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teenwolfmarvel-obsessor · 11 months

Text

Anti-Hero

Stranger Things Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Summary: Loving yourself never comes easy to anyone. For some people, it's harder to understand. After coming out of a relationship, you never fully loved yourself until you met Steve Harrington. He was the one that has always reminded you of how perfect you are. On one particular today, you don't feel like yourself, but Steve helps you remember how perfect you are.

Notes:

Y/N/N: Your Nick Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Warnings:

Trouble with self-image

Angst (maybe???)

Steve Harrington x-reader

Steve, Robin, and I sat together. I was trying to help Robin study for her calculus final this Friday. She has been a nervous wreck all week. "Okay, what's an integral?" I asked, flipping through her notecards. Her chin sat on her hand, her fingers tapping the table.

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

Steve looked up from his textbook to see if our friend knew the answer. "Um," she cleared her throat, "the reverse operation of a differentiation?" Robin looked at me for approval. I smiled and nodded my head. My friend sighed and leaned back in her seat. Steve chuckled to himself and went back to 'writing' his notes for our next assignment.

I shifted in my seat, wishing I hadn't worn this sweater. I had just gotten it and probably should've washed it before wearing it. "You okay?" Steve said quietly. "Yeah. This sweater is just really itchy," I complained. "Well, you could just take it off," Steve winked. I rolled my eyes and shook his gaze.

Robin's face scrunched at Steve's expression. She dropped her face when Steve glanced at her. Every once in and awhile, my boyfriend looked my way as I began to feel uncomfortable in the sweater. He leaned over and spoke so only I could hear. "I think you look very pretty," he muttered. He nudged my shoulder so I could look up at him.

He kissed my forehead just as the bell rang. The three of us stood up to head to class. Steve and I had our Biology final, while Robin had her Art final. "Good luck, Robin. I know you'll do great," I said. She thanked me and went down the opposite way. Steve put an arm around my shoulders. "You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. Steve dropped it, and we walked into class. He sat on the other side of the classroom while I went to the other. Our teacher decided to separate the groups to see if that would help us concentrate, but I'm not sure if that'll help. "Good afternoon, class," Ms. Smith greeted, "You will have two hours to complete this exam. After you are finished, bring the test to me and go back to your seats."

She took out the packets from her desk. Our teacher separated them by rows and handed them to the people at the front. Everyone passed them back. I pulled out my pencil, leaning over to ask Erica to hand a pencil to Steve. My boyfriend looked over his shoulder and thanked me with a smile.

I winked at him and started my test when our teacher waved us to begin. It was intimidating to see everyone else finishing the test before me, but I was able to finish with just thirty minutes to spare. I began drawing on a separate sheet of paper.

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving, 'cause you got tired of my scheming

I hadn't realized that the bell rang. I was in my own little world. Steve walked over to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey," he said, "You ready for lunch?" I nodded and stood up from the desk.

______

(Later)

"I don't know what's wrong. I'm worried about her, Nancy," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "Worried about who?" I asked, joining our friends for lunch. He looked up from his pasta. He glimpsed at Nancy. "Oh, he was telling me that he's worried for Robin," she said.

I nodded and took out a sandwich my mom made for me this morning. "I don't blame her. Calculus is hard," I said, taking a sip of my water. Nancy nodded in agreement. She smiled as Jonathan sat down.

Robin soon joined the other side of me, her plate covered in different types of food. I looked at her with raised brows. "What? Art class brings an appetite out of me," she shrugged. "How was that final, by the way?" I asked. "It was fine. I'm hoping my sketches were good enough," she answered. For the rest of lunch, we talked about our midterms and what we were doing over the weekend.

My boyfriend and I planned to take a trip to Lovers Lake with Nancy and Jonathan. Nancy had been talking about it all week; she wanted to provide the snacks, meaning she and her mother would be making them.

"Y/N, Steve. How did the Biology exam go? I need the details before I step foot in Ms. Smith's classroom," Jonathan asked. "It was easy, surprisingly," Steve replied, "It was just those graphs we studied, and we have to label some cell parts." Jonathan nodded, taking a bite of his lunch. I thought it was a little easy. Biology was kind of an okay subject for me.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

When it came to different terminology or finding the correct definitions, I'd always get stumped. Nancy had helped Steve and me study for the midterm. I just hoped that was enough to get me a better grade in the class.

Steve noticed that I had grown quiet after the mention of our Biology midterm. Lunch ended, and it was time for us to head to the library, given that we had a free period. I wanted to head home, but I knew my parents wouldn't like me leaving early, especially during midterm week.

The two of us walked back to the library. "Are you sure you're okay?" Steve asked, sitting down across from me. I nodded, not wanting to worry him. But something tells me that even saying I was fine probably made him more worried. Steve knew what went through my head regardless if I told him or not.

He was aware of my problems with self-image, I was getting better, but some days were harder than others. I had a great support system, and I thanked Steve for that every day. Today, for example, wearing this sweater that I thought I liked was really putting me in a different mood.

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart but never killed

And Steve could tell just by me zoning out or the constant nodding in assurance or words such as 'I'm fine' and 'I'm okay' with an unconvincing smile. At times, it felt like I was my own anti-hero, taking myself down for no reason. My mom always told me that those thoughts were the cons of growing up.

I mean, I guess she's right. We grow up in our bodies, so why do we treat ourselves badly? I pulled out my textbook to finish my study guide; that way, I wouldn't have to do it when I got home.

Steve promised he would help my brother practice for Lacrosse tryouts, and he asked me to be the ref. Steve never played Lacrosse, but his father did in college, so he's learned a thing or two.

Steve did anything but look at his book. Steve smiled at me when he saw my head stuck in my book. He pulled the edge of the book towards himself, but I brought it back to me. "Don't study too hard. Your eyes will pop out of her head," he teased.

He chuckled when my eyes met his. The corners of his mouth lifted, smiling at my nose scrunching at his comment. "What's wrong?" I whispered. "Nothing. I just think you should take a break," Steve thought. "Steve, we've been in the library for five minutes," I clarified.

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He tapped his hands on the desk, acting like the table was a drum set. I looked over my shoulder to see the librarian scowling at my boyfriend. I hid my laugh with a cough. Steve sunk in his seat and sent a look my way. "Shut up," he muttered. "Make me," I replied, flipping to another page in my book.

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism Like some kind of congressman? I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving And life will lose all its meaning

He lightly kicked my leg, causing me to jump at the touch. Steve smirked to himself and finally grabbed his notebook. I shook my head in amusement and went back to my own little world where I escaped every now and then. Another thing my mother would always point out, "Sometimes going into your own reality isn't always a good thing, honey."

I'd roll my eyes at her comment. My father would disagree and claim that's where I get my most thinking done. He's always been someone who has supported me. He's got this carefree and jumpy personality that my brother and I loved, including Steve. Then, my mind goes to another part of my reality that reminds me of how different I am from my family.

I've never been an active person. Sure, I did dance and soccer when I was younger, but now that I'm getting close to college. I have no clue what I want to do with my life. My parents often say that I should do whatever I want with my life, but it's kind of hard to figure that out at age eighteen. Steve tells me not to beat myself up about it.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

The last bell rang for the day. Finally! It was time to head home. Steve's arm found its place on my shoulders on our way to his car. We said goodbye to our friends before driving to my place. My brother was still at school, but Steve wanted to set up my yard for Timmy, my brother.

My fingers tapped on the armrest as the radio played. Steve turned up the volume, noticing me bopping my head to the melody. He glanced at me and smiled. We pulled into the driveway and walked inside. "I'm gonna get changed. I'll be right back," I told Steve.

He gave me a thumbs up, stepping into the kitchen to grab a snack. I changed into my father's sweatshirt and shorts, immediately feeling more comfortable in these clothes. I loved the way the soft fabric of the sweatshirt touched my skin. It almost felt like I getting a hug the whole time I wore it.

I rubbed the side of the sleeves as I walked into the kitchen. Steve leaned against the counter, eating an apple and reading a book. I chuckled softly. "What?" he looked up with a portion of the apple in his mouth. "You look so philosophical," I said. His leg was propped on the cabinet, and he wore his favorite red sweater.

Steve looked at his position and attire before looking back at me. He caught on and put the book down. "What were you even reading?" I walked over to him. I noticed it was my grandmother's old cookbook. I let out another laugh. "What? It looked interesting," Steve defended himself.

"The art of making squash soup sounded interesting to you?" I held up the blue and green book. "Yeah," he said, taking another bite of the fruit. I wiped a bit of juice the apple had spread. Steve leaned into my touch.

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money She thinks I left them in the will The family gathers 'round and reads it, and then someone screams out, "She's laughing up at us from hell"

He looked like he was going to ask me something but didn't know how to properly say it. I took my hand off his face and thought of getting something for myself. I opened the fridge and scanned over the shelves. "Y/N/N, can I ask you a question?" Steve set his foot on the ground.

"Sure. You can ask me anything," I said, picking up a small bottle of orange juice and a cheese stick. Steve sighed and turned to me with his side against the kitchen island. "I know I've asked this all day, but I'd like to get a true response," Steve said, "We're always honest with one another, but today I feel like there is something that you're not telling me."

I closed the fridge, partially knowing what he was going to ask me. I leaned against the appliance with my eyes on the tiled flooring. I traced the triangle pattern along the edges. "Is it something that I've done? If it is, tell me, and I can fix it," Steve stepped towards me with open hands. I shook my head and looked up at him for the first time since getting my snack.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees

"I don't think you can fix this," I said. Steve's brows furrowed. I looked up at the ceiling fan to prevent myself from getting emotional. Steve stood beside me but made sure to keep a good distance. "Today's been hard," I spoke, "I know I'm getting better at not looking at myself as the anti-hero, but some days that idea just can't seem to escape my head."

Steve watched me as I expressed what was going through my head all day or all the time. He hesitated at first but laced his hand with mine. "I know you said I can't fix this, but I sure as hell am going to try and fix it," Steve said. He reached down and kissed the top of my head.

"I love you for you," he said, "I love your smart brain. I love the way you look at things differently. And I especially love how you go along with my shitty pickup lines. Robin might think they're stupid, but you never stop to make me smile with your comebacks." He wrapped his arms around me tightly. "I love you too," I said, earning another kiss on the forehead.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Taglist: @b-ritney @ramaalkayyali @midnightstar-90 @nix-rose

#stranger things #stranger things season one #stranger things two #stranger things three #stranger things season four #joe keery #joe keery imagines #joe keery x-reader #joe keery fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x-readers #steve harrington fluff #song inspired #Spotify

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spacesenku · 1 year

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Hi! Are there any taylor songs that you think are neymessi coded? For me, ney is very this is me trying (also, i’ve cried thinking about a midnight rain edit of ney leaving barca and leo) 😭

Oh Anon, you can't possibly imagine how lovely this ask is and HOW much i connected Taylor's song to Neymar and Leo, so thank you! (and sorry because this is going to be a long post)

Starting with Neymar, i think Anti Hero is HIS song.

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.

This first verse right there screams Neymar from all povs.

But then our Taylor continues and says:

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

This whole song is so Neymar core ™ it makes me cry, the whole "hello i'm the problem and i know everybody think so" represent perfectly to me how many times Neymar felt like he was responsible for things that in fact were not his responsability. Not to talk about the "it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero" when WE KNOW it's true because he is the kind of man that roots for anti heroes, i just can't. (the perfect caos indeed).

Another song I associate with Ney is "This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things", and it's kinda for the same reasons as Anti Hero:

This is why we can't have nice things, darling Because you break them, I had to take them away Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me? This is why we can't have nice things

It was so nice being friends again There I was giving you a second chance But you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand And therein lies the issue, friends don't try to trick you Get you on the phone and mind-twist you And so I took an axe to a mended fence.

This song can be considered as an hymn for him honestly, and THIS PART:

Here's a toast to my real friends They don't care about the he said, she said And here's to my baby He ain't reading what they call me lately And here's to my mama Had to listen to all this drama And here's to you 'Cause forgiveness is a nice thing to do Hahaha, I can't even say it with a straight face!

Of course this is not to say that Ney isn't a person who forgives, quite the contrary. We know he has such a big heart that he ends up forgiving everyone but i can imagine him trying to make himself more grounded during a discussion (and failing because he loves in a way that is too pure for most people to accept).

Now talking about Leo. I'm 25 now and i follow him roughly since i was 13. I saw all the greatness but i also saw the failures. The tears, the blood and the sweat this man gave to follow his dreams and reach the summit (yeah you know where i'm going with this..) So you can imagine how i felt when i listened to "You're on your own Kid" for the first time. I can proudly say that i instantly thought about Leo's journey. Then the TikTok edits started and i was blown away. This is such a intimate song and it is so beautiful to see so many people associating it with Leo. Another song that to me is heavily Leo themed is "Mastermind" for obvious reasons. And the touch of a hand lit the fuse Of a chain reaction of countermoves To assess the equation of you Checkmate, I couldn't lose

What if I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me? I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line What if I told you I'm a mastermind? Aaah the way this song makes me cry istg. Then we have "Karma" and Anon let me just tell you THIS song it's like giving a mental blow to all the morons that criticized him during the years. Ask me what I learned from all those years Ask me what I earned from all those tears Ask me why so many fade, but I'm still here (!!!! this verse !!!!) 'Cause karma is the thunder Rattling your ground Karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter Karma's gonna track you down Step by step from town to town Sweet like justice, karma is a queen Karma takes all my friends to the summit (this one makes me think of Ney too) Karma is the guy on the screen Coming straight home to me To close this post that reached an unhealty length i'm going to mention the one song that makes me think about THEM as Neymessi, "The Archer". Dark side, I search for your dark side But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here? And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years I wake in the night,I pace like a ghost The room is on fire, invisible smoke And all of my heroes die all alone Help me hold onto you This is a verse that i hold dear to my heart and makes me think SO much about how Leo helped Ney in his early years in Barcelona and how much Ney returned the favor when one of the biggest loves of Leo's life betrayed him. 'Cause they see right through me They see right through me They see right through Can you see right through me? This verse help me lord i'm going to cry on my keyboard while writing. Ah i love them so much i could talk about them for hours. If you read all of this mess i'm sorry Anon but this is basically what i think about Neymessi - Taylor's Version. Thank you so so much for this question, sending you love! <3

#neymessi #neymar #neymarjr #leo messi #liones messi #ask #anon i’m so sorry you unlock the beast with this question #love them SO much #Neymessi - Taylor’s Version

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kissoflightning · 5 months

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A Bad Cup of Coffee

I wrote this fic from Leo Manfred's perspective when I was depressed; it's an original headcannon of what he was going through the day before his first appearance in Detroit: Become Human

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Characters:

Leo Manfred

Jerry(s) (Detroit: Become Human)

Original Female Human Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Leo Manfred POV

Leo Needs a Hug

Hurt No Comfort

I'm So Sorry Jerry

Physical Abuse

References to Drugs

Song Lyrics

References to Depression

One Shot

Language: English Series:Part 1 of Carl Dies

Published: 2023-10-25

Words:1,276

Chapters:1/1

Summary:

Leo fucked up again. (The events of this story take place the day before we first see Leo's appearance in Detroit: Become Human)

Notes:

This fic is mostly a self-indulgence. I wrote it when I was extremely depressed and ironically I felt better after writing it. I decided I wanted to write these little stories as one shots, but I plan on writing a few more (Completely out of order), hence why I am tying this to "The Graveyard" because these stories will all be very much their own thing but work together in the same timeline. The song Leo listens to 2/3rds through the story (If you'd like to read along with it) is Green Day - Boulevard of Broken Dreams https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Soa3gO7tL-c

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Thursday, November 4th, 2038

The alarm blared and it was time for another dreaded day for Leo to go to work. He had his third breakdown last week when some idiot gave him crap over how much cream cheese was spread over a fucking bagel. "Why aren't there equal amounts of cream cheese on both sides? I asked for equal amounts of cream cheese on both sides!" Leo was so done with this shit and he SCREAMED at the man "YOU FUCKING IDIOT! The cream cheese stuck to the other side, it ain't my god damn fault!" His boss threatened to fire Leo if an incident like this were to occur again.

Leo took a hit from his Red Ice vape, just enough for him to vibe enough to put up with whatever bullshit he was going to put up with today. Enough that the intrusive thoughts were there, but not enough for them to take over. Leo HATED the way he acted when he had taken too much, but it felt so god damn good!

He dragged his sorry ass to the coffee shop and lay his bag down in the break room. His boss peered over his shoulder, "You better not fuck up today, Manfred."

"Yeah, whatever." Leo replied with a shrug.

Leo asked his coworker, Sheryl to man the till today so he could avoid talking to as many customers as possible and she complied without hesitation. Sheryl was the only person who was tolerable to work with at this shit hole of an establishment. Other than her, he hated EVERYONE, even Jerry. Especially Jerry. Fucking androids. They'd never have to deal with feeling like a miserable, worthless piece of shit like him.

One hour left in his shift, and Leo had successfully managed to keep himself from getting fired so far. Sheryl pulled off the "customer service" act so well, despite the usual barrage of annoying idiot customers. He always looked forward to the end of the day where she'd go back to her normal self and talked so informal saying fuck and shit in almost every sentence with a tone that would be considered a "bad attitude" from the boss. But in reality, she was super cool. Something felt good about being the only one at work to see that side of her.

A man who ordered a few minutes ago, came back raging. "I TOLD you I wanted a fresh cup and this tastes like the stalest oldest shit you could give me!" The man screamed as he threw the coffee at Sheryl, scalding her.

What Leo saw next was neither customer service Sheryl or badass Sheryl...it was broken Sheryl. She froze, broke into a sob, and ran out of the shop wailing and crying. For once Leo's intrusive thoughts were in sync with his regular line of thinking.

[He needs to get his ass kicked]

Leo hopped over the counter, clutched him into a chokehold, and threw him onto the floor. He should have stopped there, but the violence felt so good. [It's justified] He thought to himself. [Sheryl didn't deserve that] He pinned the man down and laid down punch after punch as the man and any customers that were around to witness screamed in horror.

Suddenly he was stopped and pulled up by that fucking android, Jerry. Leo's temperament wasn't settled. "Fucking piece of plastic! Let go of me!" Leo shouted before shifting to hook his fist directly into Jerry's right cheek.

The impact scraped the part of synthskin where it landed, and the android seemed to emulate fear. "My name is Jerry!" The android shouted before frantically running out the door. That display was so convincing that Leo almost felt bad about punching the thing. However, he knew better than to fall for the emulation of human emotions. Self-preservation was probably something built into their program - or perhaps Leo caused it to malfunction from hitting it too hard.

The boss came out finally. He'd probably been in his office blasting shitty music and playing Level 28,453 of Candy Crush or something. "What the hell is going on here? Where's Sheryl and Jerry?" He hollered.

"Your employee jumped over the counter and attacked me like a wild animal!" The beat up asshole shouted.

"He started it! He threw hot coffee onto Sheryl and she ran out crying!" Leo protested.

"Which I wouldn't have done if you had given me fresh coffee like I asked!" The man retorted.

"FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Leo screamed before throwing the man a sucker punch in the stomach, and he fell to the ground.

The man, speechless, shook his head and limped towards the door once he regained his composure.

"Please don't press charges." The boss pleaded to the customer.

"I won't, but I want to see you fire him." The man told him.

"With pleasure." The boss complied before he turned to Leo to shout "YOU'RE FIRED!"

Leo went home and upon approaching the door to is apartment, he'd spotted an eviction notice. "Fuck my life!" Leo shouted out loud as he entered through the door. He plopped onto his bed and screamed into his pillow. "AAAAAH!"

He plugged his airpods into his ears, and blasted the song Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a exaggerated breath during the initial guitar riff. He started singing along to the lyrics. "I walk a lonely road. The only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me, and I walk alone." He proceeded to load the red ice into his pipe, lit it up and took a deep inhale, laying back into his bed as he watched the red smoke release into the air. He sank into his bed as he felt his stress start to dissipate, though a lingering was left behind. Leo needed more ice; he was almost out. Not to mention he would wind up homeless soon if he could not get any money.

Leo continued to sing while laying down, attempting to relax. He nodded his head slightly while belting "My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me." He took another inhale from his vape, savoring it before releasing the breath. He closed his eyes and hummed along with the "Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah. Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah" while simultaneously feeling the music, imagining himself walking down a deserted outskirt in slow motion.

Leo tried to let his mind wander, but it kept coming back to reflect on his shitty predicament. He would need to ask his dad for more cash. If the requirement to ask his disapproving father for money was not bad enough, having to see Carl treat that plastic toy like his actual son was so much worse.

"Read between the lines. What's fucked up, and everything's alright. Check my vital signs. To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone." Maybe if he punched Markus, it would run off like Jerry did. However, Jerry had been in a public place at the time; what if Markus reacted more violently? It could be incredibly dangerous to pick a fight with an android where nobody could hear you scream.

And there was something different about Markus; it was so good at acting human. Leo would not doubt it if Kamski built it with some protocol to beat the shit out of anyone who provoked it. Leo closed his eyes once again and let his mind continue to drift until he passed out.

[THE END]

If you enjoyed reading this story and you firmly believe that Leo Manfred deserves redemption, feel free to give a Kudos/Comment on AO3 to give him some love!

#Leo manfred #Dbh fanfic #KOL: FANFIC #one shot #fanfic #dbh #detroit: become human #dbh leo #ao3 #writing #jerry em400 #jerry dbh #leo is hurt and confused #leo manfred needs a hug #Leo manfred deserves redemption #Jerry didn't deserve that #working in retail #type: text

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thehighestmountains · 2 years

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midnights by taylor swift review im back for another first listen release review. the majority of songs i love (bolded i will stand and die by) and enjoy but there are some skips. i think this album has a lot more variety than her last two albums that will pertain to a lot more people, but is less focused on one sound like folklore. off the bat, i doesnt eclipse any of my favs (folklore and reputation), but hm it might fight reputation, it reminds me of a more mature reputation and is more experimental with vocals and instrumentals. lets dive in:

lavender haze - the electronic start of this song with "meet me at midnight" is so danceable. i love the "yeah oh yeah"s, they are so goood. this song just makes me want to move, im obsessed.

maroon - the verses dont do a whole lot for me, a little boring and 2 drum beats, but i love the whole chorus "the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me" and the "maroon"s coming in louder and louder throughout the song. anti-hero - this song is kind of funny and cheeky, despite the words being super dark (my fav "when my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people ive ghosted stand there in the room"). i thought the "its me, hi, im the problem, its me" was a little lame, but its growing a lot of me after 2 listens.

snow on the beach - theres like two speeds in this album, one electronic and other side super soft and slow, this one being the later side. in contrast to some of my other favorite songs, it doesnt quite hit as dramatically but i do enjoy its dreamy, light verses and "weird but fucking beautiful". youre on your kid - this little indie beat is so sweet and her spoken "youre on your own kid, you always have been" is perfect, uplifting, brings me peace. i also love the verse, prechorus, verse, chorus pattern. it tells a story from beginning to end, and i love a story. midnight rain - the beginning!!! the contrast of her electronically-deepened voice is so fun against the first line "my town was a wasteland". the soft claps, the drum beat, "picture perfect shiny family holiday peppermint candy" wrap everything together. question..? - i dont love the chorus lyrics, its far too specific. the tone of the song also stays very flat and i dont really love the bridge either especially that autotuned "tonightttt". lmao the clapping and cheering. but the song isnt like annoying or anything so ill listen to it more. vigilante shit - super reputation-like "are you ready for it" sound. i only like this song when she sings "don't get sad, get even". i live for the spice on the "even", its maybe one of my favorite lines in the whole album, but the song itself is bottom tier. bejeweled - i cant with this song. the way she sings *shimmer*, i cant do it. the rhymes at the end of the songs "man / remember", the childish "nice!", "i miss sparkling". cant relate. labyrinth - for a song that is about falling in love, its far too chill and i dont like the weird floob-floob sounds scattered throughout. the vocals are so soft and the instrumentals are random.

karma - this song is an easy fan favorite that blew up on tiktok immediately and im clapping riding that train. its catchy, its funny, its "sweet like honey". this makes me love taylor.

sweet nothing - this funky lullaby is a sweet love song and reminds me of delicate "you must like me for me". the choruses are much better than the verses though, like lol wut "i wrote a poem, you say what a mind, this happens all the time".

mastermind - obsessed with the intro beats and "checkmate i couldnt lose", but the "im a mastermind" and the whole song makes me think really, did you plan your current relationship, kind of weird and creepy sorry (3am track time!) the great war - the chorus is so strong and catchy "my hand was the one you reached for all throughout the great war". i also just like the messaging that her current relationship carried her through this huge drama. bigger than the whole sky - i do like the sound of the background instruments, some of the lyrics im not a huge fan of like "did some bird flap its wing over asia" and etc, and "shouldve been couldve been" feels like it shouldve been in another song. the song just flows past you and its over. paris - uh excuse me? rhyming paris with (some)where else?? genius. the verses are witty and i cant wait to learn them: "drew a map on your bedroom ceiling". also anyone else notice in the bridge "at midnight in my mind" sounds just like daylight. this feels very much meant for lover but it still fits.

high infidelity - the piano and vocals are straight out of evermore but all the beeping and button sounds brings it into the midnights era. im also getting strong renegade energy ("are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these?") from "do i really have to ...". i love "put on your records and regret meeting me, put on your headphones and burn my city". there are some things i would change about the song but overall its good. glitch - the background static and "oh oh ooh"s add velvet and warmth to the song, despite the kind of boring lyrics "i think theres been a glitch im fastening myself to you with a stitch". she writes this glitch/system/static/counterfeit/malfunction metaphor but it never really sticks 100% for me. its just missing something to tie it all together. would've, could've, should've - this song is impressively balanced, with such strong verses, choruses, and bridges. "if youd never looked my way i wouldve stayed on my knees". dear reader - heavenly vocals with a melody that actually surprised me, and a bridge that feels liberating like taylor is finally telling you her truth. the way she manipulates her voice electronically adds so much interest and intrigue to the song. overall, taylor does not disappoint yet again with a funky fun album with a song for everyone.

#midnights #taylor swift #taylor swift midnights review

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kylorengarbagedump · 3 years

Text

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: David Rose voice: Oh, my god!

Words: 3200

Warnings: dude

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: First: Thank you to @bastila-ren and @elmidol for their beta-kindness.

I'M ALIVE. I got super burned out at my job, took 5 weeks of FMLA, got incredibly depressed, but now I'm back! Very thankfully, my COVID symptoms were extremely mild. Thank you very very much for your well-wishes and your concerns.

I wish I could express enough apology for my lack of activity, but hopefully uploading a chapter is thanks enough. You all have been so supportive and kind to me. I am SO thankful and appreciative of everything y'all offer me!

(as a side note: I know some people do not like dude, that it throws them out. I am very sorry, but in the politest way possible: I am not going to stop using it. I like it too much.)

I also hope you enjoyed the chapter! God I wonder what's going to happen next chapter. I just don't know.

Love you all so much <3

“Piece of shit.”

Growling, you tugged out another panel from the silencer’s dash. At this point, about a dozen slats of buttons boxed you into the pilot’s seat, crowding you in the cockpit. All of them looked flawless upon inspection, and this new one was no exception. Wires were attached and the circuits were complete, every switch was grounded. You’d gone over a handful of systems already, trapped in this cockpit for hours. The silencer’s refusal to function made no sense. There had to be something you were missing.

The memory of smoke and flames licked at the perimeter of your mind. Yeah, there was a lot you were missing.

Pain burrowed, opened a well in your chest, and you shook your head, rubbing your tired face. There wasn’t time to think about anything else. Sitting forward, you started reattaching the panels to the console. You needed to focus on this. Even though the answer to where you’d go and what you would do once you were finished remained nebulous. Even though you were now apparently unknown and unloved by almost everyone in the universe, including the one man you’d waited on for months.

You caught a sigh in your chest, exhaling into your palms, shutting out the urge to cry. Crying right now was a waste of time. You still had about fifty systems to check, and you’d only read through about half of Kylo’s post-flight novella. Swallowing, you grabbed your datapad from the seat and flipped to the report, forcing yourself through the urge to skim.

It wasn’t like you weren’t interested. Normally this sort of thing was like a buffet for your freakish little brain. But you kept tasting embers on your tongue. Kept seeing your crew--completely unarmed, helpless fuel outpost workers--drowning in destruction. Kept hearing Hux’s voice: Multiple Resistance fighters… Heat gripped your neck, clogged your throat. Multiple fighters for a tiny station. Multiple fighters against three soft, fleshy bodies.

The First Order was not your creed; just your employer. The machine of war had always been an inconvenience to the prestige of working on elite starfighters. You knew that the loss of three cogs was nothing to that machine. In the past, it’d been nothing to you too. But you’d never eaten meals or laughed with or supported those lost cogs when they’d cried. This loss wasn’t just to war. This loss was horrifically and uniquely yours.

“Stop.” You shook your head, tossing your datapad back on the seat. You’d finish putting the console back together, then you’d figure out what to do next.

Jaw tight, you grabbed another panel, and your grip slipped. The sharp edge sliced your palm where the wood had lanced you earlier.

“Fuck!” You dropped it and clutched your hand, seething while you tried to squeeze away the agony. Everything from your fingers to your wrist throbbed, and your chin quaked, tears burning your sight. “Fuck! Fuck!” Snarling, you kicked the panels at your feet. “Fuck!”

The thin cut felt like a sobbing gash. You tore off your jacket and wrapped the sleeve around your palm, wincing when you tightened it to the wound.

“Stupid fucking panels!” you growled, kicking the panels again. “Stupid fucking ship, stupid fucking Kylo, stupid fucking Resistance!” The final kick dented a panel, popped off a shiny button. “Gods!”

You covered your face in your jacket and screamed until your throat crackled, until your lungs were dry. Head spinning, you drew in a breath and screamed again, stomping the floor until dizziness dropped you into the pilot’s chair. Warmth glowed at your cheeks, leaked down your back. Tremors rippled to your toes as you took in a long, steadying breath, exhaling in reluctant relief.

You considered sitting there forever. But it only took two seconds for you to remember how Kylo also sat in this chair thinking of and dealing with everything that wasn’t you before you grunted and climbed out of the cockpit.

The rest of the hangar seemed wholly unconcerned or otherwise ignorant to your tantrum. Wiping your eyes, you hopped to the ground, wagging off the lingering fury in your limbs. Maybe you just needed a walk. You cleared your throat and kept your hand clutched to your chest, the whispering ache pulsing in rhythm with your heart.

In all the hours you’d been in the cockpit, the Steadfast had continued to orbit Orinda. Xi-class shuttles whirled beyond the hangar entrance--probably staffed with crew collecting reconnaissance from whatever the Resistance left behind from the attack. Your feet carried you to the fuzzy blue edge of the magnetic shield’s barrier, meters from vacant space. A quiet hum resonated from its perimeter through your soles.

You gazed into the galaxy. Orinda was a glimmering grain of sand, adrift in the celestial trenches. A fuel outpost turned graveyard. An acceptable casualty of the Resistance. Another home where you couldn’t return. That whispering ache rumbled to a hiss and cast itself over your skin, raking it over with misery, with exhaustion. Your chin quivered. The only place you could think to sleep was the silencer. Eyes falling to the floor, you turned back to the hangar.

“My quarters.”

You squealed and jumped, clapping your hands to your chest. Feet away stood Kylo Ren.

“Shit!” you said, exhaling in relief. “How the hell do you do that?” When he said nothing, you continued, “Like, sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re not perceptive.”

You frowned. “Okay, well…” He wasn’t wrong. You sighed, shrugged. “Anyway.”

Kylo stepped forward, assessing you in your tank top, scrutinizing the tourniquet you’d made of your jacket. “Your hand.”

“It’s fine,” you said, holding it behind your back. “Your quarters?”

His stare lingered on your exposed shoulders, on your neck. “Stay,” he said. “Until the silencer is repaired.”

“That could be as early as next cycle.”

“Given your skill, yes.”

It was difficult to look in his direction. Every worn nerve screamed for his touch. “And then what?”

“You’ll depart to another station.”

You tried to flush the pain from your voice. “So,” you said, “you want me to stay with you through, like, one cycle, and then leave.” You looked to the ceiling in faux-consideration. “Cool. I think I’ll pass.”

Kylo’s eye twitched. He moved closer, tone icy. “You have nowhere to sleep,” he said. “I…” He paused. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me you prefer the silencer.”

“Well,” you replied, “I’ve never fucked the silencer. I never told the silencer how I felt about it. The silencer has never treated me like a stranger who just walked off the plains of Lothal.” You tapped your chin. “So, yeah, I prefer the silencer.”

He grit his teeth. “You’re no stranger.”

“Sure could’ve fooled me!” A couple of heads turned in your direction.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “It apparently takes very little for you to be fooled.”

“Excuse me?” you replied. “Run that by me again, Supreme Leader?”

“Now your hearing fails you.”

“This is great.” You offered a false smile. “This conversation is going really well.”

Kylo snarled, shoulders bunching with restraint. “You speak this way and then question why you’re unwelcome,” he replied. “Deaf and foolish.”

“Oh!” A frustrated laugh escaped. “Okay, then. Talk to you later, Your Excellency. I need a nap before I keep trying to fix your dumbass ship.”

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest and stormed past him, anger blurring your vision. Stupid fucking asshole--

You made it three steps before a warm leather glove grabbed your shoulder, and you stalled, goosebumps shooting to your hands. Kylo spun you, your face inches from his, your breath fleeing and forgetting to return. His lips trembled, his jaw tightened, his gaze boring into you before it met the floor, seeking to stare anywhere else. The pressure of his fingers was firm, then floating. And then he swallowed, grip crushing your shoulder, his eyes finding you again.

No one else in the hangar would’ve known, looking at him. But this Kylo Ren was familiar to you.

This Kylo Ren was terrified.

“I don’t…” His voice was a feather in the air. “You are…” He averted his attention, stiffening. “You have a home.”

Your chest swelled. Water stung your eyes. “I do?”

“Yes,” he replied, utterly sincere. “But not here. Not now.”

Hairline fractures crept into your heart.

“Kylo.” Your composure cracked. All of you wanted to melt, to disintegrate into his being and know each word trapped on his tongue. There was a reason you could not find him, that he would not unfold himself to you. “Please. Why do you want me gone so badly?”

His lips parted, as if he were about to speak--and he paused. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Complications,” he replied. “Factors you do not understand.”

You stepped closer, throat tight. His breath brushed your nose. “Tell me, then.”

Kylo huffed, shifting on his feet--and his face froze. His limbs locked, muscles taut. His gaze widened, fixated on something over your shoulder. Air leaked from him, like time was slowing to a close. You blinked, looked behind you. But nothing was there.

Frowning, you cleared your throat. “Kylo?” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “You’re really just going to leave it like that?”

His pupils were pinpricks.

It wasn’t like you were heartless. You knew that he was attempting wasn’t easy. But what you were feeling wasn’t a sail on a skiff either. You didn’t just deserve more. You needed it.

“Okay,” you said, backing out of his hold. “This was nice. But I have a TIE fighter to repair. So.” He didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. “Whatever.”

You turned--Kylo’s focus flicked to you. His mouth dropped, like there were words he wanted to and couldn’t speak. Instead, he remained silent, fury simmering in his gaze while you pivoted away. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t think you had to.

When you arrived at the silencer, you clambered into the cockpit, like it was a hole you could hide in until he disappeared. Shame, stubbornness, or surrender--you imagined one of these was responsible for why he didn’t pursue you, but you didn’t care. This ship repair would be your parting gift to him, and you could take off, probably spending the rest of your life wondering how you’d managed to fuck up your affair with the galaxy’s most ineligible bachelor.

Loose panels still swarmed the pilot’s chair. You sighed and put on your jacket, settling in and throwing your feet on the dash. Your hand thumped with irritation as you closed your eyes.

Just a couple of hours. That’s all you needed. Then you’d keep working like the foolish little--

Clank.

You yelped, flinching in your seat.

Clank.

Heart fluttering, you scanned the cockpit before realizing the noise came from outside the ship.

Clank.

It was behind you. Someone was messing with the refuel port. Or the solar lines. You couldn’t tell. Grumbling, you scrambled out of the chair and hoisted yourself up the escape. If they were fucking up this stupid ship even further--

Clankclankclank.

“Hey!” You popped your head free. “Will you...”

For a split second, you’d thought Kylo had decided to rip the solar line access open and tear into his own power supply. But then your vision focused. The man crouched over the ship was a different intimidating masked man dressed only in black. Your stomach twisted. It was the one from the Buzzard. The one who’d shoulder-checked you.

“Kuruk.”

His head whipped in your direction, the talons of his predator’s gaze gouging your chest. He pulled his hands free of the solar lines, his gloves greasy with reactant.

“Lieutenant.”

Previously you’d thought absolutely no one but Hux could spit that word with that degree of acidity. But if Hux spat it like acid, then Kuruk hocked it--dragged it up through his throat and sputtered it like necrotic phlegm.

You crawled onto the dorsal plane with the coordinated majesty of a blurrg, trying not to heave and ruin any level of authority you might have tricked him into thinking you maintained. When you’d made it to both feet, you straightened, as if you did this all the time, and moved toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“Repairing a starfighter.”

You snorted. “Really,” you replied. “Tearing out a power supply is repairing?”

Kuruk jerked his arm, wrenching free another line, spewing collector dust into the air. “Closer to repairing than sleeping in the cockpit.”

Heat rushed your spine, swathed your neck. “Yeah, well…” You examined him, watching as he cocked his head to avoid the blinders attached to his helmet. “At least I can see properly when I work on a ship.”

“Magnification’s built into the visor.”

More heat, this time crackling in your cheeks, drying your tongue. “Look,” you said, “this is my job. I don’t need amateurs screwing it up for me.”

He paused, turned his gaze on you again. “Amateurs?”

You shrugged. “In comparison, yeah, probably.”

Kuruk leaned on his heels, wiping his gloves on his jacket. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do.” This man looked like a weapon. Not an engineer. “What experience do you have?”

“It’s called the Night Buzzard,” he replied. “You might be familiar with it.”

You paused, brow raising. “You…” It was impossible to restrain your laughter. But he didn’t move. “You’re kidding. Right? That’s a joke.”

Kuruk’s hands tensed.

“Dude, that ship’s the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” you replied. “Did you modify it with a boiled chokeroot?”

His head tilted. He rose to stand, so controlled he looked to be fighting gravity. “I can do more work with a boiled chokeroot than you can do with an entire Star Destroyer’s worth of resources,” he drawled. “Lieu. Tenant.”

The hair on your nape stuck straight, your pulse leapt to the ceiling. But the knowledge that Kylo was within thinking distance abated your fear.

“Might wanna get one then.” You grinned. “You’re not making much progress here without it.”

He stared, filthy fingers furling into fists--and then relaxed, the tension sloughing like reactor slime from his frame. Silent, he returned to a squat, rending more lines from their channels. For some reason, a tiny, irreverent part of you was disappointed.

No, that was a lie. You knew why you were disappointed. But this man wasn’t the one you wanted to be taunting into a wild sexual rage. Exhaling, you crossed your arms.

“It’s still my job,” you said.

“And I’ve been told that once it’s done, you’ll be gone.”

“What?” You gawked. “What the fuck? You, too? I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Debatable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re mad because your Master didn’t want you to disrespect an officer.”

“No.” Kuruk’s attention snapped to you. “You’re loud.”

Blood drained from your face. “I’m…”

Moments blinked in your memory like a holodrama. Like how you’d spent the entire time aboard the Buzzard thinking about Kylo slamming you against the dashboard and breaking your pussy open. How you’d mentally undressed him, verbally taunted him, physically ached for him. How you’d blazed with hatred for him and stoked it with longing. And how you’d just noted that you were desperate to wind him into a state of frenzied lust so he’d wreck you entirely.

“Oh, fuck.” You glanced at the hangar’s entrance and wondered how quickly you could hurl yourself into the vacuum of space. Speaking of hurling… “Oh, fuck.”

You couldn’t spare Kuruk another glance. With shaking hands, you fumbled your way to the ground, steadying yourself on your weakening knees. There was no way you were going to spend another minute on this ship trying to fix a starfighter while getting thought-eavesdropped by multiple men, one of whom seemed hell-bent on doing your job for you anyway.

All you needed to do was find General Hux and get him to reassign you to another station. You’d figure the rest out later when you had time to process your myriad of losses and crippling rejection. You held your breath the entire trek to the command center, only releasing when the doors opened and you spied Hux at the head of the room, briefing someone on something you didn’t care about.

Wiping your forehead, you trudged over to him. Hux’s gaze darted between you and the other officer, his brow furrowing as you approached.

“A moment,” he said to the man. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse out of Kuruk’s mouth. “Can I get a new station? I, uh, I need a new station.” The officer peered at you in horror. You coughed, standing at attention. “General. Requesting a new assignment, sir.”

Hux’s lips pursed, his eyes narrowed. “The silencer is already repaired?”

“Uh, no. No, sir, it’s not.” You stared at your shoes. “Still requesting a new assignment. I believe my work here is complete.”

A pause hung in the air. Hux observed you like you were a recently apprehended criminal. He sighed.

“Dismissed, Captain.” He waited for the man to depart before turning to you. “What do you mean, your work here is complete?”

It was hard to find the appropriate words. “I mean. Uh. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“No.”

You groaned. “Okay.” A long breath, flooding your lungs with air. “Well. My services are no longer required. My presence is redundant. I cannot return to Orinda. I’m requesting another station.” You exhaled. “Sir.”

Hux’s pink face pinched together. “Something happened with Ren.”

Warmth flushed your neck. “Uh, no--”

“Lieutenant,” he said, like the words were thorns on his tongue, “I unfortunately believe your insight and skill may still be of use to the First Order.”

“Sir?”

“The TIE project has been approved. You may be just the person to manage it.”

You balked. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea--”

“No?” Sharp green eyes pierced you into silence. “I thought you might leap at the opportunity, considering how cruelly the Resistance slaughtered your staff.”

Your heart clenched, your chest speared with pain. Better TIE units wouldn’t save them. But you could at least ensure their loss wouldn’t be in vain. Though you’d never supervised an undertaking of that scale before, the excitement of a challenge glittered in the distance. Glittered, then dimmed under a brooding, Kylo Ren-shaped shadow.

“Well…”

Hux glanced away, gazing through the thick panes of transparisteel, as if offering you any more praise would blind him. “Go to the Supreme Leader. Inform him of my plans.” He offered a slight shrug. “If he disagrees, then so be it. We’ll find you a new station.” The thought was left unfinished--he seemed very confident Kylo would not disagree.

Too bad you disagreed with him. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand. Where might I find the Supreme Leader?”

Hux frowned. “Am I his keeper, Lieutenant?”

A brief, blissful image of your fist connecting with his chin flashed through your mind. You shook it away.

“No,” you said. “No, sir. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Shooting him a glare, you pivoted on your heel, marching out of the command center. All you needed to do was find where Kylo Ren might be by searching the entirety of this huge Star Destroyer. That would be easy.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fya2 #fanfiction problems #GOLLY-GEE WILLIKERS

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kiribakuficrecs · 3 years

Note

hello!!! im going on a very long trip at the end of april and I'm looking for some very long fics to download to keep me entertained! i dont care what they're about as long as there's no major character death or mentions of non-con. ur blog is a godsend ilysm and you do such a good job thank you so much 🙏

hi there!! i definitely have a lot of good lengthy fics i can recommend to you!

quote love unquote by newamsterdam

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

acceptance and denial by poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

cause the darks not taking prisoners tonight by imatrisarahtops

“Are those soba noodles?” Kirishima asked.

Again Bakugou’s only reply was a grunt. He offered no further explanation—not that Kirishima honestly expected one—as though making soba noodles from scratch at half past four in the morning wasn’t at all a bizarre occurrence and made complete and total sense. For a fleeting moment, Kirishima even wondered if maybe he was the odd one here. Besides, he’d already decided it was generally not in his best interest to question these types of things with Bakugou, especially when it was something essentially harmless.

When Kirishima has a nightmare and is unable to fall back asleep, he accepts defeat and decides to study in the common area of the dorms. What he doesn't expect to find is Bakugou, also very much awake, and Kirishima can't help but think that maybe they're both having the same problems with sleeping. If he's worried, it's just because they're friends. (Right?)

the weight of your hand by kamin

That night, to the citizens, the explosions were a jolt of fear at every blast, but to the heroes and the students of UA, they were punches and swings, fierce fighting and loud strength. The explosions were the pulse of the battle, and the power of a boy that would never back down.

One after another, explosions set a chorus through the shuddering city.

And then, suddenly—the explosions stopped.

(In which Bakugou’s kidnapping goes a little differently, and just a few seconds could change so much.)

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage. - Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

distance makes the heart grow fonder (false) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

When Bakugo and Kirishima get hit by a quirk that forces them to literally stick together or face the less then desirable consequences, how the fuck is Bakugo supposed to keep his crush hidden?! Well, turns out he never needed to.

-- “Well, this fucking sucks, how are we supposed to train?!” "Really closely?"

perihelion by tauontauoff

Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough.

During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan.

fight me by mr_todoroki

Bright red, spiky hair. Annoyingly bright smile. Clothes that radiate ‘look at me’ vibes. Neon yellow tank top with black shorts. And those were definitely crocs on his fucking feet.

Yeah, Katsuki hated this guy.

Bakugou gets a new roommate.

quietly by chezka

“We’ve been taking the same way to and from school for weeks,” Kirishima grinned, and then when Bakugou frowned at him he put on an affected pout, tilted his head so that he was looking at him through his thick, long lashes, “you never noticed? Am I that easy to miss?”

He could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escaped his lips, and Bakugou rolled his eyes, hit him with a shoulder a little more violently than necessary.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, broom-head,” he grumbled, promptly ignoring Kirishima's whining about his hairstyle when it started coming, “I didn’t notice ‘cause I didn’t care.”

“And now you do?”

everyone knows that cats are independent by purplepersnickety

Eijirou enjoys his job, working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 coffee shop. His daemon Riot is always there to keep him company, and he likes meeting the early-morning patrons and giving them the best possible kick-start to their day. It's been his routine for about a year now.

Then one day, a grouchy guy with a daemon in the form of a lion walks into the shop in the dead of night, and Eijirou decides to strike up a conversation with him.

punks not dead by wrunic

“So you want to use me to piss off your mom?” Kirishima summarized, raising one pierced eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Look, if you want to be all fucking judgy about it, I take cash,” Katsuki said, dropping his hand palm up on the table.

“Hey now,” Kirishima said, raising his hands in surrender, “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it. I’m always down for a little chaos.” He flashed a grin, showing off his ridiculous shark teeth.

“Good,” Katsuki said. “We start tomorrow."

sent, delivered, read, loved by kiribakuhappiness

Kirishima E. [6.49pm]: ur okay for such an angry dude bakugou! :)

Bakugou K. [7.12pm]: FUCK YOU!

Kirishima E. [7.14pm]: haha! :D ttyl!

Bakugou K. [7.48pm]: FUCKING WHAT DO THOSE DUMB LETTERS MEAN???

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: I JUST LOOKED IT UP DONT FUCKING TALK TO ME LATER!

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: STOP TXTING ME!!!

- OR -

Bakugou's and Kirishima's relationship develops from classmates to friends to more, as told through their text conversations.

flicker by mr_todoroki

He was starting to feel depressed. Life was so uninteresting. It was so mundane and forgettable. He had no one to hang out with besides Kota, his family didn’t even live in the city.

He grew his hair out as some sort of rebellion, some sort of stand to make his life the slightest bit more interesting. But he could already feel himself giving in to the pressure of cutting it. He needed to work to live. Without a job, he’d truly have nothing.

Kirishima never applied to UA, therefore never became a hero.

let’s get down to business by kjelfalconer

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the brightest rising stars on wall street, is in need of a new personal assistant. Again. Could Eijirou Kirishima finally be the one to last more than two months?

Katsuki's long suffering HR department sure hope so.

something about us by bigstupidjellyfish

nothing like being in highschool and having no idea how to deal with emotions

fireproof by inkbender

Four years after a classmate nobody seems to remember is kidnapped by the League of Villains, Kirishima drags an amnesiac hobo he found washed up on the beach into his apartment, attempts to teach him how to adult (with varying degrees of success), and discovers along the way that the line between heroism and villainy is quite fine indeed. Plot-divergent after episode 45, the Forest Training Camp arc.

blood riot by magicallee (alternatively)

Kirishima from a universe with no quirks is mind-swapped with an alternate universe version of himself where there are superpowers.

And in that universe he’s a super villain.

And Bakugou is the superhero who caught Evil-Kirishima and put him in prison.

blindside by drowclericpelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

flour power by wingsonghalo

“I’m telling you now, Shitty Hair,” the blonde growled, “I am not gonna play house with you. We will cart this stupid flour around for a week like the assignment says. But some of our idiot classmates are naming the thing and setting up ‘playdates’ and dressing it and I am not doing anything that stupid. Got it?”

Kirishima and Bakugou are paired up to take care of a flour sack for a week. It would be so simple, except nothing with Bakugou is ever simple. Also Kirishima might be kinda sorta completely head over heels for him.

sunchaser by chonideno

that feeling when you suddenly want to jump off a cliff for no reason but instead of a cliff it’s your best friend and instead of jumping it’s growing feelings out of nowhere

or how Bakugou has to try really hard not to throw everything to the wind, and Kirishima doesn't help

i also have a tag specifically for fics that reach somewhere between 30k-70k words long if you wanted to check that out as well! i hope you enjoy the fics here and that i was able to help, ily enjoy your trip!!! :D

#kiribaku fic rec #kiribaku #answered

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dinosaurtsukki · 3 years

Text

salty french fries | a tsukishima x f!reader fic

pairing: diner employee!tsukishima x f!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: fluff, the slightest of angsts, late-night diner talks, insomniac!reader, puzzles, tsukishima being a softie, salty french fries in case you couldn’t tell

summary: tsukishima works the graveyard shift at a diner near his campus to help pay the bills and ends up noticing you, a regular customer who comes in every night to order the same french fries because you can’t sleep

a/n: i can’t believe it took me this long to write a full-length one-shot for tsukki as a self-proclaimed tsukki fangirl. this is inspired by me having trouble sleeping and wishing i had tsukki to eat fries at a diner with

knowing that he was attending university on scholarship, tsukishima fully expected having to work in some shitty, part-time job to help pay the bills and earn some money for allowance. he just didn’t quite expect that he’d be working the graveyard shift at a diner just a few blocks away from campus.

tsukishima didn’t want to take on a job that was too much of a hassle and by hassle, he meant having to interact with customers. so, even though his sleep schedule was kind of fucked with him sleeping at four in the afternoon to go to work at midnight before heading straight to class, tsukishima was still okay with his job. he didn’t really care about the whole ‘night time is sleep time’ idea and the lack of customers during the graveyard shift gave him more than enough time to work on assignments.

during his shift, he’d deal with the usual late-night customers: fellow students who stayed up too late partying or purposely stayed up late to pull all-nighters, truck drivers and fellow late-shift employees hoping to grab a bite before going to work or going home, and the less favorable drunk men who passed out cold on the tables only for tsukishima to have to wake up in the morning.

with the few customers that tsukishima had to encounter, of course he’d notice someone who regularly came during his shift. and that someone was you.

tsukishima first noticed you a few months into his work at the diner. in fact, you were his only customer on the first night when you came in and you stayed for three hours, eating just a plate of french fries, before leaving at five in the morning. the next night, you did the same thing, and the next, and the next. the thing tsukishima noticed about late-night customers was that there was always a noticeable purpose to their visit: a way to socialize, a place to hang out in the unholy hours of the night, even just getting a bite to eat. however, tsukishima couldn’t for the life of him figure out what your purpose was.

from behind the counter, he couldn’t help but watch as you’d absentmindedly pour ketchup on the side of your plate, dip your fries in one by one, and chew slowly while staring at the wall. it was as if you were just there to pass the time.

...

your visits ended up being frequent enough to finally pique tsukishima’s curiosity and cause him to actually initiate conversation.

“the usual, right?” he asked, taking your order as you sat at the counter.

“you got it,” you smiled up at him. tsukishima noticed that you always wore the same ratty, dark green coat over what appeared to be your pajamas.

“you must love these fries,” tsukishima said sarcastically, arising a chuckle from you.

“would you feel bad if i said i think they’re not exactly great?” you cocked your head at him.

“as long as you don’t tell my manager who never comes in at this time,” tsukishima smirked, handing you your change.

“your secret is safe with me,” you mimed zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key. that one managed to get a laugh out of tsukishima as he strolled over to the kitchen to make your fries.

“one order of shitty french fries,” he said, coming back a few minutes later. “and ketchup, of course.”

“hey, i didn’t say they were shitty,” you picked up a fry and wagged it at him. “just, kind of soggy and salty and... actuallly yeah, it is kind of shitty,” you giggled, dipping the fry and eating it.

“i can’t believe you thought soggy and salty would be euphemisms,” tsukishima shook his head.

“well, sorry for my brain not being in peak condition at three a.m. enough to read...” you paused and leaned over the counter to look at the book that tsukishima had been reading for class. “...Plato’s ‘The Republic.’”

“i actually don’t read anything, i just highlight stuff to feel good about myself,” tsukishima shrugged.

“that’s a mood right there,” you smirked at him. “so, you must be wondering why i come here all the time.”

“mmm, mostly i was wondering about the fries part but that’s a close second.”

you rolled your eyes at him. “well if you must know, i come here because i can’t sleep.”

tsukishima blinked and realized, for the first time, how dark your under-eyes were, how weak and almost raspy your voice sounded, and how you always seemed to be vacantly staring at the same wall whenever you came in.

“actually, i do sleep but at most it’s just two hours before i wake up again and decide to come here,” you added. “sometimes i take a twenty-minute nap before studying, but that’s about it.”

“sounds... rough,” tsukishima said, very much aware that there were a million other better things to say. instead, you just smiled and nodded at that.

“pretty much.”

“well, you’re lucky. the other diner serves shittier fries.”

tsukishima couldn’t help but smile at the look of incredulity on your face before bursting out laughing. for some reason, it felt like an accomplishment. he couldn’t help but feel as if he should help you with your insomnia but the thought of ‘what can you actually do about it?’ overcame him first.

but ever since then, tsukishima did make an effort to make his fries less shitty.

...

it was safe to say that tsukishima did end up enjoying your company. at first, he was worried that it would be a distraction from his work but you always managed to give pretty good insights on any texts he was reading or papers he had to write. you had a sharp tongue and always managed to keep up with tsukishima’s jokes or have him keep up with you.

but he noticed you kept coming earlier and earlier, sometimes even before tsukishima’s shift began, and he could tell you were sleeping even less. the voice in his head saying that it wasn’t any of his business steadily grew quieter with that progression.

“wanna try this out?” tsukishima asked, one night. you snapped out of your usual staring-blankly-at-the-wall activity and looked down to find tsukishima pushing what appeared to be a puzzle set towards you.

aside from greasy food, the diner tsukishima worked at had shelves full of board games and puzzle sets. ‘to entertain the student crowd,’ his manager reasoned. tsukishima didn’t know if the day customers actually used them but he’d always been curious about playing with some of the games.

“‘Vincent Van Gogh ‘Cafe Terrace at Night’ puzzle set, one-thousand pieces,” you read. “it’s, a thousand pieces.”

“we could use a puzzle board for it to save progress,” tsukishima shrugged. “only if you want to,” he added, starting to feel nervous that you’d be put off by his suggestion. ‘i could have chosen a one-hundred piece puzzle instead this was dumb of me,’ he couldn’t help but think. instead, you laughed and nodded your head.

“where’s that puzzle board?”

...

“oh my god, why the fuck did you make me agree to this? they’re all the same shades of blue!!” you exclaimed, holding up two puzzle pieces that had the same color but frustratingly didn’t join together.

“i thought it was a good idea at first,” tsukishima muttered, squinting at the mess of puzzle pieces before him. he was trying to put together the cafe part of the puzzle. “wait! i got it!” he suddenly exclaimed, picking a puzzle piece and joining it together with a small clump he had already formed.

“now, i have five pieces together,” he gloated, showing you the part.

“great. now we have nine-thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-five pieces to go,” you laughed tiredly. the two of you were occupying one of the tables closest to the counter which was now covered with the puzzle board and puzzle pieces.

when you first decided to visit the nearby diner after another sleepless night, you didn’t expect to befriend the tall, blonde boy who ran the graveyard shift and cooked shitty, but now slightly better, french fries. you didn’t really expect that tsukishima kei also liked to make himself milkshakes with strawberry ice cream or that he got unusually invested in puzzles, or that he looked cute whenever he was excited at joining pieces together.

“ah! i did it! i got a match!” you suddenly exclaimed, grinning and showing tsukishima the two identically colored pieces you managed to join together.

“finally, you managed to get one,” he smirked at you.

“mean! do you know how hard it is to sift through all of this?” you gestured at the huge sea of blue in front of you.

tsukishima cocked his head. “are you sure those actually fit right?”

“what do you mean? i just fit it together?”

“nah, i think it doesn’t work. give it here,” he grinned, snatching it out of your hand.

“give it back!” you pouted. “tsukishima!”

...

“tsukishima, it’s been half a month and we’re exactly halfway,” you deadpanned, looking at the puzzle before you that already had clumps of van gogh’s iconic painting formed.

“i don’t know if i should be happy about this or just depressed,” tsukishima sighed.

“celebratory french fry?” you suggested, picking a fry off the plate.

“celebratory french fry,” tsukishima chuckled, mimicking your action. the two of your crossed your french fries together before eating them.

“i don’t know if you know this, but this is my favorite part of my day,” you smiled.

“working on a thousand-piece puzzle with a diner employee?” tsukishima snorted.

“yeah, sad right?” you laughed. “sometimes i just get excited about going to sleep just so that i could wake up and come here.”

“funny enough you have been coming later,” tsukishima pointed out. not that he really thought it was a bad thing because it meant you’ve been sleeping just a bit more.

“thanks to the puzzle, i’ve actually been able to sleep once i get home,” you added, somewhat excitedly. “and, i don’t know, that makes facing the day less worse.”

“is that why you can’t sleep?” tsukishima asked.

“pretty much,” you shrugged, taking another fry from the plate. “somehow, being in my own bed in my room gets claustrophobic and i just can’t help but worry about things i should be doing or haven’t done. you know, usual twenty-something problems.”

“well, there is something to look forward to after all that,” tsukishima crossed his arms. you glanced up at him. “climate change.”

you threw a fry at him. “i hate you.”

“it’s the truth!” tsukishima protested. “also, is that any way to talk to someone who’s been trying to help you out?”

“awww, you’ve been trying to help me out all this time?” you gushed, despite the flutter in your chest at having your suspicions finally confirmed.

“i-i mean,” tsukishima stammered, trying to save himself from his slip-up. “well, you just looked so pitiful coming in every night and just eating shitty fries and staring at the wall.”

“that’s true,” you laughed. “but, thanks, i guess. for helping me out in your own salty way.”

“you’re welcome.”

your smile at tsukishima’s response turned into a yawn. “is me boring you to death adding to you feeling sleepy because i guess i’m doing a pretty good job,” he said.

“haha, very funny tsukishima,” you yawned again. “well, let’s hope i’m still sleepy when i get home.”

“if you want,” tsukishima rubbed the back of his head. “the staff room is actually pretty okay-looking. there’s a couch and everything so...”

“are you inviting me to sleep in the staff room?”

“well, if you make it sound that way--”

you interrupted him by standing up. “that better be a comfortable couch then.”

...

tsukishima really didn’t want to be like edward ‘sparkle vampire’ cullen and be a creep who watches you sleep but he just couldn’t help it. at first, he thought it would take you quite a while to even close your eyes but you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the couch. the way you were curled up on one side using your hands as a cushion reminded tsukishima of a sleeping cat and he had subconsciously stopped breathing in fear that he would wake you up.

when he first signed up for a job manning the graveyard shift at a diner, tsukishima never expected he would meet a girl who came in every night because she couldn’t sleep and eat fries at two in the morning. neither did he expect he would fall in love with her.

carefully, tsukishima set down your puzzle board on the coffee table, wincing slightly when he made a noise but you were still deep asleep. he looked down at the partially finished puzzle before methodically picking up pieces and joining them effortlessly together. after all, it was his own puzzle set.

tsukishima finished just in time for the employee in charge of the next shift to come in for the morning rush. usually, he’d just be in a hurry to leave to try snatch a few hours of sleep for his class. but right now, it was a trivial thing compared to the fact that you were peacefully asleep.

half an hour later, tsukishima would gently shake you awake because another employee was coming in. you would see the finished puzzle on the table and ironically piece everything together. like tsukishima, the thought of leaving the diner wouldn’t even cross your mind.

even though eating fries at three a.m. with you wasn’t like anything tsukishima would ever experience, he wanted nothing more than to have breakfast with you.

***********************************************

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dcforts · 3 years

Text

[day 11: sharing is caring]

That’s just what they need.

It’s not enough that they’ve been digging up graves in the snow and that they’re dirty and tired and aching – the weather had to play its part and send them a storm.

From where they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, home seems far, far away.

“Do we know anyone around here?” asks Cas from the passenger seat and Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says disheartened, “We know Garth.”

It’s not that Dean doesn’t like Garth. In fact, he likes him very much. And he’d be happy to see him. It’s been a while and his warm smile it’s never a bad sight.

It’s just that – he’s a lot. And he brings up some stuff.

He may pretend like it never happened but Dean remembers how he first reacted when he’d found out that he’d been bitten and how he acted around his family. And then there’s the fact that Dean doesn’t like bothering hunters who got out of the life. He feels that who he is and what he carries with him, it’s something that they’ve put behind them and don’t wish to see again.

Not to count the bitter feeling that surges in him everytime he’s reminded that Garth not only managed to retire and have a normal life, but he double did it. There are not many hunters, or werewolves, or hunter-werewolves for the matter, that can say that. Dean certainly can’t say that.

Still, when they call him and Garth says he’ll be happy to have them, Dean feels relief flooding over him, if not for the prospect of a warm and dry place to rest for a few hours, just enough to wait for the storm to calm down.

He can manage.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until he and Cas are huddled together on Garth’s front porch and even above the wind Dean hears Christmas songs blasting from the inside.

His eyes find Cas, who’s looking back at him, alarmed, but the doorbell has already been rung and it’s too late to back out. Garth opens the door with his patented smile.

“Guys!” he shouts above the music, “You made it!” he hurries them in the tiny entrance and closes the door.

Dean finds himself enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and lovely aroma of pine wood and cinnamon. His cheeks and hands tingle and he lets out a sigh.

Garth comes back into his view; Dean opens his mouth to speak but he has already wrapped his arms around him. “It’s so good to see you,” he says in his usual cheerful tone. He moves on to squeeze Cas into a similar hug and Cas stiffens and tentatively pats his back. Garth gives out a little laugh, “That’s it, buddy,” he encourages.

“Hello, Garth.”

Alright, Dean thinks, maybe it’s gonna be a little funny.

But then he notices the two-feet-tall inflatable Santa that’s bumping against his shins and when he looks up he’s stunned into silence. It actually takes his eyes a moment or two to register what’s surrounding them: the garlands on the doors, the tinsels around the banister, the baubles hanging from the ceiling all above them. Judging from the giant Christmas tree he can spot in the living room, he’s pretty sure the rest of the house isn’t in much better condition.

Garth himself is wearing an bulky red knitted cardigan with reindeers all over it. Seeing that, combined with the songs and the decorations, Dean feels the need to ask, “Uh – Garth? Are you guys celebrating something?”

Garth slaps him on the shoulder and laughs like he’s made a great joke. “It’s December, Dean-o! Every day is a celebration. The most magical time of the year, right?” he says beaming “You’ll have to wait for the carols but you’re right on time for hot cocoa!”

Dean feels dread creeping in. He takes a step back, “Wha- Garth, no – we don’t mean to -”

Apparently Cas is on the same page as him because he also starts saying, “This is your family time,” and steps back with him. “We don’t want to intrudr –“

Garth shakes his head vigorously, “Guys, guys, guys,” He holds up his hands to shut them up, “It makes Bess and I very happy to have you here to share it with us. Sharing is caring. And we happen to care a lot about you two,” he says making a silly voice and pointing a finger at them.

Yeah, nevermind, this was a terrible idea.

Cas throws him another freaked out look Dean can’t help but reciprocate, but Garth pays no mind to their lack of enthusiasm and shepherds them cheerfully into the living room. Dean feels even more out of place among the pastel walls and the embroidered pillows, the toys and the dolls. He tries to make himself weight less so that he doesn’t leave traces of dirt on the carpet. Everything seems soft and cozy, which is a real change from the hard leather seats and the icy wind.

“So, how was the journey?” Garth is asking Cas, as if they’re coming back from a cruise. “It’s been so long, man. Just the other day I was thinking ‘When I’m ever going to see them again?’ and then - ”

Dean gets distracted as he feels something tugging at the duffel bag he’s carrying and when he lowers his gaze there’s a blond head and two little hands trying to hold on to the fabric. “H-hey,” he says, shifting back a little to get out of his reach. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have clean, innocent baby hands near a bag that was in a graveyard an hour ago. But the kid takes an unsteady step forward and grabs it anyway. “This is – no, no – uh, G-Garth?” he calls, horrified.

Garth stops drowning Cas in questions and shifts his attention to the ground. He laughs and picks up his kid, totally unbothered, “Sammy, these are not toys for you,” he shakes his head, “He’s such a curious kid.”

Bess comes down the stairs right in that moment, wearing a green cardigan that matches Garth’s. “I thought I heard you two!” she says, even if Dean is pretty sure they’ve barely said a word since they’ve come in. “Garth, why don’t you bring their bag in the guests’ room? I’ll be right out with the drinks.”

There’s another round or “No need -,” and “This is really not necessary -,” and “We don’t want -“ before Garth yanks the bag from Dean’s hold with one hand.

He always forgets how strong he is.

“Of course you’re gonna stay. There’s no way I’m letting you leave in the cold and the dark. Come on! You know me,” he disappears down the hallway shaking his head and saying, “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Bess gives them an encouraging smile, “Relax guys, take off your jackets, sit on the couch.”

So they do. Sit on the couch.

They both let out a sigh when they sink into the cushions and Dean would call Cas “old” if he hadn’t made the exact same sound.

“This was a bad idea,” whispers Dean.

“You think?”

In the sudden emptiness of the room, with It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year in the background, and the giant Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, it’s weird to just - sit there.

Dean is dirty and smelly and feels marginally better only when he looks over at Cas who seems so much out of his comfort zone that he might as well be a tropical bird.

He takes a hopeful look out of the windows behind the couch but the weather seems to be even worse than it was five minutes ago.

“Are you still cold?” asks Cas.

“No.”

“Good.”

They look away from each other again.

In the last few weeks they’ve settled in a pretty hectic routine. Find the case, drive to the case, work the case, drive home, rinse and repeat.

It’s a well-oiled machine, but that doesn’t leave much time for – well, anything else. Definitely not sitting around and relaxing – and it’s just awkward all of the sudden to be alone in a place that is not a sticky diner, or a dusty motel, or a morgue.

It sounds depressing but that’s the hunter life for you. Without even noticing you become your job and it gets easier to just put your head down and work.

After three hunts in a row, Dean realizes this is the first time they’re actually taking a break. He looks over at Cas, his messy hair and the hands folded in his lap, and he feels the need to say something conversational.

What comes out is, “Last time I was here, Garth fixed my teeth.”

Cas’ face scrunches up in confusion but then Garth comes back.

“Have you seen Cas?”

Dean blinks at him and then slowly and dubiously points at his right.

“No, I mean,” Garth laughs, “The little one. I’m so excited for you to meet him,” he says, leaving the room again.

“How do you lose a kid?” Dean asks under his breath, looking around. His attention is drawn to a group of pictures on the little table beside the couch. There’s a bunch of the family on holidays, and then a bunch of the kids. One of the frames says Castiel and, on the bottom, Always our little boy.

“Hey, Cas,” he picks it up to show it to him, “Want me to get you one of these?”

Cas glares at him and doesn’t dignifies him with an answer.

Dean smirks and shrugs, “Fine, we’ll get the one that says Sammy. Can’t wait to see his face on Christmas morning.”

Cas doesn’t look at him again but Dean sees the corner of his mouth stretch a little so he calls it a victory.

Then Garth comes back and finally sits down in the armchair across from them. “He’s asleep. I forgot he was asleep!” he rolls his eyes at himself, “Cas,” he says, clicking his tongue, “he’s the best. He’s got this look, you know?”

“Wait, who are we talking about now?”

“Him. No, uh -” Garth laughs and bangs a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, I keep getting confused. Alright, alright, lets call our Cas 'Little Cas' and we’ll call you, 'Big Cas'.”

Dean stifles a laugh.

"I don’t think-" starts Cas, but it gets drown out by Bess coming back with a tray.

From the steaming mugs comes the rich smell of chocolate and on the surface Dean can see mini marshmallows shaped like little trees. He watches as Bess and Garth pick up their mugs and toast before taking a sip and notices with a smile that even their mugs are matching. Bess’ says “Mine” and Garth’s says “Yours”. He thinks it’s cute, whatever.

But then he looks down at his own mug and realizes that there’s something written across it too. It says “Perfect” and when he dares to look in Cas’ way his whole body blushes when he reads “Together” on his.

He takes a sip of chocolate and tries very hard to avoid Cas’ eyes and stop blushing. He fails on both fronts and burns his tongue.

At least it tastes great and the sugar warms him up and makes him feel much more comfortable.

Cas drinks it too without making a fuss over molecules and Dean wonders if it’s because he’s very polite or if he’s a pain in the ass just when they’re alone.

Finally Cas meets Little Cas and Garth keeps telling them how smart he is, because apparently he’s learned how to use the remote.

Dean snorts, “That’s already more than Big Cas can do,” and Cas shoots him a deadly “Stop calling me that,” that shuts him up for five minutes. Dean agrees it was a bad idea anyway.

Kids love Cas, for some reason. Little Cas stretches his arms towards him the whole time he’s in the room and Cas just pretends he can’t see him, as if avoiding eye contact is enough to make him stop. It amuses Dean greatly.

Even Gertie, when she comes in with a gingerbread cookie, looks between them and chooses to give it to Cas.

“I only have one,” she tells Dean, who is totally not offended.

But then Cas says, “It’s okay,” with his soft voice, “We’ll share it.”

And for some reason that makes Dean’s heart flutter. It’s something in the way he casually snaps the cookie in half and hands him a piece.

Somehow it’s different than sharing a car, a motel room, a bed, all kinds of weapons and bags and just space, in general.

Dean doesn’t know what it is, but somehow there’s a difference.

Garth is fairly disappointed when he finds out that angels don’t know Christmas carol by heart just because they’re angels.

At some point he just starts playing the piano and expects Cas to start singing along.

Dean says it was a hard blow for him as well, knowing that he couldn’t play the harp, just to enjoy the way Cas rolls his eyes with his whole head.

“What about Holy Night?”

“I- I don’t know that one,” says Cas, for the thirteen time in a row and Dean would love to stay on the couch and watch him awkwardly handle the situation if he wasn’t afraid Garth would eventually try and bring him into it.

So he jumps up at the first occasion to follow Bess into the kitchen right under Cas’ betrayed look.

“What songs do you know?” Garth’s voice carries through the walls.

“Uh, I know Led Zeppelin?” says Cas and Dean almost drops the mugs as his heart expands.

Now he kind of regrets having left the room but then Garth is saying, “Oh no, silly, I mean Christmas songs,” and Bess is asking him, “Do you play any instrument?” so he focuses back on her.

Dean puts down the mugs in the sink and opens up the tab, “Uh - just the guitar – a little bit. Never had much chance to practise.”

“Oh, you should. Then you can bring it up here sometime and play for us at the church.”

Dean scoffs, “You sure they’d want to see me again, after last time?” he asks and can’t hide the genuine uncertainty from his voice.

Bess rests a hand on his arm, reassuring, “Well, it’ll be different. Last time we said, ‘This is Dean, he’s a hunter’. This time, we’ll be saying, ‘This is Dean, he plays the guitar’.”

It’s such a simple concept but it hits him like a brick. He needs a moment to try and see himself from another point of view and he really doesn’t know what to say. Bess doesn’t seem to mind. They dry the mugs in silence and when Dean looks up to smile at her, she smiles back.

Dean, he plays the guitar. It could work.

They go back to the living room and Bess and Garth duet over Silent Night and it’s only a little embarrassing.

It gets dark pretty soon after that.

Before they bring their kids upstairs they all take part in the traditional – apparently daily – lightning of the tree. They turn off the lights and when Garth says “Ready?”, Gertie says “Yes!” and he lights it up.

Only, in the dark Cas gets really close to him and when Garth says “Ready?” Dean can hear him too say “Yes,” and so he turns towards him just as Garth plugs it in and his breath catches in his throat as he sees his face light up with the colours dancing on his skin.

Bess turns on the lights again and Garth puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and it startles him.

“Amazing, right?” he says, “Gets me everytime,” and only then Dean realizes that he’s missed the whole thing.

“Yeah,” he says.

Watching them at the table is always a jarring experience.

But just a "How’s the – dental practice going?" is enough to kick off the longest most absurd recount of Garth’s last few years and Dean finds himself laughing heartily with a hand on his chest, having forgotten all about the raw cow hearts on their plates.

They talk about things to do in Winsconsin and Dean tells them about that one time when he was a kid and got sick on cream puffs at a fair. Even Cas talks about Claire non-stop for a solid minute an a half, which is honestly impressive.

Bess and Garth want to know all about Sam and Eileen. When Dean says they’re splitting up more these days, Bess nods and says, “Yeah, I imagine you all enjoy a bit of privacy.”

Dean hears loud and clear the implication that him and Cas are like Sam and Eileen but doesn’t really know how to correct her, so he doesn’t.

He knows he can’t blame her. He’s not totally oblivious to the way they look from the outside. Working together, living together - just that would be enough to assume. But Dean hasn’t looked at anyone else in years either so – yeah. He knows how it looks.

Cas doesn’t say anything either, and doesn’t show any signs as to whether he’s picked up the implication but Dean can never really be sure with him.

That’s about around the time Dean realizes he’s shifted towards him and has an arm draped on the back of his chair.

Cas hasn’t said anything about that either. Dean doesn’t remove it.

Garth proposes a toast to Bobby and Dean loves him a little bit more and then Bess asks them what they’re doing for the holidays and looks shocked when he says that they haven’t really thought about it yet.

“But Christmas is in two weeks!”

Dean is about to say that they never really did holidays and they’re always on the road anyway, so it doesn’t matter and they don’t care, but for some reasons he settles for, “I guess – if we’re not working – then we’ll get Sam and Eileen and just -”

He doesn’t know what they’ll do.

Garth makes that face he makes when he finds him adorable.

It makes his skin crawl.

“What would you like to do?” he says and Dean feels hot all of the sudden as Cas looks his way as well.

“Nothing,” he blurts out, feeling his face reddening, “I mean, just stay at home, relax. That’d be great.”

Bess smiles, “That doesn’t sound like such an impossible plan now, does it?”

Cas softly says, “No, it doesn’t,” and Dean’s heart starts pounding.

“Next year we could get the families together,” jumps in Garth and that makes him laugh again.

From the fact that he doesn’t think right away that it’s the most horrible idea that Garth could possibly have, he realizes he’s having a good night.

And even later when he brings to the kitchen the last of the plates and sees Garth and Bess share a kiss and a laugh over the sink, he smiles. He’s careful not to make any sounds as he puts the plates down on the counter and tiptoes back to the dark living room.

Cas is standing near the tree, looking at the decorations and Dean silently joins him.

They smile at each other briefly and go back to watch the tree.

Considering how they’ve started the day, Dean thinks it’s not a bad way to end it.

The guest room is – well, like the rest of the house, colourful wallpaper, soft carpets, floral-scented bedsheets. And a Santa on the nightstands with cheeks that light up. Dean puts it under the bed first thing cause it creeps him out.

Garth says, “Are you gonna be alright in here?”

“I don’t sleep,” reassures him Cas and Dean wants to retort that for someone who claims he “just lays down” he sure knows how to steal the covers.

“Yeah, Garth,” he says instead, “We’ll be up early and leave through the backdoor.”

“Well, guys,” Garth says on the door, his eyes swelling up, “It’s been so good to have you here.”

“Yeah, thank you for everything, Garth,” Dean says and he really means it. “We had a good time.”

Garth shakes his head. “You guys make me cry.”

He pulls him into a hug and then moves to do the same with Cas.

“Come back, whenever you want. And have a very merry Christmas.”

Dean closes the door behind him and leans his back against it with a deep sigh. “If I’d walked home instead of coming here I’d be less tired, I think.”

Cas huffs a laugh as he unties his shoes.

They undress in silence and slips under the covers.

Dean turns off the lights and looks up at the ceiling.

"It’s nice,” Cas says unexpectedly in the dark, “what they have."

A weight drops on Dean’s chest.

"Yeah,” he agrees in the end, “it's nice."

After a moment, Cas speaks again.

“Dean?”

“Mh?”

“We don’t have to – go home straight away,” there’s a pause. The familiar shape of Cas shifts next to him, “We could find some cream puffs for you to get sick on.”

“That’s sweet,” Dean huffs a laugh. “I appreciate it, Cas.”

He settles more comfortably against his pillow.

“I mean it,” Cas keeps going, and his whisper is a lullaby, “We don’t have to find another case. We could just go meet Sam and Eileen in Illinois. Drive home together.”

Dean likes the idea very much.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

He feels his eyes falling shut.

“We could make it home in time for Christmas,” Cas’ voice is saying.

Dean’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Yeah, let’s do that, Cas.”

He falls asleep.

joining @bend-me-shape-me in doing this!

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #deancas #destiel #deancas ficlet #destiel fanfic #3.6k #garth fitzgerald iv #holiday time at garth's house #fluff #this one exploded on me #but i had a lot of fun #i love these prompts !!!!#they light up my brain #domesticity is my vocation #my writing

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rainboq · 4 years

Note

#22 This isn’t goodbye. AmberPrice Make it as fluffy as you like, just so long as you make it hurt.

Night Shift

It’s the dead of the night when Chloe first comes to visit her grave. She’s not surprised, Chloe was never the type to make her mourning a public affair, she always bottled it up.

Being a ghost is strange, but she can roam the graveyard freely so that’s at least something.

She follows Chloe at a discrete distance, old habits die hard, even from beyond the grave. Getting close to Chloe when she was consumed with grief was always a good way to start a fight.

When Chloe finds her marker under the lambent glow of the little lamps that dot the cemetery, she freezes. Rachel’s incorporeal form leans against a tall headstone. She has no need to of course, but again, old habits.

“Uh… hey Rach.”

She smirks. Very Chloe.

“Sorry I’ve been so shitty about not visiting, but, well. You know me. You had to practically drag me to go see dad.”

I wonder if William is like me? Shame he’s buried on the other side of town.

“Fuck, I was never good at this. So, fuck it.”

Chloe takes a bottle out from the inside of her coat. At first Rachel thinks she’s going to drink it herself, but then Chloe unscrews the cap and starts pouring it over her grave. She squints a bit before realizing it’s a bottle of the shitty whiskey they used to drink together. She always was more sentimental than she let on.

“There, a peace offering I guess so you don’t get pissed at me for moving on from the afterlife or whatever. Yeah, yeah, I know, Chloe fucking Price, moving on. Stop the motherfucking presses.”

She giggles quietly to herself. She has no idea how long it’s actually been, but clearly Chloe has been doing some self reflection.

“And you’ll never fucking guess who I’m with now. Or maybe you already know, I have no fucking idea how this shit works. But yeah, Max showed the fuck back up and she’s hella gay for me and just… fuck. So much shit went down when we were trying to find you. Or do you already know that? Shit. Sorry about disturbing your eternal fucking rest or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

Chloe practically jumps and spins around, shouting into the night. “Who the fuck said that? Better not be some fucking asshole!”

“Wait, you can hear me?!”

Chloe wheels again and stares at her, her mouth hanging open.

It takes a moment to process that Chloe is actually staring at her.

Right.

At.

Her.

“R-Rachel?” Chloe’s voice is tiny and broken.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Chloe recoils, the bottle falling from her hands. “Shit! Shit shit shit! Did I take my fucking meds? Fuck, think Price, think!”

Rachel watches and Chloe smacks herself upside the head a few times, an old ache in her chest from the bygone days where she used to watch Chloe struggle with depression on a daily basis.

“Max made you take them this morning, but that means…”

“I’m a ghost, crazy, I know.”

Chloe looks at her again, her eyes so full of pain as she shakily approaches. “Rach, I…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m the one who fucked up. I’ve… had a lot of time to think about my fuckups if you can’t tell.”

“I should have been there for you, I should have…”

“Oh Chlo, we had a fight that night, remember? We were pissed I was hanging out so much with Frank.”

Chloe goes silent for a few moments, her hands balling up into fists. “You were fucking him.”

“… Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because it was cheap drugs for us and he had money we could use.”

“And Jeffershit?”

“Same thing, he could get my name in places for when we left. I never meant to hurt you or anything, but I fucked that up too. I wish I could take it all back but, well.”

Chloe’s hand passes through her before jumping back with a shiver. Rachel supresses a giggle. “I feel like I should be fucking mad at you but… I just want to hug you.”

“I wish I could hug you too. Do you remember what I said that night?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah, ‘this isn’t goodbye.’”

“I meant it. It’s great to see you again, but you should go sleep, Max is probably worried about you.”

“You aren’t mad about that?”

“Girl, I’m not even slightly surprised. Bring her around next time so I can finally put name to face, who knows, maybe she can see me too.”

#life is strange #rachel amber #chloe price #amberprice sorta #ghosts #angst and fluff prompts

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robogreaser · 4 years

Text

This is a Long Time Coming...

It’s been a relatively hard task to sit down and make sense of, well, a lot of things as of late. I could chalk it up to the state of the world, but it’s been troublesome for significantly longer than that.

Long Story Short Version: I’ve been in a hell of a place, mentally, physically, and otherwise.

The proper story is a hell of a lot more involved than that and I know damned right well it’s going to take me a fair bit to explain myself and my various professional and social failings over the past... while. I’m gonna try to contain this under a read more, of course, but I apologize to mobile users if tumblr fucks that up.

Okay. That took a fair more bit of effort to figure out than I remember. Which, I suppose, is a fair enough bit of a segue into one thing that’s happened to me.

Tumblr has been deteriorating.

Whether I like to admit it or not, tumblr has been my go to social media platform since... 2011. Yeah. I’ve spent the vast majority of the decade here. I’ve seen a lot. Sure, I’ve lurked elsewhere, but I really cannot stand the interface and nature of a lot of other social media, especially the likes of twitter. Unfortunately for me, this place has been in constant decline for years now at this point. It extends well beyond the porn ban, but that’s a whole separate discussion.

I’ve lost touch with a lot of people I care about, some vanishing into the ether, some ghosting me, some just drifting into other communities or onto other sites. I’ve come to terms with the majority of this. It’s been happening for a while. It’s the very nature of digital relationships. It hurt, and I do think it’s contributed to a fair bit of stress and depression that has resulted in my... withdrawal from online spaces. It’s not a major factor, but its here, it’s present, it’s a factor in all of this.

I’ll be honest in that, well, I’ve tried to make this post several times over the past several weeks and months. It’s hard. Talking about my issues, using ‘I’ and ‘me’ so much in a post... it’s a bit jarring. But I’ll try to suck it up.

It’s been ten years (god I fucking hate time) since I’ve graduated high school. Yeah. It’s a fair thing to say that, on reflection, that’s incredibly jarring. The vast majority of that time has been... relatively unstable. I spent a fair few years working on my book and my publishing journey, now all but scrubbed clean from this blog (more on that later) and... well... Trying to be an adult. I’ve applied to, gotten accepted, and had to withdrawn from my dream school twice in this time. I’ve had a fair few jobs, nothing worthy of my resume, and lost all of them in one form or another, whether being fired for retaliating to my shitty work conditions, or, well, quitting for the sake of my own health during this pandemic. There has been a lot of family troubles. I’ve been through a lot of... ‘varied’ living situations, some horrendous, some just stressful, some, like now, actually really good compared to the others. And for the past few years in particular, it’s been constantly one thing after another, nonstop.

In short, progress is slow, but it’s happening. I don’t care to delve into a lot of these sorts of personal details lest this get to a ridiculous length, but that’s the short of the stuff I’d rather gloss over.

I’ve been on a health... Let’s call it a journey. I’ve been on a health journey. Over the past few years I’ve gone through the long processes of being diagnosed with ADHD, discussing my options regarding my depression and anxiety, and finally getting myself on a medication regimen that works. And then, because the health care system is a joke, I was without insurance. I had been off my medication, an absolute lifesaver and release of burden on my garbage tier brain, for eighteen months. Until last week. I think it’s fair to say, between my revolving door of living situations, employment, and then being un-medicated in a continually more stressful environment... That this is the main reason I’ve been absent. I’ve had no focus. There were weeks where I had no drive to do anything outside of routine that others depended on. I had not only gone back to how I was before situating my mental health, but in some ways, found a worse state.

Finances have been slowly eating away at me. I had been working a part time retail job until November, which made decent enough money, but not nearly for the amount of work and responsibility I was handling. I got fired. I found work with one of the big, corporate postal services. The pay was phenomenal, but it began to actively destroy my health, mainly physically, but also mentally, especially considering I was working a graveyard shift. Eventually when I began having prolonged health issues there, and then a whole lot of the symptoms of covid-19, on top of them turning me down for an entry-level position outside of the package handling, I had to quit. This was shortly after the lockdowns, in early April, and I refuse to look back despite people like my parents insisting on me trying to get work there again. Sure, the pay was phenomenal compared to anything else I had until then, but I cant continue to sacrifice my health. As of now, I’m unemployed, and... well...

I’m working on my commission queue. It’s art. It’s stuff I’ve owed friends (luckily those who are incredibly understanding and good to me) for an embarrassing amount of time, even before moving to and from Oklahoma at the end of 2016. I’m terrified of being the person who is known for taking commissioners’ money and running.

I know, I’m not good at giving updates. I’m not good at a consistent work schedule. I’ve had numerous tech failings over the past few years that constantly slow my roll on any progress I have made. Hell, I’ve had files corrupt despite being two thirds of the way complete when transferring from one computer to another. I’ve lost my cable for my external hard drive. I’ve had my tablet go to hell and back multiple times. But I am working. I am trying. I am sitting down as often as I can between looking for work and managing family nonsense to try and get my workload tidied up.

Which... brings me to my next point. And one I’m rather... ashamed about.

I have used trello, infrequently, since taking on a large load of commissions, and despite not being faithfully updating it and checking back on it, and using it to it’s fullest potential, I had kept, at the minimum, a list of all the work I did owe people using it. Well. Dumbass me attempted to use a mobile app. In short, in an effort to try and make myself tech literate and allow me easier access to my queue, I ended up deleting it. Somehow.

I’ve gone through and slowly flagged all my paypal notices and various emails concerning my commissions. I’m putting it together again. I’m trying. Granted, I am damned sure I am going to be missing someone, somewhere, somehow. I know it. I’ve got a shit brain, and despite my need for organization and minimalism, I don’t put it past me to have missed something along the way.

If you have commissioned me, please, do not hesitate to reach out and contact me regarding your commission. I owe every last one of you a massive apology for my continued failure to produce what you have paid for.

More likely than not, I have a wip already started somewhere, and if not, I have a slew of reference and thumbnails already compiled together somewhere on my computers. I am not ignoring this work. It’s been painfully, embarrassingly slow. It’s been one obstacle after another. But I have every intention of doing this work, and, likely, upgrading the quality of the finished piece past what my commissioners have paid for simply because I do feel bad about the wait time.

I have been inexcusably unprofessional. I know this and I am working as best I can with the time and resources I have to correct it.

In a similar vein, as I mentioned before, I have slowly been cleaning up my rather unimpressive publishing attempts. I’ve gone through and cleaned this blog recently, deleting reference to my work by name and the process of trying to get myself published. I may have missed a few posts here and there, but for the most part I would like a clean slate in regards to building a social media platform surrounding my written work. And this is the part where... I am probably going to be the most upfront and honest with you reading this than I have been publicly before.

I am not ashamed of who I’ve been online these past ten years or so, but it reflects only a sliver of my personality, a sliver of who I am as a whole. I catered to a very specific subset of who I am in pursuit of finding acceptance in communities much larger than myself. I’ve learned a hell of a lot about myself in that time. I figured out what’s important to me, my health, my sexuality, my relationships and my long term goals. I’ve found a very important group of friends. I’ve found people who understand and empathize with a lot of the things I have been through, experience, and am at my core.

But the fact of the matter is, this hypersexual, sci-fi aesthetic-oriented, very open person is only a singular facet. And it is not nearly enough of a reflection of who I am, or who I want to be as a professional, public adult. Will I always be gay for robots? Yes. Will I, when time permits and creative energies are present, continue to make nsfw art? Absolutely. Will I always have a toe dipped in erotic literature and the like? Most likely.

But a lot of me, a lot of my emotion and strife and feelings regarding most things in the world, are completely separate from this. It’s separate from me liking porn on twitter or having a homestuck roleplay blog. It’s separate from who I am in real life, with my boyfriend or with my family or with my work. And I have been dwelling on this, sincerely, for a while. I need to allocate more energy into my life. The separate life offline and online too, where I am pursuing an actual professional career, because, at the end of the day, I want to be an author. I want to have a career telling stories. And, in my time online, I’ve found a lot of skeletons in authors’ closets, the kind that really put mine to shame, and the kind that will always be a footnote to their work. You know the ones.

I want my creative work to speak for itself. I want people to be able to enjoy what I do without a specter, without my time and energy having to explain to a future audience why it is I had explicit thoughts about x,y, and z. I want to be able to write a book, write many books, and have people enjoy them without a footnote about me, a person with a sexual life and a history exploring it through years of depression and isolation, clouding it. It’s not fair to my work. It’s not fair to a future reader. It’s not fair to me.

I’ve got several social media accounts made and slowly coming to life that I need to spend more time with as I try and pursue this new, second leg of a very long journey into publishing. I’m not going to link those here, now or in the future. It’s likely a few people I know and trust have access to them. But I am, effectively starting over from scratch trying to build a platform as a writer. And it’s hard. Juggling that, alongside all of the things in the world today, alongside family and my relationships, alongside my commission queue? It bears down on me and if I didn’t have experience handling more than one thing at a time, I might trip up more frequently. Hell, I forget to post and use those new accounts regularly.

But I’m trying.

I’m not moving away from my current social circles or hobbies or anything like that. I’m not abandoning any fandom or friends or communities. But I am going to be trying to balance myself more thoughtfully moving forward, past just commissions, past just writing.

I’m here. I’m moving forward, slowly but surely, and I am making an effort to improve.

#jesus christ mike shut up

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purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

979

survey by xalikattx

FOOD

What is your favorite salad dressing? I’m not really familiar with most of them as I only consume one type of salad and the recipe for that usually calls for mayo and some kind of spicy sauce. I guess that’s my favorite dressing by default.

Favorite sit-down restaurant? Yabu for days. I personally don’t think that will change for me. Mama Lou’s is also nice but its crowd can be so boujee it kills the dine-in experience for me.

Favorite pizza topping? I’m easy to please; I just like my pizzas cheesy.

What food could you eat for two weeks straight and not get sick of it? Fried chicken sandwiches.

What do you put on your toast? Butter is fine with me. I don’t really eat toast.

What food do you eat the most? I have rice in every meal.

Do you like food? Yes.

Do you LOVE food? Yesssssssssir. I have my preferences and things that I don’t like but I’m not picky for the most part, and I love being adventurous with the foods I try.

Do you even eat at all? ...What kind of question is this

What do you put on your ice cream? I never customize my ice cream. I usually consume ice cream however way it’s already served.

Do you like steak? For sure.

Or are you a vegetarian? No.

How about a vegan? No.

What food do you hate the most? I’ve never learned how to appreciate kakanin, which is a group of a variety of sweet rice cakes that we have in Philippine cuisine. This has definitely caused my Filipino card to be revoked in the past lol, but ugh the texture is just so slimy and I hate how, even though we have so many types of kakanin, they all just taste and feel like sticky, chewed-up rice doused in sugar and coconut flakes. Korean rice cakes taste so much better.

TECHNOLOGY

How many TVs are in your house? We have four. Two downstairs, two upstairs.

Do they all work? I think the one in my brother’s room has stopped working but we just never get around to throwing it out because of the possibility of it getting fixed someday.

Do you have Comcast digital cable? I don’t know what that is. Probably a US thing? In that case we don’t. We used to have cable TV but my dad ceased our subscription a few months ago because no one in the family has been watching the TV for cable anymore and he got sick of paying for something that we don’t even avail of; we all stream our shows and movies on Netflix now.

AT&T Uverse? Definitely no AT&T on this side of the world, so no.

Dish Network? No.

Something else? Obviously.

Nothing? Again, it was a local cable provider but we’ve since cut off our subscription.

What's your favorite show? Of all time, Breaking Bad. Currently, it’s The Crown but I’ve been such a bad viewer at the moment; I stopped watching at some point a few months ago and haven’t gone back to Netflix since, welp.

What's the worst show? I don’t objectively know what’s the worst one out there but when it comes to my personal preferences, I’ve just never seen the appeal of shows targeted to teenagers or a younger demographic in general, like Teen Wolf, 13 Reasons Why, Riverdale, the TV adaptation of Scream, etc. Of course, this is just my own taste and I certainly don’t judge people who enjoy these shows.

What color cell phone do you have? The official name is Space Gray but that’s too fancy so let’s just call it black.

What kind? iPhone 8.

What does the first text message in your inbox say and who sent it? So I scrolled all the way down to the bottom of my text threads and the last person on the list is Ate Frances, and she was just telling me to check my Messenger because she had sent me a question regarding an event our org was holding at the time.

What was the last text you sent and who did you send it to? Gabie. I simply said “hi.”

Who was the last person to call you? My mom.

Who was the last person you called? Gab.

CURRENTLY

Are you missing someone? Yeah but let’s not get into it.

What are you listening to? I can hear rain pouring from outside my window.

Watching? It’s mostly background noise because I’m focusing on this survey, but I have on a YouTube video playing.

Worrying about? Work. I was tasked to think of PR executions for a client over the weekend and I just really really dislike it when I’m assigned to something that forces me to brainstorm, so ugh. Wish me luck because my brain juices have been feeling weak all weekend.

Where are you? I’m in my bedroom, my favorite place to be these days.

What's it like there? Lonely, but it’s quiet and comfortable. I used to avoid my bedroom all the time everyday because it makes me depressed, but now I am depressed and prefer to stay here all the time too.

How are you feeling? A little sad but I think tonight’s one of the nights I can fake it a little more easily, which is decent enough for me.

Is anyone with you? Who? Just Kimi.

Are you hungry? I haven’t had an appetite in a while. No.

What do you want to eat? I’m not craving anything.

Thirsty? I’m good, thank you.

What do you want to drink? I might end up drinking some of the plum soju that’s been in the fridge for months tonight, even though I told myself I wasn’t interested in touching it lol.

What time is it? 6:58 PM.

LASTS

Thing you ate? A tuna empanada.

Thing you drank? Pretty sure it was just water.

Thing you said? “Go, pee” It was to Kimi as I set him down on the balcony.

Movie you watched? I’m Thinking of Ending Things. Ugh, I really should watch a more light-hearted movie soon because this answer is such a depressing one and I’m tired of mentioning it.

Store you went to? What did you buy? Grocery store; dog food.

Person you talked to? My sister.

Person you hugged? I think it was Gabie.

Kissed? Also her.

Yelled at? I haven’t raised my voice in a while. I don’t remember anymore.

Book you read? Midnight Sun.

Thing you touched? Other than the keyboard, I pushed up my eyeglasses.

Person you became friends with on Facebook/Myspace/whatever other site? [continued the next day] A co-intern, Justine, added me on Facebook. I honestly don’t see the point of being Facebook friends because we’re bound to part ways and never encounter each other again after our internship...but I guess it’s nice to have friendly co-workers.

RANDOM

Are a righty or a lefty? Righty.

Have you ever had anything removed from your body? Just a decaying tooth, but otherwise no organs or anything larger.

What is the last heavy object you lifted? Does Cooper count? Little man has been getting so big over the last few weeks. He’s finally getting the growth spurt that we’ve been waiting for :’D But I don’t really do heavy lifting around the house, so.

Have any scars? Sure.

How did you get them? Any interesting stories? Most of them are scars from childhood falls, because I was the clumsiest kid in the neighborhood and tripped and scraped my legs at least once every time I played outside. There’s a scar on my left eyebrow from an idiot cousin who had been out to make me blind, and then there’s the self-harm scars as well.

if it were possible, would you want to know the day you're going to die? Yes. It’s one of the things I’ve always wanted to know.

If you could change your name, what would you change it to? I’m happy with mine. I’m not five anymore.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? If it was like sriracha then yeah. Not willing to do anything overly hot, though.

How about 10 bottles of ketchup? I’d be more enticed if you offered mayonnaise, but even then I think such a feat deserves a higher prize than $1000.

10 bottles of maple syrup? Thinking of how thick that is already hurts my throat. Pass.

A bottle of vinegar? HELL no.

10 jars of peanutbutter? HELL yes but again, I’m gonna be asking for more money lol

How many pairs of flip flops do you own? A couple. They’re not my favorite things to wear so I don’t feel the need to collect a lot of them.

Favorite month? April because birthday month; December because even though that’s when my depression strikes the hardest, everyone else is caught up in the holidays and that allows me to guiltlessly cut off contact with people for a few weeks.

Do you always answer your phone? If you mean calls, then no. I do not pick up if it’s an unknown number, but after rejecting I immediately text them asking who they are and what they’re calling for. I just feel like it’s proper etiquette to text before you call, especially if you’re reaching out to me for the first time.

It's four AM and you get a text message, who is it? Gabie for sure. She’s on the graveyard shift, so it wouldn’t be a surprise.

If you could change your eye color what would it be? I’m okay with mine, but if I got reincarnated as a foreigner I’d love to have hazel eyes. They look very pretty.

Do you own a digital camera? Not anymore. My phone camera can take good enough photos.

Do you take lots of pictures of yourself? Hell no.

Do you take them in front of the mirror in the bathroom? Nope.

Have you ever had a pet fish? I had several goldfish as a kid, yes.

Pet hamster? Nope. That’s mostly a Western thing too I think; I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever had a hamster.

Bird? We had lovebirds before; they were so low-maintenance and made for such sweet pets.

Rabbit? Yep. Tobi was a bit of a handful, but I loved him all the same.

Iguana? No.

Favorite Christmas movie? Love Actually and It’s A Wonderful Life.

Favorite Christmas song? Probably It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas. It’s so soothing and yet makes me feel festive and excited for Christmas.

Can you do push ups? I can, doesn’t mean I’m good at holding myself up ha.

Can you do a chin up? I can but I hate those.

Does the future make you nervous or excited? Both.

Ever been in a car accident? Just minor ones.

Do you have an accent? I think everyone does. I’ve honestly never understood this question lol, if I go to a different country or continent, people are always going to have an accent in my ears. Even in my own country, I can think of a number of accents I’ve heard people speak in.

What song always makes you cry? 26 by Paramore.

Have any plans for tonight? Rest my tired head.

What were you doing at 12 AM last night? Talking to Gabie.

What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? Ugh, Monday.

#survey #surveys

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astridianmayfly · 4 years

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my teen angst bullshit has a body count

Ectober Day #5: Grave Robber

“This is so illegal.”

“Will you quiet--ugh--down, Sam?” Tucker was hitting the ground with a shovel. It was only October, yet the ground was frozen solid. Sam toed the frosty topsoil with the toe of her boot, expecting it to be tractable. It remained stationary. Ah, the benefits of living in Illinois combined with enduring the symptoms of climate change.

Tucker continued with his attempt at shoveling. Sam leaned on the neighboring headstone, lethargically holding a flashlight over his work. Bored, she burnished the decrepit stone with the sleeve of her black sweater. Despite a “hey!” of protest from Tucker, she shone the beam of her flashlight on it. It belonged to someone named Tyrone Sonders; he sounded like a charming fellow in name alone. Standing next to the graves, it was hard to not sympathize with those who had passed.

A wave of nausea hit her square in the chest.

Tucker’s voice shocked her back to reality. “A little help here? I’m literally doing all the work.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. I was just taking a minute.” She grabbed her own shovel that she’d brought. It was leftover from her childhood, plastic and cheap compared to Tucker’s practical one. A dusting of amethyst glitter remained on its handle--probably some symptom of a failed DIY in a past long forgotten. Sam brushed it off. She watched as the sparkles drifted to the ground like magic.

The ground really was solid, and the pair’s excavating job grew painstaking very quickly. The night remained dark, and it was hard to make out anything that the flashlight, propped against Tyrone Sonder’s grave, did not reach. Their breaths escaped fogged and ragged, ragged and fogged. Sam’s face stung from the cold, but the labor from her shoveling job managed to keep her from contracting hypothermia.

What felt like a half-hour passed before Tucker finally spoke. “We haven’t made much progress.”

He was right. At most, they’d managed to dig about six to seven inches.

Sam cursed.

A hum started from the depths of the ground, a bad energy weaving and intermingling with the trees. Catlike eyes opened from a hollow of a nearby tree.

Sam hears Tucker’s breath catch in his throat.

Sam smiles. She waits to hear that raspy voice.

“Boo.”

A small shadow materializes next to her, deceptively unthreatening. As figure solidifies, Sam punches it in the arm.

“Ow, Sam! What was that for?” Danny rubbed his misty arm. His form shifted and his blurred features narrowed in mild annoyance.

“For being late,” Sam smirked.

“We could’ve used your help about an hour ago, dude,” Tucker chimed in. Sam couldn’t see his face from where she was standing, but she could hear him rolling his eyes.

“I was sleeping, jeez!”

“Shouldn’t you be nocturnal or something?” Sam heard Tucker twisting his shovel into the dirt.

Sam made out what might’ve been a cheeky smile from Danny’s expression. “Well, no. How else would I be able to hang out with you guys?”

“All jokes aside, could you help us out a bit?” Tucker nodded to the shallow depression they’d dug.

“‘Course. I got you.” Danny dove into the ground. A few seconds passed. “WHAT AM I LOOKING FOR DOWN HERE?”

“Shhhhh! Someone could hear you!” Sam whisper-shouted toward the ground.

“NAH, NO ONE EVER COMES AROUND. I MEAN, I LIVE HERE! I WOULD KNOW!”

Sam facepalmed, side-eying Tyson. How could a ghost be so...alive?

“SPEAK UP. WHAT AM I--OH, THIS?”

Danny came flying out of the ground, pulling out a closed casket turned intangible by his touch.

Tyson sighed. “Yeah, that.”

Danny let gravity command him again, letting his feet touch the ground. “So. Who’s he?”

Sam picked up her spotlight-flashlight by Tyrone’s grave and shined it on the headstone in question. Unlike the other headstones in the abandoned graveyard, this one was shiny and fresh. Dash Baxter, beloved son.

Danny scratched the back of his head. “Hello? Earth to Sam and Tuck? Why’re you digging him up?”

This was the part of the story that sat like lead in Sam’s stomach. These were the words that crawled like spiders up her throat, corrosive and deleterious. The body was being exhumed next week for a second autopsy. Before that...well, it needed some modifications. They’d hidden the cause of death well the first time--all it took was a coroner willing to accept hush money.

Tucker brought out the large container of bleach he’d brought with him.

Sam forced the bile down her throat, grasping for the truth.

“...it was an accident.”

Danny’s voice became strained when he asked: “What did you do?”

“It. Was. An. Accident!” Sam spat, fury in her voice. She’d spent sleepless nights rationalizing their mistake. To have someone else question her innocence--to have Danny question her innocence-- would be the nail in the coffin.

Heh. Coffin.

“That wasn’t what I asked.” Danny’s voice was low and quiet, trembling with fury.

Sam readied a sassy retort before Tucker interrupted their argument. “Guys. Whether it was right or wrong or an accident or whatever, we need to figure this out. Right. Now.” He lifted the can of bleach pointedly. “We came here for a reason, Sam. I don’t intend on going to jail.”

Sam didn’t want to be the reason for Tucker’s technology-free future. She lowered the flashlight to the coffin--

--Each member of the trio reacted at the sight before them:

Scratch marks covered the area where the lid met the casket.

Sam opened the lid, expecting the warm stench of a decomposing body. Instead, she was greeted with more scratch marks. They decorated the inside of the casket, forming crude drawings and spiderweb-patterns. At the bottom, three bloodied fingernails lay discarded.

“Oh my God,” Sam breathed.

The most important feature of the casket?

It was completely empty.

“Petty murders make for vengeful ghosts,” Danny whispered.

#Full Ghost AU where Sam and Tucker met Danny in a graveyard or something. Fuck if I know.#Danny Phantom #ectober 2019 #ectober #ectober week 19 #ectoberweek19 #danny fenton #dark #I feel like this is the ultimate ectober vibe #halloween #writetober #fanfiction #my writing #this was highkey based on heathers just a bit #hence the title

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alittledizzy · 6 years

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stray puppy appeal rating: pg word count: 2.5k Summary: There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it. Notes: Written for @velvetnautilus for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

Most of the time people checking into the hotel during Dan's ten pm to four am shift aren't really looking for conversation. They're looking for a bed to sleep in or a bed to fuck in and either way they're not going to stand around making small talk with the guy behind the counter who is doing his level best to project a disinterest in any interaction outside the structure of doing his job. He finds reservations, activates key cards, and sends them on their way.

But Dan's got a sixth sense about people who are going to need something from him, and because he's the only one working the front desk during the graveyard shift he's got no way to avoid it.

That sense starts to tingle the minute the door opens and a man walks in wearing a very respectable suit and tie with a stain on the front and no luggage at all. The man looks around with a slightly wild expression that means he's either drunk or exhausted. If he's drunk, at least Dan can ring security.

"Can I help you, mate?" Dan asks. His voice carries across the small lobby.

The man looks at him like he's only just realized someone else was there. "I think my driver stole my wallet," he says. "And my mobile's dead, and the airline lost my luggage."

Okay. Not drunk. Damn. And it's so close to his shift ending.

"Do you have a reservation here?" Dan asks.

"I'm with the conference," Phil says.

"... conference?" Dan repeats.

There is no conference.

"Yeah," Phil says again. "The conference. We're supposed to have rooms booked out."

"There's no conference here," Dan says. "Are you sure you're at the right hotel?"

The man looks slightly queasy now. "No," he admits. "Is this the City Centre hotel?"

"... mate." Dan barely manages not to laugh. "No. It is not. You're about thirty minutes in the wrong direction."

The man rubs his forehead and lets out a very quiet, passionate. "Fuck."

It’s painful watching Phil sit in the straight back chair in the lobby. It’s not comfortable. Dan knows that, because he knows the furniture was chosen with the intent of keeping people from wanting to linger too long using the free lobby wifi.

He’s only got ten minutes left until shift change. He knows who comes in after him, and he knows Phil won’t be allowed to loiter without a reservation and looking as he does. He’ll be told politely but firmly to leave, and Dan has a vivid mental image of Phil Lester walking down the street helpless and lost and broke.

There’s a chance of rain, too.

Dan sighs. He had plans. Those plans involved going home, eating something horrible for him in front of the television, playing Guild Wars for a couple hours, then crashing until time for the routine to start again.

“Hey,” Dan says, voice cutting through the quiet of the small lobby. “If you need somewhere to crash for a few hours, you can come home with me.”

Phil looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

Dan shrugs. “Fine.” Thirty seconds later. “Not like I’m trying to rob you or anything, though. Doesn’t sound like the last guy left much anyway.”

Phil almost appears affronted, but the expression fades into something more miserable almost right away. “I’ve still got organs. You could harvest those.”

“If I were in the organ harvesting trade, you think I’d still be working this shit job?” Dan asks. “I could probably pay my rent on one good spleen. Unfortunately I’m chronically undermotivated, so your spleen is safe.”

“Good,” Phil says. “I’ve only got the one. I think. Do humans have two spleens?”

“Just one,” Dan says. He sounds confident even though he’s not sure. He’ll google it later.

“But I really can’t.” Phil has polite-voice on.

“Suit yourself.” Dan goes back to looking at his phone. Eight more minutes, and he’s free.

There are a lot of things Dan would list about himself under the column of personality flaws. He's sullen and quiet, anxious, prone to depressive spells, lacks the ability to follow through on commitments, and frequently isolates himself from the people in his life that care about him.

But he's not a bad person. So when his shift ends at four in the morning he looks at Phil and says, “Come on.” and leaves work with a stray following close on his heels.

Phil a consultant for an editing software firm, and he's clearly having a worse day than Dan is but that doesn’t stop him from being chatty.

"I'll just charge my phone for a bit," Phil promises. "Then I'll be able to ring someone and figure out money.”

Dan doesn't really have money to give him. All of his meager paycheck goes towards rent for an overpriced one bedroom flat in one of the shittier London neighborhoods.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Dan says, waving a hand. If nothing else he'll be a nice person and put Phil into a car.

"It's already tomorrow, isn't it?" Phil says. "I'm all messed up with times. I flew here from California."

"Yeah?" Dan asks. He’s knows he sounds disinterested, but he’s really just… tired. He’s always tired.

"I'm actually from Manchester. But they flew me out to California to train me on the software, and I'm supposed to present it at this conference. At least it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Phil laughs a tepid laugh. He seems aware that he's mostly talking to himself. "Right. Where are we going?"

Dan gives him an amused look. "Would you know even if I told you? It's only five more minutes."

Walking to and from work is the only exercise Dan gets most of the time. There are days when he'd probably skive off work altogether if not for how much he enjoys his early morning walks.

"Right," Phil says a third time. "Okay."

In the bright light of Dan's kitchen, Phil looks even worse for wear.

"When's the last time you slept?" Dan asks. He'd really just planned on making some coffee while Phil's phone charged enough to make do and then sending him on his way, but now safe within his own territory Dan feels a strange stirring to do something more.

It's not often he's the one that can help other people. It's not often he feels like he can offer something that makes a difference to someone else.

Phil shrugs. "I can't sleep on planes, and the flight was twelve hours. And the night before they took me out for dinner and kept buying me drinks and then I had to go back to the hotel room and pack..."

"So, it's been a while." Dan abandons the coffee idea and heads into his bedroom.

Phil follows after him, but stops in the doorway. "What-"

Dan looks over his shoulder. "You want something more comfortable to wear? Maybe a shower?"

Phil looks surprised. "You're not going to harvest my organs, are you?"

"No," Dan says. "Can't be bothered cleaning up after that kind of mess today. But you look like shit, mate."

Phil looks down. "I spilled coffee on myself at the airport. I thought that would end up being the worst part of my morning. Before the airline losing my luggage, and the car driver taking my wallet."

He's already rung his bank and credit card company to cancel the cards, taking care of that from the hotel phone behind the reception desk.

Dan tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. "The shampoo in my bathroom is for curly hair, but have at it."

"Thanks," Phil says, holding the bundle of clothes. Dan looks up again when he doesn't move. "Where's the bathroom?"

Phil's shower is fast. Dan's not sure if he's always quick at it, or if he's just uncomfortable in Dan's space. His hair is wet and falls limply over his forehead and somehow the five o'clock shadow on his face seems a touch darker.

"Thanks," he says. "I feel more human now."

"You don't look it," Dan says bluntly.

Phil shrugs. He's at his phone already. "I'm at forty percent now. If you need me to go..."

"Didn't say I did, did I?" Dan asks. "Are you sure you're even safe to go out there? Why don't you just, I don't know, have a nap."

Dan's tired himself now, or beginning to be. He usually falls asleep around sunrise and wakes late afternoon. But Phil looks ten times worse.

"I couldn't-" Phil starts to say. "I couldn't impose."

"Fine." Dan shrugs. "I'm still offering, though."

Phil looks back down at his phone. "I could just... ring someone. To get me."

"You know people in London?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "But I could call the convention organizers..."

"At-" He looks at the time. "Five seventeen in the morning."

Phil winces. "I guess not."

"Just sleep," Dan says. "I still won't harvest your organs."

Phil gives him a grateful look. "Thank you."

Dan's a nice guy, but also a bit of a creep sometimes.

He definitely watches Phil sleep. He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and stares, because now that the buzz of a weird new situation has faded a bit he's able to recognize that Phil is quite fit.

There haven't been any fit guys in Dan's bed in a while. No fit girls, either. No one at all, except Dan and his laptop and his left hand.

Not that he's thinking of having sex with a random businessman that wandered into his workplace. He's not that hard up. Sex isn't even the first thing on his mind most of the time. He's got too much other shit to get together.

Dan stares just a bit longer, then turns and walks away. He'll nap on the sofa for a while.

He doesn't really sleep, but awareness fades in and out in stretches of five and ten minutes at a time until the sun is beaming down too directly on his face. He squints and rubs a hand over his eyes. He's tired, bone deep weary, and there's a stranger in his bed.

He opens the fridge and there's not much there. He takes his lunch around two am most days, and doesn't eat again until late afternoon. There's a lot of takeaway in his life, a lot of freezer meals.

Can't feed a freezer meal to a stranger. His nana would drive all the way from Reading just to slap him for it.

He doesn't even know what Phil likes to eat. Is he vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten free? Does he watch his carbs?

Indecision is paralyzing, but Dan's hungry and he needs something to do. He orders a pizza, but he orders what he'd normally get for himself. It's not a date, he tells himself. No need to try all that hard.

Tall, dark, and handsome-if-you-like-that-type stumbles bleary eyed from the depths of Dan's sleep cave at half two.

"Oh my god," he says, sounding mildly horrified. "I can't believe I slept so long."

Dan's on his laptop. He barely glances up. "Must have needed it."

"My phone's charged," Phil says. "If you need me to go."

Dan ignores the comment and says, "There's pizza."

"Pizza?" Phil's interest is definitely piqued.

"You must be hungry, right?" Dan asks.

"Starved," Phil says. He opens the box. The pizza's gone cold by now but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a bite and moans slightly. "This is amazing."

"It's Dominoes," Dan says, "But it's good to know that's where your taste level is at."

"Nothing wrong with a Dominoes," Phil says.

Dan does happen to agree.

Phil eats his pizza standing. Dan pretends to be doing work on his laptop, when in reality he's refreshing twitter and watching Phil out of the corner of his eye.

When Phil's done eating, he wipes his hands on his (Dan's) joggers and then walks back into the bedroom.

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut, and he's not sure what put it there. All he knows is that this day stands out from every other day already, and he's reluctant to let that go.

But then there's Phil, this person Dan barely knows, with whom Dan has barely even had a real conversation, and he's walking out of Dan's bedroom dressed again and regret for that unknown reason blooms even brighter.

"Guess you'll be going then?" Dan asks.

He can tell his voice sounds clipped. Phil can too, apparently. "If that's alright? Or did you change your mind on the organ harvesting?"

"Still can't be bothered," Dan says, shutting the laptop. Phil's wearing his own trousers and a button up.

"I need to get to my hotel," Phil says. "And then ring the airport about my luggage, and have someone wire me some money."

Dan can see the discarded tie making an unsightly lump in his trouser pocket, and he's got his jacket over one shoulder. The coffee stain looks even worse in the light of day. He's got Dan's hoodie clutched in his other hand.

"You can take that if you want to."

Dan's not sure where the offer comes from. He likes that hoodie.

Phil looks down at it. "Really?" He asks. "We could... we could meet up. For me to give it back to you. And pay you back."

"Pay me back?" Dan asks.

"For the money I'm about to ask to borrow so I can get the tube to where I need to be." Phil says meekly.

"Oh," Dan says. "Yeah, right."

"But I want to make it up to you." Phil takes a breath and then looks at Dan almost imploringly. "Dinner? When's your night off work?"

"Don't worry about it," Dan says. He grabs his wallet and pulls out the only cash he has. He doesn't even count it. "You don't need to pay me back. If you want to return the hoodie, drop it by the hotel."

Phil looks down at where Dan's offering it out to him. He's frowning, and Dan's starting to wonder exactly what's wrong when Phil says, "What if I just want to take you out?"

"What?" Dan stares at him.

"You're - am I wrong?" Phil asks. "I just.. I saw your quilt. And the sticker on your mirror.”

The warm, heavy quilt his friend made him in the colors of a rainbow flag. The equality sticker. "Are you asking me out? Are you even gay?"

The moment feels like a step beyond surreal.

Phil lifts up his trouser leg. His socks have little rainbows on them. Phil shrugs. "A bit?"

"You're a bit gay, or you're a bit asking me out?"

"Both?" Phil says.

"Okay I get how you can be a bit gay, but - how do you just ask someone out a bit?" Dan asks.

Phil begins to look uncomfortable. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll have your hoodie sent-"

"I don't work Sunday night," Dan interrupts him.

"Sunday," Phil repeats, smiling. "Alright. I'll bring the hoodie then. And buy you dinner."

Sunday comes, and Sunday goes. Dinner turns into a drink after and then a slow stumble through Dan's doorway with hands and mouths exploring. Monday morning dawns bright and early.

There's a stranger in Dan's bed again, and this time he knows exactly how to feel about it.

#phan #phanfic #thirty minute fics for charity

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depressocoffeeandteaclub · 2 years

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[april 1, 2022] lol life update? yeah unfortunately i'm still alive... (pt.2)

but my cousin's not.

hi? lol march just ended and i am here again... i feel bad for tumblr tbh coz i only remember it when i am going thru grieving, anxiety and depression lol

so, why did i write "but my cousin's not?" coz, yeah, unfortunately, one of my closest (to me in all aspects) cousin, passed away last march 5th. just a day earlier before my dad's death anniv, which by the way, they are also close to each other as my cousin treat my dad like her own and my dad also treats her as her somehow, daughter.

i have few cousins, a lot actually, but she is the one who I can easily talk to and became close to us by heart and soul. she always asks me things about life, work, technology etc. as she claim that i am really good at some things. which i clearly dont see it myself, but other people do, idk why and i dont know what (really) to feel about it.

way back around 2019 or 2018 (dont really know and dont bother to think deeply enough) i guess. so story time, she went to her hometown which is also the province where my dad came from, and she's like weighing around 90kg to 100kg before, and 3 months of staying in the province, she came back here in the city and we are shocked (as in shocked in another level) when she lost weight, almost half of her weight. (i mean from 90-100kg, she became around 50kg) and it became a humor that she took on some drugs, like illegal one, (TW: TAKE NOTE THIS IS ONLY FAMILY'S INSIDE JOKE BUT NEVER IN THE HISTORY OF MY FAMILY, SOMEONE DID IT, OKAY?!) and yeah, we dont really like, took it seriously because, yeah losing weight, isn't a bad thing, right? well, wrong.

so moving forward, when she came back to the city, she tried looking for jobs of course, to support her family and her child and of course, as we all know, someone needs to be employed right? sooo moving forward again, she got job, she left it, she look for another one, and here comes the requirements before entering, and also the mandatory medical examination etc.

so they found out that she has high blood sugar and went to some clearance before going to work and she got one and then somehow, she noticed a volume in her neck, so i adviced for her to seek doctor so she can also be clear whats going on with her body.

my dad passed away around march but she only found out that she suffers from hyperthyroidism around may last year. my co-worker and also my work-mom, suffers from the same condition so i asked her on what to do and what to look out for, and i adviced my cousin to also do those things.

moving forward, she got her job just recently around november last year, and the shift is in graveyard. so for a person be able to tolerate that kind of shift, is none other than, our besties, COFFEE.

if you search on how hyperthyroidism work, you may search on google. but if you suffer from one, you should avoid those things and there is a lot of restricitions when it comes to a person with this condition. unfortunately, it runs in our bloodline to be hard-headed, and yeah... you know what happened.

she also suffers from high blood sugar, remember? so complications starts. march 3rd, she became dizzy and night of that day, her a year younger brother, saw her laying on the floor, seems like she got stroke.

so her brother called us and we helped them to go to hospital to get treatment, and march 5th in the morning, she passed away. cause of death? brain aneurysm and injury in the neck, somehow her thyroid burst and very hyper.

days before my dad's death anniversary, she even asked us to call her so she can come with us in the cemetery where my dad lays. she is excited because we are finally, working on our decent house, and she has a lot of dreams and sadly, she died very young at the age of 28. she just had her birthday too, which is february 27th and she died on march 5th.

i really cant believe when i heard the news, i was like, no this isnt real because she can even talk when we entered the hospital, she has life when i last saw her.

here comes the grieving stage again. march became so heavy and i am not anymore excited when march comes each year. for the past two years, march became so traumatic.

i also got myself into accident, depression and trauma comes, i cant sleep at night because of insomnia but when i sleep, i dont wanna wake up.

and the really sad part is, i got my own space, the house is finished and we moved here in march 27th, i got my own decent private space and i should feel happy, right? but i am not. i feel empty. i feel not okay and i gaslight myself every single day since i moved into this house like "you got your own decent house and space so why are you here acting all depressed and gloomy?"

maybe this is just a phase, maybe things will get better. maybe it is just me. maybe.

but march, you son of a bitch, please be good next year, i don't want to cry anymore because of you.

#coffee

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