#today was a whale day what can i say!

[sweetsuenos]

Secrets of the Whales (2021) Episode 2: Humpback Songs

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FATHERLY COMPETITION — GETO SUGURU.

contents. non curse au, girl dad! suguru ft the twins, fem! + mother! reader, satoru is megumi’s father <3, silly lil family shenanigans and suguru having a one sided rivalry w satoru bc he’s a bum like that

suguru loves being a father—it’s just as they say it is. one day, you’re free and young and opposed to the idea of being tied down, and then the next second you’re cradling two newborns that make you want to dig to the earth’s core with your bare hands, all for the tiny humans in front of you.

he loves his two girls—they make the world go around and the stars come out and they make something as bright as the sun look dull and lifeless compared to those sweet smiles. but sometimes, he’d really appreciate being able to sleep in on a saturday morning.

“daddy, wake up,” there’s a poke to his cheek. mimiko is at least gentle with her disruptions—nanako has simply taken to jumping on the mattress by his feet.

“daddy, you promised,” nanako whines—it’s makes you stir with a soft groan, eyes opening to peer up at the two (very cute) troublemakers in your bed.

“what’d you promise this time, suguru?” you raise a brow, making him sigh as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“said i’d take them to the zoo,” he grunts, “but it’s not open for—” he looks at the time on his phone. seven thirty two am. “for another two and a half hours.”

“girls,” you start, “we have to wait a bit. why don’t you go back to bed—”

“we can stay here, mommy!” nanako brightens, squeezing between you and suguru to wrap her arms around your neck.

it’s cute, you suppose. it’s always endearing to be snuggled up by one of your little girls, but something tells you that you won’t be sleeping again any time soon. so you sigh, turning towards suguru and wrapping nanako in your arms as suguru does the same with mimiko and gives you an amused grin.

“i think we spoil them,” he murmurs, making you scoff.

“you spoil them. i’m the voice of reason in this household.”

“so now it’s a crime to give your kids fun family experiences that not everyone is fortunate enough to have—”

“you know what the not so generous parents out there probably have more than us? sleep.”

“that’s probably true,” he mutters, yawning before he presses a gentle kiss to mimiko’s forehead. “but at least we’re the world’s coolest parents. right girls?”

“megumi is going to the beach today,” nanako says as a matter of factly, “his dad is super cool.”

“and funny,” mimiko adds.

suguru’s face sours at that—you try your best not to giggle.

“oh so now satoru is cooler than me? he shouldn’t even be trusted near the ocean with children, they’ll drown—”

“satoru is careful,” you chuckle, “well….most of the time.”

“okay,” suguru raises a brow, looking expectantly at nanako, “but has satoru ever taken megumi ice skating? bet he hasn’t done that—”

“yeah they did,” nanako says instantly, “that’s why we asked to go.”

“well have they gone to the zoo?” he asks petulantly. she nods, and his lips curl into a pout.

suguru looks positively fumed at the idea that his best friend seems to be cooler in the eyes of his own children. you can practically watch the gears work in his head before he looks smugly over at the blonde girl curled up against your chest.

“okay, but have they ever been to a petting zoo?” he raises a brow, “there’s a difference.”

the two girls exchange a look before slowly, the excitement creeps up on their faces as they look at him in disbelief. suguru looks hopelessly smug with himself.

“you mean we can pet the animals?” nanako asks in wonder.

“yup,” suguru nods, grinning widely. you snort at his petty one sided competition.

“can i pet a giraffe?” mimiko asks, poking his arm as he nods excitedly.

“yeah, and you can feed it too.”

they squeal at that—and if suguru throws you a look of pure victory on his face, you decide not to ruin his moment just yet. because you already know it won’t last long until—

“what about whales? can we pet those too?”

“and a shark?”

“i wanna pet a tiger!”

“well, i don’t think those are really the safest options for a petting—”

“daddy, you’re so cool,” they gasp. suguru gives you a look that screams for help, but you only giggle, pecking nanako on the forehead as you send a sly wink to your husband.

“you are so cool,” you agree, “i can’t wait to see the tigers we can pet.”

he looks at you with betrayal in his eyes as the pout returns on his lips. “i trusted you,” he huffs.

“that was your fault,” you grin cheekily. it’s all a bit funny at his expense—but you also can’t help but be endeared at the way suguru does his best. for your girls. for you. for your sweet little family. so you take mercy on him, turning to your daughters as you murmur, “i think you’re a bit too young for those animals right now. let’s start small, yeah?”

they nod along, and you and suguru share an amused look. and then—

“make sure you guys tell megumi all about your trip next time you see him, okay?”

suguru be bragging to satoru like “my kids went to the petting zoo” and satoru’s clueless ass is like “oh !! that’s so nice !! i’m taking my kids to disney !!”

[daycourtofficial]

Capture the Mate

Summary: Azriel has to leave on a mission for a few days, but he asks Cassian to help look after his pregnant mate while he’s gone. Someone ambushes you and Cassian, taking you as prisoner.

Author’s note: this was requested by this lovely anon!!

“You look massive today.”

You snort at Cassian as you walked in, your giant belly making sitting down a bit difficult.

“And you look extra stupid today,” you retort, “guess we’re both glowing.”

Cassian laughs, going back to his cereal. You were in the last few months of your pregnancy and you were ready to meet your baby. You loved being pregnant, you loved how hot sex with your mate was because of it, you loved cradling your bump and the way your mates hands always find your bump.

But you didn’t love Cassian’s comments comparing you to a whale, the back pain, the inability to get comfortable, and your mate’s overprotectiveness being dialed up by a factor of a thousand.

Azriel was going on fewer missions these days due to your pregnancy, opting to delegate most of them to his most trusted spies. There are occasionally some missions he has to do himself, not happy about leaving you, practically throwing temper tantrums in the lead up to being gone. When he comes home it’s as if he’s been off at war for decades, checking every inch of you, asking you about every detail of your time in his absence (even down to what you ate exactly - he thinks you don’t eat enough vegetables in his absence).

This is the fifth mission during your pregnancy he’s gone on, and each time he can’t bear to leave you without someone who can protect you. Whenever Azriel has to go, he ensures one of his brothers or Feyre will be present with you at all times. Whenever he’s gone, you just stay in your old room at the House of Wind or at Feyre and Rhys’s new house.

At first it sounded a bit like needing a babysitter, but now it’s more like just staying at someone’s house for a sleepover. Feyre and Nesta always tried to help you have fun, spending the days you’re with them doing the things you love. Cassian loves you being there because he likes to have eating competitions with you, and Rhys likes it because he spoils you rotten.

Before Azriel left, he spent probably an hour saying goodbye to you and the babe. He’d kiss you, then move down to talk to the babe. “Stay in there until I return,” he’ll whisper. “Be nice to your mom while I’m gone, okay? Let her sleep, I won’t be here to rub her back when you kick her in the kidneys.”

This time he actually tears up a bit at leaving the two of you. He looks at you, grabbing your face in his hands, “I shouldn’t be too long, sweetheart. Be safe, I love you.”

-

“Any plans for the day, Cass?”

“Mmm not really, I already had training, so my day is free to be spent with you, my favorite sister.”

You smile. “You say that to both me and Feyre,” you reply, rolling your eyes fondly.

Cassian lifts his spoon to finish off the last of his cereal. “It changes day by day - today you’re the favorite.”

-

You had asked Cassian if you two could go back to your home with Azriel, you had some chores to do and you also wanted to work on setting up the nursery.

Looking around the nursery you take in what needs to be done. A month out from the baby’s arrival and your mate still hasn’t set up the crib. But if you set it up without him he’d give you a big lecture about how he was going to do it and how you could get yourself hurt doing it, so you’ll just leave it be.

You have a dresser set up and a wardrobe that practically rivals your own, so you decide to spend the day folding and putting away baby clothes.

Cassian graciously offered to clean the dishes that were in the sink, along with sweeping and mopping your downstairs floors.

After telling him he didn’t have to do that, he responded, “well I don’t want dirty floors for Cassian Jr. here when he starts crawling, and I don’t want you mopping because if you slip you might hurt Cassian Jr.” He finished his statement by reaching out to rub your belly.

You rolled your eyes at him, as he smiles at your belly. “Cassian, aren’t Jr’s supposed to be named after their father or mother? Last I checked, this wasn’t your baby.”

He strokes his thumb over your bump, hoping to feel a kick from within, “we could convince Az it’s mine. I think it’d be hilarious.”

You snort, “he’d kill you in a heartbeat.”

Cassian sighs, “I suppose. Maybe the next one can be Cassian Jr.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he tries to look at you suggestively.

You fling your arms, bringing on of your hands to your forehead dramatically, “Oh Cassian your powers of seduction are too strong, I’m irresistibly drawn to you! I must flee, to keep myself from pouncing on you.”

Laughter from the both of you echoing through the house as you attempt to scuttle away but it becomes more of a waddle as you climb the stairs to your nursery.

-

An hour or two had passed and you made a remarkable dent in the amount of clothing your baby had. The vast amount of clothes are mostly Rhys’s fault, no one alive loves buying clothes more than that male, but your mate was also quite fond of picking up clothes on the rare occasions he left your side.

He loved watching how happy you got, realizing just how much he was thinking of you and the babe while gone.

You decide to go check on Cassian, not having heard much of anything from downstairs since you’ve been in the nursery. You waddle down the stairs, holding the railing for support. You get to the last step, and you see Cassian in your living room, face down, wings splayed out, blood gushing from his head onto your rug.

You yell for him as you run to him, sitting next to him, checking for a pulse. He’s still alive, but he has a considerable amount of blood.

You press on his head wound, trying to cradle his head in your lap to apply pressure to the wound. He’s starting to wake a little, you can feel his hands squeezing on your thighs.

A hand wraps around your neck from behind, and a cool metal graces the skin of your neck.

“Here’s the pretty little thing we were looking for.”

-

When Cassian came to, his head was pounding. He sat up on the floor of your living room, trying to assess the situation. He was mopping the floor of your kitchen when something struck the back of his head.

He never got a good look at the assailant, the blow leaving him stuck on the floor. He was, however, able to crawl into your living room in an effort to reach you.

You.

You had cradled his head, you had come down here.

Cassian bolts up, causing him to go a little dizzy from the blood loss. He gets up, darting up your stairs.

“Sunshine? Are you here?”

He ran into the nursery, checking all the spots you could be hiding in there - the wardrobe, the closet, amongst the bags and boxes littering the floor.

His panic was starting to rise. “Sunshine, are you here? It’s me, Cassian.” The desperation was leaking through his voice, “please be here, it’s okay to come out.”

He combed through your shared bedroom with Azriel, checked every bathroom, Azriel’s study, your spare room, your library, the kitchen.

He combed through his memories, knowing Azriel kept hidden nooks everywhere. When the two of you moved in together, he remembered Azriel made several small pockets in this house so you could hide if anything were to happen.

You came to training, but you were no warrior. You couldn’t hurt anyone, and Azriel knew you’d have a hard time attacking anyone. He knew that Azriel drilled into you if anything were to happen to hide immediately.

The library.

It’s Cassian’s last hope. Of course Azriel had stuck a hidden panic room in the library. Cassian bound into the room, trying to remember what book it was that opened the secret entrance.

Combing the spines, he’s trying to remember. It was green, something that stands out a little, but not too much. Something someone who knew Azriel would know that this is off.

A book of Prythian maps. Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had all of Prythian memorized, there was no need for it.

He slides the book from its spot, watching the case move, exposing the empty tiny room.

-

Cassian wasted no time jumping off your balcony, flying like a bat of hell to Rhys and Feyre’s house, screaming mentally, hoping Rhys would pick up on it.

He lands on their balcony, bursting into Rhys’s study, interrupting the intimate moment between them. Feyre was perched on his lap, feeding him grapes, Cassian’s entrance causing her to drop the bowl, the ceramic shattering on the ground, a dozen or so grapes spilling across the floor.

“Cassian!” Feyre yells in shock. She didn’t even know anyone else could burst into Rhys’s office.

Rhys stands up, immediately knowing something was wrong. “Where is she, Cass?”

Cassian points to his head, allowing Rhys to see everything. Your rug he stared at after the blow to his head, hearing your distress, him going in and out, feeling your hands press against his wound, him waking up alone, his frantic search of your house.

Feyre gasps, having also seen all of it.

“Bring Azriel home now.”

-

Your captors had thrown a bag over your head, not allowing you to see anything as they took you away from your home, away from Cassian bleeding on your rug.

They left Cassian, probably as a message that they could take him down if they wanted, but that he wasn’t who they wanted.

Your only hope is that Cassian wakes up soon enough and alerts Rhys and Feyre about what happened, and they could get into contact with your mate.

You were filled with a mix of emotions, between fear, concern, and anger. Afraid for your life, what your captors will do to you, concern for your unborn baby, and anger for Azriel.

Azriel closes off the bond between you two during missions, a decision you both agreed to. However, the second he is available, he opens it, letting you know how he is. Your biggest hope now is just sending him how you’re feeling, hoping he’ll feel that you’re alive whenever he reopens the connection.

They had picked you up and flown you somewhere, so they’re most likely Illyrian.

They land, not nearly as gracefully as your mate or his brothers, emitting a soft ‘oof’ from your lips.

They carry you for at least ten minutes, through what you assume is decently packed area.

Are you in one of the camps?

You knew relations between Rhys and the Illyrians were bad, but would they really kidnap the spymaster’s mate?

Your thoughts are interrupted when you realize they’ve brought you into a building and have set you down in a chair, shackling you to it.

You haven’t spoken a word, barely eliciting a sound, just like your mate would do. You’re not sure if it’s what you should do, but the thought of what he would do holds you together.

You have to be strong, for yourself, for Azriel, for the baby.

They pull the bag off your head, your pupils dilating due to the sudden change in light. Four Illyrian warriors stood before you, 11 siphons glowing throughout the room.

“Hello, beautiful.”

The one who had been carrying you and taken you from your home approached you, caressing your face. You kept a stoic, neutral expression, not letting anything slip.

Just like Azriel would.

Your only response is the eye contact you refuse to break with him.

“That piece of shit struck gold when the cauldron bonded you to him,” practically spitting out the last word.

“Your little shadowsinger won’t stop snooping around our camps, won’t stop telling his precious little high lord everything he sees. They’ve been meddling in the way we deal with our women, the way we govern ourselves. We thought it was time to uh explain to them why they should just stay in their precious little city and leave us alone.”

-

The second the words left Cassian’s lips, Rhys was trying to reach Azriel telepathically. Within seconds of Cassian’s words, darkness was clouding the room, creating an impenetrable black, the only light shining being several blue siphons glowing with rage.

Cassian recounted the whole thing to the darkness, knowing his brother was somewhere in there. Once he got to the part of the story where you were gone, the room exploded even further, making Azriel’s siphons impossible to see now.

A few shadows whiz by Cassian, he’s assuming to double check you aren’t in their home. The rage Azriel feels is coming off in waves, when he remembers the bond is still closed.

He closes his eyes, sending a silent prayer to the mother. Please, please, please.

The bond opens, your warmth filling his chest. He can feel the initial fear you felt at being taken, but he can also feel your constant reassurance that you and the baby are okay.

Azriel feels his eyes prickle with tears as he chokes out, “they’re alive.” His brothers reach out to hug him or soothe him, but he steps back, his male instincts kicking in.

“I can feel it,” he says, holding a hand up, “the protectiveness is ramping up. I want to kill any male in sight.”

Rhys and Cassian start protesting, telling Azriel they want to come with him, but he stops them again.

“Give me a five minute head start. Then I’ll give you my location.”

-

Your silence was an interesting strategy, one your captors did not like one bit, their irritation with you growing by the minute.

“Maybe we should rough her up then drop her back on their door step. Pretty loud and clear message, don’t you think?” He circles around your chair, sizing you up like prey.

“We could show her how women are supposed to be treated by us,” one in the corner shouts.

The one circling you spits at your feet before he says, “those half-breed bastards have gone soft, they forget what it means to be Illyrian.”

In a flash he steps forward, his hand slapping you across the face.

-

Azriel used the bond to find you. He kept tugging, the bond offering him a direction to go. He kept winnowing into the direction of the tug, when he began realizing where the bond was likely taking him. He growled with anger, unable to believe they could be so stupid as to take his mate.

He disappeared into his shadows, sending a few to find out exactly where you were. Once they returned, sans the two that wanted to stay with you, they whisked him away to the room you were being kept in.

The big one who had struck you earlier was mid-strike when the shadowsinger materialized out of the shadows in front of you, his hand catching the brute’s wrist.

“Lay another hand on my mate and your hands will become trophies I hang on the wall.”

You can feel his shadows enveloping you in a soothing wave, checking you head to toe for injuries, but only finding the stinging cheek and the pain from the shackles.

The twirl through your hair, eventually skating over your swollen belly, where they settle and stay.

Your mate’s shadows were very attentive of the baby in your belly, as if your unborn babe were calling to them, too. They reacted to everything the babe did, every kick, every movement, as if telling your babe, “we are here, little master.”

The anger radiating off of Azriel was palpable, but his demeanor was terrifying. A feralness to him you’ve never seen before.

“Whose idea was this?”

Nobody in the room speaks, the assailants just gaping at your mate.

“Speak.”

One of them points to the leader, the one whose wrist was still in Azriel’s hand.

Azriel looks into the male’s eyes, piercing through his soul, as he flicks his arm, breaking the male’s arm.

He screams, shocked at the swiftness of the break. Azriel takes the moment of surprise to pull the first assailant’s head into his knee, bashing his head into his kneecap, throwing him on the ground.

He looks to the next closest one, tilting his head, deciding how he wants to play this. He decides to leave truth-teller sheathed at his side, opting instead to use his bare hands.

“I wanted to savor this, however I don’t want to keep my mate waiting,” he states, coming up to the next closest one and swiftly wrapping his hands around his head, twisting until a sickening crack echoes through the room.

One of them lunges for Azriel, fists raised to fight him. Azriel moves to the side, causing the running assailant to run into the wall behind the shadowsinger. Azriel grabs him by the back of his neck, pulling his arm back, and with all of his force, pushing his head into the wall. Over. And over. And over. His blood splattering the wall, an actual crack in the wall forming from where his head kept hitting it.

He releases his hold, allowing his body to fall to the floor. Azriel turns and looks at the last one, the one that had pointed to whose idea this was, as some of his shadows finally break free from you. “Now,” he says, as they begin pooling at the last captor’s feet, “I’ll deal with you later.”

The shadows at his feet begin pulling the male into the pool of darkness, assumingly to be questioned further about their failed plans.

Azriel undoes the shackles keeping you in place, hoisting you into his arms, the belly making it a bit more difficult.

The second he reopened the bond to find you, he began sending you a constant stream of love down it, trying to convey to you that he was on his way to you.

Being gathered in his arms, the bond was humming a sweet melody, a soft duet that can only be heard when you’re together.

He pulls back, grabbing your face in his hands. “I have never felt fear quite like I did when Rhys made me come back. I knew something was wrong, I was hoping that the babe had just come early.”

He puts his left hand on your belly, the babe inside kicking the exact spot his hand is in. Your mate laughs.

You look at him, seeing the fear and adrenaline in his eyes as he continues, “but when I got back and Cassian said they left him behind and took you, I thought ‘okay, if they’re gone, I have nothing left to live for.’”

“But then, I opened the bond, and I felt you, and I-“ he chokes up a bit, continuing, “I almost started crying. You were alive, and you were okay.”

He pulls your head in, kissing the top of your head several times.

“You’re both okay.”

You reached up, stroking his cheek, “we’re okay.”

He smiles, and you laugh, “I guess this means you’re never leaving my side again, huh?”

He laughs, a tear falling down his face as he does so. “Oh no, sweetheart. You thought I was overbearing before, just wait. You won’t remember what personal space was soon enough.”

You laugh, “at least tell me you aren’t upset with Cassian. He’s a sweet guard dog.”

He smiles at you, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “They ambushed him, I could never be upset with him over that. Now come on, let’s go see my brother before he gives himself a heart attack with worry over you.”

“He is quite fond of me, isn’t he?” You ask, his arm going around you, preparing to embark through the shadows to go back home.

“He told me he prayed every night that we would be mates,” he says, the shadows beginning to engulf the two of you.

“Why?” You ask, wrapping your arms around him.

Azriel looks into your eyes as he says, “he told me he never thought anyone was good enough for me until he met you.”

[astonmartinii]

hi!! i really love your blog: i usually stay silent and only like the posts but i thought today should be the day i request something!

would you be open to write a social media au with lando Norris x y/n where the reader is a marine biologist? or a surfer? or something ocean-related lmao

feel free to disregard this request if you don’t like it or don’t have time!! xx

just add water | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem reader

first fish ruined his appetite, now they steal his girlfriend?

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 103,451 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: perks of the job but back on shore i clock in to my full time job of missing lando

view all comments

user1: can we have the hair routine cause miss ma'am is in the sea every damn day and her hair is still healthier than mine

user2: REAL

landonorris: f1 is just my day job, talking about you is my passion and career

yourusername: babe even the whales in monterey bay know about you

landonorris: they better be mclaren fans

yourusername: eh i think i heard super max (whale edition) the other day

maxverstappen1: conquered all of f1 and the seven seas so real of me

landonorris: THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE SAYING THE RISING OCEAN TEMPERATURES ARE FRYING THEIR BRAINS

yourusername: babe don't joke about that :(

landonorris: sorry :(

oscarpiastri: can you please come to the next race i may put my head through a wall if i have to watch this man go through his camera roll again RETELLING me all of the stories

yourusername: didn't realise we were so annoying 🧐

oscarpiastri: don't get me wrong you guys are cute but sometimes i wanna nap after practice in peace and not hear about whale shit

landonorris: i SEE HOW IT IS

alexalbon: no oscar is right i've heard about when had a baby seal on her surfboard about seven billion times

yourusername: HEY that was cute

user3: okay but lando could talk to ME about y/n's adventures

user4: i want to hear ALL of it for real

user5: lando and y/n podcast when?

alexalbon: do not give them ideas they’re already number one and two yappers in the international waffling championship

yourusername: yapper and proud 😤

landonorris: healthy relationship communications and boundaries? no. yappers? yes!

alexalbon: has anyone ever told you guys you’re annoying?

yourusername: yes 😃

user6: they’re so annoying i love them

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,209,451 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: does this girl own a pair of trousers? real question.

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user8: i actually don't think i've ever seen a man this down bad

user9: ALL men should aspire to be this whipped

yourusername: i wish you would join the no trouser revolution, give the girlies something to look at

user10: i agree

yourusername: okay back up babe that ass is all mine

landonorris: it's okay babe you can admire your (my) ass all the time if you come home PLS

yourusername: sorry babe the ocean doesn't sleep and the whales need me

landonorris: but i need you too :(

maxverstappen1: WAH WAH I'M SICK OF YOUR FUCKING WHINING

alexalbon: THANK YOU FINALLY

landonorris: erm why am i being victimised in my own comment section

maxverstappen1: you are doing my fucking nut in mate yeha i get you miss her but kinda your fault for having a cool gf with a cool job

yourusername: omg thanks 😊

landonorris: Y/N???

yourusername: babe no offence but he's a three time world champ i'm gonna take the compliment

landonorris: i guess so :(

user10: just one normal comment section, please that is all i ask for

oscarpiastri: maybe i should get on this whole j.peg business cause my photography is doing some heavy lifting here

yourusername: i didn't take you for a stunt queen miss rookie

landonorris: where is the peace, love and positivity ?? you guys are such haters

oscarpiastri: proudly

yourusername: no cool shells for you mr piastri

oscarpiastri: I TAKE IT BACK

landonorris: you people are such flip flops

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 112,872 others

yourusername: i promise we do actually do work

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user14: why am i now considering a marine biology degree for a sick ass instagram feed

user15: and protecting the sanctity of ocean life?

user14: yeah sure throw that in there too?

landonorris: i hope you slapped the FUCK out of that stingray for steve irwin

yourusername: babe we all know violence is not the answer

landonorris: you said you'd break the knee caps of any driver that took me out?

yourusername: i do not recall this

landonorris: steve irwin is a national treasure, you should've done it for oscar

oscarpiastri: i'm sure it wasn't that exact stingray mate

landonorris: you don't know that

danielricciardo: i see you've forgotten about the other aussie you were teammates with ???

yourusername: i wouldn't have that if i were you daniel

landonorris: y/n??? you're meant to be on my side

yourusername: say sorry to larry and maybe i'll gang up on daniel with you

danielricciardo: Y/N???

landonorris: i'm sorry larry ... and daniel i guess ?

danielricciardo: if my hand weren't broken right now...

user16: okay i think lando is having y/n withdrawals

yourusername: his bitchiness is a symptom of separation anxiety

landonorris: sorry not sorry

user17: mclaren pr praying for y/n to come to a race soon

maxverstappen1: p says pretty please can she bagsy the pink shells?

yourusername: most definitely she can !! i'll even be on the look out for more

maxverstappen1: thank you y/n you're my favourite - p

yourusername: that's it i'm coming home rn

landonorris: am i a joke to you?

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,322,099 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: reunited and it feels so good oh and a double podium, pretty sweet

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user21: obsessed with how lando said that y/n is clearly his lucky charm and the "dumbass" ocean won't be getting his girlfriend back

user22: there's levels to hating and lando's level of hating on the ocean??

user23: his hatred of fish makes so much more sense right now

user24: either he hates anything to do with the ocean or y/n convinced him they deserve to live 😭

landonorris: i'll say it's number one but realistically it's two greatly helped by the fact that it tastes gross anyway

yourusername: I'M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU

landonorris: i know hhehehehehehehe

yourusername: i love you stupid

landonorris: i love you too dummy

yourusername: as much as i enjoyed this race i am ready for home time (after karaoke, you promised me karaoke with yuki)

landonorris: AHAHAHAAH TAKE THAT OCEAN Y/N COMING HOME

alexalbon: bro has beef with the ocean 😭

georgerussell63: bro had to share his gf with WATER 😭

maxverstappen1: bro is being ... torn apart here KEEP GOING LOL

oscarpiastri: no keep going cause i just want a nap before debrief and some people are being WAY TOO LOUD

carlossainz55: i think that's probably why you guys are getting away with bullying the little goblin

user25: oscar out here just confirming that lando and y/n are ... for lack of a better word up to no good?

user26: y/n didn't lie when she called him a stunt queen

landonorris: i can't hear y'all LALALALALALA

yourusername: they hate us because they ain't us

landonorris: period 💅

user27: i hate (love) them your honour

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 419,034 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: so he had the whole proposal planned out but got a bit too excited at suzuka ... if anyone asks we got engaged on a boat in the mediterranean not in his driver's room. aside from that, HOLY FUCK I AM ENGAGED TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE I LOVE YOU LANDO I CAN'T WAIT FOR FOREVER

view all comments

user30: HOLY 😭 FUCKING 😭 SHIT 😭

landonorris: can we agree on no more like three month placements pretty please?

yourusername: baby the whales need me

landonorris: i need you more FIANCE :(

yourusername: gosh you are convincing, no more retreats for more than a month

landonorris: yay !!

yourusername: you need to put up more shelves for our shells though

landonorris: on it, i love you (i'm calling my dad to do it)

yourusername: i love you too baby

danielricciardo: enchante tease on the engagement post and for free ??? love you two

yourusername: at least you have the prettiest model ever for it

landonorris: I'M BLUSHING

danielricciardo: i'll deal with this because i'm happy for you two

mclarenf1: double podium and an engagement, suzuka really delivered this year

oscarpiastri: i guess i take back my comments about being loud in the drivers room... i'm so happy for you guys you deserve it

landonorris: ahaha i knew you were a softy really pastry boy

yourusername: i always knew you loved us really oscar, you're just sassy and we respect that

landonorris: .... sure

maxverstappen1: did he propose at sea in one final power move over his arch nemesis the ocean?

yourusername: have you considered he did it at sea because i'm a marine biologist and i love it out there and he loves me?

maxverstappen1: well now i look like an asshole

landonorris: the sea 0 - 1 lando

yourusername: lando 😭

user31: well this has all been a rollercoaster

fin.

note: i've been kinda mia on here and i'm super sorry this request has taken so long lol. wanted to get this out now though cause lando had a horrid day today but i'm glad he's okay !! enjoy, i'm in my second week of a job so might get less busy xx

[woso-dreamzzz]

Sharks V

Meadema x Child!Reader

Summary: It's your birthday

"This is a big thing, liefje," Mummy says to you, smoothing back your hair," And you have to promise me you can be responsible."

"I can!" You say.

You've just come back from your birthday party. Well, it was more like your birthday celebration. You didn't have enough friends for a party so Mummy and the Arsenal girls took you to the aquarium and Peanut and her mummies flew over from Spain to join you too.

You showed Peanut everything at the aquarium and she even gave you a whale shark that she and her mummies adopted for you that you could track anywhere in the world.

Mama couldn't come with you today and that was sad but she got you up this morning and made you a special birthday girl breakfast.

You missed her today at your celebration but Mummy's being very secretive and said that Mama's got a surprise for you.

You let Mummy take off your shoes and hang up your coat as Mama comes down the stairs.

"Mama!" You cry, running into her arms and letting her squeeze you nice and tight.

"Hey, liefje," She says," Did you have a good birthday?"

You nod. "Me and Peanut saw the seahorses."

"Wow, that sounds fun."

"Is it my surprise now?" You ask," Because Mummy said you couldn't come because you're making my surprise."

Mama laughs and nods. She covers your eyes with her hands and Mummy helps you up the stairs.

You have to concentrate really hard to work out where you're going. You know you've moved past the adult room and your one too but also the office. You think you're going into the spare room.

It's kind of like your play room but it's mostly empty.

"Okay," Mama says, sounding oddly excitable," Are you ready, birthday girl?"

You wiggle.

"Ready!"

"Okay, one, two, three!"

Mama takes her hands off your eyes.

The play room is different now. For one, the big light is off. You like that because you're not a fan of the big light in this room. It's too bright and it buzzes sometimes.

Instead, the only light is coming from the backdrop of the massive aquarium that's been moved in while you were away.

You're practically vibrating as you run over to it.

Mama's done a very good job because it's massive and takes up a lot of the room. There are plants and little hideaway caves and coral everywhere and you gasp when you spot the creature floating along the bottom.

"Wobbegong!" You exclaim, pressing your face up to the glass as close as possible without scaring it. "Mummy! It's a shark!"

Mummy laughs and nods. She doesn't seem to want to come any closer though. "Yeah, you're right. It is a shark."

You look between her and the wobbegong. It's not very big so you don't think it's very old yet. You kind of know how big adult wobbegongs get so you step back to look at the series of interconnecting tanks to see if it will be big enough.

It is.

You smile and point at it.

"Mama! You got me a shark!"

Mama, unlike Mummy, comes forward. "I did. Do you like it, liefje?"

"Love it!"

You giggle when Mama tickles your tummy and sends you on your way to thank Mummy too.

You know that Mummy doesn't really like sharks. She thinks a lot of them are scary looking so you don't make her come to you. You hug her really nicely though.

Mama drags a chair over so you can stand on it and see your shark better.

"Do you know any facts about wobbegongs, liefje?"

"Er..." You think for a second. "They're lazy 'cause they sleep all day and come out at night."

"Wow," Mama says," What else do you know?"

"The mummy wobbegongs don't lay eggs. They have live babies like people do."

"Very interesting. Are you going to give it a name? I don't know if it's a boy or a girl. Sorry, liefje."

"Hmm." You look at the shark, studying it closely.

"Carpet," You say.

Mummy laughs. She's still keeping her distance from it all but she's got her phone out and you think she's recording. "Why do you want to call it Carpet, liefje?"

"'Cause wobbegongs get called carpet sharks like how I get called liefje!"

Mama grins, stroking through your hair. "I think that's an excellent name."

"Mummy," You say," Can you send a picture of me and Carpet to Peanut's mummies?"

Mummy laughs. "Alright. Go on and pose and I'll take a picture."

"Peanut got me a shark in the wild and you and Mama got me a shark at home!" You say," This is the best birthday ever!"

[jojojoy1]

Are you doing Lando Norris story requests. If so can you do one where he is a dad and his child and girlfriend/wife come to watch him race for the first time and he wins with 01 💙😊

Daddy, you won! - Lando Norris

Lando Norris x reader

You and Lando have been dating since you were fifteen years old. You two have been together through thick and thin. So when you found out you were pregnant at only twenty you both knew you could handle it together.

You gave birth to a beautiful baby boy in the November of 2020. Your pride and joy, you and Lando could not be happier.

You didn't want to have your son exposed to the race track too soon. Babies are delicate and as his mother, you are over protective. Lando always said, every weekend since Rowan had been born, that he should be at the races. And you always said no.

One week before the Australian Grand Prix and you were having the same conversation you and Lando have before every race.

"I think you and Rowan should come to Australia." Lando said as you both got into bed.

"I don't know, Lando." You sigh, "He's still so young."

"But it'd be nice. And it's not like he's ever gonna be alone. You can be protective mama bear."

"It's loud, we don't want to deafen him-"

Lando cut you off with a solution, "He can wear ear defenders."

"And fans. I don't want him to be scared or overwhelmed by the amount of people."

"You can take him straight to hospitality. Please y/n. You haven't been to a race in two years. It would mean so much to me." Lando interlocked your fingers as he spoke. You stared into his pleading eyes. Those eyes you always struggled to say no to.

"Fine," Lando smiled more then you knew possible, "We'll come to Australia." Lando cheered, wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

...

"Where's the sunscreen?" You panicked as you frantically emptied one of your suitcases.

"It's right here, babe." Lando said as he pulled a bottle out of the baby bag you had packed for the day. "Are you okay?" He asked, applying the sunscreen to Rowan's skin.

"I'm just nervous."

"There's nothing to be nervous about."

"What does nervous mean?" Rowan said.

"It means worried, baby." You answered.

"Why are you worried?"

"Because there's going to be lots of people today."

"Bluey will make you not worried." Rowan handed you his blue whale teddy, causing you and Lando to chuckle at the cuteness.

"You hold on to bluey, lovie." You handed Rowan back his whale.

...

The shock on everyone's faces when you walked into the paddock was priceless. You had told noone about you and Rowan attending the Grand Prix.

Even though Rowan could walk, you decided to carry him to ensure you didn't lose him.

"Y/n! Rowan!" A familiar Spanish accent yelled as the three of you walked to hospitality.

"Uncle Carlos!" Rowan screamed as Carlos approached.

"Hey buddy." Carlos put his hand out to fistbump the toddler. "What are you doing here?" He turned to you.

"Lando finally convinced me that it'd be safe." You smiled.

"Will we see you in the paddock more often, then?"

"If today goes okay. Maybe."

"Well, I'll see you all later." Carlos said as he patted Lando's shoulder.

"Yeah, bye mate." Lando said as Carlos walked away and you continued to McLaren.

...

You were sat in Lando's drivers room before the race.

"You should watch in the garage with everyone else. Then you can be the first ones I see when I get out the car."

"I don-" Before you could protest Lando interrupted, already knowing what you were gonna say.

"He's got ear defenders."

"Okay, we'll sit in the garage."

...

Rowan was so excited watching the race. Squealing anytime he saw an orange car on the screen.

You'd never seen Lando drive so well. He started the race in P13 and had managed to work his way up to P2.

Lando was right on Max's tail. A close fight for the win. The atmosphere in the McLaren garage was incredible. Noone expected the car to be capable of this. And with a possible win on the table? Everyone was so nervous.

For the last few laps, Lando had been making so many moves to overtake Max. Getting so close, but not close enough.

They were fighting right to the chequered flag. Just as Max was about to cross the line with another win under his belt, Lando came storming past. By mere inches Lando took home his first ever win.

The garage erupted into cheers. Everyone ran out to meet Lando at the podium. Holding on to Rowan, you made your way to the front of the barriers.

Lando parked his car in the first place spot, removed his helmet and immediately ran over to you and Rowan. Embracing you both. Kissing you on the lips.

"You did it." You said through the tears of joy, "You're a Grand Prix winner."

"Daddy, you won!" Rowan screamed over the cheers.

"Yeah, I did, baby." Lando said as he took Rowan from your arms for a hug.

...

You'd never felt so proud, seeing Lando on the highest step of the podium.

This win was something Lando has been working for his whole life and being able to celebrate it with the two most important people in his life made it even more special.

[wileys-russo]

"Let's never speak of this again!" with mearps in the zoo?

mary earps

"oh and look they have two kinds of elephants!" you gasped shoving your phone in your girlfriends face who hummed with an amused smile, knowing there wasn't a point in her saying anything anyway since you were so caught up in your excitment.

"you're such a nerd man, they're just animals!" ella turned around with a laugh from the seat in front as you shot her a filthy look, alessia tugging her back down as you huffed.

"ignore her love. what else do we need to see?" mary squeezed your knee to gain your attention back, your head falling to her shoulder as you flipped from the zoo website to your notes app running her through your ideal itinerary.

"you realise we have like the whole day yeah? we don't have to rush, i'm sure loads of people can see it all in a few hours." mary smiled as you stressed how you didn't want to miss out on anything, the goalkeeper kissing your cheek affectionately.

"look, babies!" you perked up as esme dangled over the back of your seat showing you a live feed of the new lion cubs as you gasped and the two of you fell into conversation, the blonde probably the only person as excited as you were for today.

"alright alright jesus you're gonna yank my hand off woman!" mary groaned as the bus parked up and the girls made their way off, your hand firmly gripping onto marys as you dragged her toward the entrance much to the amusement of everyone else.

"yeah we need those hands thanks, safest hands in england!" rachel yelled after the two of you with a grin. "okay baby. where to first?" mary chuckled once the pair of you were inside, a map tucked into her back pocket.

you'd claimed you'd stared at it on your phone long enough to know the zoo like the back of your hand but mary knew you too well and wanted to be as prepared as possible.

the first couple of hours you spent dragging your girlfriend from animal to animal, rattling off fact after fact much to her amusement and the rest of the girls annoyance and it didn't take long until it was just the two of you.

"see? my plan worked." you sang out with a grin as you and mary stood alone watching the otters, the goalkeeper sending you a funny look. "i knew if i waffled on about the animals enough everyone would leave us alone, much more romantic." you beamed, mary letting out a laugh of surprise.

"oh you're evil, i love you so much." the girl tugged you into a kiss, both of you pulling away with a smile as mary interlocked your fingers and the two of you strode off toward the next animal.

marys grin grew as you both waved at a small group of your united teammates, the girls waving back but making no move to join you much to her pleasure. "see? like our own private zoo date." you winked, the taller girl kissing your cheek.

"did i already tell you i love you?"

though your facts may have driven everyone else up the wall mary genuinely enjoyed learning more about each animal and seeing the way your eyes lit up when she'd asked a question.

your childhood dream had always been to work with animals but once you did a back gate keeper for the day tour of london zoo and realised the job was ninety percent cleaning up after them you were grateful to have chosen football instead.

arriving to the aquatic section was when the dynamic flipped, mary now the one to rattle off fact after fact about the different types of penguins and seals, her interests in whales meaning she'd watched an endless amount of oceanic documentaries.

in fact much to your friends endless teasings that was how most of your date nights when you'd choose to stay in would go, the pair of you happily curled up together on the sofa eating a takeaway and watching some sort of animal documentary.

marys david attenborough impression was even getting better by the day.

pausing your travels to eat lunch with the team you both settled back in with the group, your animal facts banned from the table as you rolled your eyes but indulged their wishes. instead you took ella and maya up on a game of finger football, taking turns to kick a small ball of rubbish through goals made with one anothers hands.

taking an easy victory and leaving behind a fuming tooney for alessia and katie to deal with you and mary eagerly left the group behind again, making a beeline for the africa section.

elephants were your favorite animal and mary knew this, watching on with disgustingly lovesick eyes as the two of you spent well over a half an hour watching them.

next up was the tigers and with the zoo closed to the public for the day and most of the girls having started at this section it once again left just you and mary alone together, the taller girl hugging you tightly from behind as your intertwined hands sat against your stomach.

the two of you watched as two of them began to playfight, mary making quick work of commentating in her infamous attenborough impression, heart swelling at the sound of your laugh.

only it took a split second for the two of you to realise they weren't play fighting, yet you were both seemingly unable to drag your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you, wide eyed with both terror and curiosity.

once they'd finished there was a tense silence between the two of you, mary letting go as you spun around to face her. "did we just watch two tigers have sex?" you questioned bluntly as the goalkeeper nodded.

"yep, like a couple of perverts." mary confirmed, another silence falling as you both opened your mouths and spoke again at the same time before hurrying away.

"lets never speak of this again!"

[factual-fantasy]

22 ASK! THANK YOU! :DDD

@a-weird-bean-bag

They are not related by blood, no. (Blood? Frosting..? Filling?? Anyways-)

Red is actually Seafoam's great Nephew. And he joined the crew because of a tradgedy involving his mother,, Seafoam's niece..

When Red joined the crew he was very shy and scared of everything. Coco at this point was a rough and tough pirate gal.. but man, something about that kid.. she just adored him. She took it upon herself to take care of the little guy and be his guardian.

She loves him to bits and has definitely taken the role of "mother" in his world. When ever the ship is under attack, she is the first to swoop in and take Red to safety. She is the one Red goes to when he cant sleep or is scared. She takes care of him when he is sick, she cleans his clothes and feeds him too.

Seafoam has made it very clear that she does not have to do any of this. And that Red is 100% his responsibility. But she just ain't havin' it. She chooses to be involved in Red's care and wouldn't have it any other way. 💖

Its a good thing too, Seafoam has no idea how to raise little kids <XD

(Also thank you so much!! :DD )

👀👀oh?

@yoylecake420

Sorry uh- I don't know that character. I made some OCs for Cookie run but I haven't played any of the games, I don't know the lore and I don't know/remember any of the characters- sorry!

Ah,, I don't know? <XDD I don't know how the games work- are there other types of cookies?? I don't know--

Judging by what I've heard/seen of that game? They'd run for the hills! They're not safe there <XD

<:D Ah sorry- I don't know who that cookie is- remember I haven't played either game and I don't know any of the lore!

@storylover2

.....OH-

THERES MORE??--

Also thank you so much!! You are beary nice :}}}

@universal-hunter

AAAAWE!!! :DDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :}}}}💖💖💖

@couchwow

Thank you for the no spoilers!! :DD I have not seen it but I have heard of it :0 perhaps sometime I'll give it a go! :}

@thetiredpenguin

Man, cookie run lore is WILD XDDD

@sparkdrawsstuff

Thank you! My day today was better than yesterday at least! XD

@keakruiser

AAAAA THANK YTOIU SO MMUCH!!! :DDDD 💖💖💖

I've drawn them twice actually that I can remember! Once in my FNAF Recap/Repair part 2, and once in a doodle dump post thing! :00

@elegantjellyfishmemachine

:0 eh? Huh? Til what?

@readeren

I actually haven't thought much about that :0 I worried that the group wouldn't feel very diverse if I had duplicate characters.. but the opposite personalities but same person is genius! But whompst would be duplicated... 🤔

@blissthewolf

Hello! I believe I do write scripts, but if I'm being honest I don't think I can scrape together even one sentence of sound advice for you- 💔😭💔

I am known to be very bad at explaining how to do things. A lot of what I do is just taking random things and stapling them together and ripping off some parts and gluing this here and put that over there and tada! Comic! "How'd you do that" "...Honestly I cant really remember-"

The only think I can think to say is figure out what you want to come from the scene and.. do what ever it takes to make it happen..? Uhhh- for example, "I want these two characters to fight and character A to leave in a huff." Well then give them something to fight about, and make character B say something that would make character A mad enough to leave without saying anything..?? But that doesn't explain how I would figure out what the argument would be about- I

I'm afraid I am of no use to you here-

@neo-metalscottic

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I'm glad you like my minecraft guys and my cookie run critters! :DD And not to worry- He'll catch on XD right now the main thing keeping them some what apart is Seafoam's thoughts of "She's a beautiful mermaid, why would she be with an old Captain like me..? :( " And Blue's thoughts of "He's a well respected Pirate Captain! What would he see in a big whale like me..😔" But they get past that eventually-- XDD

And yes! I have drawn them before <XD although those drawings weren't made with my Mario AU in mind.. When they grow up they will definitely be more stylized. :0 Not sure how they'll interact with Bowser as they age, but they are intended to all be his biological children :)

As for the birth order, I haven't thought it through fully,, but I have decided that Ludwig is the oldest and next in line for the throne. And JR is the very youngest with Lemmy being second to youngest. And Larry being 3rd to youngest :00

@solst1ce-sketches

Thank you! And to be honest if the D.A was split and gender swapped, I would just slap on some eye lashes and make them both generally appear more feminine.

Glitchy sun tho.. man, how would Fazbear Entertainment deal with that? <XD

@minnesotamedic186

Thank you!! :DDDD

@rubyplayz12

Wah??

(Post in question)

XD Well? Did it work?

[flower-yi]

(just sending the ask again bc tumblr crashed when I send it orz, so I'm sorry if it shows up double!)

hii, its octopus/viioletnoir from ao3 :> just read your new chapters, and for the prompt thingy, may I request nr. 36 with Bladie please? ♡♡

I hope you have a wonderful day!!

36. Helping brushing their hair after a shower. | "One summer, I taught myself how to announce in Latin to the world that I wanted nothing at all, when, in truth, I was desperate to be heard, understood, loved; my name a warm memory; There was the wind and the ocean, and in it there were whales that lowed in the darkness like the onset of collapse; There was this dark will, and what could I say but my name and what hurt?" All I Know, Paul Guest

It is sudden, and it is new: the image of Blade sat in front of a dresser, reflection showing you behind him. His hair is wet, damp from a shower, and his normally pale skin flushes with a hint of crimson—some sort of sign that he’s alive, but barely.

You admit it’s strange. Blade is not one to be… coddled like this, but sometimes, for how predictable he is, he can be spontaneous.

“You look nice.” Blade feels nice in your embrace, arms wound gently around his shoulders; tiptoe barely helping in reaching him. He is silent, like always—only ever making a sound as a response, and this time, the noise that leaves him is warm.

When you look at the mirror, his eyes has slipped close and a pleasant air wafts around him.

Oh, you can’t help but comment on it. “A shower can get you like this, huh? Mm, well… I like it. It suits you.”

It hangs in the air, your compliment. You don’t divulge further that he looks alive like this, few minutes out of the shower, because Blade, right now, has a countenance of someone normal—someone you’d see in the streets and not regret knowing.

“Mm… thank you.”

“Oh, manners?” You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re being nice today. I wonder what’s happened.”

The both of you don’t have to wonder, really. It’s one of the few moments there’s no imminent scripts to play out because Elio decided to take a rest in some rare fashion. All of the hunters dispersed to places they normally reside when not called, and in Blade’s case, it is with you.

You make barely a move of your arms to put them elsewhere and a bandaged hand comes up to wrap itself around, as if to stop you. Then, something cold grazes your skin, and with a glance down, you see the tip of his nose pressing onto your arm, and— and he sighs.

Stunned, you fall silent.

Another breath. “We have all day,” his voice rumbles, as if to say do not leave.

Blade’s voice allows you to get your bearings, and you say, in response, “I just want to brush your hair, silly,” You press another kiss on him, this time on the back of his head. With his grip loosening, as if some form of relief has made itself clear, your arms fall back.

A hairbrush is within your hold, one that’s been barely used. It’s Blade’s, something you’ve bought him months ago, but only now has it returned to your hand since the day you brought it home.

(Blade’s reaction when you got it was a simple appreciative hum, and he returned to whatever he was working on.

You remember leaving a lipstick mark on his face before he went out on a mission. He came home with a storm in his eyes.

It was in tact. Barely been touched at all, despite how disheveled his clothes were.)

One of the things that surprised you about him was how soft his hair was. You’d gotten a touch of it before you were Blade’s partner, and it was nice. Silky, managed, and most of all, beautiful.

You expressed it to him, once, and he fixed you with a firm stare. Only then, when Kafka told you of his origins, did you understand. (It was innocent, however. Blade could not fault you once for it.)

“Did you use my shampoo?” The strands fall perfectly into place, dividing like a glimmering waterfall under the bristles. You press your nose to his shoulder, enamored, “Wow. You even used my soap, too.”

Something akin to an amused huff leaves him. “You choose your products wisely.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning. “Well, that settles it. We’ll both be smelling like each other.”

(In the mirror, there is a quirk of a smile curling his lips; so faint that even you miss it. But it does not matter. Because to him, your smiles are enough to replace his own.)

With each brush of his hair, you fill in the space of quiet Blade leaves you to occupy. You talk about everything; to how lucky he is that he’s got a partner that would brush his hair like this, to how his hand should hurry up and heal for him to play with Silver Wolf, to how he should allow you and Kafka to spend time together—to which he frowns at—to how you think you’re seeing wrinkles on your face, and a few white hairs spurting out.

“I think you should pluck them out today. What do you think?”

Blade is quiet. Too quiet, perhaps. You discard the brush on the vanity, glancing at the mirror—

"You will be the first to have hair turned white," Blade suddenly speaks. "I will follow second."

You ask, "Would you still be here by then?"

He turns, moving his hair from your hands, and fixes you with a smoldering gaze. Blade doesn't need to answer, you think. The curse will force him to live longer than you will, and that knowledge burns at the back of your mind, but you want to humor yourself despite knowing your lover will roam the earth until eternity.

"I will be," Blade's reply comes unexpected. "I expect to be the one to see you off."

Is this panic you're feeling, or comfort? Panic in him setting aside his desire to die for you, for your presence in his life, for the respite that you bring? Or comfort in knowing he'll live until then, until your body decides to become one with the soil, until you say your last I love you?

It's becoming hard to speak, pressing yourself up to his side; arms wound tight around him. "Like some pretty grim reaper,“ You force out, teeth gritted. ”That sounds so ironic.“

“It is an act of love,” Blade defends. “Don’t misunderstand.”

How could you not, when you are always faced with the fact that your lover will never meet their end?

[soulreapin]

kiss 21 with voltron.. maybe....

no u got it right!!!

prompt game: asks open

21: dealer’s choice.

Keith is a late riser on Earth.

Sure, on the Castle of Lions, he was awake at about five AM to go run around the long-range deck or something like that. But when he’s on Earth, and the day-night cycle is a beautiful and perfect 24 hours, his eyes don’t open before 9.

Like today.

He rolls over in bed, yawning and tucking his chin into Lance’s—

Lance’s bony shoulder isn’t right next to him for Keith to roll into and hook his chin into the crook between his shoulder and his neck. His eyes flicker open to the empty right side of their shared bed.

Keith sits up in a mild panic, sucking in a breath through his nose and out through his mouth every few seconds, looking around the bedroom. Their small house on the beach is, well, small. Lance can’t have gone very many places.

He’s lived by divide and conquer since he was a kid, so that’s what he does; divide the house between him and him, and then gets out of bed to conquer it.

The bathroom connected to their bedroom is empty, but the sink is wet and Lance’s moisturizer is open. He was in here recently, which brings some modicum of stability to his hard-beating heart.

Keith slips out of their room and pads barefoot into the kitchen, blinking rapidly to banish the sleepiness from his heavy eyes, and sees Lance standing guard over the stove.

Oh. Their kitchen smells of frying potatoes and all the nerves clenching Keith tight disappear. He combs a hand through his uncombed hair and trudges through the kitchen, coming up behind Lance and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Apparently, the days where Keith woke up in a tight panic were not quite behind him. Lance’s shoulder twitches, but he glances down at the thin, calloused hands linked at his ribs and relaxes. “How was your coma, Red?”

“Mmmn,” Keith murmurs into Lance’s shoulderblade, “Thought y’were gone.”

Lance has the forethought to turn off the stove and set the warm pan on a burner a little further away from them, turning around in Keith’s arms. “Not possible. I died twice and I’m still here to kick your ass.”

That rouses Keith a little, pulling back a little and squinting. “There’s no way you can be joking about that at nine in the morning.”

“It’s seven am, and it’s never too early.”

Keith lets a smile twist into his face despite Lance’s joke about the most horrible moments of Keith’s whole life, space whale included, and leans up slightly to kiss Lance.

He tastes like spiced potatoes and peppers (fucker had been snacking on breakfast while he’d been cooking.) Lance shifts, and then pulls away first, brushing an errant piece of Keith’s bangs off his forehead and behind his ear.

“The potatoes are gonna get cold,” Lance reminds him, pressing a kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth.

He shrugs. “S’fine. We’ve got a microwave.”

“But they’re better fresh,” Lance argues, even as Keith kisses each individual freckle starring Lance’s face. “And I made bacon.”

“You can’t manipulate me with bacon.” Keith says onto the thin skin of Lance’s cheek.

Lance grabs Keith’s chin and gently nudges him backwards. “Bacon and tea, then. And potatoes. You’re Texan, you can’t say no to potatoes and bacon.”

He grumbles, but Lance is right. He can’t say no to bacon and potatoes.

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 10

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You and Steven try to get used to your new life together without Marc. Or alternatively: Marc is playing (the not ridiculous and totally mature version of) Hide and Seek.

Content: mild angst, implied mentions of child abuse (blink and miss it), reminiscing about fish death, otherwise quite tame for me.

Word Count: 10,000 words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

You

Steven and I were at a bookstore today and I saw a very grumpy pug that reminded me of you. 

Steven wants a dog now. If you don’t want that you need to come back because I’m not gonna stop him.

Weeks have passed since Steven’s prodigal return.

It’s almost been a return to how things were before, with Steven picking you up from work, occasional romantic dinners out, and evenings cuddled up in bed reading together or watching documentaries on the sofa. 

It’s almost perfect. 

It ought to be perfect. 

The only thing missing from your previous routine is waking up to the quiet noise of clutter in the kitchen and the smell of breakfast filling the room, to Marc.

Your intuition had been correct: Marc is avoiding you. Despite the fact that you’ve practically moved into Steven’s flat, you’ve not seen him once.

According to Steven, Marc still fronts in the middle of the night sometimes, but to do what, you don’t know. It’s one more thing Steven “can’t tell you right now” because it’s Marc’s business. And as frustrating as that is, you don’t push—at least, not with Steven. 

Instead, you’ve focused your energy on attempting to lure Marc out. Texting him at random times of the day. Cluttering up the space, leaving yours and Steven’s clothes in random spaces, putting the dishes away in the wrong order—things you know will drive him mad.

You’ve even tried staying up all night in hopes of catching Marc in the act, but the only thing you caught was sleep deprivation. It’s left you exhausted and cranky in the morning, mistake-prone at work and ready to bite everyone’s head off. 

Recognizing the futility of continuing to bash your head against the wall of Marc’s stubbornness, you’ve reluctantly settled into the new status quo while you consider what to do. 

Tonight you and Steven are staying in. The rain is pouring down outside, making London wet and miserable, but you’re safely ensconced in the warmth of Steven’s flat, propped up in bed while he sits nearby in his worn leather armchair, reading glasses perched adorably on his nose as he peruses a thick tome. 

But for once, his studies don’t seem to be capable of holding his attention, and you keep glancing up to find him staring off into space, brow furrowed, the book abandoned in his lap. 

The first time you followed his gaze to the fish tank, you’d felt a stab of worry that you’d find Gus II floating belly-up in the water, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary that you can see. 

The orange goldfish is swimming across the length of the tank, happily oblivious to his predecessor’s fate and the fact that he’s being observed.  The journey continues until his little fishy head bumps up against the glass panel, and he turns around, repeating the process in reverse, only to do the same thing on the other side. 

It’s hardly a riveting sight, but Steven seems entirely engrossed. He looks a million miles away, lost in his thoughts. 

“Do you think,” he says eventually, “that goldfish ever get lonely?”

“Oh, um…” You blink at him, a bit startled by the soft question, though you’re not sure why. It’s hardly the first time Steven has expressed concern about the wellbeing of an animal—he’s a vegan after all—and you’ve seen him beside himself while watching a killer whale hunt down baby seals on an arctic beach on Animal Planet. 

This feels different somehow.

“I’m not sure actually,” you hedge, wracking your brain for a proper answer, “I know guinea pigs get lonely and are meant to be kept in pairs, but I don’t really know if the same is true of fish.” 

Steven nods solemnly, and turns back to the fishtank, eyes wide and melancholy, an unhappy slump to his shoulders. 

Watching him watch Gus II’s lonely, pointless vigil back and forth, you wonder if it’s Marc that Steven’s thinking about now. 

If he feels lonely, having effectively lost his newly revealed other half again so soon after discovering the truth. 

If he misses Marc the way you–

You shake the thought away, taking a deep breath before you hold up your phone to catch his attention.

“Shall I google it?”

Steven immediately brightens up. Quickly marking his place in the book, he sets it aside and makes his way over to join you on the bed so you can google it together.

‘Do goldfish get lonely?’

Unfortunately, no matter how many pages of results you scroll though, there doesn’t seem to be any strong consensus. 

Several websites are adamant that goldfish do not feel loneliness and can live a long and happy and fulfilling life alone. But there seem to be just as many saying the opposite. An article from the Telegraph strongly admonishes its readers that goldfish should be kept in pairs at least when in captivity.

Eventually, your hour-long Google bender finally ends with you two reaching the unsatisfactory conclusion of: ‘nobody knows for sure.’

You put away your phone on the nightstand and glance at Steven. He’s staring up at the fishtank again, wringing his hands in a way that makes your chest tighten. Somehow he seems even more unsettled than before.

“You know,” you point out hopefully, “nothing we found says that having a companion would make a goldfish unhappy as long as they have enough space. And your tank is certainly large enough for two.”

When Steven doesn’t reply, you prod gently, “Would you maybe like to get Gus the Second a friend?”

At that, the tension Steven is holding finally seems to thaw, his shoulders relaxing as he turns to you.

“That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” he says, face alight with a small, soft smile.

You

FYI we did not get robbed yesterday. Steven tried to make dinner. He’s going to try again tonight. I know you hate messes so you might want to come back to stop him. 

For two men who share half of their lives with each other, there’s a distinct lack of physical evidence of Marc in Steven’s flat.

Of the hundreds of books crammed into every nook and cranny of the wooden shelves sprawled across the flat, not a single one belongs to him. The messy closet filled only with Steven’s garish patterns and oversized items. In fact, Steven's personality and interests are writ large within this space—in the half-scribbled notes left on the desk, the postcards tacked on all random surfaces, the organised chaos that seems to reign. It’s obvious that this is Steven’s home.

But is it Marc’s?  

You’ve yet to identify a single item in the entire flat that belongs to him. No proof of address. Nothing.

Now that you no longer wake up to him standing in the kitchen most mornings, pottering around in that quiet calm way of his, it’s almost like he never existed in the first place. 

You hate it.

You look down at the handful of mismatched flatware you’ve just put back in the drawer then back up at Steven where he stands at the sink next to you, elbow deep in lukewarm dishwater.

Even the dishes are Steven’s.

“Does Marc have another flat?” you ask, unsettled by the idea that Marc might have another home that you know nothing about.

“Don’t think so,” Steven says, glancing up from the plate he’s scrubbing, “Why?”

“He doesn’t seem to have any belongings here. I was wondering if he kept his things somewhere else.”

“He’s got a storage unit. I’ve been there once. Marc had a sad little cot setup there. Not much in the way of belongings there either. I don’t think he owns much,” he says, rinsing the plate clean.

You stare down at the tea towel, twisting it in your hands, and your stomach twists with it.

A storage unit. 

With a cot. 

That’s even worse, isn't it? To think that Marc might not have a home anywhere at all.

And now he’s retreating farther than ever. Ceding the daytime hours, and even most nights to Steven. Keeping nothing for himself. Your lives wiped clean of traces of Marc, the same way the flat has been. 

You feel sick at the thought.

Steven doesn’t say anything more, and you don’t either. The two of you work in silence, as he washes the dishes and hands them off to you to dry and then put away in the cupboards—a bowl, another plate, a sharp knife, and then a large plain ceramic mug.

Marc’s mug.

As Steven hands it to you, you have a flash of Marc taking it from your hands, full to the brim of the coffee you made for him. The memory of his quiet “thanks” makes your heart hurt.

Christ, get it together. You’re getting soppy over a bloody tea cup, for God’s sake.

It doesn’t even really qualify as Marc’s, despite being the only one amongst Steven’s collection of mugs without a quirky motif. Marc never claimed ownership of it in any way. 

Shaking your head, you walk to the cabinet and tuck the mug back up into its usual spot. As you lower your arm, the old coffee maker in the corner of the counter catches your eye, gleaming in the light of the kitchen. 

It looks... remarkably clean, which, for anything in Steven's flat, is an oddity in itself. You haven’t made coffee in weeks—not since before Marc disappeared—but the glass practically shines. Reaching out, you swipe a fingertip against the top surface and frown as it comes away dust-free. 

“Steven, have you been using the coffee maker lately?” 

“Hmm?” He turns around, arms sudsed with dishwater up to his elbow. “No, not for years. Had to stop drinking coffee ‘cause it made me jittery—or, well, worse than I am already. Why do you ask?”

“The coffee maker’s clean. There's no dust on it at all.” 

Steven hums in reply, looking like he's deep in thought. 

“That’s probably Marc’s doing. He drinks coffee sometimes when he’s up running around in the middle of the night, I think.” 

You nod in response, your finger lingering over the button panel. 

Does this old coffee maker qualify as something of Marc’s? Perhaps there is one thing that belongs to him in the flat after all.

It’s pretty banged up. The paint is chipped, and the control panel scratched up to the point that the labels are mostly worn away. It hadn’t mattered before, as all you’d needed to know was to push the first button—the ‘ON’ button, you suppose, though the lettering has long since worn away—to start the coffee brewing, but now you stare at the thing, trying to decipher the rest of the labels. 

“What does this button do?” you ask, pointing to the second button. It reads 'lay b ew' which makes no bloody sense. 

Steven turns off the running tap, putting down the wet plate in his hand, and comes to stand behind you where he can peek over your shoulder at the button you’ve indicated. 

“That must be the delay timer button so you can set the coffee pot at night for the morning.”

You peer into the open cupboard. Instead of the mug you’ve just put away and the drab cupboard, all you can see is Marc is sitting by the counter. The faint morning sun streaming down his wide shoulders as he tips the mug to his lips and takes a sip. An echo of warmth tingles against your fingertip at the faded scene playing out in your memory. 

You lean up until you’re on your toes and take the mug, cradling it in your hands. “Do you think perhaps I could set it to make the coffee for Marc? I used to make him coffee in the mornings when we had breakfast together.”

Steven smiles at you, soft crinkles forming around his eyes. “Of course, love. I think Marc would like that a lot.” 

Buoyed by his encouragement, you grab the coffee from the top shelf, reciting the water-to-coffee ratio in your head—one scoop of coffee for each ounce of water. 

Reaching for the spoon you start scooping it out, smiling a little to yourself as you imagine Marc discovering the coffee you’ve made just for him. 

“Love, love!” Steven half-shouts, “What are you doing?”

You stop mid-scoop, look from Steven’s face, down at the mound of ground coffee in the filter, and then back up at him. Steven looks horrified, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and genuine concern. 

“Making... coffee...?” you answer hesitantly, “Is this not right? I’ve always done it like this. This is how Marc drinks it.”

“I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind drinks coffee like that,” Steven says, eyes still wide, though amusement is creeping into his voice now.

You stop and frown. 

You look back down at the packet of coffee beans as you think of Marc's fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug as he took it from you. The way he’d give you a small almost-smile, looking right at home as he finished the coffee you made him down to the last drop. 

“Oh.” 

You

I’ve made you some coffee using the delay brew setting. It should be ready when you get up.

Steven has informed me that my coffee is in fact not drinkable. If he's right, you might need to come back and teach me how to make coffee properly. 

It becomes another part of your nightly routine: prepping the coffee maker and setting out Marc's mug. You still sometimes have trouble remembering the proper (according to Steven!) water to coffee ratio, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Regardless of how much or little ground coffee you add, in the morning, without fail, you find the coffee maker empty, mug and carafe both propped up in the dishrack to dry.

You're standing at the counter one Saturday morning, tucking them both back into their proper places, when you get a text from your old mate Sam.

Sam

hey fam! guess what!

You

?

Sam

guess!!!

You

Guess… what?

Sam

🤨 nvm

You

Sorry, what?

Sam

really making me work for it huh

remember my mate karim?

You

No?

Sam

🐠🐠🐠 guy?

You

Oh yeah! ofc.

Sam

he just got in a one-finned goldfish like your bf was asking for. he still want it?

Steven gives you a curious tilt of his head as he reads out part of the conversation out loud when you show him the exchange. “Fish, fish, fish... guy?” 

“Yeah. He has a bunch of tanks in his cellar. It’s how we got,”—you gesture vaguely at the tank containing Gus II—“this one.”

“Oh, right. You did say.” 

His expression turns from confusion to a bright expression, like someone’s turned on a cartoon lightbulb behind his eyes. 

“I was just thinking that I did want to get Gus a friend after all,” he says smiling enthusiastically. “Right proper bit of good timing, that is!” 

Steven tilts his head to the other side, as his eyes flit across the screen like he’s rereading it, then his eyes narrow in confusion. “What does he mean by your boyfriend asking for a one-finned goldfish?”

You eye the fish as it circles the water gracefully, both fins on full display, and recall Marc's constipated expression as he had stood by the tank glaring at those very two fins. 

“Marc made a big fuss about wanting to find one identical to Gus,” you tell him, as you watch Gus II knock his head up against the glass again, “down to the single fin, and I guess my friend remembered.”

From across you, Steven's gaze is fixed on the tank with a slight frown on this face. He's observing the golden fish with a vacant look in his eyes like he's watching it but not seeing it.

“You all right, Steven?”

“Yeah, I'm just...” His eyes flicker across the length of the tank, then he turns back to face you, “What I don't understand is why Marc didn’t just leave Gus’ little fishy corpse floating in the tank.” 

He turns back around to face you, as he continues, “It certainly would’ve been easier. And a dead fish is more believable than one regrowing a fin, isn’t it? Pets die all the time. I might not have realised anything was off at all if he'd done that.”

It's the very same thing you’d told Marc the night he had come to you for help. 

You can still remember the way he had looked standing at your door, asking for your help, hair in an uncharacteristic disarray of curls. How besides himself he was with worry for Steven’s sake.   

“Marc didn't want you to be upset,” you say. 

Steven looks up at your words, eyes widening with surprise. 

“He knew how much Gus meant to you, and wanted to protect you from being hurt,” you continue, “That mattered to him more than anything else, I think.”

There’s a brief silence as Steven processes your words, then after a moment he lets out a quiet huff of laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“It’s hard to imagine Marc behaving like a parent trying to get a replacement hamster from the shop,” Steven says, giving you a wry smile, “But that’s him, isn’t it?  Wanting to protect the people that matter to him at all costs. Even from things we don’t really need protecting from.”

Neither of you say anything for a few moments after that, as the sound of the Blue Planet rerun on the telly fills the silence left behind. You vaguely register Attenborough’s soothing narration in the background, but don’t take anything in when Steven eventually asks, “When do you think you’ll go meet your friend?” 

“He said he was free pretty much all day today, I was thinking of heading off soon, before traffic gets too bad in the afternoon.” 

Steven gets to his feet and walks over to his desk, picking up his jacket that's been slung over the back of the chair and threading his arms into the sleeves. Watching him, you half expect him to make the same assessment his grouchy alter did: Men who keep fishes in their cellar are dangerous serial killers. 

Instead, Steven flashes you a sweet and benign smile. 

“All right if I come along with you? I can keep you company, yeah? I know how much you hate the DLR,” he says, glancing at you for approval, and you give a quick nod.

“Besides,” he adds, eyes bright with enthusiastic wonder, like a kid who's heading off on a school trip, “I'm quite curious about the cellar aquarium. Sounds like quite the sight, and I’d like to see it with my own eyes."

You break into a smile of your own. Two men that couldn’t be further apart, and yet even with diametrically opposed reasoning, the end result is still somehow the same. 

------

It's just before noon when you reach the DLR station with Steven in tow. Thankfully the crowd is nowhere near as bad as the last time you made this trip. 

Still, when you enter the train, most seats are already taken. The only unoccupied spot is splattered with something unpleasant-looking, so you and Steven head down the carriage in the opposite direction. You’re lucky enough to score yourself a safety rail to hold onto just as the DLR starts its bumpy journey. 

As always, the train undulates like a boa constrictor that’s managed to get into the liquor cabinet. But this time you manage to keep your footing as the carriage lurches forward by gripping the railing for dear-fucking-life. 

Steven isn't quite as lucky. 

You barely catch the panicked “bugger” as he starts to lose his balance, about to tip over like a helpless tortoise, and you reach out without thinking, grabbing one of his flailing hands so he doesn’t fall.

“Are you all right there, Steven?” you ask, straining to hold your position as he uses you for leverage to steady himself, and then wrapping your arm around his waist once he regains his equilibrium. 

“Yeah…” he mumbles, blinking at you for a moment, a flush tinting his cheeks, “Yeah, I’m aces. Thanks for the rescue.” 

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flimmer erratically, and wraps his hand around the same railing you’re holding onto, fingers warm where they overlap yours. 

“You’re welcome, but let’s stay like this until we get there just in case.” you say, wrapping your arm more firmly around him and snuggling into his chest. You can’t see his face but you can feel his head nod in approval.

Steven’s free hand comes up to settle over your back between your shoulders, holding you tight to him, the two of you steadying each other as the train keeps swaying forward. Even though his palm is resting over your coat, you swear you can feel his warmth through three layers of clothing.

You press your nose to the fabric of his jacket, inhaling the scent of him.  He smells like his soap, the clean linens of your shared bed, and beneath that, a hint of coffee. The last one familiar these days, lingering like smoke after an extinguished fire, and it always makes you think of Marc. Irrefutable proof that he still exists in the world, even if he only ventures out into it after you fall asleep.

It’s a bumpy ride, but eventually the train slows to a stop at ‘Canning Town’ station. Just like last time, you find yourself thinking that it's almost a shame your journey on the DLR wasn't longer. 

Unlike last time, a bright clear sun is shining down on you when you step out of the train, mitigating some of the November chill.

Steven’s hand curls over yours, tucking both into his pocket, and you’re glad for the added warmth as the two of you walk down the Docks, along the mismatch of newly built high-rise flats and small brick row-houses. 

As you reach the familiar council estate, you spot Sam and his friends waving towards you from across the street, and Steven waves back, like they're old friends already. He’s already taking a step forward to cross at the traffic light, when you suddenly remember that despite the familiarity this will be the first time Sam and Karim meet Steven. 

“Wait,” you hiss, flinging a hand out to grip his forearm, “They think you're Marc,” you warn, and Steven nods slowly with understanding on his face. 

“Right,” he says, flashing you a cheeky grin, “So, emotionally constipated, perpetually frowning, and just generally a complete prat? Got it.”

His fingers come to his forehead, slicking back his hair with a touch of dramatic flair. Then he furrows his brows theatrically, lips pulling downwards into an exaggerated imitation of Marc’s frown, and you have to hide your grin as you turn to walk.

Crossing the street, Steven is visibly holding himself back. He’s pulling himself upright, as he juts his chin up in a brusque greeting, while schooling his features and tampering down the smile that you know is twitching at his lips. It’s a very commendable effort on his part. 

But the moment you make it inside the house, and Steven catches sight of the hall lined with aquariums, his mock-frown falls away and his eyes widen with wonder. That uncharacteristic straight line of his lips, rounds with an audible, “wow” that slips out of him. Then he's all toothy smiles and excitement as he points to a particular colourful fish that glitters behind the glass of one of the numerous fish tanks. 

You watch as he waves at the fish, and then turns around to Karim to ask a half-dozen more animated questions that the man answers with gusto. 

Steven spends the whole time listening attentively as Karim gives a guided tour of his fish cellar, nodding along with undivided attentiveness as his eyes track the colourful fishes that are being introduced to him one by one.

The stark difference between Steven's and Marc’s behaviour doesn't go unnoticed. 

“Your boyfriend’s like a completely different person today,” Sam remarks. “He's so… ” 

He pauses mid-sentence, and hums consideringly as he observes Steven with an amused smile. 

“I get it now, what you said last time—a big softie.”

Down the row of tanks, Steven is pointing excitedly at a puffy looking fish. It must be a rare one, judging from how elated he is. Despite the fact that Steven is absolutely blowing your cover, you can't help but smile fondly at his obvious excitement and joy. 

“Yeah. Yeah, he really is,” you answer, as you feel a prickling warmth spread across your chest. 

“So tell me,” Sam says as he grips his jaw in his hand, scratching his beard like a ponderous professor, “Which one is the real him?”

You freeze at the question, not sure how you can even begin to answer that. 

Glancing over at Steven, you still see him wide-eyed and smiling, hovering over the very same goldfish tank that Marc was gruffly standing by as he was inspecting it studiously with a set frown for a replacement fish. 

You give Sam the only answer that rings true to you:

 “They both are.”

-----

Surely, you must be stuck in some kind of 80’s Sci-fi movie, because you seem to be trapped in a closed loop of deja-vus. 

You're standing in the middle of Steven's flat, once again with a plastic bag in hand as you scoop (what is this time, a one-finned) goldfish into the large fish tank. 

It lands with a distinct plop into the water, and then swims down with a pirouette around Gus II. 

Steven is standing next to you by the tank, so close you’re shoulder to shoulder, huddled together, hunched over the glass, close enough for your noses to leave fog on the surface as you observe the two fishes dance around each other to become acquainted. 

It all feels so similar that, when you feel his shoulder brush up against yours and that familiar pleasant tingle climbs up your back, you have to remind yourself that this time the person standing next to you is Steven, not Marc. 

Turning your head, you look over at Steven who's watching the fishes intently. When he notices you staring, he slowly turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling softly, and the joy of it lights up your chest. 

You

We visited Sam and Karim again. 

Say hi to Gus III. He’s the one with one fin. 

Steven got very excited after seeing the fish cellar and is thinking of getting a second tank. 

If you don't come back, I'll let him. 

It's six pm and you’re in a hurry to get out of the office. Steven had texted earlier, asking if you wanted to try the new sushi place that opened up down the block tonight, and you are starving.

Exiting the elevator, you look around for Steven, surprised when you don’t immediately spot him. He almost always comes to pick you up now, even when you don’t have dinner plans. Perhaps he’s running late?

Susan must notice your confusion, because she catches your eye and waves you over.

“Over there, pet,” she says, pointing towards the front of the building, “Said he had to talk to someone.”

You follow her finger to see your wayward boyfriend standing with his back to you in the far corner of the reception area, phone held to his ear. The early dark outside has turned the wall of glass at the front of the building into an imperfect mirror, and you smile watching Steven gesture animatedly with his free hand as he talks to whoever’s on the other end.

“Cheers, Susan.” You give her a wave, heading off to let him know you’re done. Perhaps you can walk as he talks?

As you get closer, you can hear that there’s a plaintive tone to Steven’s murmuring, like he’s trying to plead his case to someone. You slow your approach, wondering who he’s talking to, but not wanting to interrupt in case it’s important.

“That’s not gonna happen,” he snaps suddenly, back going rigid, and you freeze in your tracks, because it’s not Steven’s voice, but a clipped, impatient American accent that you haven’t heard in forever. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re both better off without me.”

His eyes in the mirror are narrowed and impatient. A scowl pressed between the firm line of his mouth as he glares at his own reflection.

“Marc,” you gasp his name without thought. Marc is here.

He jerks around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you catch sight of Marc’s eyes, wide and pained under furrowed brows, then they widen even further, brow smoothing out as he blinks several times in quick succession, looking apologetic and a little bit shellshocked. Even before he opens his mouth to speak, a part of you already knows. 

“Sorry, love,” Steven says in his thick South Londoner accent, and your heart sinks to your stomach. “Marc left, it's just me now.” 

He turns back to the window, and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to tamp down the surge of disappointment and the ridiculous urge to burst into tears.

Watching Steven narrow his eyes at his reflection, you recalled what he’d said about mirrors. He hadn’t been on the phone at all, had he? Neither had Marc. They’d been communicating through the reflective surface of the glass. Talking to each other for the first time in months, and you had to go and ruin it by opening your big mouth and interrupting.

You wonder if Marc is still there in the glass, watching, but judging from the frustrated expression on Steven’s face you doubt it. He shakes his head in resignation before turning back to you, reaching over and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, love. I don’t think he’s going to come back,” he says, giving you an obviously-forced smile, “Shall we go get dinner?” 

“No, I... um...” You shake your head, forcing a smile that likely doesn’t look any more authentic than his, any excitement over trying a new place drowned out by the heavy weight of disappointment and regret that sits in your stomach like a stone, “I’m not all that hungry just now. Can we just go home?”

“Of course, love. Anything you want.”

If only that were true.

You

Steven made dinner tonight. You might have burn marks on your left hand. You better come back quick before he burns down the flat.

It’s another Saturday evening and you’re prepping the coffee maker to 'delay brew' another batch of coffee for Marc. You pause, bag of ground coffee in hand, before scooping it out. 

“So it’s one scoop per serving, right Steven?” you call out, just to double check, but there’s no answer, “Steven…?”

Turning, you find him bent over in front of the fish tank. In the reflection of the glass pane, you catch Steven’s distracted expression, but it takes you a few seconds to register that even though he’s staring at the tank, his eyes aren't really tracking the Gus twins. 

For a heartstopping moment you think maybe Marc is talking to him again, but then you take in the way his eyes linger on the upper corner of the glass and the postcards taped there. Postcards that are nominally from his mum, though you both know better now.

“Steven,” you call again, setting down the coffee and the measuring spoon, “Everything all right?” 

Steven startles, bolting upright like he’s snapping out of a trance. 

“Huh!? Oh. Yeah, yes. Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as you come to join him in front of the tank. “Just looking at these.” 

Reaching out, he traces a finger over the edges of the postcard taped back-out to the glass surface.

“It’s a bit surreal, reading this again now that I know Marc sent it, not mum.”

There’s something bittersweet in his smile, and the way his eyes shade into mournfulness makes you want to pull him into a hug and never let go.  

“Paris is lovely,” he reads out from the card. “Wish I could take you! You’d love the museums here. Love you so much, Mum.”

Then he stops, and your heart breaks a little bit as he stares down at the handwritten message. 

You’re sad for Steven that words of love he had believed to be from his mum weren’t from her at all. You’re sad for Marc that he had to keep up this pretence, lonely and isolated in the far-off corners of the world, carrying the weight of the truth for both of them.

With a sigh, Steven straightens up, reaches over to carefully unpin a  postcard from the wooden edge of the bookcase next to the tank and reads that one too. 

“In Cairo. The pyramids reminded me of the amazing work you do at the museum. So proud of you!” 

He shakes his head in amusement, chuckling lightly as he reaches over to show it to you. 

“He even put a heart on it at the end,” he says, and you can’t help but smile at the image of Marc bent over some table, painstakingly signing off the card with a cartoon heart.

You watch as Steven carefully fits the pin back through the existing hole in the card and repins it to the wood before moving on to the one just below it. 

“Happy birthday from New York. Wish I could be with you to celebrate with a birthday cake. You deserve the best day! Love, mum.”

That one gets a sigh, a sad smile and a small shake of his head before Steven repins it with the same meticulous care. 

One by one, Steven gently detaches the postcards adorning the wooden shelves, over, under and on the sides of the tank, and reads each one aloud before returning it carefully to its place. 

There must be at least fifty of them filling the space in his flat, from one remote destination after another.

Each message is filled with love and care. Words of encouragement, spelling out how proud she is of him. How much she wants for him to be happy. How she's always there for him. That she's just a phone call away. That he's never alone. 

Then Steven goes quiet, head dipped, as he stares blankly at the postcard of Austria in his hand. 

“The notes were always so loving and supportive, they always made me feel like I was a little bit less alone, you know?” he finally says, breaking the silence, and the corners of his mouth pulls into a sad smile again.

“I think... I think it must’ve been what Marc wanted to hear from our mum growing up but never got to. He must've wanted to make sure that someone got to hear these things from her… even if it was all just a lie.”

Shifting your feet, you simply nod at him, not knowing what else to say. Their mum is a bit of an enigma to you. Before today, you’ve only ever heard of her from Steven’s perspective as a loving and attentive mum. 

But there’s no doubt, as you’re watching him now, seeing the pain etched into his face as he thinks of his mother, that the rosy image he’d painted previously is far from the full picture.

You recall that morning in the kitchen when you had first brought up the postcards to Marc. The way that Marc had hunched into himself, his usual confident stance crumbling before your eyes at the mere mention of their mother. The way he seemed to be trying to make himself invisible and wincing as if expecting a blow.

You know enough now about DID and the medical consensus on what causes it.

Steven doesn’t need to tell you much more than that, you can read between the lines well enough.

“Are you going to keep them, do you think?” you ask instead. 

His head pops up, eyes wide as he blinks up at you in surprise, clutching the postcard tightly to his chest as though you might try to take it from him.

"Yeah,” he says, voice rasping quietly, then nods firmly and repeats it with more certainty the second time, “Yeah, ‘course I am. Of course. They may not have been from my mum, but they're from someone who cares about me.” 

He pins the card back into place with reverent care, then lets his hands fall to his sides. 

“Just wish that Marc could’ve had that for himself too, you know?”

You move forward until you’re close enough to Steven that you can slide a hand down his arm, your fingers brushing up against his wrist, and he takes a half-step closer, until his shoulder is pressing against yours.

“It’s a bit silly, you know? There was no need to go out of his way like this. I would have been none the wiser,” Steven says, smiling even as there’s a glossy sheen behind his eyes.

You know exactly what Steven means, and he’s right. It is silly. It’s also kind and unexpected and unnecessary and entirely Marc. 

The easy option would have been to just leave a dead fish in the tank. It would have been even easier to not send handwritten postcards to him at all. In fact, the easiest option of all for Marc was to dump everything on Steven from the very beginning. It would have saved him a lot of headaches. 

There was never any need for Marc to take all of this upon himself, carrying every burden come their way in order to spare Steven any hardships. No need for him to shoulder the entire weight of their world by himself. He didn't have to struggle alone, surrounded by millions of strangers in every corner of the world. And yet, you can’t imagine him doing otherwise.

This is quintessentially Marc, and as infuriating as it can be, you can’t fault him for it. 

“Marc has his own ideas about protecting the people in his life,” you say, as you lace your fingers with Steven's, squeezing him tightly under your palm, “Even if it’s at the expense of his own well being.” 

The two of you stand there in silence, interrupted only by the quiet bubbling noise coming from the tank. Surrounded by postcards written by a man who's not here, but whose presence can be felt in every nook and cranny of your life together. 

Marc isn’t here, yet reminders of him are constant and inescapable. His absence is like an aching tooth that you can’t seem to keep from prodding with your tongue, a missing stair that you can’t stop tripping over.

He's everywhere you look. 

Every cluttered pile of books that Steven leaves behind him when you stay in on a Saturday night, every messy detail makes you think of how Marc would want to rip out his hair, itching to clean if he saw the mess. 

You're reminded of Marc on every crowded tube you take on your morning commute. Haunted by the phantom weight of his protective hand on the small of your back, the comforting pressure of Marc's arms wrapped around you to keep you steady. 

Every morning when you walk into your office and catch a faint whiff of coffee from your cubicle, that fissure in your chest cracks open each time as you’re transported to the memory of waking up to the sight of Marc sitting next to you, drinking the coffee you make him with a stoic face. 

Then there is the biggest reminder of all: the face of the man you love. 

It's etched in the dark brown of Steven’s eyes as he smiles up at you and calls you 'love'. In the sharp line of his nose as he presses the blunt tip to your cheekbone to kiss you good morning. 

Perhaps you ought to be able to ignore it and pretend that this is fine. 

After all, you love Steven, and it'd be easy enough to pretend that you and Steven have reached your happily ever after. That this—your life together, just him and you, the way you’ve been since he’s returned—is your new normal, and that all of it is fine. 

...But it's not fine. 

You miss Marc. 

You miss waking up to him lingering in the kitchen as he tidies up. Miss his half-smiles and wry jokes. Miss the comfort of his presence just by him being near you. 

Somewhere along the line, in those quiet mornings together, Marc carved out a space for himself inside you. With him gone, it’s left a gaping wound in the middle of your torso, and you are haemorrhaging out without him.

Marc is important to Steven. He’s important to you too, you can admit that now. And you need to admit it to Steven as well. 

You squeeze down firmly on Steven's hand, closing your eyes shut for a brief second as you take a deep breath to prepare yourself. 

"Steven,” you start, “we... um... we need to talk.” 

You cringe the moment the words leave your mouth, wishing you could take them back and try again. The last conversation you started this way didn’t start or end well and sent Steven into a tailspin. 

Two seconds in, and you’re already messing this up. That has got to be some kind of a record. 

To your surprise, Steven doesn't panic. Instead his expression softens, and he smiles indulgently at you. 

"Yes, I think that's a good idea, love. There's a bit of an elephant in the room, isn’t there? A Marc-shaped elephant, yeah?” 

His blunt cheekiness cuts through any lingering hesitance in you, and you nod.

“I miss him,” you admit, before trailing off, “I…”  

You don't know how to say this. 

There are no words in the dictionary that can adequately convey what you’re feeling. How you can love Steven so much, be so deliriously happy to be with him, but still feel like there are sharp jagged pieces cutting large holes into you because Marc isn't there. 

“I know,” Steven says, filling the silence for you, “You care about him quite a bit, don’t you?”

You search his eyes for a moment, trying to get a sense of his emotional reaction to guide you. 

There’s nothing but kindness and understanding  in his gaze. Those warm brown eyes that seem to see right through you and accept you just as you are, and it helps to steady you.

“It’s all right, love,” he continues softly and gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze like he’s trying to emphasise to you that it truly is. “I care about Marc a great deal as well. The big grump grows on you, doesn’t he?”  

And that’s just Steven, isn’t it? Never shying away from a tough truth. 

You're so grateful to him for it.

You want to tell him how thankful you are to him for seeing you—for knowing you, even when you don't entirely know yourself. How safe you feel with him, even with this. How it’s his support that’s given you the courage to finally admit the truth to yourself... and to him as well.

“I think I...” 

You look down at your intertwined hands, his thumb petting the back of your knuckles. 

“I think I love him,” you finally say. 

It’s terrifying to admit out loud, but it’s a relief too.

You draw your eyes up to meet Steven’s, half-expecting to see hurt or pain blossoming, but there’s none.  You squeeze his palm gently in gratitude before you cup your hand over his soft cheek. 

“And I still love you as well. So much.”

“I thought that might be the case, love,” Steven says, and slides one hand into the pockets of his trousers, as he looks at you earnestly, “and that leaves you with a bit of a predicament, yeah?”

You nod. The fingers of your free hand are itching to fiddle with your wrist watch, so you curl them into a tight fist by your side. 

“I would never choose Marc over you, but I just– I–” you cut yourself off, shaking your head hopelessly because you’re not quite sure what you even want to suggest here. 

You’re so fucking nervous, nervous that you might be fucking up everything between you and Steven with this wishy-washy confession of yours. But before you spiral, Steven comes to your rescue.  

“So, I’m thinking, right,” Steven begins, “And– And stop me if this isn’t what you want, but what if–” 

He pauses, holding up both his hands in an invitation for you to interrupt at any time. 

“Look, nothing about our situation is normal. In fact, it’s rather abnormal, isn’t it?—and I reckon that means it has to be an inordinate solution.” 

Steven looks at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s trying to suggest, and it must show on your face because he continues, “So what if we all… um… well. You don’t have to choose, I guess is what I’m saying.”

Your mouth works, opening and closing as you struggle to get out any words in reply, and Steven presses on.

“Marc’s spent more than half his life shielding me from all the bad stuff that's come our way, trying to handle it all on his own. He doesn't believe that he deserves the good stuff. That he deserves love. But he does. Maybe more than anyone. So I think you should tell him how you feel, and we’ll see if we can't figure something out, all three of us.”

“You– You mean…”  you flounder, trying to find a delicate way to make sure he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But there is no such thing in these surreal circumstances. “You’re talking about my having a relationship with Marc as well as one with you? About… sharing me? …With him?”

He gives you a small awkward smile, as he shoves his fidgeting hands back down in his pockets like he’s suddenly grown self-conscious about how distracting they are. “Only if you’re okay with that, of course.”

“And you’re okay with that? You won't be jealous?”

“Jealous? …of Marc?” he begins incredulously, eyes popping wide open as if that option had never even occurred to him. Then he stops and really seems to ponder the question. 

“You know, I'm not. Maybe I should be, but… How can I be? After all, I’m a part of him, aren’t I? And he's part of me. The fact that you love him… Well, in some odd way it makes me feel like you... you just love all of me.”

Time seems to slow around you as you process what Steven’s just told you, because that’s it. That’s just what it is. 

You try to swallow down the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, but you can’t. His words shift something inside you, the tangled knot of guilt and confusion and conflicted loyalties that have lived inside you for so long unravels, leaving behind a clearer understanding of your own complicated feelings for both Marc and Steven.

You love Steven.

You love Marc.

You love both of them and all of them, and it doesn’t have to compete with each other. 

Once again you just marvel at Steven. At his way of cutting through your confusion, situational complexities, and convoluted emotions to put into words the truth you’ve struggled to understand, even as you’ve lived through it and felt it with every inch of you.  All of it summarised in that simple sentiment.  

“I do. I really do, Steven. You and Marc. All of you.” You breathe out, the tension going out of you until your spine softens, fully relaxes for the first time in a long time. 

Steven is still smiling at you, his smile spreading wider and more assured the longer he looks at you, and it makes the tentative love and joy welling up in your chest overflow until you can barely stand upright. 

“You’re really all right with this?” you ask one last time, and you notice that your voice is a little bit shaky because you feel like you are vibrating out of your skin. 

“I wouldn’t have suggested it, if it wasn’t something I wanted, love,” Steven says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre as he wraps his arm around the small of your back pressing you tight to him.  “But only if it’s something you want too.” 

“Yes, it... It is. Very much so,” you confirm, and you can’t hold back your ever-growing smile. 

“Well then,” Steven says, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head, “I guess all that's left now is to tell Marc and convince him to come back home.” 

You

Ratatouille is on channel 4 today and 

...And what? 

You pause to sprinkle fish food into the Gus twins’ tank, as you stare blankly at the drafted message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Today is the first time you’ve woken up without Steven in bed with you since his return. It means Marc has gone off somewhere again. 

You chew on your inner cheek as you reread the half-finished message. It's a daily habit you have developed in Marc's absence. You text him throughout the day to share about frivolous ongoings in your life, the way you used to when you’d be sitting across him at breakfast. 

There’s never any response. The only proof you have that he hasn't changed his number or blocked yours is the two little ticks that eventually appear, indicating that he's read the messages.

Dragging your finger down the screen, you scroll up through the message log, embarrassed at the number of unanswered messages you’ve left.

He really is planning to ignore you and stay gone forever, isn't he?

Your thumb drags over to the delete button instead, painstakingly erasing your message. 

Deep down, you've always known these texts were just an excuse for you to hang onto the last tether you felt you had tying you to Marc, and you're sick of nattering on inanely, making cheeky jokes to camouflage what you really wanted to tell him.

It’s time to say what you mean. What you’ve always meant. The truth hidden between every line of every message you’ve sent him. 

You

I miss you

Please come back

You hit send before you can overthink it, then stare at the screen, blood rushing to your head as your heart starts to palpitate in your chest. A million thoughts race in your head, as you start to imagine Marc on the other end reading this. Will he be annoyed? Angry? Will he finally block your number so he doesn’t have to receive your spam messages at all hours of the day? 

You glance at the ottoman in front of you, about to set down the phone to keep it away from yourself, when from the corner of your eye you see that grey tick transforms into blue. 

Marc's read it. He’s read it.

Your heart drums painfully sharp tucked beneath your ribs. Your fingers grip the cold body of your phone. 

Marc's there. On the other side of the screen right now. A phone call away. 

That’s what Steven said wasn’t it? That all you two needed to do now, was to tell Marc how you feel and convince him to come home. 

That is, assuming he even wants to come home.  Maybe he just doesn’t feel the same about you. 

Still, your fingers slide open your contacts, scrolling down until you reach Marc's name and press call. 

It rings out, loud and oppressive. Louder still when you press it against your ear. 

Once.

You should’ve had a glass of wine before you did this.

Twice. 

He probably won't answer. Why would he? You shouldn't have even bothered. If he wanted to speak to you, he wouldn’t have been avoiding you in the first place. 

Three times. 

The monotonous ringing continues, and your heart seems to sink in your chest, dropping, heavy with disappointment into the pit of your stomach. He's not going to pick up.

Four. 

This is desperate and sad. You’re chasing after a man who keeps running from you. You're just going to leave yourself miserable. 

Five. 

This is so stupid. You should just hang up. 

Six–click. 

You jolt upright on the sofa. Every hair on the nape of your neck electrified. Legs tense and straining as you sit entirely still like you've encountered a deer in the forest and you're too afraid to move a muscle in case you might spook it away. 

Did the line disconnect? Or did he–

You yank the phone away from your ear to stare at the screen. It's blank and black save for Marc's name and a timer, numbers counting up to indicate the duration of the call. 

Marc picked up. Marc actually...

Your mouth is dry as you raise the phone to your ear again.

“He-hello? Marc?” 

There's no answer.  

“Marc? Are you there?” 

Still nothing. The other end of the line is dead quiet. Maybe it’s a bad connection.

“Can you hear me?” you try again. 

Maybe no one is there. Maybe Marc bumped it with his elbow. Maybe you’re just talking to yourself like a crazy woman. 

“Marc, I–” 

You lower the phone and check the screen again. The call is still going, but the silence on the line reveals nothing. You have no way of knowing if Marc is listening or not.

But if he is... 

If he is, this might be your best chance—perhaps your only chance—to speak to him. Compared to that, what does it matter if you feel a little bit silly? 

“So uhm... I-I don't know if you had a chance to read my message—the latest one, I mean. I know I've been sending you a lot of them. But if you're there? If you can hear me, Marc, I just– I mean it, you know? I miss you. Steven misses you too. We both do.”

It's still quiet.

Even if Marc is there on the other end of the line, it's quite obvious by now that he has no intention of answering you. Stubborn as he is, you know that no matter what you say, he's not going to acknowledge that he's there. 

If he’s even there.

You press on. 

“I don't know why you think you need to stay away, or why Steven and I wouldn't want you here. Because, yes, you're grumpy and your default setting is a resting bitch face, and yes, you can be a right arse sometimes, but…” You find yourself smiling, imagining the way his eyebrow would rise if you were saying this to his face.

“You've always taken care of Steven and... and of me too”. 

Your throat constricts with a thick lump that you try, but can’t seem to, swallow away. You think of all the small but many, many things Marc has done for you since he entered your life. The way he’s learned to prepare your tea just the way you like it. The way he always pulls your quilts to your shoulders while you’re asleep so you don’t freeze in the middle of the night. 

“I don't know if I've ever thanked you before. I guess I just– uhm. I want to thank you, you know? Thank you for cooking me breakfast every morning and for putting out my clothes for me so I didn’t have to search for them.” 

You think of the way he had held you while you were crying like a child on his living room floor. How firmly he’d cradled you in his arms, and how he didn’t let go, even when you got snot all over his shirt. 

“Thank you for comforting me when I was crying after everything with Steven.” There’s a stinging sensation behind your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand, trying to ignore that it comes away wet, as you continue to speak. 

“And for letting me stay over that night. I know you’re not usually a touchy-feely person, and it... It meant a lot to me.” 

You swear you can feel the phantom weight of his comforting hand on the small of your back, and you close your eyes as you imagine that he’s next to you. 

You think of all the ways he’s pushed himself for you. Hugging you when you were crying, cooking you breakfast when you were hungry, befriending you because you asked him to for Steven’s sake—how every step forward in your relationship has been because he was trying to meet someone else's needs: Steven’s. Yours. 

And now he’s removing himself from the picture, thinking he’s fulfilling another need. 

“I know I said I wanted a simple, normal life with Steven, but I didn't– That didn't mean I wanted you gone, Marc,” you continue, as you tug at your overlong sleeve and wipe at your wet cheeks. 

“You said you were going to fix everything, that we were better off without you, but how can anything be 'fixed' when I miss you so bloody much!? How can things be better without you here when I'm–” Your voice breaks, and you swallow around the thickness in your throat, trying to sniffle down the clump that won’t go away. 

“God, I hope you're listening, and I'm not just pouring my heart out to your back pocket.” 

You let out a wet laugh at the idea, and then inhale deeply, doing your best to steady your voice. 

“I'm– I’m in love with you, Marc.”

You're not sure if it's just your over-active imagination inventing things out of pure wish fulfilment, but you think perhaps you hear a quick intake of breath on the other end. 

“Steven knows. I still love him too, of course, but I told him how I feel about you, and he's okay with it. And if– well, if you ever wanted there to be something more between us, he'd be okay with that too. We don't have to be together that way if you don't want to, of course, but I just…” 

Your throat feels tight again, threatening to close up, and you have to stop for a moment, suck in a soggy breath and try to get yourself under control before you can continue. 

“I love you, Marc,” you say again, barely breathing for several seconds as you strain your ears, hoping to hear something, anything from the other line. But this time there's not even a hint of sound.

You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Feeling. Is he shocked? Angry? Puzzled? What does he look like on the other end of the line? 

Are his brows furrowed into that pinched expression his face makes when he’s emotionally overwhelmed? If he were here, would he be looking at you with that same pained expression that night he put you in a taxi home? Or would he lean in and–

You don’t know. 

And you’d give up the whole world to know what Marc is feeling in this moment. Give anything to have him back here with you so you could see it for yourself. 

"Do you hear me, you stubborn, infuriating man?” you’re practically yelling now. “I love you! So there's not going to be any happily ever after for me unless you come back. You don’t have to love me the same way. It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. But I need you here. Please. I miss you. Steven misses you. Please just come back.”

You close your eyes again, holding your breath. Hoping against hope that he’ll answer you or give you some sign that he’s heard you at the very least. But there’s nothing. 

And you have nothing more left to say to try to convince him. 

“Goodnight, Marc.”

Then you end the call. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[fallout-fucker]

Fallout 4 really coulda made the 'Living by the sea' vibes so terrifying. Of course, people know of mirleurks and stuff. But what about the things they don't know about. The fear of the unknown.

We know that sea life was also affected by radiation. We've seen the size of a mirelurk queen. We know that sharks exist from the corpses.

So. How do we know megalodons aren't back in the Falloutverse. Or krakens don't exist. Sea life enlarged and at an unimaginable scale, unknown to the survivors of humanity as they lurk beneath the waters.

What if Sole had been told not to cross the ocean to Far Habour. What if there's a reason that, after 200 years, no one has brought back voyager boats and sailing the oceans to reconnect the world. What if they know better. Or maybe they realise they don't know anything at all.

What if Sole set up a nice base at Spectacle Island, and is confused when Hancock refuses to see it. Sole jokes that he's paranoid, but he reminds them he grew up on the waterfront. He helped his dad fish when he was younger. Boats don't scare him. The water doesn't scare him.

"It's what's in it," He explained coldly. He sat down in the sand, shotgun in his arms. Sole asked him to elaborate, he said he couldn't. "You wanna go after the Institute, fine. I'll help. That's an unknown I can handle. But, I ain't getting in that boat, and neither should you."

"I'll...Ask someone else."

"Can it be Danse?"

Sole thought he was being dramatic but quickly realised that none of the companions were keen to travel across the water.

There was that time Sole once jumped off the Prydwen and into the deep sea, so far from shore, only to hear a guttural noise around them. They couldn't see anything. The water dark blue, and filthy, almost black from when the world was scorched. But whatever it was, it was large enough that its voice vibrated through their entire being. They convinved themself it was a whale. They know whales don't sound like that.

On the days Sole is at the castle, they like to look out at the ocean. Or did, until today when they saw a large boat in the distance become capsized. They almost sent their own boats out to help, but Preston placed a firm hand on their shoulder. His eyes told Sole everything he wouldn't. Preston's not the type to let people die. So, Sole turned the radio up so none of the other soldiers could hear the distant screams for help and distress calls. And to drown out their own guilt, watching as the last fisherman attempted to swim desperately to shore, only to be dragged down below the waves. Sole didn’t look away until the boat finally sank. When they did, their eyes landed on the East Wall, which was under reconstruction from when the mirelurk queen had emerged. Sole wonders if that was even the largest sea creature out there.

When Sole's getting ready for bed, Preston knocks at their door gently. "Even I can admit when something is a lost cause," There was a guilt dripped into his tone. A silent apology to the fallen men. "I'll tell our guys to stay out of the water for a few days. We can rely on the nets for fish."

"We should set up a limit for how far out our boats can go."

"We will. Tomorrow. For now, get some rest." He's halfway to closing the door when Sole speaks again.

"I jumped off of the Prydwen once..."

"Excuse me?"

"I was fine. I wanted to go into the water. I did."

"Excuse me?"

"I couldn't see anything. But I heard something. I felt the sound go through me. I think it was a whale."

"Think or hope?" Sole doesn't say anything. Preston gets his answer regardless. "Was it close to you or do you think it was fine?"

"Think or hope," Sole mirrors. "I don't know. It was large."

"That seems to be a theme with the ocean."

"...Is that why no one has tried to cross the ocean again in 200 years? I thought...I thought there'd be pirates again out there. Or something. That massive wooden ships had made a comeback somewhere."

"I can't say. For all we know, maybe people have tried." Sole doesn't want to think about the connotations of that.

"No one wanted to go to Spectacle Island."

"I'm sure it looks nice but...To be honest, neither would I. I'm Sorry."

"It's fine. I get it now...I don't think I do anymore, for a while...John wouldn't get in the boat."

"Hancock...Is a smart man. Sometimes."

"Sometimes? You're saying that to the person that jumped off of the Prydwen."

"True, you do make Hancock look like Einstein."

"Thank God people still know Einstein," Sole mumbles. "John's smarter than he let's on."

"He once showed up to my door, drunk, asking if I thought Nick had a penis. Then, if he did, if it could be classed as a vibrator. I refused to answer or ask the context for why he wanted to know."

"...On that note, goodnight Preston."

"Goodnight, Sole."

Sole stares at the ceiling as they try to sleep that night. The sound of the waves crashing against the walls keeps them awake.

[sentienttoastah]

Trying out new art styles. Whale skeletons are very cool :) And of course it wouldn’t be complete without the usage of the colour green for no reason in particular (Spoilers: I think I like the colour green).

Thoughts on Moby Dick for today: A bit of the cetology chapters and a bit of Ishmael! Because… Whale.

We all know there’s copious amounts of whale anatomy lessons in Moby Dick, some of which are true and some are more outdated. This is usually the least favourite part of the book for many people, and understandably so. It can be annoying for those who only read for the story and probably even more annoying for people who are actually interested or knowledgeable on the modern topic of cetaceans (or marine biology in general I mean like Ishmael called a seal (or was it a walrus? I forgot) an amphibian I don’t think I have to elaborate).

But I’ve always thought the way Ishmael narrates the story, even though it’s through a book, is as if you were actually there sitting in front of him while he tells you the tale. Like listening to an actual sailor ramble about the ocean. Like a one-sided conversation, you could say. It just gives those vibes. That feeling of a naturally flowing conversation was actually what kept me really interested in the book because even though he barely talks about himself you can feel a kind of connection to Ishmael.

So if we were to treat it like him actually telling you all of this in one sitting on the spot I thought wouldn’t it make sense for him to want to avoid the worst parts of the story? So he drags it out before getting to the sad part. Or alternatively, the more logical explanation is the fact it’s a sailor telling a story about the sea to a land dweller so of course he would want to give them quick context notes. And especially considering the time this book was first published many people were unaware about even the basic facts of a whale.

Because among the many reasons Melville wrote Moby Dick was to educate people on the wonders of whales. And he succeeded! …Partially. He might not be the one we should give all of our credit to for the research of whales but at the very least he sparked a kind of curiosity in the common people back in the day. Sure it’s outdated but he tried his best and I think that’s very cool :) shout out to Herman Melville for that.

Oh oh wait! I just thought of something. We can also view it as Ishmael writing a personal diary instead of being an actual book to publish to many. That works well too, and gives him more reason to want to drag out the tale. He’s not just writing about their death and demise he’s writing about their lives to remember as well. A diary.

But on a different note, since I think that whole previous subject is already commonly thought about enough by Moby Dick readers;

Whale skeletons like I mentioned before are very cool too. But at the same time they kinda freak me out. Cause it looks like both a fish and a mammal at the same time. The skull especially reminds me of I think horses or other medium sized quadrupedal herbivores?? And the fingers are freaky too. The fingers are the freakiest. I’m sure if you showed them to someone who has never seen a whale skeleton they’d be very confused or scared. Maybe both.

But it really is curious to see the remnants of their land dwelling days through their bones!

[jamiesfootball]

Today on the wheelodex of things I'd like to discuss regarding Mom City / the Finale-

It's fucking weird that Ted's mom didn't come to the match. I also understand it completely.

(And I don't just mean writing weird, although I do think the decision was in part made so that they wouldn't have to spend a whole character-centric episode's B-plot revolve around introducing a new character around. Which is another complaint on the overall pacing of s3, but i digress)

But I'm talking about the 'meeting someone's mom is like getting a manual on why they're nuts' of it all. Ted's mom:

Flew in from the states, without letting Ted know she was coming

Proceeded to stay at a hostel for a week, hanging around 'near' his place for ??? amount of time until he happened to walk past her

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding staying with him (conceded)

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding going to work with him (conceded)

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding going up to Manchester -- and was left back at his flat.

Like. Holy fucking shit. That was all in the span of like 1-2 days.*

This is what Ted grew up with. Someone who constantly refuses to outright ask for anything or confront anything without making it an exercise for the other person. She's so passive aggressive that makes Ted seem like a direct person in comparison.

But what's interesting to me is that when it came to coming to the match in Manchester, that's the one where Ted folded in the towel and went 'yeah just stay here then'. Because that is the antithesis of Midwestern hospitality, isn't it? To leave your guest--your mom--back at home while she's visiting while you go off and do something else, something interesting, for a long stretch of time. It certainly makes my learned southern hospitality shudder in social faux pas. That's just not done. It's rude. Ted does it anyways.

With passive aggression, it's about what's not said--not what is. Both parties tend to know that the person being passive aggressive actually wants the opposite thing. The 'polite' way to tell them 'no' is to pretend you accept what they're saying. Ted's insistence that she tag along is noticeably weaker than when he's telling her to take his bed or come to work with him. It's not that her counter-arguments are any better; it's that he does the courtesy dance in a way that gets him out of the situation by giving her what she's asking for.

So Ted, Ted, does something people could consider rude. Because the alternative is doing this goddamn song-and-dance with his mother again. And I think that's fascinating. Not just from a character perspective, but for how it shows Ted's priorities in that moment. He says it backwards, he says it in an absence, but it's implied all the same, I don't want you there.

His team is facing off against their white-whale. They've been chasing Pep's team and his strategy, and now they're going head to head. If his mom came to the match, he'd be focused on her. On making sure she was taken care of. He doesn't want that.

For him, that's about as close as we ever get to him saying that he wants something (that has nothing to do with Henry.)

Of course then, just like Jamie's dad hovers over him even when he's not there, Ted's mom follows him to Manchester in his head. When Ted talks to Jamie, he's got one foot back in his kitchen at home. He's there, but he's not there. He's talking to Jamie, but he's talking to himself.

And it makes me wonder how often this was the case--how often did he throw in the towel and give her what she asked for because he just couldn't take being the one who had to handle all the decisions. It's a backwards negotiation, making his mother show up for him. She does love him, but god you can see how much strain reassuring her that he loves her too takes.

If I may be so bold, I think Ted also deserved to say 'fuck you' to his mom without attaching a 'thank you'.

*(SIDE COMPLAINT - The timeline of Mom City expands and contracts to fill the narrative space as needed, and it was goddamn infuriating to write about just tell me when things happen damnit)

[serxinns]

Hello :3 👋

Could you do a Yandere pro hero’s (The reader is like 29) with a chubby reader and chubby reader gets like made fun of by some group of men

:3 ty and have a good day

My pleasure

TW: blood, violent against both the reader and the guys, cussing, obsessive unhealthy behavior, and implied blackmailing and prob death (not towards reader

So let's just say you were walking down the street all dressed up and pretty, you were feeling confident thanks to Mount Lady giving you make-up tips and skincare recommendations a few days ago, you were looking more younger and beautiful heck even Hawks, Mirko, and Fatgum started drooling when they saw you all dressed up just for them, they praised you head to toe falling more in love and desire for you the ever!

You were just heading back from a mall hangout with Nemuri, your hands were full of perfumes she preferred and some snacks you were listening to music on your headphones not noticing a group of guys chatting, laughing, and drinking, they spotted you walking towards them and stared at you passing by them they looked at each other and smirked deviously, one of the guys picked up a half drunken beer can and threw it directly at of your head

"Hey!" You looked back angrily to see a group of men snickering and whispering something under their breath which seemed to piss you off "What gives asshole!? Ths trash was over there" "Well I threw it at the trash didn't I?" The other men snickered as the other men threw their drunken cans at you which luckily you dodged them "Dance piggy dance!" They all laughed like middle schoolers, saying such crude words like "whale" or "Cow legs"

You were glaring daggers at the men wanting to punch them or heck kick them right in their tiny dicks but you didn't wanna deal with their bullshit plus arguing with guys like those wouldn't be worth it so you flipped them off and began walking off the men glared at you dissatisfied that you were walking away from them so they quickly surrounded you causing you to bump into them

"Why going so soon today? To stuff your face with greasy foods" They all laughed as they started pushing you around pointing at your body and calling it every name that has to do with your body "JUST GO AWAY" you said slicing one of the men close up to you on the stomach causing him to let go and you booked it not caring if you injuries him or not

the men yelled something in anger and started chasing you down, using their quirks to atleast get a hit on you, one of the men's quirk was a laser and when he was forming his finger as a gun aiming it at you, a red feather stabbed the man's hand deep making him howl in agony while the others stared, stunned and confused untill keigo slowly flew down infront of you spreading his left wing out as of we was protecting you

"Keigo!" You happily said hugging him from behind he looked at you and smiled "Hey chickadee heard you needed help" he said as he glared at the group as they stumbled back in fear "O-oh shit... ITS HAWKS!" One of the men stuttered and ran away fearing they'll get arrested or worse except one who seemed to be the leader "WHERE YOU ASSHOLES GOING!?" he said watching how his gang running away with their tails between their legs

He was then met with a harsh punch by hawks he flew back into the street light face bodying aching while his face formed a bruise and drops of blood coming from his nose he grunted in pain clutching his sides and looking up at a menacing Keigo, his golden eyes piercing to the man's soul the man stumbled back a big spat out some cuss words and quickly stumbled off looking for his gang

"Tsk coward.." Keigo sneered under his breath he quickly calmed down when he saw you broke down crying in relief, he ran up to you and hugged you tightly confronting you the best way he could picking you up princess style and flying you to your house "Hey.." Keigo looked over to you "If it's not a bother can you and Mirko stay the night please.." his heart fluttered when you asked that but realized mirko was also wanna spend the night so he agreed and you called mirko up

The 3 of you had the best night ever it was full of cuddles competitiveness, chaos, and games as you soundly went to sleep Mirko and Keigo were the only ones awake staring endlessly at your sleeping figure until the rabbit hero spoke up, "You still got that feather on them kei?" Keigo looked up to him and nodded "Yep it seems like they threw it in the trash such a big mistake.."

he smirked deviously thinking about what torture method he was gonna do with them while Mirko was typing away on her phone to the pro hero group chat the photo of the men who attacked you, Aizawa later on pull up a picture of their address and crimmal history while him and mic smiled deviously

Oh how this will be fun~

[harrywavycurly]

Hi Sarah this is so random so don’t feel like you have to do it 🙈

But could you give us some random conversations with Eddie and the reader when they are pregnant? I just see them having super cute moments but also funny ones! Thank you xx

Hiii babes!! So just thinking of Eddie as a dad to be makes me wanna just turn to puddle of mush so thank you for wanting this and I hope you enjoy💖

*Eddie being willing to do just about anything to make you happy is what I live for also this is a mixture of fluff and like sassy realness lol*

“Are you allowed to do that while you’re with child?” “With child? What century are you in?” “I mean you’re…with a child.” “Don’t ever say that to me again.” “Got it.”

“Why do clothes that are so small cost so much money?” “Because they are extra cute and tiny so they have to charge more.” “You’re fucking with me.” “Nope it’s called the cute and tiny tax. Look it up Munson.” “It’s scary how convening you can be.” “What do you mean?” “Well come on, tiny tax? That’s not a real thing.” “Are you calling me a liar?” “Oh shit are you crying?”

“What about pizza? You love pizza.” “I don’t want that.” “Okay oh I’ve got it what about that weird sandwich you craved last week? I can make that for you.” “I will literally throw up on you if you even try to make me eat that right now.” “That’s a no then…uh pasta?” “That doesn’t sound horrible.” “Okay I’ll take that. Now what kind? We have like three different options.” “I don’t know.” “Please don’t cry sweetheart. I’ll just make them all okay? Let you pick and I’ll have whatever you don’t want. Just don’t cry baby.”

“Give me your hand.” “Oh no I’m not falling for that again.” “Eddie please give me your hand.” “What is that?” “You felt that? It’s the baby kicking.” “Holy shit.” “Are you crying?” “Yes. I just felt my baby kick for the first time I’m entitled to some waterworks.” “You’re so precious Eddie Munson.”

“Do you want to be called daddy or dad?” “I think I’ll save daddy for you princess.” “Why are you like this?” “Sorry. Dad is fine.” “Oh what about father?” “Too Darth Vader for me baby. But really dad or like what do babies say? Dada? That’ll be fine I’ll respond to anything they wanna call me.” “What if they call you Munson?” “They absolutely will never call me that.” “Oh oh what if when they are mad and they call you Eddie?” “You think they’ll be that mad at me one day to call me by my actual name? I didn’t learn Wayne’s name till I was like ten.” “I mean teenagers can be mean.” “Thank god we have time to prepare ourselves for that. But if they ever call me Eddie I’ll let you handle it.” “Me?” “Oh didn’t you know you’re totally the bad cop on this duo baby.” “No way in hell! I’m the good cop you asshole.” “You just proved my point sweetheart.” “You’re so annoying.”

“I feel like a whale.” “Am I allowed to tell you how beautiful you look or will that get me in trouble?” “You’re allowed.” “You look fucking stunning baby. I know they say pregnant woman have a glow and they were right. You…just take my breath away every time I see you.” “Laying it on extra thick today are we?” “Just being honest sweetheart.” “You like me all big and pregnant?” “Honestly I do. So much so I wouldn’t mind seeing you pregnant again after we meet this little metalhead.” “I’m gonna need you to slow your roll Munson. Let’s see how this pregnancy goes before we plan the next one.” “Fine. But really you’re fucking sexy as hell okay? If you ever forget it don’t worry I’ll happily remind you.”

“Thank you Princess.” “What are you thanking me for?” “For wanting to have a baby with me.” “Well thank you for sticking around.” “Oh you’re gonna have a hell of a time trying to get rid of me now baby.” “Oh god am I stuck with you for good?” “Yup I’m afraid so.” “I guess there’s worse things I could be stuck with.” “I feel the love princess.” “I love you Eddie.” “I love you too baby, both of you.”

“Have you ever thought about how you’re a walking party of two?” “I can’t say that I have.” “Like when we go to Benny’s we could say Munson party of three.” “Eddie is this what you think about while you’re home alone?” “I mean…yeah. It’s just really mind blowing knowing there’s a whole human inside of you right now.” “I know it is pretty wild to think about.” “Like you have two hearts inside you.” “I do. Yeah.” “That’s so fucking cool.”

“How’s this?” “It’s fine Eddie, I swear you’re not hurting me by putting lotion on my belly.” “I just don’t wanna put too much like pressure anywhere and make you have an accide-” “It happened one time and you swore you’d never bring it up again.” “Sorry sorry I didn’t mean to. I love you.” “I love you too.” “And I love you as well my little metalhead.” “Did you just kiss my belly? Why are your lips so cold?” “I don’t know? Wanna warm them up for me?” “That was smooth Munson.” “Hear that little one? Your dads still got it.”

“Baby? What’s wrong?” “I can’t sleep I’m having a hot flash.” “Okay let me get the fan.” “But then you’ll be cold.” “I’ll be fine baby I’ll just get an extra blanket. Besides I love sleeping with the fan on, the sounds are very relaxing.” “You hate our fan it squeaks too much.” “What are you talking about? The fan squeaking is the most soothing sound my ears have ever heard sweetheart.” “I can just sleep in the living room with the fan it’s fine.” “Baby please just get back into bed.” “You swear you don’t mind the fan?” “I swear.”