your breaks as they come. Being on your feet for hours gets real exhausting real fast. I don't need you burnt out during your shifts."

Blue gives her a sarcastic salute while Neijire just rolls her eyes. She reaches across the counter, grabbing a pen, scribbling something down on a notepad. Ripping the paper cleanly off, she shoves it into Blue's hand, her golden eyes glittering in the low lights of the bar.

"Go ahead and give this to FatGum. He'll whip up something for you in the back. Take all your missed breaks and get yourself some dinner too. I don't want you back behind this counter until you've eaten something, you hear?"

“Neijire-chan! Can I get another over here, sweetheart?” One of the patrons calls, holding their glass up.

Neijire winks at you both, tucking back a curly lock of lavender-purple hair. “Welcome! What can I get y’all started with?” 

Blue limbos under the ‘employees only’ trapdoor and plops herself beside you on a cushy barstool, grinning. "What do you wanna know?"

"Anything,” you answer, slamming your shot glass down after swigging the contents. “Do you like living in Yuuie? What's your name? What's your sign? When's your birthday? Do you have any tattoos? Have you ever done anything illegal?" The questions were pouring out of you like water from a leaking spicket.

Blue laughs as she hands off her meal ticket to one of the passing waiters, setting it on top of his empty serving tray. "Thanks, Mirio!” 

The blonde bows at the waist, a thousand gigawatt smile flashing. “A pleasure, Miss Blue.” 

She waves him off, shaking her head at him and his antics before turning back to you. “This sounds more like an interrogation than a getting-to-know-you icebreaker."

"Well, it's not only me that's curious. The whole town has been abuzz about you since you got here. You're like a mystery novel with no ending."

Blue's face scrunches up in disbelief. "I'm an open book! Hit me."

“Do you have any pets?”

Her entire face lights up when you ask her that.

"Do you wanna see my cat?"

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And that’s how you found yourself about an hour later, learning everything there was to know about the elusive new bartender.

She whipped out her phone, showing you pictures of a tiny white kitten with a splotched black tail and scattered salt and pepper patches on her face and back. For reasons unbeknownst to you, she named it Queso Mozzarella but lovingly calls her 'Mozzy' for short. Your heart squeezed at the absolute adorableness.

After Blue put her phone away, she began to tell you about herself, bit by bit. Almost like putting together a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle. 

One of the first things she told you was her favorite flavor. Any and everything peach.

"I actually got the nickname 'Peach' when I was in elementary school because I always brought a fresh peach for lunch, even when they weren't in season."

She despises oranges, mainly because she's allergic to them.

"I swell up like a Goodyear Blimp. It ain't very comely."

She likes chocolate milk, mozzarella sticks, forget-me-not flowers, 80's movie soundtrack music, and her favorite color is blue (real surprise there).

"Told you, I'm an open book."

But the thing that shocked you the most was when you discovered that your previous assumption about her had been right. She did grow up in Yuuie.

"Born and raised."

"Then why did you move away?"

Blue fiddles with the basket of fries that came with her mountain of a burger. She’d polished off most of her food, playing with the remaining bits she couldn’t quite eat. Mirio dropped it off earlier, as well as a giant glass of sweet tea. He had playfully ruffled her hair despite Blue's protests before disappearing back into the sea of dancing bodies. 

 "My dad was in the military. He ended up getting promoted to a higher rank and stationed in another country the winter I became a junior. He packed us up and moved us overseas before I could finish the year out." A heavy sigh escapes her lips. She picks up a French fry, dipping it into a small bowl of ranch dressing. That was yet another thing you learned about her: she hated eating ketchup with her fries.

It drops back onto the checkered parchment paper in the plastic basket. 

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."

You slightly sober up at the sadness in her tone. However, before you or she could say anything else, a frazzled-looking Neijire rushes to y'all's end of the bar. "Blue, it's the Pre-Midnight Rush. I need some help back here."

Blue nods. “On my way, darlin’.” She wipes her hands on her jeans, standing.  

“Back to work, then.” She pushes the basket towards you. "Here. You should eat something to soak up all that alcohol you've been drinking."

You take it, deciding to heed her advice. She rounds the bar, walking to the sink to wash her hands before clocking back in.

“Hey, y’all,” she greets the fresh flood of customers alongside Nejire. “Pick your poisons.”

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"So why did you come back?" You shout at her over the pumping bass. Present Mic turned the tunes over to his DJ in training, Kyoka Jirou around midnight. The later it got, the louder the music became. And Jirou seemed to prefer it that way.

Blue vigorously shakes a silver canister before pouring a pink margarita into a salted glass. She throws a cherry in the middle of it, topping it off with a sliced lime before handing it off to the person who ordered it.

"My gramma is sick," she answers, shoveling ice into a few glasses. "I'm the only person willing to come take care of her."

Blue didn't seem too keen on delving into details, and you were smart enough to take the silent hint and not ask. You’re nursing your eleventh, maybe twelfth drink? as she steers the conversation away to lighter subjects.

She regales you with a story of how the town flirt and electrician, Denki Kaminari, shocked himself on an electric pole after he tried hitting on her as she was walking home with her groceries the other day. 

“He kept giving me a thumbs up from the back of the ambulance and muttering ‘yay’. I feel so bad but I couldn’t help but laugh at him,” Blue chuckles as she polishes another pint glass before putting it on the shelf. “Bless his heart.”

“Sounds like a typical day for him.” You slur, a hiccup escaping your lips. “He gets electrocuted so much that everyone in Yuuie calls him Sparky.” You chug back the rest of your bourbon, belching loudly. “Except for Jirou. She calls him ‘Jammingyay’.” 

Blue gently pries the glass from your hand. “Jammingyay? Well, that’s certainly creative. I always used to call him Pikachu.” She places it in the sink, eliciting a drunken whine from you. “Sorry, sugar. I’m officially cutting you off. You’re three sheets to the wind.”

“Am not,” you insist, but your vision blurs and you aren’t sure which Blue you’re looking at. The one on the left or the one on the right. Both of them frown at you. 

“Yeeeeaaah, definitely time to call it quits. You’re as full as a tick on a bloodhound.” 

You burst into a deep belly laugh at her euphemism. Your laughter ends, as does the song that had been playing. Some rough feedback from the speakers grabs everyone’s attention, as well as the tap-tap-tapping of someone’s finger against a microphone.  

“Alrighty, y’all. It’s that time of the night. Karaoke hour,” Jirou announces, stirring up the crowd as they erupt into a fit of cheerful hollers. “You know the rules. Take a number, pick a song, and sing your little drunk hearts out.” Jirou places a couple of spare mics on her counter as a slew of girls immediately rush her DJ station. 

You scoff. “Who would wanna do something as dumb as karaoke?”

Blue flips a bottle behind her back, catching it before filling up a row of shot glasses. She takes out a lighter from her pocket, flicking it before setting the row on fire. They burn for a couple of seconds before she whips out two coffee mugs, setting them over the shots one at a time. After the flames die down, she passes them out to awaiting patrons. 

“I dabble in it from time to time. It’s a good way to get your emotions out or feelings across.” 

“You’re joking, right?”

She shrugs. “To each their own. We all cope in different ways.”

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch. 

“Blue! I need a pitcher of sangria and three whiskey sours!” Neijire shouts the orders as she places more bills into the Tip Jar and rings up tabs. 

Blue sighs, glancing up at you from under her lashes. “Never a moment of peace around here, I’ll tell ya that.” 

As she makes her way to Neijire, you replay her words over and over in your head.

‘We all cope in different ways.’ 

The first song gears up on the karaoke machine, lyrics displayed on an ancient projector screen. Familiar chords of a song you loved singing on long road trips start to filter out of the speakers, and the soft, subtle backup vocals of Dolly Parton croon in your ears.

You had no idea who was currently butchering one of the best songs (in your opinion) that Dolly Parton ever created, but you couldn’t help but want to sing along.

“Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that? Here comes my baby, draggin' my heart behind. He's drivin' me crazy! Who says love is blind? He's got a wanderin' eye and a travelin' mind, big ideas and a little behind. Out with a different woman every night, but I remember when he was mine.” 

And how had you been coping? Not moving from your couch in several days, refusing to change out of your ratty pajamas. Hygiene had been a foreign concept during the first week or so after you and Katsuki had called it quits. You didn’t shower. You didn’t bother putting on a new outfit. You hardly opened your blinds, reveling in your misery in the dark. Netflix should have sent you a medal for watching nearly every romcom known to man on their streaming platform, all while sobbing into your ice cream cartons. You deactivated every platform of social media from your phone because you didn’t want to see how happy he was without you and didn’t want to give yourself any opportunities to fall into a deeper spiral of stalking his accounts. You chose to send your liver into an early grave and your bank account into the red with how often you frequented the bars and dives around town, doing your best to forget him.

How he smelled: like burnt sugar and salty caramel. How he tasted. How it felt when he held you in his arms. Like you were the only person he wanted to touch. To kiss. To love.

“Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your high heel boots and painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Waltzing right in here lookin' like that. Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? When you could stop traffic in a gunny sack. Why you're almost givin' me a heart attack! When you waltz right in here lookin' like that I just can't stand it. To see him on the town, he's out slow dancing with every girl around. I'm a softhearted woman; he's a hardheaded man, and he's gonna make me feel just as bad as he can. He's got himself a mean streak a half a mile wide Now he's dancing on this heart of mine.” 

You feel as if the song is directed at you. Like an evil version of Cupid crawled from the depths of hell just to play with your already broken heart strings. That, or the person singing just had it out for you. Either way, each word hit you like a slap to the face.

“Ooh, Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your high heel boots painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream.Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?”

Tears stung your lower eyelids as the song ended and the crowd exploded in whooping applause. 

Maybe whoever just got off the stage was in the same boat as you. Still in the tender stages of a splintered heart, trying to figure out how to put the pieces together. Perhaps that was their way of doing their best to move on and start fresh.

‘We all cope in different ways.’

How had you been coping?

Not well. Not well at all. 

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“Darlin’? Darlin’, you still with me?” A gentle shake to your shoulders startles you, causing you to jump a little. Blue retracts her hand. She meekly tips her head. “Sorry to wake you, sweet pea, but I’m nearin’ the end of my shift.”

You yawn, rubbing some of the sleep out of your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two. You fell asleep about thirty minutes ago.”

You grimace, rolling your neck from side to side. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. If we had a decent taxi service or some type of Lyft or Uber, I would’ve gotten you one a while ago. Let me just get a few of these stragglers and then I’ll take ya on home, okay?” 

You yawn again. “Thanks, Blue.” 

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”

“No,” you blurt out. She stops in her tracks and stares at you. “It’s not.”

“It’s just a ride home. I ain’t really doin' much, sweet pea.”

“It is a big thing.” You insist. “It’s a really big thing. Thank you.”

She shakes her head. “No, really, darlin’, it’s--”

“You’re the only person that hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass.”

There’s a heavy, pregnant pause.

“Well, why on earth would I do that?”

“Because he broke up with me.” Damn you for drinking so much. You always were a bit of a talker when you got more than two sips of alcohol in you. You lost count of how much you consumed this evening, and now you were no better than the town’s gossip columnist who went under the alias of Mount Lady. Here you were, bearing your heart and soul to someone you didn’t even know, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

Blue tilts her head to the side, her eyes searching yours. “Who broke up with you, sweet pea?”

A bitter laugh nearly chokes you as it collides with the sob rising in the back of your throat. The same tears you tried keeping at bay earlier decide to form a prison break and escape the confines of your eyelids, slipping down your cheeks. 

“The Great Explosion Murder God of Yuuie, Katsuki Bakugou.”

You weren’t sure if it was the strobe lights coming from the dancefloor or the way your tears caused impairment of your already compromised vision, but you could have sworn in that moment that Blue blanched. 

“Ka...Katsuki....Bakugou?”

“Yeah,” you swipe at your eyes with the heel of your hand, sucking snot back in before it could drip from your runny nostrils. 

“I’m...I’m so sorry, darlin’.” 

She says it with so much sincerity that you know she means it. Truly means it. Not like the other people in town who said it to you so flippantly. No. Blue was different. And maybe that’s why you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her, sans all the alcohol running through your system. Because Blue had something a lot of folks in Yuuie didn’t. A sense of realness.

And that was something you needed right now. A real friend.

“I hate to leave you like this, darlin’, but I gotta finish these orders. Will you be okay for a few minutes by yourself?” Blue apologizes, handing you some napkins. You take one and angrily blow your nose. 

“I’ll be fine.”

Blue’s upper teeth knaw at her bottom lip as she looks at you, skepticism written all over her face. 

“I promise I’m fine.”

“Okay....I shouldn’t be longer than fifteen minutes. We’ll leave right after that.” She reaches up on the shelf to pull down some beer steins, ready to run them under the taps. Once they were filled to the brim, foam spilling down the sides, Blue slides the beer down to Neijire for her to pass on to the people who ordered them.

“Blue?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Thank you.”

A small burst of air leaves her nose as her face relaxes enough to gift you with a gentle smile. She opens her mouth to reply to you, but the sound of the double Western-style saloon doors draws her from the conversation.

“Welcome!” Blue shouts over her shoulder. “We’re fixin’ to get ready for last call soon. What can I--” 

Shattering glass can be heard in the quiet pause between music selections. 

“Blue!” Neijire hurries over to her coworker, mindful not to step on the broken pieces. “Are you okay?”

You glance up to see Blue’s wide eyes staring at something behind you. You assume her concerned gaze is directed at whoever just came in. Her skin pales, and you see her visibly gulping. “Oh, sugar honey iced tea...”

Neijire follows her line of sight. Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. 

“Uh oh.”

Her eyes dart from you, to behind you, to you, to behind you again. She snatches the towel out of Blue’s hands, firmly shaking her as if trying to snap her out of her daze. 

“Blue, you’re shift is over. Go home.” Neijire says in a tone you’ve never heard come from her before. “Tamaki and Mirio can help me with the mess, but you should go. You need to go.” 

You stare at the two of them in bewilderment. Why were they looking at you like that? 

The stomping of boots encroaches on your space, coming closer with each step. 

“Cat got your tongue, dumbass? What the hell are you starin’ at me for?”

All the blood in your body turns to ice at the sound of a gruff, grating voice. One you were all too familiar with. One you hoped you’d never have to hear again. Not since the day he left you in a cloud of dust, never to look back.

Blue is in front of you in a millisecond, seemingly teleporting from one end of the bar to the other. “Hon, I’m clockin’ out now. Grab your stuff and we can go.” Blue reaches under the counter to grab your keys. But you don’t move. You can’t. You’re glued to your seat, your hands shaking. 

“Leavin’? I just got here! Neijire, what the hell kinda service is this?” The voice draws closer until it’s directly behind you. A hand slams down on the surface of the counter, right next to you, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. “I swear this town ain’t got nothing fuckin’ going for it anymore.” 

You try swallowing, but the lump in your throat won’t allow anything past it. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t. Look. Up.

“Service can be refused if the occasion calls for it and the occasion is callin’ for it. My shift is over and I’m headin’ on to the house. You need somethin’ you ask Neijire and you ask her politely.” Blue huffs, irritation and disdain coating every word. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? My mother? I already got one old hag harpin’ on me day and night. I don’t need another.”

“I ain’t old and don’t you dare talk about your mama that way, Katsuki Bakugou. I will call her and tell her you’re causin’ trouble again. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Still the same ole’ tattletale, aren’t you, Blue? Even after all these years, you ain’t changed a bit.” He pauses, but you can hear the salacious grin in his tone. “Well, parts of you have.” 

A resounding slap echoes in the air and you hear several gasps. Your eyes fly open to see Blue almost climbed over the bar, her arm raised high, palm a burning red. In your peripheral, your ex is hunched over, fingers pressed to the side of his face.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Explosion Boy. You never did. Don’t pretend like you do now.” You hear betrayal, hurt, and a slight tremble in her words. You stare at her.

Did they know each other?

But just as you opened your mouth to ask the silent question, the familiar sound of your keys clinking together snags your attention away from the scene unraveling beside you. 

“Come on, sugar. I’ll drop you off.” Blue tells you, lifting up the trapdoor of the bar before closing it behind her. 

A hand shoots out, clamping down on her upper arm. Her eyes shoot daggers at the person it’s attached to. 

“Off in such a hurry, Blue? Always willin’ to start a fight, but ain’t ever willin’ to finish it. I was right. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Get your hands off me before I have Tetsu knock you on your arrogant, conceited, spoiled little Southern ass.”

“Hah? That extra? Please. He wouldn’t last two seconds.” He tugs on her arm, trying to draw her closer, but his elbow knocks you in the back of the head. You weren’t expecting the impact, so it’s no surprise to you when you fall clean off your barstool. 

You crash to the ground in a graceless, drunken fashion. You hear Blue call your name, several people shouting, (all of their insults and anger directed at your ex), and three or more pairs of hands reaching down to help you to your feet. However, one set is faster than the others. Warm calloused fingers encircle your wrist, yanking you up off the floor. 

“Don’t toss them around like a ragdoll. Lord above, Bakugou. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve got anything up in that spiky head of yours. Then again, if your brain was leather, you probably wouldn’t have enough to saddle a Junebug.”

“Shut the hell up, you fuckin’ extra.”

“Don’t you swear at me.”

“I’ll do whatever I so fuckin’ please.”

Blue pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “You could make a bishop mad enough to kick in stained glass windows with that outhouse of a mouth.”

You want to laugh. Really you do. The entire situation is like something you’d read from a tacky fanfiction, or would be a terrible scenario for one of your cheesy romcoms. You’re on the floor while your ex and new friend are above you, bickering back and forth like an old married couple. 

It’s like a trashy Southern soap opera. With a Dolly Parton soundtrack to boot.  

However, your entire world comes to a standstill when a pair of furious ruby eyes stare into yours. 

Katsuki Bakugou.

His forehead is crinkled into those grumpy lines you slowly grew to love, once upon a time. Bits of his hay-colored hair poke out from beneath a black cowboy hat. He’s wearing a dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, displaying his muscular arms. A clean pair of Levi’s cling to his legs and ass, perfectly sculpting the body worthy of a mythological god. 

So maybe there was some semblance of sense to his rodeo stage name. The god part at least. Because honestly, looking that fine should be considered a sin. You suck in your bottom lip, a not-so-subtle attempt to make sure that you’re not drooling.

Damn, boy. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He all but yells at you, giving you a hard shake. 

The lyrics from the song from earlier dance around in your mind as your eyes drift down to his custom-designed cowboy boots. Black with bright orange X’s running across the front of them and olive green grenade emblems stitched to the sides near the top.

Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?

“Did you hear me, or are you deaf now? I said, what the hell are you doing here?”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. 

“Getting over you.”

His eyes widen, and for once in his damn life, he seems at a loss for words. 

“W-what?”

“Getting over you. The only way I know how. Because we all cope differently, don’t we, Blue?”

She stares at you with such sadness that it makes you feel guilty for even asking her. 

“I cope by drinking myself into oblivion, and you cope by inviting whoever the fuck you want into our bed. Oops. I mean, your bed.” The words are out before you can even process them, and you can’t take them back, even if you wanted to. Because, again, the more you drink, the more you talk. 

And you drank quite a bit. 

You really, really wish that you had gone through with the plan you first concocted when you first arrived. Because a concussed head was sooooo much better than what you just did. You recall what Blue said the moment that she saw Bakugou enter the bar.

Sugar Honey Iced Tea.

Shit indeed, Blue. Shit indeed.

Bakugou still stares at you, mouth hanging open. You reach over, placing your fingers under his chin, tenderly applying enough pressure that his lips slam together, shutting his mouth. Again, a feat you once thought to be impossible, but hey, you were just full of surprises tonight.  

“Trying to catch flies, ‘Suki? It’s easier if you use honey.” You purr, hand falling to his chest. His heart flutters underneath your fingers. 

“You drunk or somethin’?” He asks, clearing his throat as pink stains his cheeks. 

Giggling, you lean forward, your lips mere inches from his. 

“And if I am? What are you gonna do about it?”

His eyes narrow, glaring down at you. 

“Alright, I’m breaking this up,” Blue announces, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Katsuki already did that for you,” you giggle, leaning back to look up at him. “Ain’t that right, ‘Suki? Dropped me like a sack of hot potatoes the moment I was no longer of any value to you.”

Bakugou says nothing, lips pressed into a firm, narrow line. 

“Time to go home, sweet pea,” Blue urges you, all but shoving you out the door.

You throw up a casual wave, flipping Bakugou off in the same breath.

“This was fun, ‘Suki, Let’s never do it again.”

And with that, Blue guides you through the double doors, allowing them to swing behind you. Your lungs greedily suck down the cool night air, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your body leans on Blue as she walks you to her truck. 

“Almost there, darlin’,” she assures you with each step. Finally, you’re brought to a halt in front of a navy blue Chevy Silverado. But before Blue can even reach over to open the door, you crumple into a sobbing heap. Your knees slam into the broken asphalt, but you barely register the pain. 

The agony consuming your heart is enough. And after the scene you caused inside, you only gave the town more ammunition to use against you. 

You hated this place. Hated this town. Hated the people in it. Hated him. But most of all, you hated yourself. Hated yourself for still caring about him. For still holding some kind of hope that things would work out and you’d be happy again. 

With him. Just the two of you. Like you always wished it would be. 

A pair of warm arms wrap around you, and you allow yourself to be held as you finally have the breakdown that’s been building up for the last three months.

“It hurts, Blue,” you blubber into her shoulder. “It hurts...so much.”

“I know, sweet pea. I know. And I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” She whispers, smoothing down your hair. “He was an ass anyway. Always has been.”

“But he was my ass. And I loved him. I loved him. I loved him.” You repeat, clawing at your chest, desperately trying to reach into the hollow activity of your ribcage and rip your heart out in a pitiful attempt to find some relief, hoping that if you were able to do it, it would make the pain go away.

Blue doesn’t have an answer. No magic cure or spell to help you through this.

But she’s there with you. 

And that was more than you could have ever asked for.

"Why'd he have to show up like that? All decked out in his fancy boots and favorite button up and that hat. That fuckin' hat, Blue." You ask, salty tears dripping down your chin. "Just when I think 'to hell with him, I deserve more and better,' he waltzes on in like a damn movie star and steals my breath away all over again. Despite everything he's ever done, I love him. And I think part of me always will."

You look up at Blue through your haze of tears.

"Why'd he have to come in there lookin' like that?"

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Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?

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IT'S DONE. I HAVE FINISHED. I HAVE COMPLETED THE TASK BEFORE ME. ALL HAIL THE EXHAUSTED BLUE PEACH.

Seriously, I am so thankful that I was finally able to finish this request.

It's currently 2 in the morning my time and this entire scenario is probably flaming garbage that resides in a sewage plant because I wrote most of this half asleep. And before you tell me, yes, I am aware that it looks like the spirit of an 1800s author took hold of me and had a field day using commas for ridiculously long sentences. I KNOW. 

But I had a lot of fun writing this, and if you don't like it, don't read it. It wasn't for you anyway. 😘

I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for the validation of others.

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This is the first scenario of the Southern Roots Series. I will do my best to update as often as I can but life gets busy so don't expect too much out of me.

I really hope y'all enjoyed and I can't wait to write more.

Later, Taters! 💙💙

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[sparklingself]

hello! i just wanted to share something i've been reflecting on lately: guilt. i think for some of us, that's one of the reasons why we can't seem to be able to manifest what we want. i feel like it's especially hard to break free from guilt bc if you're like me, feeling guilty proves to yourself that you're good (or not too bad, at least), bc if you were truly bad you wouldn't feel guilty. it's hard not to cling to misplaced guilt bc it feels right. i'm not speaking about feeling guilty bc you've hurt someone or damaged something that wasn't yours, since in this case feeling responsible for it and reasonably guilty is natural. it helps maintain peace within the group. no, i'm talking about feeling constantly guilty for existing, for struggling, for making mistakes without meaning to, for eating this or that, for not wanting things you think you should want or for wanting things you think you shouldn't want, for not always being as kind as you wish to be, for suffering, for not doing this or that, for worrying your parents… you get it. basically feeling constantly guilty bc you believe you'll only deserve not to feel guilty when you become a saint or perfection personified, when you'll never do anything that could bother someone else directly or indirectly again. as you can imagine, you'll probably never become that (unless you cut all ties and go live all alone on a deserted island, but even then, that will surely sadden your close ones, so…). therefore, you stay stuck in this guilt. you can't make it go away because you can't exactly repair most of those things. you can't repair being human, right? but there's something called punishment. if you feel constantly guilty like that, you'll look for punishment - consciously or not. and because to you, feeling guilty means you're not a bad person, you agree with this feeling and with the fact that you deserve to be punished, in one way or another. i'm so sorry if it's all over the place, but for some of us i feel like this constant feeling of misplaced guilt is what makes manifesting difficult. i'm not religious but it's like we believe we're sinners no matter what, and sinners must repent. so our outer realities reflect that: guilt itself may be a punishment, not getting what you want may be a punishment, feeling depressed and aimless may be a punishment, "failing" may be a punishment, being treated with disrespect may be a punishment, others guilt-tripping you may be a punishment. anything. so, for some of us, letting go of this guilt might be the key. I have to admit I don't know how to do that very well yet, but recognising you feel guilty over nothing, that you don't need to be punished and that 'not feeling guilty' doesn't equal 'being bad' are first steps. and you can take responsibility without drowning yourself in guilt. further than that, dare not to feel guilty. acknowledge the existence of this feeling within you but dare to tell it it's not relevant. dare to disagree with the guilt, even if it feels uncomfortable or wrong. i guess you can even imagine someone telling you that you're not guilty, that you don't need to be punished, and that you're good. i'm gonna tell you myself: you're good. you existing and everything that comes with it is not a sin. you don't need to blame yourself to be good. you're good as you are right now.

sorry for the rambling lol, but i hope this helped anyone a little!

thank you for your thoughts and input🤍

i’ve struggled with guilt and i still do time to time, but loa has really improved my well-being and not feeling guilty in that sense. i have the habit of blaming myself and doubting myself a lot. but the beauty of loa is that when you’re in that mindset of the physical merely being a mirror, it doesn’t matter. say you say something you regret. you can revise it. it doesn’t matter anymore. all you ought to do is remove it from your consciousness by replacing it with something else. and you needn’t feel any guilt. in fact, speaking of sin, neville proposes that the feeling of guilt or any feeling that doesn’t let you experience your desires is sin. it can be a long process, but through constantly working on yourself, trust me, your self-worth will improve.