#this was a few days ago. it was still funny thi

[skania]

OnK Chapter 158 Thoughts

This is literally me every time Akane shows up 😭

It was so cute to see Ruby so happy to see Akane! It feels like the two must have grown close again off-panel after this happened:

Akane looks so cute, too 😭

Onto the more pressing matters, first thing that caught my eye was that the concert took place in Miyazaki, aka the town where Goro & Sarina lived and died. According to Akane, she had "some business" there. This business is quite obviously not something she is keen to discuss, considering her reaction.

Could the business be keeping tabs on our resident psycho, the one and only Nino?

To be perfect honest, I'd also hope that "business" involves Akane doing some digging about Goro...

...But since I've gotten used to not having nice things in this manga, I'll just settle for Akane tailing Nino and keeping an eye on her, because that feels like the in-character thing for her to do.

So we could say that the beginning of the chapter establishes that Akane may be tailing Nino.

That's one thing to keep in mind.

Moving on, Akane says that she "might not be able to make it" to the Christmas concert. The very concert Kana will Graduate in. The one where Kana is expecting a reply from Aqua.

Akane (and her now patented ^^ smile) is vague enough that we can read it in various ways. Could it be that Akane doesn't quite want to watch the concert where she's expecting Kana and Aqua to get together? Or could it be that she has something more important to do that day?

And if she does, could that involve the 'Happy Ending' she and Aqua discussed two chapters ago?

That's another thing to keep in mind.

Speaking about Aqua, since Christmas in Japan is a holiday for couples, we get this very funny, very interesting panel from Ruby, who looks anything but supportive at the thought of Akane dating someone new lol

Looks like Ruby isn't too keen on Akane moving on from her precious brother. It's up in the air whether that's just Ruby being a brocon or because Akane still has her seal of approval to date him, though.

Akane really has this fake smile down to an art lmao

Next we get an Akane monologue where we're told that despite Kana being a force to be reckoned with, she can't match up to Ruby, who outshines her.

When I read those words, they automatically reminded me of Nino, who went through the same thing with Ai. Fittingly enough, we later get this Nino panel, where Memcho's face is obscured and only Ruby and Kana can be seen.

We also happen to get this ominous panel where Akane shows she's aware that there are people out there who want to "destroy" Ruby's sparkle. This is another thing to keep in mind.

I'm curious as to what Ruby was about to say when the scene cuts to Nino, but I won't speculate about it. Tsukuyomi's monologue was also interesting, in the sense that it tells us how Aqua's, Nino's and Kamiki's love for Ai has gotten all twisted.

Next thing we know, we get a timeskip. Aka has literally timeskipped us straight to Christmas, aka Kana's graduation concert.

The rushed pacing alone would've been hilarious if it weren't for what happens next.

Let's summarize everything Aka has established in the past few chapters up to now, shall we?

Aqua and Akane know that Nino is behind all the deaths in the manga. We have no idea how they realized this, but Aka took the time to show that they magically knew it. We're thus led to believe that this is important.

Akane wants to ensure everyone's future holds a happy ending, and Aqua is aware of this. Considering that both of them outright discuss Nino, we're led to assume that they may team up to make sure she's dealt with.

To this end, Akane may be, quite literally, tailing Nino.

Meanwhile, Ruby herself is being constantly watched by Miyako and Ichigo, to the point she says she doesn't have a single second of alone time.

Moreover, Akane pretty much summarizes in this chapter why Nino would target Ruby.

So I must ask:

Taking all of this into account, in what world does this make any sense at all?

The door even had a window! A window!

And even if it isn't see-through, we've been told over and over again that idols need to have keychains and security systems to protect themselves from crazy fans. Ai herself says so.

So in what world does it make sense for Ruby to get stabbed like that?? lol

Now, the stab in and of itself is anything but surprising. The manga hasn't exactly been subtle lately about Ruby likely becoming Nino's target. Some of us thought that Gotanda's line about Kana protecting Ruby was foreshadowing and that Kana would tank the stab for Ruby. Others thought that Kamiki would be the one to step in to save his daughter, one good deed to help atone for his past wrongs.

Whatever the case, despite our personal preferences and hopes for this manga, we all knew that Ruby was in danger and that someone would be getting stabbed. Some of us even expected it to happen this week because it's the week where Sayahime would be getting slashed in the manga lmao

So how am I supposed to believe that Aqua and Akane, who somehow even figured out Nino killed Yura and thus her motif, didn't take the necessary measures to not let it happen? lol

Even the lead up to it is... bland. Forced. Nonsensical. Why isn't Ruby shown curiously peeking at the door just like Ai would've done? Why don't we see her behaving normally at all before she opens the door?

The stab page is pretty much a copy-paste from Ai's, so why not go all the way and have a repeat of these panels, too?

This all could be explained by forced, bad writing — an Aka staple, certainly. And I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case. In fact all of this must sound silly coming from me, since I've been laughing about Aka's mess for weeks now. But biased as I am, I'm kind of forced to take the bad writing more seriously when my favorite character is directly impacted by it 😂

So I'd like to think that Akane and Aqua did see this coming and that they have a contingency plan. In fact, I'd even go as far as saying that I'd like to believe that the stab itself is staged. There are certainly enough weird things about it to make room for that possibility. The first thing I wondered about when the leaks dropped was if it could be someone pretending to be Ruby to trick Nino, and the lead-up to the stab does leave room for that possibility imo

Akane (or Aqua) with a wig, or even Ruby herself but aware of the plan — I would literally take anything at this point except the very empty, very forced scenario where Ruby truly just got stabbed because everything established in the previous chapters suddenly ceased to matter lol Heck, I'd even take Akane using a prop knife to give Ruby a scare and force Miyako & Ichigo to take measures to keep Ruby safe during the concert. Would it be silly? Absolutely. But this entire situation is already silly as it is, so I'll settle for the lesser evil lol

The story can't keep making Aqua & Akane ridiculously intelligent when it suits it, and normal when it doesn't. It's inconsistent and most of all, it's unnecessary. They could just as well have figured it out after the fact, alongside the reader, which would have drastically increased the emotional impact of the Nino reveal from: predictable and rushed to predictable but impactful.

If this was done so that Aqua and Akane can question themselves and their desire to shoulder the darkness to protect others, couldn't this be done in a better way? Because as it is, if everything is just as it seems, then Aka has deliberately kept Aqua and Akane from growing just so he can force them to do so through shock value alone.

I know I always say that I don't like predicting Aka, but I thought it'd be revealed that they had enlisted everyone's help to deliberately lure Nino into targeting Ruby during the Christmas concert, and that they would catch her red-handed before she could hurt Ruby. Since I figured that Aka may want someone to get stabbed anyway so that Aqua could put his medical knowledge to use, I thought that something would go wrong during the confrontation with Nino and that she would manage to hurt someone either way.

Maybe it was my mistake to expect any sort of consistency from Aka. Time and time again he shows that all he cares about is his perfect timing, and so characters will do whatever they have to do and will be kept as stagnant as they need to be in order for their development to happen only when that perfect timing has been reached. Like the way he rushed and rushed just so the stab could happen at the same time as the Saya slashing in the anime.

I do wonder though, aside from Ruby being immortalized as the ultimate idol through surviving the same attack Ai died from (and Kana's graduation happening at the Dome, because who wouldn't want B-Komachi at the Dome after this), what would be the point of this? Will Aqua magically get there in time so he can use his medic knowledge? Will Tsukuyomi perform a miracle? Or will we get a few chapters of people crying over Ruby's hospital bed while Nino keeps being crazy in the background?

No matter how I look at it, I feel like the only scenario where the writing is (somewhat) salvaged is the one where things aren't as they seem and this is all part of a plan we aren't privy to. Making Nino think that she has killed Ruby, only for Ruby to get on-stage brighter than ever would be a pretty cool twist.

If there is no twist though, then characters were made to look circumstantially dumb and incompetent just so Aka can have some last hurrah in the form of forced drama lol

So yeah, as per usual, I'll be hoping for the better option out of the two while preparing myself for the worst outcome.

Edit: I literally forgot KAMIKI lmao if not Aqua and Akane, KAMIKI should know that Nino is definitely going to go after Ruby. Why would he just sit on his butt and let it happen??

If there's no twist at all, this will seriously be an all-out character massacre 💀

[parappaadventure2q-a]

READ: @alex-silli-art-corner

tw: suicide, abuse

I'll start this callout by saying that most evidence has been deleted long ago. There is no way to recover most of it, but if I have found any more, I'll add them to this post later. My friendship with him/how it ended.

It started in March of 2024.

Alex had been a member of a discord server, and had a tumblr account where he answered asks as Katy Kat. (Keep this in mind, as sometimes he will be shown as Katy Kat rather than Alex) He then asked for a vent channel to be created in the discord, where he would post frequently about how he was going to kill himself. (this is important later)

He started to DM me about him killing himself, so I started to support him. He would then message me about normal stuff, with him telling me he was suicidal every now and then. I talked with him, because every time I didn't talk to him, he would say i'm ignoring him on purpose.

Around that time, someone else in the server was banned for drawing CP of him and Alex. (both him and Alex were minors at the time.) Everyone in the server told Alex that this person was not a good influence on him, but he ignored us.

As it turns out, he did not cut off this person, (the name that's in blue) and kept being in a relationship with them.

This would continue for a long time. Alex would tell me he would kill himself, I would try to talk him out of it, and he would be fine the next day.

He said he had epilepsy, but those claims are unconfirmed as he has watched the Um Jammer Lammy cutscenes multiple times, which have flashing lights most of the time. If I remember correctly, he would use this to guilt us even more, with us not even being allowed to send any gifs. That would be understandable, if he didn't refuse to turn on Discord's accessibility feature that pauses gifs.

In his Katy Kat ask blog, he drew a lot of gore of Katy Kat. Some of these are deleted, but you can still find some on his account of Katy missing an eye, with bruises and bandages on her. I am not okay with gore, but I kept talking to him because he was suicidal.

All of my friends cut him off though, except for a stray few who I assume didn't know what he did.

When I cut him off:

About a month ago if I can remember, one of my friends showed me screenshots of Alex saying that one of his suicide attempts was a lie. He had apparently made a joke about him killing himself, and the two people there were telling him it wasn't funny and to not say that. This screenshot was taken a while back, and I didn't see the convo back then. Seeing this, I decided to cut off Alex entirely, because I couldn't trust if what anything he said was true. On top of that, I looked back at everything he'd done, and decided that I wasn't going to talk to him, ever again. He kept trying to contact me.

I noticed how guilt trippy all of his messages were. In fact, most of the time, he was guilt tripping all of us.

This is his last tumblr message to me before I blocked him.

He kept trying to contact me on other websites, such as Reddit.

I had sent him a message telling him he was in the wrong, and that we would never be friends again. This message was deleted, as he threatened to share it with one of my closest friends.

As for the IP address thing, I had posted this meme to Reddit and Tumblr using a fake copypasta that was a lot of information. It's a meme about leaking someones info, but all of this isn't real. It's taken from a copypasta website. In fact, it's this one.

Alex interpreted this as me posting his IP address publically, something I would never do, (yet as you read, it's something he would do to someone else.)

I did not, and will not post someone's IP address publicly. Yet he thought I posted his, even though it isn't hard to look at your own address, and compare it to this meme.

What caused me to make this post.

This happened just today. I was sent an ask clearly written by Alex containing my personal information to me.

Alex. If you're reading this, which I know you are. This wasn't okay. You're putting my life in danger. You're putting other's lives in danger. You're putting my family's life in danger. Why would I want to be friends with a guilt tripper?

Why would I want to be friends with someone who leaks other's information?

Why would I want to be friends with someone who draws gore of my favorite characters?

Why would I want to be friends with a liar?

None of this is okay. You were, and still are, the worst thing that's happened to me.

You don't deserve happiness.

I ask anyone who's been affected by him, to please speak up. Don't sit there in silence like you have all this time. I know he's done awful things to you. Please, if you can, tell me what he's done to you. Nobody should have to go through what he's put me through, and I'm sure that he's done something similar to you.

Sorry for being a bit rude to him in this post, but I don't care.

[alwaysonlineau]

hi! welcome to the always online au!

for anyone who was into the hype of parkner back in late 2019/the early quarantine days, this might be a little bit familiar to you. basically, this is a social media au for marvel that i created when getting into parkner and thompsborn and when one of the main wlw ships was mj/shuri. it consisted of screenshots of (obviously fake) social media accounts (mainly twitter) of some of the marvel characters and it was mostly shitposting with a tiny hint of a plot. however, because of the mental health kick that came with quarantine, i ended up deleting the account while in a depression drop.

it’s been over 3 years and i honestly miss making this au, as it was just fun and gave me something to do, and a few days ago i realized that i still have the apps i used when i originally made this au and all of the fake tweets and messages were still on them, so… well.

basically, i decided to bring it back!

so, if you don’t remember or never saw this au when it was originally happening, you might have some questions! under the cut is a very basic q&a:

what is the always online au about?

nothing! also everything! like i said, it was entirely a shitpost account that very vaguely had a plot, but it was 100% just something i did in my free time for fun!

it’s essentially me throwing my sense of humor in a box with ships and characters that i like and then violently shaking it until something that i find funny comes out and then i would post it !!

ships and characters? which ones?

like i mentioned above, i made this during like the late 2019-2020 era of parkner hype, so, obviously, it was mainly parkner (peter parker/harley keener) BUT it also features many other marvel ships! i am going to be changing the ships up a bit to better match my current preferences. i’ll include a list of ships below this paragraph, but first, this is also going to include PLENTY of platonic/familial dynamics as well! so if you love stucky, sorry they aren’t dating in this but they are obviously besties, and there’s irondad, stuff like that, okay? i’ll try to include it all!

ships:

parkner (peter parker/harley keener)

ironhusbands (tony stark/james rhodes)

gwemj (gwen stacy/michelle jones)

peppermay (pepper potts/may parker)

sambucky (sam wilson/bucky barnes)

thompsborn (harry osborn/flash thompson)

nedbetty (ned leeds/betty brant)

thorbruce (thor/bruce banner)

and more that i will add to this list as i figure them out! suggestions are more than welcome!

characters include everyone in the above mentioned ships (obviously lol) as well as any and all marvel/mcu characters that feel relevant to include! such as:

happy hogan

shuri

t’challa

the guardians of the galaxy

matt, foggy and karen from daredevil

funny accounts for villains

norman osborn (ew)

loki (and maybe mobius? maybe include that ship too? i haven’t watched loki season 2 yet so we’ll see i guess lmao)

and more! again, i am open to suggestions!

if anyone has ideas for characters, ships, or dynamics to include, feel free to message me or send an ask!!

how often should i expect updates?

that one is kind of tricky, because i am an adult with a full time job who is also balancing hobbies and family and everything all at the same time. this is something that i’ll try to work on during my free time, and when i did this before it wasn’t hard to make updates once i figured out what i wanted to do for them, but still, my free time kind of depends on the day and the week.

i’m not going to commit to a strict schedule, but i don’t work weekends so my goal is to update every weekend! if i miss a weekend, i’ll try to get it posted during the week, and if i have a week with extra free time, i’ll do some additional posts as well.

i’ll do my best to be regular with it!!

anything else i should know?

yes! this is an ongoing creative project that i’m doing for fun, and i want it to be fun for anyone and everyone who may come across it! that means i want it to be interactive!! this is something i did before, as well.

for instance, when i was running this au in 2019/2020, someone sent an ask wanting to see harley finding out about the vulture after him and peter start dating, so i answered the ask with this:

obviously this au isn’t picking up from where the old one left off, so those tweets are not considered canon to the current always online au, BUT that’s just an example! i want people to feel free to send in asks and questions for the characters or for situations, and i will do my best to make it fit into the canon of the au!!

i think that’s it?

if anyone has any additional questions, comments, or concerns they would like me to address, feel free to send them in! i’m going to try to get the first update of this au posted today (october 17, 2023) but no promises! if not today, it WILL be up tomorrow!

once the official au is being posted, i’m also going to create a pinned post that links to this one as well as all the au updates and anything else necessary to include (like the tagging system i’m going to create and things like that) so that will be posted shortly after the first update is out! for now, thank you for reading!

i hope to see you guys always online ;)

[thetreetopinn]

My ADD Medication Journey Begins

I got a physical back in early August this year. While I was there, I reminded my doctor "Hey, any chance you could maybe get me the contact details for that specialist you mentioned last year so I can get an evaluation to see if I'm ADHD or ASD?". He immediately remembered that I had asked about that last year and promised he would get me her card.

Well, it slipped is mind back then, and even though I called and emailed a few times, he just didn't seem to respond.

Oh hey, turns out HE has ADD and HE takes medication. Sometimes he just forgets because he deals with a lot of patients. It wasn't anything super hardcore pressing to me, so I just let it go after a while and decided to ask when I went in for my next physical.

When I brought it up this time, he stopped me mid-sentence, walked out of the room, and returned about two minutes later with the specialist's business card. He apologized for not getting it to me sooner, advised that I should call her as soon as I leave his office, try to schedule an appointment with her, and get an evaluation done. He said that if it turns out she thinks I am in fact ADD or ASD, that I should call his office just as soon as I get out with the diagnosis, and we would have a conversation about medication.

Well, we had a conversation about medication right then and there anyway, but it still was worth calling and talking about anyway.

I called the specialist and left a message--this was around 11am.

I got a call back from her receptionist about 30 minutes later--they have an opening that day! It's around 4 or so. I tell them "YES! I WOULD LIKE TO SCHEDULE TODAY IF THAT IS OKAY!"

They slot me in. It futz around that side of town because i live in a big city that is extremely car-centric (thank you good ole US of A... [sarcasm]) and show up at her office about 15 minutes early. I don't have anything better to do, so I show up that early. I also like being early to doctor appointments because you never know what the situation will be. They may have a patient cancel and you get seen earlier. It may be that the doctor is running behind so you have to wait anyway. You might have issues fighting traffic to get there (again, thanks... Uncle Sam). I just like being early for this kind of thing.

I end up waiting the full 15 minutes that I was early because the doctor was with another patient. When she's ready, she calls me back. I don't have to wait a silly amount of time, she's just ready to see me.

We have a conversation. She goes over her pre-written questionnaire. I answer the questions to the best of my ability. I try to be honest. I try to give as much accuracy as I can and confess my lack of answer when I don't have one but try to cobble something together to provide SOME kind of insight for the question.

About 15 minutes pass as we talk. She's very affable, friendly, funny, she actually laughs at my stupid dorky humor. She asks me what I do for a living, and what I've done in the past. I explain my last few jobs and how they have not gone well for me.

She looks me in the eye and says "those are all extremely detail oriented jobs... how are you able to do them?"

Half joking, half serious, I reply with "I'm not!"

The truth is, I find little hacks and tricks to try and keep myself on task, to minimize mistakes, maximize accuracy, try to maintain a calm demeanor... but that has always been a problem for me, especially when I'm under a heavy workload... or when I'm taking a hundred calls a day from people who are just looking for someone to scream at and make actionable threats against--despite the fact that I have no power over their case, I can only get them to the person who IS handling their case. I'm just a glorified receptionist in that specific role--a role I was fired from several years ago, and fuck did it knock the wind out of me.

She looks over her notes for a moment, then looks back at me and says "Yeah, I'd say you are DEFINITELY on the spectrum, and I think you might benefit from some medication. I think you should start on Adderall, low dose, see how it affects you. Have you talked to your PCP yet?"

(I had to have it explained to me to know what that means so I'm going to just go ahead and say for anyone else who might not know and is too afraid to as: PCP = Primary Care Physician... basically, the one doctor you see regularly, if you're lucky enough to be able to do so. I went YEARS without having a PCP because insurance is a fucking nightmare)

I explained to her what he had advised, that all I had to do was call him after I got out, explain that you confirmed I'm on the spectrum and that you think I should try Adderall, which is what he recommended too. We would discuss it, answer my questions and concerns, then he would put in a prescription at the pharmacy I had on file. I didn't need to go back to his office to do it. He would just forward it over.

This whole day kind of amazed me.

I had heard all manner of horror stories about how hard it is to get evaluated as an adult. Then how hard it was to get prescribed medication. THEN there's the fact that there is STILL an Adderall shortage going on. It's not as bad as it was, but it's still causing problems.

I call my doctor as soon as I'm out--he's already gone for the day but I leave a message explaining the situation. The specialist forwards confirmation of the diagnosis over to his office, it's all in order.

And then I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. After two weeks, I try to call his office to try and catch him for a conversation. Have to leave a message. I do this every couple of weeks until about the end of September when HE calls ME back while I'm working from home and while I pace around my bedroom chatting with him about the situation, he tells me everything I want to know, what to expect, what to do if I have trouble getting medication, it's all groovy. He says he wants to have a follow-up with me--if I recall correctly it can be just over the phone, I don't need to go into the office I don't think. I'm sure I'll find out later--once I've been on the medication and have enough experience with it to see how it's affecting me, then we can adjust dosage or try something else, or maybe I'm good with the 20mg twice daily situation. He wants to follow-up and see.

He says he's going to forward the prescription over that day. And so he does.

It's a pharmacy that's in a grocery store. I've gotten one or two prescriptions filled there before. It's fine. Nothing to write home about. This grocery store I will not openly name, but it rhymes with Dom Crumb... those of you who live in the southeast United States probably already know exactly which store I'm talking about... and how it shares a name with a character from English folklore about a very tiny lad about the size of one's... well... only opposable digit on their hand.

The pharmacy does not call. I figure, okay, they just don't have any medication in stock. There's a shortage after all... all us millennials are eating it all up because holy fuck do we need some help just being able to function HAHAHAHA LATE STAGE CAPITALISM ISN'T PURPOSEFULLY OVERLY COMPLEX AND TRAUMATIZING AT ALL!!

So I wait about a week, then I try to call, but their automated system doesn't give me the option to speak to a pharmacist, a tech, a live person at all. It doesn't even let me leave a message. Fun.

I decide to go in person after work. It's just around the corner, picked because of how close and convenient it is. I shop there all the time anyway. I wait patiently behind other folks, then politely explain my situation to the lady behind the counter and she--very helpfully--starts looking up information and goes into the back to see if they have any in stock.

Alas, they do not. She also advises me that there is a hold on my prescription BECAUSE they don't have any in stock, and that there are other prescriptions ahead of me, so depending on how much they get in their next delivery, I might not be filled at that time and have to wait longer.

Again, this is no big deal to me. I understand. Supply chain issues. Greedy pharmaceutical companies not producing enough because it probably increases demand--or maybe they just underestimated how absolutely and deeply FUCKED my generation is. I tell them I'll check back in a couple of weeks.

So I wait. A couple of weeks pass. I check. Still none in stock. This repeats SEVERAL TIMES until THE WEEK OF THANKSGIVING.

I remind you--I got an evaluation and diagnosis back in early August. It is now LATE NOVEMBER and they finally say they have some in stock. The lady asks if I can wait. I tell her I've got some shopping to do and I'll wander on back later.

I do my shopping. I wait patiently. I do my thing. I come back and the lady flags me down.

"We do have it in stock but... I'm afraid your prescription has expired. You'll need to get a new one from your doctor."

UGH... are you kidding me?!?

I comport myself well. I'm understanding and polite. It's been a long while, sure, and I'm hugely disappointed, but I understand. Out of curiosity, I ask when the prescription expired.

She says it ended back at the end of September.

***GIANT. FUCKING. EYE-TWITCH.***

Again, I comport myself well in public. Inside, I'm FUMING.

WHY WOULD THEY NOT TELL ME THAT MY PRESCRIPTION HAD EXPIRED DURING ANY OF MY LAST FIVE VISITS?

Whatever... whatever, they probably don't check the paperwork until the meds arrive. Fine.

I call my doctor's office, worried I'm going to have a hell of a time getting someone to help me out just like it took so long to have the convo with my doc in the first place.

I get a call back--I forget exactly when. It might have been same day. It might have been the next. It might have been a couple of days. Regardless, it's a lot sooner than I feared.

I had left a message explaining the situation and the medical assistant says "I see that you need a new prescription for Adderall. But I also see a note on the file that the doctor wants to follow-up with you before refilling, so we can schedule a time for you to get with him to have that follow-up."

"I mean... okay, if you need to have him sign off on it before you send it, I understand, but the follow-up was to check on me after I had started it and been taking it for a while to see how I was doing. I haven't even GOTTEN the medication yet. I haven't been able to START taking it yet. Is there any way you can send a new prescription to my pharmacy so I get this ball rolling?"

He realizes he misread the transcription of the message: "OOOH... you haven't even GOTTEN it yet?!? WOW... okay yeah, we'll go ahead and submit a new prescription for you."

Our communication mishap is resolved, we end the call in a jovial fashion, I'm feeling pretty mildly okay. Things have been super stressful elsewhere in life for the last several months, and have only just really gotten real bad all over again and so if this is one thing I can get settled... I'm down to clown.

I get a call from the pharmacy THAT. DAY. Not even three hours later.

Fucking baller. Love it.

The pharmacy says they can't fill my prescription.

...wat...

They cite some law about needing to be within 20 miles of the prescribing doctor's office because it's a controlled substance.

It's Texas. I 100% believe the asshat lawmakers in this state have ABSOLUTELY taken ridiculously egregious steps to limit access to legally prescribed medications for a wide variety of reasons. No doubt, the front-facing explanation is "We want to make sure no one is using it as precursor to making Meth" and sure... that's a legit concern... but it's 60 pills, 20 mg each, my first prescription. I have no history of getting this anywhere else. I'm literally new to this. It shouldn't raise any red flags.

I'm willing to bet that these same asshat lawmakers also have a pretty dim view of mental health care.

"You don't have ADD, you're just hyper and lazy and undisciplined. You just need Jesus and a boot in the ass. NOW GET TO WORK!!" or some shit like that. Not saying they all think this... but I'm willing to bet a disgustingly shocking number of them do. Don't have proof. Just have experience with how fucked up my state is, and how the dominant party has--as a matter of record--acquitted a man who is credibly accused of getting an underage girl drunk and taking advantage of her. I won't use the R word here because I know some folks are triggered by it, but yeah... that's what he did. That's the state I live in. And moving out of state is prohibitively expensive... also, I wouldn't know where the fuck to go. My job is here. I can't take it with me I'm pretty sure, despite working part of every week from home.

Anyway, getting into the weeds: shit's fucked, yo.

The pharmacy won't fill the prescription. I frantically start trying to find proof of this law. I can't find it. I go on google maps and measure. Straight line from the doctor's office to the grocery store is 16.5 miles. So that's absolute fucking bullshit--unless they're going but like... DRIVEN miles... HORRAY!! MORE LOVE FOR THE CAR-CENTRIC CITY!!!

I call up my doctor's office and leave another message. I explain that the pharmacy says they can't fill it because of some 20 mile law. It's Friday. I know the doctor isn't in the office. I'm not expecting a call back that day.

As a fact finding mission--not really expecting to get any movement or satisfying answer--after I get off work, I go over to a local Walgreens. It's literally a block from where I live, even closer than the grocery store. The pharmacy is open until 9pm. I go in, I wait in line, and then I ask the pharmacy if they have Adderall in stock, if they know anything about a 20 mile law, and explain that the Rom Bum just down the street is cock blocking me on getting my brain fixed.

He's very disappointed to hear this. He doesn't know anything about a ***20*** mile law, but he's heard of a ***50*** mile law. I try to look this up later but I can't find anything about it either. Maybe I'm not searching in the right places. Maybe it's not a law, maybe it's a store policy and the pharmacists just SAY it's a law? I don't know. The Walgreens pharmacist gives me all kinds of options to get around the Adderall shortage--because it's specifically the 20mg he's having trouble keeping in stock. He offers the suggestion of different dosages taken at different frequencies. I politely tell him "Well, this is what my doctor wants me to start on to see how it affects me. Maybe we can adjust later once we know more."

He accepts this, apologizes that I've had so much trouble at the other place, and says "Yeah, if we can get someone at your doctor's office on the phone to confirm--because it's a controlled substance--then we should be able to fill it no problem if we have it in stock."

I thank you for his help and go home. I go to bed, unbelievably livid over this whole situation. Like... all day since I got the call from Gom Rum... I'm just... infuriated. I want to scream. I actually do scream, into one of my pillows. I want to break things. So I grab my pillow and start slamming it on to my mattress as hard as I can until I wear myself out. This is the only thing I will allow myself to do because I'm not apt to break anything--and yeah... I have anger issues. I have a BREATHTAKING temper. From what I understand, emotional disregulation is another symptom of ADD or ASD so... hey, it's in my fucking wheelhouse.

I knock my glasses off in the wild swinging of my arms to get some sense of physical satisfaction in wanting to do harm. I step on them and knock a lens out. Thankfully, it pops back in, but I have bent the frame just EVER so slightly and so I'm going to have to figure out how to bend it back so my glasses are more level on my face.

This is why I need to get my shit handled. This is why I self-isolate. This is why I stay away from people. Because I do shit LIKE THIS and I just... cannot control my temper sometimes. It's frustrating and it leaves me absolutely hating myself for failing to keep it together, for breaking something, for losing my cool, for letting the mask slip and showing the monster underneath. I'm told that ADD medication can help with this.

That bit doesn't click until much, much later. At any rate, I'm absolutely exhausted, angry, depressed, and thinking I should just give up on this whole endeavor because I've got too much other shit to put up with to deal with this nonsense as well.

I hold off on making any decision on that for the moment, because decisions made while emotional are frequently regretted. Ask me how I know.

The weekend passes and I just kind of sit in a funk the whole time. Nothing seems fun or enjoyable. Nothing holds my interest. I just coast through the weekend watching Youtube mainly.

When Monday comes... there's no return call from the doctor's office all day. Tuesday, I call and leave a message again. No call back the rest of the day. That's not unexpected, but it's still disappointing and it's getting me pissed off all over again. The decision to give up is gaining popularity in my brain.

Wednesday morning, at about 8:45 am, I've only just gotten into the office, I'm setting up, my phone is set to vibrate--but stupidly, I didn't learn my lesson from the lengthy game of phone tag back in September--the doctor's office calls.

I miss the call. ...FUCK...

I see the notification pop up on the screen after the fact, saying I have a voicemail. I lock my computer and hurry off to some quiet place where I can have a phone call without disturbing everyone else on the floor. I call, expecting to have to leave another message.

They pick up.

They actually pick up. Holy shit, red letter day, I've got a live person on the phone.

They say they got my message, they ask me a few questions like "Are they just saying they need to delay? They need more time?"

I tell them, "No... they are straight up refusing to fill the prescription because of some 20 mile law I can't find on the books, and the pharmacy is 16.5 miles from your office. I don't get it. I don't understand why I'm having so much trouble. Can we move it to a different pharmacy? I'm kind of done with this place."

The lady on the phone is disappointed and disturbed by this information, so she happily lets me pick a new pharmacy. It just so happens that because of my little fact-finding mission Friday night, I have one already picked out. I give her the details, she confirms, it's all good, she says she'll send it over that day.

At least I've got the doctor's office side of this taken care of. Now we just wait to see how Walgreens decides to dick me over.

Sports-fans, you will never guess what happens next.

I have another missed call at 3pm that same day.

It's Walgreens.

I have an email from them too.

MY PRESCRIPTION IS READY TO PICK UP.

THEY FILLED IT WITHIN 6 HOURS OF RECEIVING IT. IT'S READY. I CAN GO PICK IT UP TONIGHT!!! HOLY SHIT!! OH MY GOD IT'S A MOTHER FUCKING MIRACLE!!!

Unfortunately, I have another errand to run and I don't know how long it will take to get that sorted out. I have to drop my car off to get some maintenance done on it. Something about the CV boots leaking grease on the engine... the place actually showed me photos of my car doing this when I got the oil changed a month back. I didn't have the money at the moment to take it on so I decided "Let me save up a couple of paychecks and we'll tackle it... possibly December, no later than January. I don't drive that much. My commute to work is 10 minutes on the side roads. I can wait a bit longer than most."

Well, the situation happened to yield good results, I was able to get the money I need in my bank account to pay for the maintenance. I just needed to drop the car off overnight. They'd get it fixed over the course of half a day, call me when it's ready, and I can come pick it up. They even set me up with a loaner car in the interim... and fuck did I stress the hell out about my complex possibly towing it because I didn't get back home until after the front office was closed (it wouldn't have made any difference to call ahead of time, I wouldn't have the loaner car's details to give them).

I get the loaner, I head back up towards where I work, pass it, and go the other direction towards home... fun stuff needing to go in the opposite direction of home to do something right after work. Makes everything take so much longer to get done, but whatever. I've got the loaner, my car is gonna get worked on, I'll get it back tomorrow unless there's something that throws a monkey wrench into the plan.

I head up to Walgreens, I get my prescription. I go to a bookstore to buy a physical copy of "Project Hail Mary" because the audiobook I've got is damn good and I want a physical version I can hold... just in case... you know... Audible/Amazon decides to be a colossal dick. Then I pick up dinner. Tacos, from a really good taco place. I'm celebrating the fact that this whole Adderall thing has actually finally paid off. Now I just need to start taking it to see how it affects me.

That will come in the morning.

For now, tacos and tatter tots. Oh and youtube, lots of youtube. I watch lots of stuff on youtube. And the whole Somerton situation has shaken loose a lot of videos from a lot of people talking about it. And happily, it's not just rehashing the same details. They're all looking at it from different angles. Like "Why did we fall for this?" "How do we move forward?" "What should we as leftists do to try and keep this from happening again?" "What changes can and should we make?" stuff like that. It's great. I love seeing people try to problem solve rather than just try to dog-pile on. It's real NASA level shit and I'm a space nerd so NASA is my jam--as is their approach to so much of what they do. Just ask me about how I help my mom plan to cook large meals for holidays... I call it a flight plan... and it's one, giant recipe, planning out what needs to be done in what order, starting with prep and ending with service. Love me a good flight plan.

Just almost never have the will, interest, or focus to build flight plans for other aspects of my life, so I just end up winging it a lot. It works okay, but not always.

That's one reason why I wanna try the Adderall I've got sitting on my desk staring at me while I've got a mouth full of taco.

Among other reasons. I hear it's a mild appetite suppressant, and if it helps keep me from snacking between meals, hey, I might just lose a little weight, make my pants fit a little better, get some flexibility back. But... tomorrow. Not now. Now, I need to be able to sleep.

And sleep I do, grateful that at least one major issue has finally FINALLY been dealt with and I can actually FINALLY START this journey properly.

From early August to early December. Roughly four whole months, and I am less than 12 hours away from starting a medication that may help me get my brain to act a bit better, help me focus, help me even my temper out, help me lose weight--I honestly don't know what all it might do... hell, it might not do anything. I could have no reaction. Or an allergic reaction. No way to tell. That last one is super rare, but... with my luck and my allergies... I don't rule it out and keep in mind that I might need to call for rescue if I have a problem.

That was last night.

Today was my first day on the meds.

I've started a log of what I notice while I'm on the pill.

I'm going to collect data, review it, share it with my doctor, and we can make whatever decision best addresses what I find.

So far though, I'm encouraged. I'm very encouraged. It didn't have any shocking, intensely powerful effect... it's just been one day. I'm told it takes a week or two for the dosage to build up and start showing signs.

But what I've experienced so far... I'm encouraged.

It's hard to tell if it was because of the medicine, or if it was just because I had a really good day at work, but I'm energized, I'm enthusiastic, I have energy again... and I... may have... forgotten to eat my lunch (I did a lot of training today, people learning how to do workflows that I have information on, so I didn't have much time to stop and eat). The appetite suppressant aspect kept me from feeling hungry, so I wasn't distracted by that. That was nice.

We'll see how tomorrow goes.

Let me know if you'd like to read what I've got in my log. I feel like this might be info that other folks could find helpful or useful... or maybe more experienced ADD folks on the same medication can offer advice for how I can maximize what benefits I get from this... or share things to watch out for.

I'm new to this, and I'd love feed back.

Let me know if you wanna read the log. I don't really care about being too insanely private about it--though I don't have anything too revealing in it, nor plan on putting anything too revealing in it.

Anyway... yeah... long post is long.

This is probably the longest thing I've written since... fuck... February? March? And I felt good writing it.

Again, not sure if it was just how the day went, or if it's the meds.

But I'm hopeful about finding out more.

[lemonhemlock]

I wouldn't say there are a lot of Al*smond shippers that want a young actress to play Alys, but there are definitely quite a few (not a majority though?) who wouldn't mind it AT ALL if this happened. My guess is that, despite whatever they may claim in public about loving the ship, not finding it unhealthy and not minding the age gap, they would, in fact, feel uncomfortable if Aemond's love interest looks much older than he is. Just a few days ago when the rumours about Jessica Findlay possibly being cast as Alys were being discussed on Reddit I saw some people who said things like "well, her age is not central to the character" and "she's said to look younger, a 33 years old actress is ok". Oh and there is a very annoying anti on Twitter (some Helaemond shippers should know who I'm talking about) who would ALWAYS say (still does) "well HBO will likely cast an younger actress" when harassing other shippers in favor of their ship, as if people will suddenly convert into Al*smond shippers if this happens.

Yeah, no. She looks younger, but not like a young 20 something/early 30s years old. In fact, the book clearly says that Aemond and goes out if its way to say he could've have chosen a maiden closer to his age yet still chose a woman twice his age, at least. And, like you and others have said, she's a milf type of character who's been through several pregnancies herself and nursed others' children. So yeah, the age is very important. Obviously, these kind of shippers and stans do project/self-insert themselves onto this character which is is why they want a younger actress.

In my opinion, an actress who is in her late 30s, maybe even early 40s, would be the best choice. Not to mention that choosing a young actress for an older character would feed even more into the ageist idea that older women are simply not attractive and desirable anymore. Although I love JBF and I find her to be a great actress (and I will probably get over it if she is indeed cast as Alys), she is too young looking (she herself looks younger than her age), honestly she looks more like an older sister if you put her next to Ewan.

Emily Beecham is a much better choice, looks a lot more mature than Ewan/Aemond and youthful enough in order to pass off as an 40 years old woman described to look younger than her years. She may not have the Strong look as some have pointed out as an excuse to be against her being cast, but wigs do exist. Ewan doesn't have long silver hair either. If we're to compare the fandom's reaction to the possiblity of these two actresses playing Alys then JBF clearly received a more positive response which is a bit sad and funny at the same time. They say they want and wouldn't mind an older woman being with Aemond, but when they actually see HBO considering an actual older woman they are like ehhh well not like that…

So hopefully HBO doesn't pull off another Netflix and go for a younger actress for a mature character like they did with Yennefer.

Thank you for this very comprehensive, piping hot tea about the strange world of aemond kinnies. 😂

I honestly had no idea JBF was more well-received than EB; that's nuts, since EB is a beautiful woman and talented at her craft, who doesn't even look old in any way that matters lol. So JBF having an edge on her just because she's a few years younger is hilarious.

I have to say here, though. I remember Sara Hess telling everybody how she thinks Rhaenyra being overweight after 3 pregnancies is biased reporting from the maesters and historical slander/misogyny. I can't say that's entirely out of the question, as it's not unheard of for people to make fun of women's looks for no reason, if they happen to dislike them. So I can see them making the same kind of argument for Alys - that the histories recorded her as being old to slander her.

But come on. I will not be surprised if HBO pick an actress on the younger side, but that's because of the ageism prevalent in the film industry, not because this relationship is supposed to be a healthy one lol. They also would have a vested interest in making this ship appealing to the audiences. So there is obviously a difference between having 39 y.o. Katie McGrath play her (another popular fancast) vs 49 y.o. Olivia Colman playing her - who is absolutely a phenomenal actress, but you know how the reception would be, for obvious reasons.

[asukamood]

Rule Number 3: Never let Blue drink liquor

I shouldn’t have finished this quickly but I’m a procrastinator so obviously that had to happen- Anyways, here is a long awaited Drueswap oneshot, I missed those idiots so much-

Warnings: Alcohol use, abuse/physical violence, breakdowns, mentioned alcoholism and I think that’s it

Synopsis: Blue tries to drink a shot of wine, immediate regret.

***

The fact that Dream used to be an alcoholic was never a secret for Blue. It was actually one of the first things he had searched about him, in case he would have found him drinking during one of his many visits.

Thankfully though, Dream had stopped drinking a long time ago but surprisingly, he still kept his stash of liquor tucked away near his office.

Blue had one day stumbled inside that room and, as curious as he is, he wondered how it would feel like to drink. Due to his… special conditions growing up, he never really got the chance to go out with people at parties and never had any friends to do any of that anyways. He knew that alcohol smelled and that the taste was generally not that good. He also knew that people were aware of that. So what made all of these alcoholics continue to drink even though they knew it wasn’t good for their health?

He wanted answers and Blue was the type of man to push until he got what he wanted.

He was usually the type to conduct a thorough research about a subject before experimenting right away but today, he deemed that little experiment of his harmless enough not to proceed as he usually would. In case of problems, Dream was just in the next room anyway.

He looked over the impressive number of bottles placed next to one another before he eventually reached for a random one, not really noticing how old it was. He looked around and soon found the glass he was looking for, he grabbed one and started to pour the wine into it.

He was being careful, he just wanted to taste it after all, not get drunk. He had no clue how he would be drunk and he didn’t intend to find out, it scared him far too much.

What he didn’t take into account however was the fact that alcohol was supposed to be drunk slowly but also the fact that wine entered the bloodstream way faster than beer, making it relatively easy for someone to get drunk.

At first, he didn’t feel much but a few seconds later, he started feeling dizzy, a little warm even. He tried to shake the feeling off but it didn’t go and instead made him stumble a bit forward.

It felt like a fog had taken over his brain and he was walking out of the room with a weird limp, giggling quietly all the while.

Surprisingly, Dream wasn’t sitting behind his desk and working but was instead hunched over his phone on the couch, seemingly watching a video about animals, if the smile on his face was anything to go by.

Blue stopped, just staring at him for a few seconds. He had always found Dream pretty and still does, especially when he was looking genuinely happy like that, but he felt really weird right now like there was something tight in his chest that didn’t like what he was seeing.

He briefly wondered if it was about the alcohol, after all, it had already made him tipsy with just a shot of it. How far-stretched was it if it made him feel weird in the chest as well? He was starting to regret not searching things about that or at least asking Dream, he knew how the last time he didn’t inquire his opinion ended up as and he was not quite thrilled to relive the same thing.

He called out to him or at least thought he did. In reality, his mouth moved but no sound came out of it, explaining why Dream didn’t react to it. At the other’s lack of reaction, Blue frowned. He tried again, no sound. He still didn’t realize his voice wasn’t coming out of his chords and just felt like Dream was ignoring him.

In normal terms, Blue would simply pout or feel a bit upset about that. But right now, his mind was a mess and the alcohol was getting to his head, throwing any rational thought out the window.

He started to breathe a little funny.

This whole situation suddenly triggered a memory from his subconscious that he was sure had been lost to time. He was… how old was he at the time? 10? Maybe 12? He had no idea. He only knew that it was a bad day for him, an awful one even like most of his days spent with his brother.

That morning, Papyrus had dragged him by the ear to the store, finally letting him out of the house he was usually secluded in. Blue found that suspicious at first but after finally stepping out of the building, that wariness faltered a little to be replaced by happiness. It was the first time in forever since he had gone out and felt grass beneath his feet instead of the cold hard and bloody floor of his room and he was feeling something similar to euphoria.

He was so happy in fact that during their outing, he accidentally let go of an item that dropped to the ground and broke. A long silence had ensued. Blue was shaking but desperately tried to compose himself. They were in public, surely, he wouldn’t try anything here right?

He was wrong, so terribly wrong.

Papyrus started yelling at him, openly insulting him in front of a huge crowd that looked away, some people even left him there, hurrying out of the aisle to hide in the next one.

That’s when he landed the first hit. It was a slap.

The sound of the slap echoed inside the aisle and Blue took a few seconds to realize what just happened. It didn’t even hurt. It was just shocking and unexpected. At one point, he didn’t remember when, but he had found himself on the floor, his back aching and products scattered around him like confetti.

He saw Papyrus walk toward him, pissed off, and his intentions clear: he was going to kick him. In front of everyone.

Panic washed over him and he looked over at the previous crowd gathering around them with teary eyes, searching for any sympathetic gaze, just one would have done the job.

He found none as most people had left. The ones who did stay weren’t looking at him and were simply choosing an item from a shelf, as if there wasn’t a boy getting beat up just a few inches away from there.

Papyrus’s foot collided with his stomach and he gasped, pain taking over him. He desperately tried to get away, to get help but no matter how many times he reached out, no one turned to look at him. It felt like he was invisible to them.

Look at me!

He let out a sob when he felt Papyrus’s hand wrapped around his throat and lifting him up. His eyes bore into Blue’s and the latter swore he could see the tiniest glint of amusement in those demonic orange irises.

Please look at me!

He couldn’t support his gaze any longer and so he turned away, once again trying to make eye contact with anyone else in the aisle. He never managed to.

Why won’t you look at me?

His feet dangled in the air uselessly as he grabbed at the hands around his throat. He was going to die. He turned his head one last time to see that people were still ignoring him despite the urgency of the situation.

Why won’t you look at me?!

“LOOK AT ME!” Blue suddenly screamed, making the winged man jump in his seat and almost drop his phone. He didn’t hear Blue arrive. “WHY WON’T YOU LOOK AT ME?!”

His voice was teary and his expression was a strange mix of frustration, fear, anger, despair, and hate. That got Dream to frown, his phone long abandoned on the couch as he walked toward him, trying to get his attention.

“Blue?” No response. He kept screaming, arms wrapped around his stomach. It looked like he was in pain.

“Whywhywhywhywhy—“

“Blue!” The taller shouted, grabbing his shoulders. The intoxicated man jolted, not expecting that, successfully tearing him out of whatever daydream he was having. He stammered, looking in Dream’s direction but not really seeing him. It more so looked like he was seeing through him.

“What…?” He took a step back before whipping his head around in all directions with a fearful look, like he was expecting a serial killer to jump to his throat at any moment. “Where is…?” He didn’t finish the sentence, letting it die in the atmosphere.

Dream didn’t say anything, his face scrunched. He had just noticed the familiar scent of alcohol and knowing that he had not touched a single drop of one in decades, it was definitely not from him. He looked at Blue in concern and only just realized that the door to his previous hiding spot from reality was wide open.

Something clicked in his brain. He walked around Blue, closing the door shut before dragging the other to the couch. The entire duration of that, Blue didn’t know how he was feeling. His mind was so fuzzy and he was so confused…

He seemed to be spacing out but before he could fall too far, Dream snapped his fingers in front of his face, jolting him awake yet again. Blue seemed to finally process Dream actually being here and looking at him, if the fact he just threw himself at his neck was any indication of that.

“I’m sorry—“ He breathed out, shaking. “I don’t know— I don’t understand— Please don’t ignore me again I’ll do anything please-“ Dream hugged back, one of his hands tracing a circle under the other’s hoodie. That seemed to soothe him. The smell of wine was even more obvious this close.

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He almost whispered a hand coming to pet Blue’s hair. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was.” The shorter one melted at that and sank down on Dream, a purr escaping him.

“Dream…” Blue frowned, he forgot what he wanted to say. That didn’t normally happen. “Can we stay like this a little more? I’m sleepy.”

The politician pulled away, before shifting their position so that Blue’s back was pressed against his chest and his head resting on his shoulder. “Isn’t that a bit better?” Blue nodded before he looked up at Dream.

“You’ll look at me, right?” The winged man arched an eyebrow, why was he obsessing over this verb today? Should he ask? As an answer, he nodded, cupping his cheek with one hand.

Blue snuggled that hand, loving how warm it felt against his skin. Dazed happiness replaced the gripping fear from before. Dream watched Blue’s eyes flutter shut as the latter nuzzled his hand, reminiscing his expression when he heard him yell the first time.

His eyes narrowed. He’s gonna have to have a conversation with him when sobers up later. He blinked when he heard the sound of soft snoring beneath him. He looked down and noticed that Blue had already fallen asleep, probably tired because of the alcohol.

Dream cringed internally. He was going to regret everything after he woke up, subject to one nasty hangover. He could only hope he was ready to face a post-drunk Blue who would, without a doubt, be in a murderous mood soon.

[thaliaisalesbian]

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 26: it's the first thing you do

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27

Steve feels like shit. Not the worst he’s ever felt, but honestly it’s going to be hard to beat that. Maybe he needs to come up with a new pain scale for himself. He doesn’t think that anyone else will find it funny, but it might make him feel better.

“Why didn’t you just stay home? Or call one of us?” Nancy asks. She doesn’t know about his parents. At least, Steve doesn’t think she does. He hasn’t said anything, and she hasn’t been here long enough for Jonathan to tell her. He thinks. She’s been at school all day, right? “And where did you get all of that bruising on your face? Did you fall or run into something?”

He can see on her face that she doesn’t believe it as soon as she says it.

“Was it your parents?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Nance.” He knows that’s all but confirming it, but he really doesn’t want to talk about it.

Jonathan wants him to leave. But he can’t do that.

Between his mom’s side of the family and his dad’s business, they probably own half of the buildings in town. Their ‘friends’ watch him, and report back to his parents when he’s doing something he’s not supposed to be doing.

If he moves in with the Byers, or Hopper and El, for good, then they’ll just come and drag him back. Or make Joyce lose her job somehow, and Jonathan too.

finish on ao3 or under the cut

And they might go after the other kids, too. His mom had talked about it, when he and Nancy had broken up. She’d offered to ‘ensure that she never works in journalism’, and while her reach doesn’t extend to the whole field, she’d certainly be able to make it happen in Hawkins. Wouldn’t even be that hard, probably, Nancy’s already been having trouble getting the position at the Hawkins Post without his mom sticking her nose into it.

He had to beg her not to. Told her that they were still kids, and that dating was a little different now. Plenty of people dated around, it wasn’t a big deal.

He’s not sure it worked the way he wanted it too, but she’s backed off, because Nancy and Jonathan would have been outright told ‘no’ when they walked in the door if she’d given the word.

But he can’t tell Nancy and Jonathan about that, because they’ll tell him that they can handle it.

They might be able to, but he doesn’t want them to. It’s bad enough that Joyce and Hopper won’t take anything from him. He knows they had to have spent a lot of money, not to mention time, on him during his recovery and it’s the only way he knows how to repay them.

“Steve?” Nancy touches his hand, and he realizes he’s stopped talking to her. “If you need to go back to sleep that’s okay, you know.”

“I’m okay.” He’s not all that tired, he just feels terrible. “Can I have some water?”

He doesn’t remember all that clearly what happened this morning.

He knows he wasn’t thinking straight, and he’s still a little wonky on that front now. But it’s better than it was.

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Jonathan?” He was just here, wasn’t he? Steve was teasing him about… something.

“He went to take a shower a few minutes ago, do you not remember that? Is your head okay?”

“I mean, my face hurts, but not my head.” Probably. He can’t actually tell if he has a headache or if it’s just from his face being all beat up.

“I don’t think this is a good thing, Steve.” She’s right, of course she is, but he’s not sure what she wants him to do about it. “Did Jon just bring you here?”

“No hospital.” He says, immediately. He’s not going there. His parents just left, he doesn’t want them coming back. They’d be pissed.

(Even though it was their fault—no, it was his fault, wasn’t it? It’s always his fault—it doesn’t even matter. They’ll be upset. The cycle will start over, and he’ll end up right back here.)

“Dustin’s mom came and checked on him, she said he didn’t need to go.” Jonathan’s back; with Steve missing most of the day, he’ll have to explain things to Nancy.

Nancy’s eyebrows scrunch up. “He’s missing time, Jon.”

“He’s been really out of it all day.” Jonathan says. “That’s not too surprising.”

Thankfully, Nancy doesn’t push more, and she doesn’t say anything about school, either.

Steve was hopeful that he could pass at least a few of his classes this year, but 

“Want me to lay down with you, Steve?” Nancy offers. Jonathan hadn’t been, he’d been in the chair.

“No, I don’t want to get you sick, too.” He tells her. And he doesn’t want her to find out. Jonathan knows, because he has to know, now, but so far he hasn’t told Nancy and Steve doesn’t want him to.

Let Nancy think that the worst of it is on his face.

He doesn’t need someone else trying to convince him that he needs to move out. He can’t move out.

He’s not risking the consequences.

“I’m going to get dinner ready. Do you know what the boys are doing out there?”

“Hopefully homework, but probably DnD stuff.” Nancy answers. “What time is your mom getting home?”

“Late, she’s closing tonight. Steve’s been fine, though.”

Take that, Nancy. He’s fine.

“As long as his fever doesn’t spike, he’ll be okay staying here, I think.”

It better not spike. Right now, it’s not so bad—he’s a little achy all over and his face hurts, sure, but he’s fine.

“What about school?”

And there it is.

“Well, he can’t go back tomorrow.”

“We’ll see how it goes.” Steve says, before they get a chance to decide for him. “Maybe I can be back by Wednesday.”

The looks they give him are highly doubtful, but he has hope. Besides, he really doesn’t want to miss more school.

Maybe that will change once he’s actually back at school, having to deal with Hargrove, Tommy, and everyone else.

“You don’t have to, Steve. Don’t push yourself.”

“I won’t, but if I’m okay on Wednesday then I’ll go back then.”

“I’m going to let you two try and out-stubborn each other.” Jonathan really does leave, then, and Steve misses him immediately. 

He loves Nancy, but if she’s going to push then he doesn’t know what he’s going to do or say.

“Can we not talk about school?” He winces when the words run into each other in his haste. “Or the bruises? I just—”

He’d wanted things to go back to normal. If things were normal, he would have at least tried to sit through class today before one of his teachers finally sent him to the nurse’s office.

He’d be at home, by himself, and probably with a higher fever. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get himself to take any medicine for it.

So, maybe not entirely back to normal. Being taken care of when he’s sick, just because he’s sick, it’s… nice.

“You just want to go back to normal.” Nancy finishes the sentence for him. “But what’s our normal, Steve?”

Changing, apparently.

His face hurts too much to be thinking this hard.

“I don’t know.” He whispers. “I wanted something to go right, for once, and it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t.” Nancy’s studying him again—he doesn’t even have to look at her to know that she is. He can feel it in the weight of her gaze, heavier than it is when she’s just looking because she wants to look. “And tomorrow probably won’t either. But we can try on Wednesday, probably.”

“Yeah. Wednesday.”

He’ll be okay by then.

Ready to deal with missed work, bright lights, gossip in the hallways, and Hargrove? Probably not.

Ready to deal with Tommy and Carol? Fuck no, but he hasn’t felt ready for that in a while now.

Jonathan and Nancy will be there, though.

And they’ve helped before, and if he lets them, they’ll help him again.

So Steve thinks he can wait until Wednesday, and even if he doesn’t feel ready for all of that, he’ll still be okay.

<- 25 27 ->

[rastronomicals]

8:27 PM EDT March 15, 2023:

Eno/Cale - "Cordoba" From the album Wrong Way Up (October 5, 1990)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Back when it was new--and I was 25 years old--I eagerly purchased this compact disc. Oh, it was a time, man. The CD was packaged in--get this (if you can: most people today I would assume don't know what it had been)--a longbox. A theft deterrent then, and a music geek collectible now. Funny the way things transform, sometimes.

So. It being that time, I didn't know as much about Brian Eno or John Cale then as I do now, but I still knew Here Come the Warm Jets and White Light/White Heat. And because those records had been great, I expected Wrong Way Up to be pretty awesome.

Did I know then that the 3-1/2-minute revolution called "Sky Saw" featured Cale? Or that there was a cult album named June 1, 1974 that featured them both?

Not sure. Wise now, was I wise then?

Anyway, the excitement before the purchase turned into disappointment afterwards. This album, it did not rock, it bore no traces of Warm Jets or White Heat, and it wasn't weird at all, and I sold it and I forgot about it as quickly as possible.

Lately though, nearly 30 years later, thinner of hair, and wiser of the music, man, I've been on an Eno jag, and I came across a review of the album on Pitchfork that suggested the album, synthpop though it was, achieved nothing less than brilliance in its rather conflicted creation.

Hell, I hadn't even known that the artists hadn't gotten along. . . . So I figured, what *had* I known, in my judgement 30 years ago? I'd been only 25, and had probably been a little bit um, over-influenced, by hardcore punk. My tastes are more sophisticated now! I could like an album that maybe wasn't so manic. Really I could. And shit, everything I've been doing for the last month was all about what a fucking genius Eno was. . . Maybe I'd been hasty in my dismissal of WWU back then, simply because it didn't sound like "Third Uncle," or "I Heard Her Call My Name." 'Cause hell, on reflection, thinking about it in 2019, in the midst of a Brian Peter George St John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno freakout, neither does "Luftschloss."

Goddamn, then, let's try it again, I thought. So last week, I bought a CD copy off Discogs. Received it yesterday, listened to it on the way into work this morning, and ... it's unabashedly awful.

It's lame, predictable, and without a trace of the genius which otherwise marks both men's work. You're tempted to say a few things, although you should probably resist the urges. You're tempted to say that it was a case of men outside the times attempting foolishly to sound like them, but that's wrong. 1990 had no great rush of synthpop albums.

1990 was about Jane's Addiction; Jane's Addiction, and Happy Mondays and Sonic Youth's major label debut. Nobody was making synthpop. That these two major artists felt like going there, I don't know, it's odd, it's strange, it's fucked up.

You're also tempted to say, maybe, if you're not that familiar with the facts, that this was the work of giants who had exhausted their creative energies prior to its making, young lions become old farts. But, of course, that's ridiculous. Five years after this mistake of a record, Eno would record Nerve Net, which showed him as able as his youngself to stretch things out. And if you want pop, shit, Eno made Another Day on Earth in 2005, as he was approaching 60, and that is a brilliant, quirky, intelligent pop record, even if it's not as much like M83 as I might prefer.

Wrong Way Up is a detour into mediocrity. Definite, and puzzling, that is.

It all goes to show many things, perhaps most importantly--and I swear I'm not looking to trash Pitchfork specifically here--that if an artist known for making good things makes something crappy, there will always--always--be somebody around to tell people that, fuck the facts, it is in fact pretty good.

There's also the reminder given that I had the suss of the thing down back in 1990. I like to think of myself as smarter now, wiser if you have to go there, and I was prepared to second-guess myself, and take a lesson from it too, but at least in this case, me and the version of myself that existed three decades ago are smack dab in agreement. There's a stolidity about that I find appealing, but maybe, just maybe, there's also a disappointing inability to evolve.

Funny the way things don't transform, sometimes.

https://lahistoriadelamusicarock.blogspot.com/2019/04/enocale-wrong-way-up-opal-records-back.html

File under: Fool Me Twice

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles - 2022 

Day 13 - Reckless

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

FCG/Chetney

Chetney did his best not to wince, although that was made significantly harder when one's arm had been snapped clean in half. There were broken bones and then there was… this. A whole ass bone just jutting out his arm, a bloody mess of muscle, skin and, well, blood.

Beside him was Fresh Cut Grass, doing their very best to hold his arm gently.

“That was real reckless, Chet! Even for you!” they chided, concern dripping from each and every word. “What if Fearne and I were outta magic for the day? You woulda been left like this until tomorrow!”

“I would've survived! The wolf thrives on danger! A few good night’s sleep, some bandages and a split and I'd would've been ready to fucking goooo!”

FCG made a sound approximately close to a sigh as his hands started to glow, already administering a high level healing spell.

“I’d feel real awful if you did that… I know you're made of tough stuff and all, but I don't like seeing you in pain. Especially like this!”

Chetney’s whole left arm was a brutal mess, and if he had a stomach FCG was sure they'd be feeling nauseous. Or worse, they'd be evacuating said stomach. Sometimes it really was for the best that he was so different from the rest of Bells Hells, because right now the only one who could look at Chet without cringing was Fearne, and she was fresh outta spells.

“You… You didn't have to jump in front of me like that,” FCG whispered, his voice wavering. “I could have taken the hit, and if I’d been broken like this I can be easily fixed without having to worry about infections or pain. You- I don't want you gettin’ hurt for me.”

They didn't want ANY of the Hells getting hurt for them, but Chetney was a super special case. Somehow the feral old gnome had clawed his way into their metaphorical heart, a fact he'd made very clear not but two weeks ago. With Chetney surprisingly returning those affections, in his own strange ways, the thought of losing him was especially painful now.

“I don't want to lose you, Chet…”

All that usual grouchy bravado melted away, giving way to a softer side Chetney usually did his best to keep dearly hidden. Not that the whole group didn't already know that he was lil’ old teddy bear.

“Come on, Letters! I'm old, not goddamned ancient. You're not seeing this handsome beast die anytime soon. I still got a hundred, two hundred years in this bitch!” Chetney chuckled, only to grit his teeth and curse when FCG had to violently yank his bone back into place in order for the spell to do its job.

Funny how someone without facial expressions could look so apologetic…

“You worry too much,” the gnomed muttered once his bones were forcibly rejoined and his skin magically scarred over. Fuck, he'd never get used to the power of healing spells! “I'm alive, breathing, AND I have this bitchin’ scar! Chetney’s coming out on top!”

Chet flashed a grin, testing out his newly healed arm as he did so. It still kinda hurt, like the ache after a particularly hard punch you just knew was gonna deeply bruise. But it no longer felt like death itself was clawing at his dick, so that was a plus!

Fresh Cut Grass still seemed upset though, and Chetney knew well enough by now that things weren't gonna get comfortable again until he got at least a little vulnerable, and not in the fun way.

“I'm not gonna drop dead on you, Letters,” Chetney swore, as he let his forehead drop forward, gently bumping against FCG’s. “You and me? We're going to the ends of the earth!”

“You promise, Chet? Really promise?”

“I swear on my chisel. You're not getting rid of me without one hell of a fight, and I refuse to go out in anything other than a world ending blaze of mother fucking glory!”

It was a relief to hear Fresh Cut Grass laugh a little… yet it was made all the sweeter when Chetney felt those cool arms wrap around him, pulling him in for one hell of a hug.

“Good. I don't wanna say goodbye to ya just yet. Not when I'm just gettin’ the hang of this whole being alive thing… and bein’ in love. It's all so new and kinda scary but, with you, it's nicer. More exhilarating than scary, ya know?”

“You got the thrill of the BEAST, I know, I know. I'm too ruggedly handsome for my own good~”

“I dunno if I'd say TOO handsome…”

“Ouch! You wound me, Letters!! You cut me deep!”

“You're plenty handsome for me though. And very charming.”

Chetney could feel his cheeks take on a little color, along with his chest puff out at the praise.

“Damn right I am! And you are too! Whoever made you sculpted the only hot ass piece of metal in existence. You better take the compliment! An MC never lies!”

Fresh Cut Grass gave a soft chuckle, snuggling into Chetney just that bit more as they did.

“Comin’ from you, that's one hell of a complement.”

“Damn straight it is!”

“... Love you, Chet.”

The words were a little harder for Chetney to say, especially with the Hells still so close by. So instead he opted to drop a kiss to FCG”s face plate, before pulling away and pointing back at the group.

“I think we've been mushy for long enough. We should rejoin the others before they start bitchin’ at us.”

Fresh Cut Grass nodded, wheeling over and silently taking Chetney’s hand within his own.

“I'm ready when you are!”

He glanced down at their joined hands, testing the grip with the flexing of his own fingers. Satisfied, Chetney led them over, rejoining the battered ranks of Bells Hells.

[rraakkee]

I like t blow raspberries at the gamers bc it gets them excited for whatever reason, this time peepo decided he wanted t get up close n personal

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive conversations, fluff, fingering, soft smut

A/N: A little treat for the horndogs <3

"O-oh god! It's too big Nev, 's not gonna...c-can't-"

"Oh It's going to fit, don't worry pretty girl. Daddy's gonna fuck you so good. You want that, don't you baby?" He asked, cooing as she nodded frantically, tongue lulled out the side of her mouth. Neville had barely gotten past the tip before she began whining, crying about how big he was. He couldn’t help but lose control, shoving himself deep inside her, pistoning his hips at an ungodly pace. His eyes lingered on her chest, entranced by the hypnotic sway that they had due to his thrust. Pinning her hands to the bed, their eyes locked in an intense moment. 

“O-oh fuck princess, you’re so tight. You gonna cum? Hm? Gonna make a-”

“Nev?” he snapped up, a heavy gasp leaving his lips as looked to his side. (Y/n) sat there, a confused look on her face. “Are you alright? I think you were having a nightmare. You kept making a bunch of noises in your sleep!” he felt his face flush, clearing his throat as he looked away from her. His heart began to race as she climbed into his lap, turning his face towards hers. He looked at her, hoping his nerves weren't clear on his face. Due to the snickers he heard in the background, he was certain it was obvious to just about everyone but her what the issue was. 

“Hey um, petal, you might wanna move.” he whispered to her, trying to keep her hips from his troubled area.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head once more as she moved back. Her eyes widened at the newfound breeze on her rear due to her skirt being lifted up. Not sure of what the cause was she moved back slightly, gasping at the feeling of something hard and long against her ass. Suddenly it all set in, he was- “O-oh. I’m sorry Nev.” she squeaked, quickly hopping from his lap. She smoothed down her skirt, clearing her throat as she eyed everyone in the room awkwardly. While the pair seemed flustered, the team couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Well I guess it’s clear why you’re the boss now.” Fred said, laughing as he motioned to the large tent in the man’s pants. George gave him a low five, joining him in his laughter as Neville glared at them all. Who were they to make him feel embarrassed? Standing up he adjusted the tent in his pants but despite his efforts, his dick was still prominent through his slacks.

“Poor (Y/n). She’s not gonna live to see another day after that thi-”

“Would you lot quit it?! When the fuck are we landing?” Neville growled at the bunch, causing the laughter to cease. Everyone knew what it was like to deal with an enraged Neville and that was the last thing they wanted. If the plane hadn't already landed, he’d shoot it right out the sky.

“We’ve actually just landed, boss. I was going to tell you before this little…situation that just occurred. Your bags have already been brought to the villa to ensure we have maximum time to scope out the museum.” Harrison said, giving the man a nod. He hummed, giving him a nod. “In the meantime, the city is yours to roam girls. We’ll be sending two men with you for your safety.” he snapped his fingers and two tall men appeared, their scary appearance paired with “tourist” clothing. What was supposed to be a disguise was just a funny sight of two muscle heads in brightly colored floral shirts. The (h/c) haired girl walked over to the leader, tugging on his sleeve some. He looked down at her, face softening at the pout on her face.

“Will we be able to spend some time together eventually? I know this is technically a work trip for you but I-I’d really like to spend time with you.” she said, making his heart melt. She never failed to make his heart burst, unreasonably cute without even trying. He had already planned on making time for her but now it wasn’t just something on his list, but his main priority. Stroking her cheek gently he put a soft kiss on her forehead.

“ ‘Course petal. In the meantime,” he leaned down sucking on the skin below her ear as he let out a chuckle, “Why don’t you go buy yourself something pretty for me?” her eyes widened but she nodded regardless, looking at him with a shocked expression as he pulled away. Before she could respond Twyla began to drag her, yanking her down the stairs of the jet.

“Come on babes! We’ve got some shopping to do.”

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

“Was it really necessary to send them with us?” (Y/n) whispered, looking over her shoulder at the two large men that had been following them from a distance. “I mean, everyone’s looking!” she hissed, pointing to a group of people that were pointing and whispering to them. Twyla shrugged, a subtle skip to her walk.

“Just means we look important! You worry too much, babes. We’re on an expense paid trip to Italy and we don’t have to pay for any of these clothes? There could literally be an angry mob after us and that still wouldn’t kill my mood!” she sighed, still noticing the girl’s tense mood. “Plus, Neville would want you to enjoy yourself. Speaking of him…” she grabbed the girl’s hand, walking into the lingerie store on the left. She looked at her confused.

“Why are we here? Nev already bought me underwear.” she asked, following Twyla as she began to grab different sets off the racks. Another layer of confusion was added on when she noticed that she wasn’t grabbing her own size. Twyla let out a snort, throwing the small pile that she had somehow amassed into her arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re telling me after today’s little ordeal that you haven’t noticed? Your hottie has definitely been thinking of banging your brains out.” she said, giggling at the girl’s bashful expression. “I’m only telling the truth! And judging by your reactions, you’ve been thinking about it too.” she pondered her words for a moment. It wasn’t not not true. She most certainly had thought about Neville in more unsavory ways. Even before their reuniting, (Y/n) always thought about him as she attempted to get herself off, imagining they were his hands touching her bringing her to a well deserved climax. However anytime she’d get close, she’d become overwhelmed with the thought that what she had been doing was shameful. Masturbating to her old crush from school? What could be more dirty?

“I-I guess I have thought about it once or twice..” she admitted. “B-but I don’t have the balls to just walk out in something like this! What if he laughs at me?” Twyla gawked at the girl, blinking repeatedly. She could not believe her ears.

“Are you kidding me?! The only sound that will be leaving that man’s mouth is the sound of him telling you to get on your knees.” she responded, turning back around to look through the racks for more. “Plus, it’s not like you have to pounce on the man. All I’m saying is wait for the right time, maybe after a nice dinner or something then boom, whip out the goods. You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose. If that’s all then let’s check out then go get massages! I’m making you pamper yourself this trip. Merlin knows you need a break.”

(Y/n) was thankful for Twyla’s pep talk knowing the blonde was right. Neville would like anything she did; it was just a matter of when she should do it.

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

And pampering they had done. (Y/n) and Twyla had been to just about every ritzy spot Italy had to offer them. After their shopping trip, the taller girl had taken them to get massages. It was funny how the masseuse instantly knew it was her first time from the abundance of knots in her back and when the man was done? She was most certainly an inch taller! They also had gone for manicures (despite having done that a few days ago..). Being bold she decided to get a set out of her comfort zone which she was beyond satisfied with. But the hot Italian sun combined with all the running around had tired her out, resulting in the driver bringing them to the villa.

The villa wasn’t as big as Neville’s second manor but was still insanely big. After the bodyguard had carried her bags to her room for her, she climbed into the brand new silk robe she had gotten, laying on the bed drinking the smoothie the maid had gotten for her. It was nice, just being able to relax. Throughout her years of working, (Y/n) rarely took off days. A lot of the time she’d even cover shifts for employees that couldn’t make it and even when the bakery was closed she would come in, fixing things up and tidying up mindlessly. Numerous times Twyla had caught the girl there when she wasn’t supposed to be and forced her to go home out of concern for her health.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of the bedroom door opening, widening with enthusiasm as she saw the tattooed man in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Hopping up she ran over to him, jumping into his arms which he gladly accepted, holding her tightly. “I missed you.”

He smiled, setting the flowers down to hold her better before placing a soft peck to her lips. “I missed you too, love. I left early so I could spend some time with you.” his eyes moved to the bags in the corner of the room, chuckling at the large pile. “I’m guessing your shopping trip was successful?” she felt her face heat up at his lack of knowledge of the lingerie that lay within one of them.

“I guess you could say that. Come, come! I wanna relax with you.” she began dragging him over to the bed, straddling him once he was situated. They sat in a comfortable silence with Neville holding the girl close to his chest, just appreciating the closeness he had with her. Since they’re reunion, every intimate moment, be it sexual or not, had been interrupted by some instance where he was needed somewhere else. He hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time as he wanted with her but now he had her all to himself. His hands rubbed at her back gently until he got bored, deciding to test the waters. He knew it’d take a while before they’d get anywhere near what happened in his dream but he was willing to wait. He’d do anything to be able to touch her, feel her in a way that was less than innocent. As he gripped at her ass with one hand he brought the other one up to her cheek, cupping it as he pulled her into a deep and sensual kiss.

She gladly accepted, kissing back as she brought herself closer to him, playing with the bits of loose hair at the base of his neck. He began to nibble on her lip before pulling away, trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck. A mewl sounded from her, causing him to pull away slowly. Gripping at her waist above her robe, he gazed into her eyes intently. “You wearin’ anything under here?” he asked, watching as she looked down, shaking her head. “No? God you’re making it so hard for me to not just fuck you right here.” he sighed some, reaching for the ties on her robe. He stopped, looking at her once more for confirmation. She nodded frantically before stopping, feeling slightly embarrassed from how eager she was. With one soft tug, her robe was undone revealing her soft supple breast which he instantly went for. With his lips wrapped around one he began to lick and suck at the other, both of them moaning in unison. After a while of him teasing her sensitive nubs she began to grow impatient, rocking her hips against his gently as she let out a soft whimper.

“P-please..” she moaned breathlessly, not too sure of what she wanted. All she knew was that she wanted something, anything. Everything he did had her near her edge, from his kisses to his tongue and she needed to feel more. Pulling away he looked at her, thinking for a moment before pulling the two of them up.

“I wanna try something,” he said, positioning in front of the mirror. “He pushed back the fabric of her robe, putting her pussy on full display. His pants tightened at the sight of her glistening folds which she avoided in the mirror. Neville gripped her chin gently, positioning it to look at her bits in the mirror, chuckling at her wide eyes, pupils fully blown with arousal. With his other hand, he began to massage up and down her thighs. He watched as her legs grew weak, shaking with anticipation. Trailing his fingers near her sex, tracing small patterns on the inside of her thighs. 

He patted the side of her cheek with two fingers, pulling her attention away from herself to make eye contact with him through the glass. “Open up.” he whispered, small praises of approval leaving his mouth as she did. He took his thick digits, slowly pushing past her kiss stung lips. His eyes watched in the mirror as they entered her wet little mouth, groaning at the feeling of her soft tongue gliding along the underside of them. Pushing them a little further, she gagged, eyes tearing up. She looked so pretty with tears in her eyes, already fucked out before he had even put them in. It was hard to tell who wanted it more at this point but as Neville finally slid a finger into her folds, it was obvious. Hot tears fell down her face, already overwhelmed from it all. Pumping his finger in and out, his eyes flickered between her fucked out face and her pussy, juices already coating her thighs. Moving his face to her neck, he began to suck and kiss on her neck.

(Y/n) was becoming more and more desperate by the moment. She had subconsciously begun to play with her tits, rubbing and tugging on her nipples. “M-more, Nev please!” she begged to which he instantly complied, sliding another finger in. He began to work her open more, scissoring and stretching his fingers inside of her. Once her muscle had relaxed once again, he began to speed up his moment, the heel of his palm creating a slapping noise each time it’d meet her pussy.

“Merlin, baby, you’re soaked. Your messy little cunt’s just eating my fingers.” he purred out, chuckling deeply as he felt her clench at his words. Who knew his pretty little princess would get worked up so easily, slowly reaching her peak just from a few fingers and words? He used his other hand to rub at her clit, causing her knees to buckle, falling back onto him for support. He loved how much she relied on him, becoming a needy mess just for him. He curled his fingers up, aiming for her spot until he found it causing her to let out a loud cry, gripping onto his arm tightly. Neville watched as her face scrunched up, tears streaming down her face.

“N-need to….need ta….O-oh god Nev! I’m gonna-” before she could finish her eyes widened before snapping close, head falling back onto his shoulder as she rutted her hips against his fingers, whimpering as she rode out her high. He continued to rub at her clit, fingering her cunt until she began to whine, pushing him away. He smirked some, admiring her fucked out expression in the mirror. Her eyes were shut, pants  puffy lips. He licked his lips at the sight of her cunt, sensitive and fucked out, messy and cum covered from her orgasm. As he pulled his fingers out, he had to stop himself from letting out a string of curses at the way her cream began to run hot down her legs along with the bit that had gathered on his fingers. Lifting them to his face he wasted no time, sucking and licking on them. He moaned softly, continuing to clean them thoroughly, not stopping until the only thing that remained was the salty taste of his own flesh.

“You look so pretty when you cum, flower.” he muttered, smiling as the girl just let out a soft ‘mhm’, half asleep and barely able to process his words. He took off her robe, lifting her up as he began to carry her to their private bathroom, letting out a content sigh at the events that had just happened. Although he hadn’t been able to get off himself, he was more than happy being able to just please her. 

Afterall, it was what he wanted more than anything, to have his flower live in absolute happiness and pleasure.

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TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin @mottergirl99 @princesslaiahg  @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

[spacestationdaedalus]

stay with me, my darling

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth.

or: reminiscing, and hope for the future during the apocalypse

thank you @entitynumber5 for this prompt!! I love it and you to bits

ao3 link here!

...

There are moments, right before the nightmares and right after them, when Martin can sleep. There has to be space to breathe, between the fear and dread. How else will you really know what you've lost, know how afraid you are? Or maybe, even now, the fears are bound by the limits of human physiology, the nature of REM sleep and dreams. It's something Jon can't Know, but even if he could. It doesn't matter.

But there is something he could Know, if he wanted to. With Martin within arms reach in the bed next to him, Knowing if he was awake would be as easy as breathing. Maybe easier, now - a reflex, poised and ready just beneath the surface of his skin, just behind his eyes that don't blink as much as they used to.

He doesn't. He owes it to Martin. That sense of normalcy, however small.

Jon takes a breath, holding the compulsion at bay, locked tight in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped up, forced more than one answer out of Martin since they fled from London. Like hell he'll do it again.

"Are you asleep?"

It's no more than a whisper, ragged and sad sounding even to Jon's own ears. But it might as well be a scream compared to the muted terror outside, the solemn creaking of the boards beneath and around them.

It's quiet for a beat, then Martin shifts. He makes a little noise of coming to awareness - the same one he'd made every morning, when there were still mornings to wake up to. Jon didn't think it was possible to feel nostalgia for something that happened so recently. But the pang, the loss of soft morning sunlight and warm blankets and clumsy, sleep-mused hair and hellos sinks deep into his stomach, and he lowercase-k knows he's wrong.

"J'n?" Oh, but his voice still has that quality to it. When he's just woken up, unguarded, a smile when his eyes find Jon. The sound eases just a bit of the awful tightness in his chest. Not much, though, because Martin doesn't smile as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes. He fumbles for his glasses as he sits up, brow furrowed. Jon can't blame him.

"Is something wrong?" Technically a question, but not phrased like one. Martin’s voice matches Jon’s for pitch, quiet and soft.

Jon looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers. His mouth is dry. He feels guilty, for waking Martin up from the only rest he can get for something so silly . But it's hard to distinguish between shades of guilt these days, carved out of his chest and curled up where his lungs should be.

He almost says nevermind, go back to sleep, but that would be worse, waking him up for nothing. And Jon is nothing if not stubborn. Words are hard, but he gets them out.

"I was- I was thinking about the tape, that I...about what Tim said."

Martin sighs. It's not annoyed, or sad. Maybe fond? Jon isn't sure - you could be sure, you could pluck every thought from his head like grapes from a vine. The thing that only watches trills at the thought, buzzing anticipation and thirst filling his skull and he digs his fingernails into his palm until it hurts, stop stop stop-

"Jon?"

"Hm?" He comes back, with the extra volume and concern Martin adds to his name. Had he really drifted that easily, that far, that quickly?

Martin takes one of his hands, unfurling the fingers that he'd clenched. His nails leave crescent moons in the skin of his palm. Martin delicately runs a finger along them as they fade, and it tickles just enough to be both pleasant and distracting. "I said, the one at your birthday? The tape?"

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth. "Jon-"

Jon shifts to face him. It's not a sudden movement, but it's lightning quick compared to his syrup-thick movements of the last few so-called-days. "I know, I know it's not- it's not healthy to dwell on it, on… It's just… there's so much I would, would tell myself if I could."

"Even if we couldn't avoid all of it. Maybe it could have been easier."

"Jon…"

"Martin, please ." It's the most emotion he's been able to get out of his voice since he stopped sobbing after the statement that got them here. It hurts. It hurts and he knows it's what he deserves.

Just let me have this , he wants to say, but can't bring himself to. He leans forward instead, just barely. Not for any reason other than his head is tired , but Martin pulls him further, touch gentle but firm. He wraps his arms around him, so easily, so Jon's head is resting on his shoulder, eyelashes brushing like butterflies against the crook of his neck.

"Alright, alright. It's okay."

Martin whispers into his hair, and for all Jon can See, he can’t imagine anything that would take the comfort of it away. They stay like that for a moment, a while. There’s a lot that Jon wants to say, and even though he started the conversation he doesn’t know where to begin. Everything is tangled like overgrown weeds in his mind, like boxes of cords with no purpose that sit in jumbled piles, wrapped around the things he’s trying not to Know and the things he wants to forget and the things that hurt to remember. But then Martin breaks the silence for him.

“For one thing, I wouldn’t…" Martin seems hesitant, like he's not sure he should say what he's about to say. "I wouldn't have let Biscuit into the archives.”

Jon stops. It's quiet for a moment, in a way he forgot it could be. Martin stills next to him, anticipating.

“Wh...what?”

Marin breathes out a small chuckle, almost with a nervous edge to it. “Y’know, the dog I let in? On my first day?”

Jon is something close to comfortable against Martin's shoulder. But he can't stop himself from pulling back far enough to see his face.

"You named the dog?”

“Oh,! No, that was on his nametag. Had a phone number too, that’s - that’s how I got him back to his owner."

I love you I love you I-

That might as well have been a decade ago. Jon can’t stop the quirk of lip, however small, at the ridiculousness of it. “I never knew that.”

Martin cocks his head, hint of a wry smile playing at his lips. "Well, yeah, it’s not like I was going to bring it up to you again. You looked like you were going to fire me on sight for weeks.” His face falls, slightly. “Although, I guess you wouldn’t have been able to, even back then."

Jon sighs, heavy as it's dragged out of his lungs. “I would have, though, if I could. All of you.”

The silence is thick, but not unbreakable. So Jon does just that.

"Maybe we could have ended up at a normal office job."

"What, like a...bank, or something?"

Jon smiles, wider, even though it feels like his face forgot how. Like riding a bike, maybe. "Yes, something… dreadfully boring."

"A boring job does sound pretty appealing."

"At least, them, I wouldn't have had to tell myself to stop pushing the whole, skeptic thing." Jon can't help but recall the conversation, in the storage closet with the man in front of him and what should have been certain death waiting outside. Even that seems so much simpler, now.

Martin makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. "Maybe I would have told myself to confront you sooner. A-about the statements, I mean. Could have had that whole-"

Martin deepens his voice in what Jon realizes is an imitation "- heart to heart thing sooner."

"I'm not sure if it would have gone over well.” Jon can't help but be honest. Old and new shame bubbles up in his throat, and he has to say something. "Martin, I'm- I'm sorry for the way I acted, back then. I was… god, I was such a prick to you. It wasn't fair, or- or right ."

Martin barely lets him finish before he's saying, "Yeah, you were pretty… prick-ish? I forgive you though. I don't really think about it much anymore, if it means anything.” He breathes out a quiet laugh. “It's kind of funny, actually. In hindsight."

Jon can't stop the look of disbelief. "Really."

Martin smiles. "I mean, yeah? And gosh , you should have heard the things I used to say to Tim and Sasha about you. It wasn't completely one sided."

That catches Jon's attention. "Oh?"

The look on Martin's face isn't quite regret, but it's close. " Any ways-"

"No no, Martin, please , I'd love to know.'' Jon is careful not to phrase it as a question. His voice is quiet, still, but coy. His curiosity is all his own and no one, nothing , else's. He revels in the feeling.

Their hands are entwined on the bed between them. Martin looks down at them as to not meet Jon's eye, but he's smiling, still. "I think I described you as a cactus with twice the spines and half the emotional capacity, once.”

Jon's laugh, soft and brittle as it is, surprises even himself.

Martin looks up at him, encouraged. "Heh- Tim got a kick out of that one."

Tim's laugh, faded like an old photograph in his mind. It hurts to remember, but it would hurt worse to forget. He wish he had that luxury for Sasha. The real Sasha, the stranger who was friends with Tim, friends with him . At least, he hoped she had been. She sounded so lovely.

But, back to Martin. "Yes, well, I can't say you're wrong about that."

Martin sucks in a breath, and Jon freezes under the possibility of upsetting him. But then.

" Oh , Jon- that’s the complete opposite of the truth."

Jon laughs, with less humor. "Martin-"

"No, no, let me finish." Martin takes one of Jon's hands, the burned one, in both of his. "You put up a great front, I'll admit it. But you care so much, even… even though things haven't been easy, or good, or… or fair. You never stopped caring, this whole time. It's obvious now, at least - at least, to me. Even if you don't always say it.”

"You care so, so much and it's - god , it's one of my favorite things about you, Jon."

Something about the way Martin says his name chisels something open in Jon's chest. And not for the first time. Being known, existing to someone else that actually wants him to. There's a reverence to it, the way Martin says it, that Jon knows he doesn't deserve. But he tries to move past that thought and let the sound warm him from the inside out.

Jon whispers Martin's name, quiet and strangled. He hopes it carries the same depth, the same love.

Martin keeps going. "And I - that's why this is so hard for you. I mean - well, of course it's hard, it's pretty fucking terrible, actually - but," Martin sighs. "I know that's why you want to blame yourself for all of this-"

Jon finds his voice, stronger. He's not sure where the sudden energy comes from, but it probably has to do with the knot that's made a home in his ribcage.

"It's not about want , Martin, it's- it's the truth. What else am I supposed to do? I ended the world -"

"Jonah fucking Magnus ended the world, Jon. Not you. He used you."

"I don't really see the difference."

The burst of energy leaves him, water spilling down a drain. This isn't the first time they've talked about this, and it probably won't be the last.

Martin sighs. "I know. But I'll keep telling you, as many times as it takes. Because it's true. And it- it hurts, seeing you like this."

Jon looks at Martin, really looks for the first time in too long. His eyes, tinged grey from his time in the Lonely, dark circles under his eyes, tight lines at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, other than, "I love you."

"No, it's-" Martin shakes his head, just a bit. "I love you, too."

It's quiet for a long moment. Martin lays back down on the bed and gestures for Jon to follow him. Which is easy, for Jon to do. The bed isn't warm, but it isn't cold either, in the strange way that things are and aren't right now. But Martin is warm, Jon can feel, with their legs tangled together and foreheads touching.

Jon won't, can't sleep, but laying next to Martin still feels like rest. In a way.

"Martin." Jon doesn't know why he needs to say Martin's name. It's not like there's anyone else he could be talking to, with less than centimeters between them. But the thing he's about to say is so deeply important to him, and it feels like he needs to.

"I'm… glad," God, his vocabulary always escapes him when he has to speak out loud. Talk about his feelings. "That I got to spend time, with you. Time here."

They haven't left. The cabin still stands, doors and windows, squeaky hinges and leaky faucets intact. But it's not the same, never will be as far as Jon can tell. "The weeks that we had, before- I...I don't think I'm lying when I say it's the first time in a long time that I-"

Felt loved? Felt like a person, again?

"...was happy."

Martin smiles, but it shakes like a leaf in the wind. A tear slips from his eye, dripping slowly over the bridge of his nose.

"Me too."

Jon brushes a kiss, feather light between Martin's eyes, catching the tears and hopefully some, any tiny amount of the sorrow that lives in the lines of his face.

"I could have stayed here forever, like that. With- with you. Just…"

"Living?"

"Yes. Living."

It's not the first time Jon's treated himself to the thought, however far fetched, however foolish. A life, a normal, mundane life in the countryside. Maybe with boring jobs, but not a boring life. Not with Martin here. Not with Martin to wake up next to, to fall asleep with, to walk with to the village. Talking about nothing important but committing every detail to memory. That Martin prefers vanilla over chocolate, that he had a pet goldfish named Larry when he was seven, that he loves dandelions even though they're classified as a weed, who gets to decide what a weed is, anyway, right, Jon?

"The walk to the village is a bit much, but we could manage." Martin's voice is thick. "The shopkeeper already recognizes us."

The mention of a person outside their wooden refuge pulls knowledge unprompted from Jon's mind. He doesn't have the heart to tell Martin she's currently walking through endless identical corridors with identical doors leading nowhere. The lights above her flicker just so, and she swears she sees something out of the corner of her eye, but she turns and there's only off-white walls and beige doors and the sound of footsteps quickening in threatening cadence towards her-

Jon doesn't mean to drift again. But Martin's voice brings him back. Like it always will.

"Plus, we get to see good cows on the way, so it's worth it."

Jon pushes the thoughts away, and smiles. "I suppose you're right." After a breath, he goes on. "Less food to carry from the store if we have a garden."

"Jonathan Sims, a green thumb?"

Jon bristles at the not-quite accusation, but it doesn't quite reach his voice. Too much energy that he doesn't have. "Well, no, not yet. But I always thought it would be nice, to have a garden. I can learn."

"It would be." Martin slips into sincerity so easily. "I'm sure you would grow lovely vegetables."

"And spices, for cooking."

"Of course." Martin sighs, quiet, fond. "A man that can garden and cook, what could I possibly bring to the table?"

"Everything." Jon blurts out without thinking, and stands by it like a beach umbrella buried in the sand. "You're… you're better with your hands, than I am. Like, the door hinge you fixed when we first got here."

"That's not exactly master carpentry, Jon-"

"It doesn't need to be." Jon doesn't give him time to retort. "And your embroidery. It's- it's good, we'll hang it up on the walls and you can teach me how to do it."

Jon already learned embroidery once, technically, from his grandmother. But she had always grown impatient with his impatience, quick to scold him for fidgeting and rushing his stitches. Like it was an exam he was actively failing instead of something you do for fun. It wasn't all bad, not really, but Jon imagines relearning long-forgotten movements under Martin's hand and smile, and it makes him want to buy every spool of thread, every needle he can get his hands on.

"Of course." Martin replies. "We could put up other pictures, too. I've actually- I've, uh, always wanted to get into photography."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Not for any, real reason, I suppose. Just… seems like it would be fun."

I love you I love you I-

"That sounds like a reason to me."

They go on a bit longer, about pets ( at least one cat, and apparently a species of lizard that Martin is particularly fond of) and colors to paint the bedroom ( something bright but lively, a light blue, maybe) and mugs to buy from the second hand store ( Martin collects novelty mugs, and Jon files that away for later ). Jon knows it’s terrible of him, selfish to revel in this while the world suffers under the weight of its own choking fear.

Later, they'll talk again. A few times. Later, aching sorrow becomes burning anger and drive and they leave with the bags Martin's already packed. But for now, Jon holds Martin's face, and Martin wraps his arms around Jon's waist. Pulling him close, like a ship docked in harbor. And it feels safe.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

(inspired by that singing caretaker prompt)

*

Funny, he’d just been telling himself that it looked like he was in for a quiet night. No such luck.

It’s 2:34am. Michael was just finishing the fourth X-men movie. Or was it the fifth? Did the awful one about Wolverine count? And he if anyone thought Jeremy Bearimy was a nonsensical timeline only had to attempt to watch these weird ash movies. He kinda wishes he’d chosen to binge watch the cartoon series instead.

He’s not too irritated then when Eleanor’s screaming gets him up from the couch. It’s almost as natural a sound to him as the whistle of the boiling kettle or the beep of the microwave when food is ready. This is his job, right now, he knows the routine, what he has to do. At least it’s starting to get down to just once a night, sometimes even being lucky enough to have her sleep through till morning. 

“It’s okay, Eleanor, I’m coming.” he starts to call before he’s even entered her room, hoping the sound of his voice is enough to start to calm her down.

He finds her on the floor, having dragged the bedsheets across the room with them still tangled around her legs. She’s wailing pitifully, palms slapping against plain wall, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bangs her forehead. Her cries are incoherent caterwauling, probably still in the mindset that her tongue is gone, or that she’s unable to speak, forgetting the few syllables she’s been recovering lately.

Michael bites the inside of his lip. Fork, how many times did she kneel in her cell like this and bang on the walls? Crying for salvation? Not a lot to begin with, he reckons, a strong hunch telling him that she took many days, if not weeks, and a lot of gruesome torture to be broken down to that level of pathetic.

He goes over and kneels down, palm reaching out to stroke her hair; “Shh, sweet girl, you’re okay. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

Sometimes his touch causes her to flinch in terror. Not tonight. She merely crumbles, mewling, curling up against the wall. Michael sighs and continues to massage her.

“There we go. C’mon.” He shuffles closer, slowly reaching for her hands. There’s been times that he’s come in to find her having scratched into the walls until her fingernails bled, or bruised her knuckles by punching the floor.

Nothing so bad this time. Her palms are just a little red. Even broken, she’s still a fighter.

He cradles them up in his own hands, willing them to stop stinging, while rubbing them warm. Eleanor sniffles, turning her head towards him, messy hair covering half her face. To think he brushed it so nice for her after her bath a few hours ago.

“Look around you. You’re not there anymore, Eleanor. Just a bad dream.” Though given how often she sleeps and how frequent the dreams return, it must feel like she spends more time back in her cell than here, in the...less Bad Place (for now).

Her eyes peek through the wayward strands of hair, frowning suspiciously, darting around the room and back to Michael. His chest tightens, the sound of her racing heartbeat pulsing against his essence. Is she close to figuring out the truth? Was it too much of a coincidence that he let her go only to bring her back? It’s a niggling worry in the back of his head, every day, that as she starts to regain her spiritual strength, the better her intuition will become and this will all be for no-

Eleanor whimpers, her shoulders slumping, nearly collapsing forward in exhaustion. Ah. Nothing to worry about, Michael quietly exhales with relief, instantly moving forward to grab her, gathering her close.

“I gotcha, sleepy head. You’re okay.” He moves his hand to unwrap the sheets from her legs; “Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?”

Her head shakes, one of her hands reaching up to grab his shirt.

“N-n...” She struggles, finding her voice again; “No’ yet...Puh-please...”

Michael stills, shifting to sit properly on the floor, letting her rest in his arms; “Okay...” Whatever she wants. She’ll obey her strange requests, for as long as this takes; “You sure you don’t want anything? Glass of water? Midnight snack? Extra blanket?”

Eleanor’s face turns to bury her nose in his chest. She murmurs something, her low, inaudible voice rumbling against him. Not even with his advanced hearing senses is he able to decipher her words.

“What was that, sorry?” he asks, pulling back a little to look at her face, the tears on her cheeks now shared with the front of his shirt.

She looks up, lip wobbling a bit, unsure, eyes wide.

“Could...s-sing?” She stutters, wearily; “P-please, Mi’...?”

He blinks, surprised by the request. She’s not typically a fan when he practices playing his guitar, covering her head with the nearest pillow, cringing as if she expects to be tortured again. She’s never asked for a song before, though he does often croon along to the radio in the morning when he makes breakfast, presumably loud enough for her to hear from her bedroom as she wakes.

Michael’s never been complimented on his singing. This might be the closest he ever gets. 

“Sure...C’mere, get comfy.” He sits against the wall and holds her to rest against his chest. Her hair tickles his chin as she tucks her head in the alcove of his neck; “I’ll sing the most frequently heard human ballad that most seem to enjoy...”

He takes a breath, rubbing circles in the space between her twitching shoulder blades.

“We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I...”

Eleanor giggles as she yawns, a strange and surprisingly adorable sound. He smiles, glad that she finds his choice amusing, especially as he knows it’s sometimes used as a form of modern day human torture. Or pranks. Honestly, he doesn’t know the difference. Perhaps a prank is something both the torturer and victim find funny?

He attempts to sing it slower and softer than the original, creating a rather warped lullaby for his damaged human.

“ I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand.

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down.”

Her arms slide around his torso, holding on tighter. Does she think what he’s singing are promises from him? They are very similar to many words of comfort he’s given her - because the books and movies said so - over these past couple of months to make her feel safe.

This is exactly what you wanted, Mikey. Her complete and utter trust. Isn’t it wonderful?

“Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see.”

His fingers glide through her hair, her breath evening out against his body. It’s working. No doubt about that. She’ll be back to sleep by the time he’s finished, probably. Ready for another nightmare...

No. We don’t want that. We want her better. We want her whole and confident again...for the fall, of course.

Of course.

Why does she always feel so much smaller at night?

“Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell..”

Eleanor glances up at him, blinking tired and confused, not sure why he suddenly stopped. He’s not looking at her, instead peering out ahead, looking as baffled as she is as to why his throat went so dry before he could finish the lyrics.

“A lie...” she prompts him, weakly, eyes already fluttering close.

He’s rushed back into reality, looking down at her, returning the smile. Try not to force it, Mike, or she will start to suspect. He kisses her forehead, his hand moving up to guide her to rest back down on top of him. Just get her to sleep, then put her back to bed, maybe stay a while to make sure she drifts off properly. No more nightmares, not if he can help it.

It’s just a forking song. It doesn’t have to mean anything. And even if it does, it’s not as if he has anything to feel guilty about...

“Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...”

[shepard-ram]

Fuck it I can’t take the fucking sadness of Tommy dying on the dream smp so imma make myself happy. Btw this started off with one idea and then I squirreled off onto something else but I do eventually get around to my original point... which ends up super long. Now bear with me here.

So this could be in the yandere!clingy duo or not, doesn’t matter because I think it could work with or without Tommy being a yandere. I refuse to say that Tommy is dead, but he is.

Everyone is mourning his death. You only hear of Tommy’s death through Tubbo. He seems sad but so nonchalant at the same time like wtf how and why???

Okay but can we mention how Tubbo has a platonic spouse now?? Like Ranboo and Tubbo are so cute together 🥰 I feel that, since Tommy is gone now, Tubbo is going to “enlist” the help of someone he really trusts. Now don’t know if Ranboo would be yandere, or if he was, if he’d be as yandere to the extent that Tubbo is, but I feel that since Tubbo and Ranboo are “married” now, Tubbo feels very comfortable revealing things about himself. Which means you get re-introduced to Ranboo! He knows that Tommy’s gone and you’re upset that Tommy is gone, but you got a new friend now. Look, Ranboo is here now!

Ranboo would definitely be uncomfortable with the situation when he’s first introduced to it. Like this person was missing right?? Like he swears he wrote down in his memory book about someone who went missing a while ago and he’s pretty sure he wrote about the person in front of him. But he just can’t remember. It’s all too fuzzy. And oh no they’re cry oh no what should he do? Reader just stands looking at him like oh?? Who this? This isn’t Tommy. They think they remember Ranboo, but it’s been so long since they saw anybody that wasn’t Tommy it Tubbo. Strangers are scary, but Tubbo brought them. And Tubbo is gesturing towards Ranboo like he’s good, safe even. And Tubbo explains that Ranboo would be helping protect you from the others since Tommy could no longer help. And Ranboo is a part of the family now! I mean he was for a short while already since they were platonically married, but now it’s more official! Tubbo “introduced” Ranboo to you. And yeah Ranboo may not be the most trustworthy, but he’s part of the family! With some convincing from Tubbo, Ranboo is ready to help Tubbo in “protecting” you.

Now here is the original point: You know what’d be cute yet sad? Tommy coming back as a ghost. Gonna call Ghost!Tommy “Toast” because that’s funny and he deserves a cute ghost name. So Tommy doesn’t remember much of his life. But he does remember a few things, things he thinks he treasured when he was alive. There was this guy named Wilbur, another named Tubbo, and then some other person. He can’t put a name on who they were but he just has a feeling that he needs to be by them. He needs to find them. So does just that, wandering the land in search of this mystery person and the others he remembers. He doesn’t find this Wilbur dude, but through his wandering he does see this black and white thing. It’s super tall and walking towards him. Maybe he knew this thi-person when he was alive? Yeah he hopes so. They seem friendly enough. And the kind stranger introduces himself as Ranboo, a friend of Toast’s when Toast was still Tommy. And Ranboo gets so excited, saying something along the lines of “they’ll be so excited to see you”. Now Toast has no idea why Ranboo was so insistent on him following, but he needed to find that person and his best friend. Ranboo stopped Toast from leaving, saying he knew where Toast’s Tubbo and this mysterious person is. Ranboo mentions their name, but he just doesn’t comprehend it for some reason or another. Excitement? Who knows. Without a second thought, Toast follows Ranboo back to the base, where you and Tubbo are. Toast comes in with Ranboo and is lost, in a way. He recognizes the place and he re-obtained some of his memories, but he feels detached from it. He feels at home yet in a whole new dimension. Then he sees Tubbo and the “mystery person” (who he just dubbed “Mystery” after a while since he couldn’t remember who they were) and just is confused. Why can’t he remember the person next to Tubbo? He can remember them but just not their name. Ranboo and Tubbo say that Toast knew you when he was Tommy, but he still can’t remember your name. You’re crying because Tommy is back. Your Tommy is back! So you do the most rational thing your poor frazzled brain can conjure up; you run up to “Tommy” and give him a big ole hug! But you fall through him! Oh yeah, you forgot. He’s dead, gone. But Toast is still happy to see you, even if he can’t fully remember you. You’re one of the only things he remembers. And he feels so happy and safe in your company. He gives you the best hug he can after you end up bodyslamming onto the floor. So he’ll stay around you a lot and you’ll be his “Mystery” until he can remember your actual name. Lmao think of it like a free babysitter. Or one of those puppies/a ballon tied to your wrist because he’s always close by, just following you. He missed you, even if he can’t exactly remember your name. Why can’t he remember your name? You were obviously very important to him if he had so many memories of you. Oh well, he’ll remember one day.

I’ll stop myself here because now I’m gonna get sad about this. Gonna be thinking of this for a while now 🥺 I just rlly like the possible Ghost!Tommy interactions. -🦤

Toast Toast Toast Toast Toast Toast Toast-

Ok Tubbo getting Ranboo on board makes so much sense! You're so desperate to have someone else there. And he knows just who can! Even if Ranboo isn't as deep in it a Tubbo he still corporates, after all even you want this. Toast not fully remembering who you are is good, when Ranboo finally reunites him with "mystery" he never leaves your side. He may not know exactly why you were so important to him, but your both happy in each other's company. Even if it's far from the same it's good enough for you, and that's all that's matters for now

[anika-ann]

Of Thieves and Queens of Hearts (B.B.)

Type: Reader-insert , SEQUEL TO Of Jewels and Gems               

Word count: 2860

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Medieval AU with thief!Bucky and princess!reader.

You and Bucky ‘meet’ again - is it fate or something more? And what should you do now, when you crossed paths again?

Warnings: mention of arranged marriage and blood, tears and stuff, angst and fluff

A/N: There were quite a few people who asked about a sequel and since the prompts was ‘I snuck in the castle to steal the royal crown but I’m stealing you instead au’, it only felt right to write this 😊

Of Jewels and Gems (previous part)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Your mind was wandering, gone to a faraway land, far from the present moment for you were not particularly fond of the present.

The bumps on the road didn’t cease to shake the carriage for long moments now, gravel crunching under the wheels and hoofs, the cracking, occasional snorting of the horses, and your own breathing the only sounds keeping you company.

You had forgone interest in the landscape a long time ago, not bothering to revel at the scenery of the lands despite the curtains being open, and while no fabric was shielding the interior of the carriage from the outside light, with the sun slowly setting down, you were engulfed in a comforting gloom.

Too lost to your musings about the future, you missed the shadow lurking around your carriage – until a figure jumped right in through the modest window, causing a yelp gather in your throat in fright.

Before you could release a single sound to alert the coachman and the two guards riding in front of your vehicle, a warm calloused palm covered your mouth, muffling your scream.

All too familiar silver-blue irises twinkled even in the half-lit space, space that suddenly felt cramped.

Your sounds of protest died in your chest, where your heart had challenged your carriage to a duel in speed, beating faster than the hoofs of the horses carrying you towards your fate – whether the fright or the excitement was to blame, you weren’t able to tell.

You stared into the face of a cheeky man you hadn’t seen for almost six months and strangely a man whom you found yourself missing.

His palm reluctantly retreated, smug smile spreading the precious ruby lips as if wishing to irk you right from the beginning – as if the fact alone that he had assaulted you in your allegedly safe space wasn’t outrageous enough.

“Hi, Princess,” Winter said lowly, eyes roaming all over you face, observant and somewhat content.

Your fingers gripped at your skirts as his head appeared to be in scandalous proximity of yours – tempting proximity, but you couldn’t even dare to think that, let alone say it out loud. The interior suddenly felt too hot.

“What in Heavens are you doing here?” you demanded in hushed voice, torn between exasperated and… pleased. There was a strange warmth blooming in your chest and you couldn’t even begin to examine where it had come from.

“Told ya’ I’ll be back for the real jewel,” he smirked, the startlingly red lips peeking from under his beard.

‘Next time… I’m stealin’ the real crown jewel, Your Highness,’ echoed in your ears, an old promise he had given you right before… right before his lips had caressed your cheek.

Daring bastard!

And again, here he was, cheeky as ever, as if nothing could hurt him, free as a bird he could never be caged, only here to tempt you and mock you, no doubt about to tease you about your future.

“How—how dare you! Leave, now!”

His lips pursed, an adorable pout twisting it, eyes turning to ones of a child who just realized their parents didn’t bring any presents from their travels.

“Why?”

Why?

As if an explanation was needed! As if his mere presence in your carriage wasn’t a great offence! As if—as if he hadn’t played with your heart, made a promise and suddenly been in the wind!

“You- you’re a thief and a- a player and-and an outlaw-!” you hissed, managing to stutter marvellously in your indignation. “And I cannot be seen with another man in such close quarters to begin with for I am to be wed soon!”

The corner of Winter’s lips turned downward, his expression clouding further and all of sudden, you felt like the sunset truly had started, stealing all light from the world, and the warmth in your chest seemed to burn cold.

Why were you sad because of this man’s obvious sulking? What he was supposed to be to you, but a confusing memory? What was he even doing here with you?

“Yeah, I heard. I betcha’re all happy ‘bout it,” he noted with generous amount of sarcasm, causing your heart to skip a beat while his eyes never ceased to observe you, as if your face was an open book for him to read.

You attempted to fix your features to ones of a future queen and wife-to-be you were. A responsible crown princess, caring for the good of her people – for that was who you were and should you wed a man twice almost three times you age for it… so be it.

“What—eh- of course I am.”

A woman who was to become a queen one day was meant to be pampered, provided excellent education in both the world’s knowledge and manners and raised outside the filthiness of common people; however, there were always to be cracks in the foundation, little slips, little words you should not know but you did.

‘Bullshit’ was one of those words, as both as a noun and a verb.

The way Winter was watching you at the moment told you with startling obviousness that he thought you were bullshitting him.

So you stuck out your chin in defiance, hoping to sound convincing – to Winter, to yourself. Perhaps should you say it over and over, you shall believe it.

“I am happy to marry King Ronan should it bring together our kingdoms.”

“Mm,” the handsome thief hummed doubtfully, lightly shaking his head, causing the short loose ponytail he wore swing. “Don’t believe ya’. I think ‘dat if I told ya’ ya’ can run with me right now, you’d come.”

Heat rose to your cheeks in shame for he was horribly close to the truth. To cover your shame, you chuckled affectively as if he said the most ridiculous thing you had ever heard in your life. “Aren’t you a funny man!”

His eyebrows rose, losing themselves in his hairline for a moment. “I prefer handsome, but I guess ‘dat’ll do too. So… ya’ comin’?”

All you managed was to stutter an incomprehensible streak of words.

“’dat a yes?” he questioned with a smile, just a fraction shy and very much teasing.

You crossed your arms on your chest and looked away from the beautiful face that was somehow still mere inches from yours – unable to bear the gaze that seemed to burning through your very being and staring right into your soul and seeing the truth you were trying to hide.

You had to marry King Ronan. That was your duty as a crown princess, to bring peace and wealth to your kingdom, even if you should suffer in an unhappy marriage. People did not enter such holy union for love and attraction – no, marriage was a thought-through act of diplomacy.

Who should care for your well-being? Staying alive and serving your people was the truest and greatest reward you could earn.

Of course, you could not say that to Winter, who for whichever reasons refused to leave the topic alone and decided to create your personal hell by tempting you, attempting to lead you astray.

“Why should I, the princess, want to escape with you?” you scoffed defensively and he backed out, leaning to the opposite side of the carriage so swiftly as if he had been burned.

And then he pursed his lips again; but his gaze turned serious, no traces of the previous jests.

“’Cause I can keep ya’ safe and you’ll escape the possibility of dying at your future husband’s hand. Word’s goin’ ‘round… ‘dat he beat his first wife to death. Cheats and kills. Scumbag of a man, really-“

You chuckled bitterly, eyeing him from head to toe sceptically to put out the fire of fear lit inside your belly. He spoke the truth – these were the tales spread about the King all over the Seven Kingdoms and try as you might, you could not pretend to be that brave. Yet, you could not allow yourself a moment of weakness and display such – you were a future queen.

“And I should believe that you are any better? You’re a thi-“

“-thief, yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget ‘bout ‘dat, doll,” he interrupted rudely; nonetheless, a true concern casted shadows over his eyes, forming a worried crease between his brows. “But when I heard ‘bout the marriage… with him, I had to come runnin’ for ya’. I can’t stand the thought of ya’ getting’ hurt or worse.”

A sudden lump grew in your throat as you found yourself taken aback by his care – and moved. He was no one but a stranger and yet, not even your father had expressed such concern for your well-being when you had been leaving the castle with an enormous chest in the back of the carriage, hiding your multiple possessions.

Tears burned in your eyes and you fought to keep them at bay and find your voice, charming a gentle smile for the handsome thief who seemed to steal another piece of your heart by the minute.

“A sweet sentiment that might be, however unacceptable.”

He leaned forward again, gently taking a hold of your hands, engulfing them in his calloused and yet soft ones entirely. A unvoluntary pleasant shiver ran up your spine at the intimate gesture.

“Why?” he questioned quietly, gaze hopeful and shining with honesty, perhaps with a drop of mischief. “Ya’ like me too, I can tell.”

Laughter erupted from your throat and you had to quickly slip one hand from his to muffle the unexpected sound. Tears sprung from your eyes at last, a blend of humour and grief.

“You must be the cheekiest man I have ever met!” you whispered, shaking your head.

He truly was. He was also one of the kindest and most handsome ones – and the only one your heart ever beat for.

“Thanks, doll. But really… come with me,” he pleaded with urgency you would not have expected, let alone from a man you had barely spent few moments with. “Should I get on my knees and beg? I’ll beg-“

He released your hand and went to fall on his knees indeed, not wary at all of the limited space of the carriage.

On instinct, you swiftly grabbed his arm in hopes to keep him in place with a panicked ‘no!’ on your lips.

You shook your head again, this time soberly, when he tenderly manipulated your hand on him to bring it to his lips, gracing the back of it with a brief kiss.

It was an difficult task to attempt to resist his charm, one worth of a future queen, nearly impossible – you could have swoon right at the moment, no doubt ending up in his protective arms should you lose your balance.

Nevertheless, you must have remained rational about this.

“I cannot escape. Even if we could manage such daring thing, we would never be safe. We would have only prolonged the inevitable and the punishment-” your breath hitched as you were staring into the gentle orbits of his, still watching you intently, ”-punishment for you and for my insolence would be great.”

The corners of his lips raised in a minute smile as if you weren’t talking about the inevitable deaths that awaited you both should you take him upon his suggestion.  

“Ya’ worried ‘bout me, doll?”

You supposed he took notice of your exasperated look, however he chose to ignore it and smiled wider, causing you to chuckle through your tears.

He surely was insane— and yet, here you were, nodding minutely, confirming your concern for him for you wished that his smile lightened the carriage further… and that it did.

“Don’t. I have a safe place to come back to, always.”

You felt your eyebrow jump in surprise, genuinely taken a back. Was he pulling your leg now?

“Oh, do you, Winter?”

He frowned and nuzzled the back of your hand.

“It’s Bucky,” he mumbled.

For all your astonishment on learning his true name, you still couldn’t resist caressing his face; his whiskers felt softer than you had expected and you hadn’t anticipated his eyes to flutter shut, a sound resembling a purr vibrating in his chest.

“Suits you better,” you smiled sadly, still in battle which you were slowly losing as Bucky seemed to be prepared to convince you no matter the cost. His kindness and faith had your heart swell in your chest, however—you couldn’t. Could you? No. No the risks were too high and you had a duty to fulfil. “I wish you a long good life, Bucky.”

“Ya’ could live it with me. Please? I promise, I- uhm, King Steven of Brooklin owes me a favour.”

“King Steven of Brooklin?” you repeated, turning entirely sceptical. Now he truly was only spinning a tale. “You certainly are funny.”

“Mock me all ya’ want, Jewel mine,” he shrugged and kissed your palm for a good measure, as if he hadn’t had your heart stuttering constantly already. “But he does. I was able to help his beloved escape from the clutches of HYDRA.”

“Wh-is-- is that so?”

You had heard rumours – of a mysterious man aiding the future queen of Brooklin, of a spy within the HYDRA castle’s wall perhaps – nonetheless, not even in your wildest dreams you would dare to imagine Bucky was the fabled one.  

“Yeah. I saw a miserable to-be queen Margaret and helped her run,” Winter—Bucky shrugged nonchalantly again, dismissing the heroic act. “We met the king in the near woods, he was gettin’ all ‘let’s cut off some heads’ to free her. It was kinda funny actually, when he found out who I was.”

It sounded like he spoke the true… however, you couldn’t seem to shush the suspicious voice in your head, challenging you to ask further questions.

“…what could have you been doing at such place to begin with?”

Cocky. His smile and the raise to his brows only could be described as cocky.

“Ya’ keep sayin’ ‘dat I’m a thief, so…. Ya’ tell me.”

Of course. Of course, naturally. He had snuck in to steal.

Your lips pressed into a thin line upon that realization – nevertheless, you couldn’t force yourself to be mad at him for his nature. After all, it appeared that there was much more to learn about him and it couldn’t all be bad if what he had revealed so far was anything to go by. And who were you to judge, yourself born into privilege?

If anything, he clearly could have been responsible for a woman being alive – and you had never heard about a heist that would end with a single man dead whenever the gossipers whispered about Winter and his visits to the royal treasuries.

And yet, doubts were still playing with your head, rightfully so.

“And I should simply trust you that King Steven, a man famed for his good heart and ultimate belief in justice, approves of your choice of livelihood?” you couldn’t but ask.

“He tolerates it. He knows I steal from the richest and some of it goes to the poorest.”

…oh.

“It… it does?” you stuttered, almost embarrassed at your loss of composure.

Bucky, the infamous thief was doing an excellent work again, claiming your heart altogether. You had simply believed that he was an outlaw, a thug, a thief, a molester maybe—but how could you hope to resist his charms upon learning this?

He had been helping the poor? Such action surely was more than you had ever done… perhaps he was a better person that you could ever-

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a grin, cocking his head to side, visibly content that he impressed you. For once, you couldn’t argue with him for you truly were enamoured with his kindness. “But from now on, I can only take for you. For us. To give ya’ all stuff ya’ deserve, Jewel. Just say the word. Come with me.”

The silence sounded deafening to your ears and Bucky appeared to feel the need to fill it with grasping your hands gently, once again gracing them with reverential kisses. The affection chased more tears into your eyes as you tried to breathe through them and not let them escape anymore… failing.

Yes, the silence was deafening, felt suffocating and heavy on your chest, but you could feel like you were able to breathe again when a calloused fingertip wiped at your tears with tenderness.

You wondered… could he hear the last of your resolve not to be selfish crumble to the ground?

“Do you…” you whispered, voice unladylike hoarse due to the lump in your throat, “…do you truly believe that we would find refuge in Brooklin?”

The proclaimed topazes of his eyes glimmered with their silver lining, ruby lips you had fallen in love with spreading in a genuine wide smile as he nodded, delighted.

“Yeah. I do. Do ya’ trust me?”

“Gods help me, I do…” you sighed, giddiness battling with nerves as you smiled back at him. “Very well, Bucky, Winter the thief. Let’s run away to Brooklin.”

And for all you had thought his face was precious as all the jewels and gemstones of your kingdom, it was the smile he graced you with upon your yes, shining with the power of a thousand suns, that you found worth the world’s greatest fortune.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

B.B. masterlist (…yes, it’s that short)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Ugh. Not as cheeky as the previous one, but hopefully the sweetness made up for it :-* 

Thank you for reading and special thanks to you, who encouraged me to write this sequel ♥ I’m glad I did ;)

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Chapter 3: It’s (not) fine

This was supposed to be a simple hook-up. Harmless entertainment for a couple of days on board the Razor Crest.

This is complicated.

Summary: This is a story about trust and kindness, loneliness and loss, belief and transgression. And two people crossing paths just long enough to find each other.

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Read on AO3

Relationships and characters: Din/female reader (both similar age to Din in canon), Grogu, and a cameo from Peli.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Tags and warnings: Moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Ending is bittersweet.

Hyperspace is boring.

You should have run out to a shop on Tatooine to pick up a datapad or something. A puzzle. Hell, maybe some craft supplies. At least you’d have something to do. 

But then, you think ruefully, you'd been planning on doing him. Who could blame you if you'd been a little distracted.

You've already changed into clean clothes, after a quick few minutes in the cramped space that holds the sonic shower. Those things always leave your hair feeling dry and crackly with static. But, how extravagant to be able to shower at all.

The acid burn on your shoulder is still a little tender. When you touch it, you can feel it starting to scab over and your fingers come away dry, so you don’t bother trying to hunt up another bandage. You can always ask him later if you find you need one.

You check the rest of your clothes to make sure the blood and dirt stains have come out, then fold everything and tuck it all back in your pack. You toss the last few dirty items into the machine and start a new cleaning cycle.

Then you stand there, all by yourself down there in the hold, and spend the next two minutes watching the laundry timer count down. 

This is stupid. There's got to be a better use of your time. You can't go back up to the cockpit, that would defeat the purpose of having left. You'll give him whatever space he needs, for now. 

You’d love a closer look at that armory, but you know better than to mess with the man’s weapons. He did ask you to lock the safety on your rifle--for the sake of the child--but otherwise he’s left it alone. You’ll do him the same courtesy. 

Some of the other cabinets probably hide clothing, maybe other personal stuff. What else would a man like this own? Is there a library of data chips somewhere? Toys for the child?

Pictures of friends? 

There’s an open niche in the wall, on the opposite side from the armory, that you’re pretty sure  is a compact carbon freezing unit. 

Supposedly people aren't conscious inside those copper-colored slabs, but--you imagine being stuck in whatever pose you were in when the carbon jets hit you, for however long someone decided to leave you there. 

It makes you shudder. 

Further back toward the cargo door, duraplast cartons are lined up along the walls, secured with cords and netting. The floor in the middle is empty. 

Well, here’s something you can do. Your muscles are feeling stiff and a little achy, the aftereffects of fighting combined with the three-day trek. There’s enough room back here to do some stretches.  Maybe some bodyweight exercises, too. A couple days of rest wouldn’t do you in, but keeping fit is what keeps you alive. It's a good habit to maintain. 

You start by reaching both arms up above your head, trying to get some movement in your upper back, but your hands are flat on the low ceiling before your arms are even straight. Instead, you move on to a couple stretches with each elbow bent above your head, the other hand pressing down. The healing skin over your shoulder blade pulls a bit, but it doesn’t hurt too much. Probably good to stretch the skin there, too, try to keep the burn from contracting into too tough a scar. 

“Will we bother you if we’re down here?” His voice makes you jump. You didn’t hear him come down the ladder but there he is, the child at his feet. 

His tone is neutral and that shine is gone from his eyes. Whatever was going on earlier, it seems to have passed. You're not sure if asking right now would be welcome. 

The child’s watching you with interest. The pose you were in probably did look funny. But, you remind yourself, it's also perfectly normal. You can't do the work you do--or the work you're pretty sure he does--without maintenance.

"It's your ship," you say. "Will it bother you if I keep going?"

“We can stay busy up front for a while.” 

As you work your way through sit-ups, push-ups, lunges, and squats, you can hear the soft murmur of his voice. It sounds like he might be reading the child a story, but it’s not in a language you recognize. Once you hear, “No, we’re not playing that right now. It’ll be our turn soon.” 

You find yourself wrapping up your routine a little early, interested in what game the child might have in mind. You duck back past that carbon freezing nook and find the man seated at a little fold-down table, the child in his lap. They’re looking at a data pad together. 

“Having lessons?” you ask. 

“Just looking at pictures.”

“What language were you speaking?”

His head turns toward you like he's about to answer but then he pauses, lips parted but face blank. Then he sits up a little straighter, upper body going stiff even as one hand's still holding the datapad for the child. “Mando’a,” he says. “We don’t usually speak it in front of outsiders.” 

“I never heard you, then.”

“No, I’ve already--” he looks down at himself, at the shirt and trousers, so different from the armor. “It’s all right.”

You have a very uncomfortable suspicion that it isn’t. 

You think again of asking but he’s already getting to his feet, child held in one arm, and he’s setting the datapad back behind a cupboard door. 

"Trade places?" he asks. 

So you were right, he's got his own workout to keep up with. "Do you want me to watch the little one?"

"No, thank you," he says. "We have our routine worked out together."

This you've got to see. "Can I keep you company?"

When he doesn’t answer right away, you figure he's going to say no. That's all right, you felt a little awkward at the thought of him and the child watching you, and you're used to having your face and body out in the open. You’ll ask to borrow the datapad or something, keep yourself distracted. And maybe afterward, you'll find out what was going on with him this morning--and get back to what he seemed to want when he asked you to stay. 

The child is smiling up at him and waving little hands your way. 

The man uses his free hand to fold the table up against the wall and stow the chair flat beneath it. A quick tilt of his head looks like, Fine, come along.

So you do.

You perch atop one of the stacks of boxes while he warms up. He’s got some of the same stretches you use, and some you haven’t seen before. The best part though is watching the child. When the man shifts into a lunge, one arm stretched forward and the other behind, he’s got a miniature mirror at his side. The child’s balance is wobbly but his little mouth is set. 

When they switch to pushups, the child climbs up to sit between his shoulder blades and you’re a little worried you’re going to die right there, watching the two of them together. You can usually make it to about 25 reps before your arms give out. He’s somewhere around 40, the child holding on to the neck of his sweatshirt and giggling, before he gives up on the last one and lets his chest hit the floor. The child pats his hair as you hear a mumbled “dank farrik” from down there against the durasteel. 

“You ok?”

He rolls over, moving slowly enough that the child can clamber down from his back. “I must have pulled something in my shoulder. Hasn’t been right since we got back.”

Up until now he’s done every movement perfectly, hitting each pose with more precision than you could manage even on your best day. “It’s been hurting all this time?”

He bends one knee and sits up, leaving the other leg stretched out. “It’ll heal.”

“Can I help?”

He’s giving you a strange look, eyebrows raised. You’re not sure why. “Help how?”

“Maybe I can help you work some of the knots out of the muscles. If you didn’t do real damage, I mean.”

Whatever he was thinking, your answer must have cleared it up, because his face settles into a more neutral expression. “Sure.”

The child has wandered a little bit away in the meantime, and when you look over he’s playing quietly with the netting that holds the crates in place. The openings are just the right size for his hands and feet, and he’s using the net like a ladder to climb about. You’re not so sure about how high up he’s getting. The crates are stacked only a few feet tall, but that’s already two or three times his height.

The man seems fine with it.

He’s not your kid, you remind yourself. “All right. Let’s see what we can do.”

It’s been a long time since you’ve had someone to do stretches with. Same for him, he tells you. Learning to fight meant injuries, and as a teenager he’d learned to take care of others’ hurts as well as his own. That was, he says, a long time ago. 

When you learned to do partner work, it was about making bodies feel good. That was a different time, in a different world. Back when you had a home to go to.

He still remembers the movements, and it comes right back to you, too. Except, it turns out he’s terrible at it. 

“You’ve got to let your arm go,” you tell him for the third time. You’re kneeling beside him and trying to help him roll that shoulder, one hand over the joint and the other supporting his upper arm. At first his muscles were so stiff under your hands that nothing moved at all. Now he’s getting ahead of you, anticipating the movements instead of relaxing into them. 

“This isn’t going to work,” he says. 

“Not if you keep fighting it, it’s not.”

“It’s not going to work.” You’re startled how quickly his tone’s turned angry and how roughly he pulls away. 

“Hey,” you say, dropping your hands. “I’m trying to help.”

“It’s fine.”

Things are clearly not fine. “What’s going on here?”

You’re not at all expecting what he snaps back at you. “I can’t take care of another being.”

Oh now, that is not fair. You're not looking for handouts. He <i>asked</i> you to stay. “Fuck you.” The words are out of your mouth before you can catch up to them. “I take care of myself.”

He looks a little shocked. You’re not sure if it’s because of his own words, or yours.

“We already said no strings. You’re not the only one who means what they say.”

He sighs, and just as fast as it appeared, the anger's gone from his tone. “What we started last night. Don’t people get attached?”

“I wasn’t planning to.” You can hear how cold your own voice still sounds. 

His gaze strays toward the child, who’s now perched halfway up a stack of boxes, hands and feet curled in the netting, big eyes watching the two of you. The wrinkles in the little forehead have deepened. 

You try to soften your tone. A child deserves to hear gentleness. You point between this man and yourself, and it’s a choppier movement than you intend. "What do you think this is?”

He gets to his feet and goes over to pick the child up, carefully separating the little claws from the netting. He rubs the little one’s back briefly before settling him in his arms. He always holds the child facing out, so he can look at the world. You wonder if that’s because he’s not used to holding babies, or if he’s projecting. You doubt he'd ever choose to sit with his back to a door. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

Your defensiveness drains away as you realize, looking up at him, he really doesn’t. What have I gotten myself into? You know what you want, and it’s standing in front of you wearing way too much clothing. Those curls tumbling, just a little too long, over his forehead are killing you. 

But your brain is finally catching up. The casual tumble you had in mind, the chance to blow off some steam with a friend? That’s not going to happen. Not with this man, not with whatever is happening for him here. 

“I don’t know either,” you admit, surprised to hear yourself say it. 

“I can’t make you any promises,” he says.

“I never expected you to.”

His hands, so carefully holding the child, have blue and purple bruises on the knuckles. Yours look like that too, skin over the knuckles still swollen, bruises tending toward dark purple against your darker skin. 

You’ve seen what his hands can do. There was a moment, back there in the jungle, when the child was already in your arms. The kidnapper you’d snatched him from was lying in the dirt, fingers clawing at metal gauntlets as gloved hands closed around his throat. 

This man standing in front of you now, looking soft and serious and no longer angry: he was kneeling astride the kidnapper’s chest. When the body under him went limp, he shifted his weight, moved one hand to the top of the kidnapper’s head and the other below it to his chin, and gave a single sharp twist. 

If this man ever has to make a choice, you have no illusions about who he will put first. 

He paid you for three days of your time, and that time is long since over. You owe each other nothing. You get to your feet, too, so it feels more like equals. “Can we agree on one thing for now?”

He waits. The child watches you placidly.

“Until we get to Pavotha. And as long as we're safe on this ship," you add, because things can change, and you want him to know that you know. "Until then, can we trust each other?”

You’re expecting him to put a condition on it. As long as you promise to leave when we get there.

He reaches out with the hand that’s not holding the child, and waits for you to grasp it. 

You reach back across the space between you and rest your hand in his. 

By the time he finishes his workout, it’s well into mid-day and the three of you gather at the little fold-out table for a meal. You've each had a quick few minutes with the sonic shower, trading places in the cockpit again so you could each get into fresh clothes. The air smells of ozone as the laundry machine runs another cycle.

There are chairs for the adults. The child sits right on the table, choosing the bits he wants from a ration pack. 

“Have you been to Pavotha before?” you ask. Whatever’s between you still feels fragile. Best stick to neutral topics for now.

“A few times.” He turns to speak to the child. “You can eat those first, but you better finish the rest. You’re not getting mine.” The child burbles indignantly back at him. “Complain all you want,” he says. “I spoil you enough.” It’s the most indulgent-sounding scolding you’ve ever heard. But the child gives a sigh--sounding for all the world like his father--and starts eating the rest of what’s in his tray. 

“Rumor says there are Mandalorians there. I’m hoping they’ll know more than I do, about how to find the child’s people.”

Rumor says? “Can’t you just send them a message?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But they’ll help you if you find them?”

“Yes, we--” he stops, and for a fleeting moment his expression is one of unguarded panic. He rests his forehead in one hand for a moment, then swipes his palm down his uncovered face. “Gods, I’m-- I haven’t even thought that far. I’ve been so tired.” 

The child is still munching contentedly on his rations. He stops long enough to offer a piece of flatbread to the man, who regards him seriously. “No, thank you. You’ll be hungry later if you don’t eat that yourself. No,” he goes on, almost to himself. “He’s a foundling. They’ll help.” 

So much for sticking to neutral topics. You’d thought you understood what happened last night, but it’s increasingly clear you have no idea. “What haven’t you told me?”

“What do you know about Mandalorians?”

Not a lot, truly. You know that if you see someone decked out in that armor, it’s wise to get out of the way. You knew when he offered you a job, there was a strong chance he’d be good for the money. You know you don’t see Mandalorians often, but you never thought much about why. 

The child goes on eating, pausing now and then to drink from a little cup that’s just the right size for his hands. As the man keeps talking, though, the child scoots over closer, until he’s nestled up against one forearm. He leans in, chewing on a strip of dried meat while both of you listen. 

Your own food sits forgotten.

He told you already how the tradition of wearing Mandalorian armor goes back hundreds of years. You already know that when he let you help him remove his helmet, his armor, he was choosing to set aside a promise he’d once made. You saw for yourself, last night, how raw he’d been feeling before you even met him, and you saw how quickly, given the chance, that had turned into shuddering tears. 

You hadn’t known, because he hadn’t told you: How his people are scattered. Hunted. That the armor isn’t just a symbol, it’s their survival. That what’s left of Mandalore is a fragile chain, stretched across the galaxy. 

And now one more link is broken. 

This wasn’t your doing. You know that. You don’t need to fix it. 

You can’t fix it. It’s not about you. 

You get up anyway, step around the tiny table to his side. “Are you going to let me hug you?”

He’s still looking straight ahead, at the place where you were sitting. He doesn’t look at you, but he nods. 

It’s completely awkward, you leaning down to get your arms around him, the child now trying to snuggle closer, and him still sitting straight and stiff. Finally you can feel him start to let go. His chest rises and falls with a deep, measured breath. His head and shoulders lean into you, muscles finally going soft. 

A moment later he mumbles something against your shirt. 

“What was that?”

He lifts his head, looks down at the child. “Naptime. I need to go settle him down, or he’s going to be a terror all afternoon.”