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fozmeadows · 7 months

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the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

#millennials #technology #personal #generations #generational change

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burntoutdaydreamer · 7 months

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Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

#writing #creative writing #writer problems #writing advice #writing community #writing a book #writing problems #novel writing #on writing #writing tips #writing help #writers on tumblr #writers block #female writers #writers of tumblr #writers blog #adhd writer

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luveline · 7 months

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gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated.

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong.

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks.

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach.

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong."

"I'm just trying to figure something out."

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance.

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein.

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?"

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop.

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something.

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention."

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights.

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done?

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time.

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again.

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears.

This is all so messy, and it's your fault.

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me.

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid.

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help.

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go."

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention.

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up.

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell.

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you.

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it."

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry."

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel.

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug.

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon.

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two.

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset "

"I'm an idiot–"

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–"

"I shouldn't have–"

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away.

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up."

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into?

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me."

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile.

"It's not okay."

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even."

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked."

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?"

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back."

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better."

"I know, angel." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you."

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful.

"Does it look really bad?"

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says.

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already."

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to."

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid."

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask.

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not."

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure."

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want."

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks.

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it.

"That feels nice," you mumble.

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?"

"Don't," you warn.

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?"

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it.

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry, angel."

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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kira-fluff · 11 months

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hi,can you do yn who sleeps with no pants pt3 with kenma and suna please?

sleeping with no pants on | fem!reader x haikyuu!!

a/n: i finally got my new laptop today so it's back to writing ^^

tw: language, NSWF, kenma's is a lil more than that lol (why? idk)

pt. 1 pt. 2

kenma kozume

you liked to sit and watch while kenma gamed, smiling as you heard the curses he said under his breath at a loss, or the smirk at a triumphant win. you laughed to yourself as you sat this time at 3am, recalling how kenma used to wake up early just to play his video games when he was younger. now that he was older, he had the luxury of playing as late as he wanted. the two of you hadn't been dating for very long, still very much in the kiss-hand-holding phase, so you balked in surprise when kenma suddenly said, "hey, are you sleeping here tonight?" while his eyes were still glued to his screen. you choked on your words. this was a big step for you, but not one you didn't want to take. you were just surprised at how causally he had brought the whole topic up. it seemed to shock you too evidently because he then added, "you don't have to though." you shook your head, "no, no, I want to. it's getting late, ken. lets get to bed." normally, kenma would fight tooth and nail to get even one more hour of gaming time like you were his mother, but he also knew it was out of concern that you often asked him to finish for the night. however, this time, kenma felt no need to continue pressing the buttons in rhythm with his console. you decided then and there that you would take the leap, and change in front of him. slowly, you lifted up your shirt. the rustling of fabric caused kenma to turn around in time to see your breasts bounce free from your bra. he whipped his head back in time for you not to see, his ears beet red. "kenma?" you said quietly. "..hmm?" "I-uh--well. so, when I sleep, I can't sleep when I have pants on..." kenma swallowed. "no problem." in all honesty, kenma didn't wear them either. he wore clothes for comfort, not for style, and the same was for sleeping. being able to be free from the confines of clothing was one of his favorite reasons for finally turning to going back to sleep. when you pulled down your shorts, exposing your panties, his eyes pooled with a dark gold. still, he pushed the thoughts away and instead decided it was time for him to head in too. after removing his sweatpants after turning off the light, he heard a little gasp as he slipped into the covers. kenma's bare leg had rubbed against your own. he wasn't wearing pants either? you could scarcely hold yourself together as you searched for things to think about other than the fact that your boyfriend was lying down next to you, pant-less. that morning you awoke in kenma's arms, the warm feeling of his chest against your back. <3

suna rintarou

you and suna ended up sleeping at each other's houses for the night several on several occasions. after watching movie with your best friend since middle school, it was pretty much a given that you didn't care much what the other did. still, you hadn't really reached the gap where you could step in and possibly admit your feelings for him. so, whenever he spent the night or vice versa, you would slide into the bed you both agreed to share (because who really cares?) with your complete pajama set on. you figured you would be going too far if you decided to be comfortable and take off your little shorts. this, of course, made it difficult for you to sleep. you moved around in an effort to get more comfortable, but all that did was rearrange your shorts so they were almost reversed - front in the back, back in the front. you sighed. "why do you keep rolling around like a burrito?" "that makes no sense." you said. "burritos are rolled." he said in the obnoxiously snarky way he speaks when he thinks something is obvious. "why are you awake arguing with me about burritos?" you muttered. "because you woke me up."m "it's just hard for me to fall asleep right now. it's too.. hot in here." "liar. the a/c is on full blast." he said. you sighed again, "well I'm just uncomfortable, ok?" he sat up a little, resting his head on the palm of his hand, his head turned to you. "why?" "it's really stupid and embarrassing." "everything about you is stupid and embarrassing." he smirked. he was rewarded with a flick on his forehead. "shut up, rin." his stare urged you to speak once more. "well," you began, "I can't sleep if my pants or shorts are on." he was quiet for a moment before his voice came out in a rasp, "well then don't wear any." you looked his way, noticing his eyes glowing in the moonlight creeping through the blinds. "but we're...friends." he swallowed thickly. "doesn't mean you can't take your shorts off--" he cut himself off. "it doesn't mean you can't be comfortable. there's covers anyway." you stared at him in apprehension before bringing your hands to your hips below the covers. slowly, you pulled them down, only the sound of the sheets and fabrics ruffling. suna sounded a bit like he was getting hot too because he was panting a bit when you turned to him. you looked at him with a questioning expression. "sorry.." he muttered, "kinda hard to breathe in here with the air quality and stuff." you were well aware the windows were closed and that was probably bullshit, but you decided not to press further. "well, anyway. thanks. goodnight." you smiled meekly, turning to your side. what you weren't aware of was that suna wasn't able to sleep a wink that night, much less when you shoved off the covers while sleeping (I guess you were actually a little bit hot). suna was suffering, truly, as he tried not to stare at the bottom half of you - only panties covering you. the morning couldn't come soon enough for him.

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hellenhighwater · 8 months

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hey so how come lawyers like so much PAPER?

sincerely, the person in the copy center who has to print all these goddamn binders

Man, it is the worst. I grew up file clerking for my dad and it was so terrible that I decided I would never be a lawyer. SO much paperwork. Ugh. Horrible.

But also, if you're in trial, you want all of the information in the entire case at your fingertips, and you want to know exactly where every piece of info is--which means that you have it hard copy, because a laptop can glitch or lag or crash but paper abides.

Also, in a lot of circumstances, you need a physical item in order to admit something as evidence, because the court physically marks it with a sticker label. So you print photos, documents...even for video files, you have it on a disc or USB that the court can put its little evidence sticker on. And then, depending on the type of trial, all that evidence may go with a jury into a jury room to look over, and you don't really want to give them a wholeass laptop, because that's just asking for improper non-evidence information to be considered.

And if you're feeling like a jackass when complying with discovery demands, you can give the requested information on physical paper and that's fulfilling the demand (unless it was specifically for digital format) but it's not searchable in the way that a PDF would be--you can't control+F for the info you want, you have to read through reams of paper. Which you should do, for thoroughness, but...it's time consuming. So you can play petty little games and give people hardcopy to make their lives marginally more difficult.

Ultimately though, lawyers just really love deforestation. Fuck them trees.

#im joking lawyers love trees #tree law is great #discovery demands can request digital files #but if they dont then sometimes people play stupid games #personally i try to avoid pettyness because it usually backfires #but its a thing that happens #none of this is absolutes btw the law is different everywhere #we are a paperless office but we print entire casefiles for trial

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taasgirl · 4 months

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say something pt 1.

summary: although playing for the same club, pedri and y/n cannot stand the thought of being around each other. enemies to lovers for all my girlies out there - i got u

a/n: not proofread and all in english + more installments coming soon!!

"I told you I can't go out." Salma hadn't stopped bothering me about some party with the men's team. I had so much school to catch up on.

"Come on don't be a party pooper. You study every night and train every day." I spun my chair to face my laptop. "Seriously Y/N, it's only one night." Rolling my eyes, I continued writing my paper.

I had been at university for the past year or so, while simultaneously playing football. For Barcelona. I know, pinch me moment. But I was so determined to graduate high school, and get a degree. I wasn't going to let anything stop me.

Even if it was my dream profession.

The coaches and staff at Barcelona were very understanding, however they weren't too happy when I had to leave training early for lectures.

But I guess I make up for it, I'm the league's top goal scorer, currently on 21 in 9 games. A feat slightly unbelievable to my lecturers and classmates - they think it's insane that someone 'famous' would even bother with university, but I love journalism. Something about writing is so me. Especially topics that I love.

"Don't be a bum Y/N." Truth is, I really wanted to go, but I had already agreed to help one of my classmates with some work.

"I'm supposed to be studying with Alex." Salma instantly spun me around. "The hot one?" I didn't respond.

Alex and I had our fair share of flirty kisses and almost intimate moments, with Salma being our first and only 'fan'. Seriously her words not mine.

"Well bring him then. You two should loosen up. Literally everyone will be bringing a plus one." Now that would actually be a good idea, but he seemed like he really needed my help, and lucky for me, he didn't want to bother me so it would all be through facetime. I could study in the comfort of my bed, in my pyjamas.

"Sorry Sal, you have fun but I'm staying back." She scoffed, this happened a lot, she'd invite me, I'd reject, and then say, "You look really hot though."

"Wait so what did you write about?" I would be lying if I said this wasn't awkward. We had hooked up a few times, and yet each time we spoke to each other it was just as awkward as the last. The term 'friends with benefits' was definitely not applicable to us.

"Umm, mine's just about some of my teammates. You know, sports injuries and that sort of stuff." He smiled when I spoke.

"It's so cool knowing you." Awkward silence soon followed. "Hey uh, I'd really like to take you out. To dinner maybe? You know, when you're not busy being a professional and all that." Well I can't really reject the guy who's made me orgasm multiple times.

"Yeah sure. I'm sure we could go out after class one day." Yeah I was not going to go out with him.

After a few hours of studying with Alex I got a call from Salma. "Hey Alex, I'm getting a call, I'll message you later." Hanging up our facetime, answered Salma's call.

"How's hot boy? Have you fucked yet." She was slurring her words. Definitely off her face drunk. "Hey is this Y/N?" I replied to the voice, one of a man's. "Listen we need you to come pick Salma up, she's drunk." The boy on the other side of the phone said it almost annoyed.

"Who is this?" Immediately he replied, "Pedri. Now can you hurry? I'm sending over the address." The notification popped up on my phone, she was at a club downtown.

"I can't." Pedri didn't speak. I knew him from our minimal media interactions, but other than that, he had a reputation as a dickhead fuck boy. "What do you mean you can't?" Because I was so preoccupied with school and work, I never had the time to get my license.

"I can't drive, I don't have a license." I could almost hear him roll his eyes.

"Are you serious? How do you expect her to get home?" He was clearly pissed off. "Maybe be a gentleman and drive her home?" He groaned, obviously unwilling to do so.

"Don't put her in a cab. Drive her home, here I'm sending you the address." As soon as he received my message through Sal's phone he hung up. What a dickhead.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard loud banging at my door. Rushing over, Salma practically fell in my arms. "Y/N you won't believe the night I had." She needed to sleep, we needed to be at training by 6 tomorrow for fitness testing. I have no idea why she'd pick tonight as the time to get wasted.

"Thank you Pedri, I'll see you tomorrow." As I went to shut the door, he stuck his foot in, pushing the door wide.

"So I leave a party with beautiful women to drop your lightweight friend off, and you don't even offer me a glass of water?" His tone was condescending, as he followed me through our apartment.

"Yeah well, sorry for ruining your night." As I helped Salma into her bed, he leaned on her doorframe. "You know usually when I take a girl home it doesn't end like this." He smiled, that kind of dickhead-fuckboy smile. I didn't respond, walking under his arm as I made my way to the front door. I opened my wallet and handed him €10. "For the petrol, now please leave." I pushed the money against his chest as he scoffed. "I don't need your money." He looked me up and down. "See you later Y/N."

Salma and I successfully made our way to the Barcelona grounds, a round of water and plenty of bread slowly sobered her up.

"So how was your date with sexy classmate." I smacked her lightly. "Awkward as fuck. You'd think that someone who's seen me naked plenty of times would know how to talk to me, but I guess not." We walked past the front desk. "Morning. And it wasn't a date, just a study session."

Making our way to the changerooms, I made eye contact with a certain somebody. That certain somebody came over to us. "What do you want?" He looked at me puzzled, in a dismissive way. "Oh I'm not here to talk to you." He diverted his gaze to Salma. "You were quite the partier last night." She smiled at him, I have no idea how.

"We gotta go. Bye Pedri." I pulled Salma away from him. "You're literally gay stop making eyes at him." She looked at me as we sped walked through the hallway. "Doesn't mean a girl can't look." I rolled my eyes. I can't take this girl seriously sometimes.

By the time we had made it out to the field, everyone could tell that Sal was hungover. She wasn't hitting anywhere near her top speed and was very slow at our reaction training games.

Jonatan pulled her aside, and soon enough, she was escorted inside by our assistant coach. "Bring it in girls." I stood next to Lucy as Jonatan began a speech.

"It has come to my attention that there was a party last night." The girls began looking around at each other. "And I understand that you are young and want to have fun, but when alcohol or even drugs are involved, it becomes a problem for the club." Lucy looked down at me.

"I need you to all be aware of what you're doing. You are professional footballers, and now is not the time to be partying let alone drinking." The girls started to whisper to each other.

"And I especially need you to look after the kids here. They're young and vulnerable. If you see them in a less than ideal situation, you need to help them out." Jonatan didn't raise his voice, one of the reasons why he has been my favourite coach. "Now get back out there."

Training was tense, and by the time we had arrived inside Salma was lying on one of the physio beds fast asleep. "Sal are you alright?" She groaned, covering her face. "Lucy said she'd drive you home, but I really need to get to class." I gave her a quick hug before I headed for the showers and prepared myself before class.

It's hard being a student-athlete, or an athlete-student depending on how you look at it. As I left the building I saw Gavi standing outside.

"Hey Pablo." He turned around, immediately hugging me. Gavi was my first friend here in Barca when I joined the academy, and although we haven't kept in contact as much, I still consider him one of my best friends.

"Looking good Y/N. You off to school?" I nodded, signalling to my laptop bag clutched in my hand. "You're seriously the hardest worker I know." After a short conversation a car pulled up to the kerb. A short honk alerted us.

"Get in Gavi. Y/N." Hey, at least he didn't dismiss me. "Can Y/N come, we just need to drop her off at the uni. It's down the road." Before I could reject Gavi's idea, Pedri spoke up. "Yeah no. Come Pablo." Gavi didn't get in the car.

"Seriously Pepi, let her come with us. It'll be a short trip." Soon enough, Pedri agreed, unlocking the back door for me.

Pedri didn't speak the entire ride, and even though it was short, I felt completely unwelcomed. By the time we had arrived on campus, Pedri drove right to the communications building. I thanked him, and stepped out of the car.

As I began to walk away from the car a familiar voice called out to me. "Y/N wait up!" Alex ran up to me, and immediately pulled me in for a hug. I could feel Pedri and Gavi's eyes on me, the car hadn't moved.

"Thanks for the help last night." We walked into the building together and found our seats.

After a boring three hour lecture, I quickly made my way down to the exit. "Y/N wait up." I spun around, facing Alex. "Is now an alright time to ask you to lunch?" I could help but blush. Now normally I would've politely declined, but I am so unbelievably hungry, so I agreed.

"As long as you're driving I'm up." He smiled and brought me to his car.

"I told you that class boy was your guy!" Sal yelled at me after being dropped home by Alex. "When you aren't preoccupied by the dick-"

"Yuck don't say that Sal!"

"It's true, see he's a good guy. Hot too."

I pushed a pillow to her face. She was really too much sometimes. We were sat on the couch, relaxing until it was time to sleep. She was telling me about this incredible girl from last night when I heard a knock on the door. I got up and answered it. To my surprise Pedri was standing there.

"Uh, um you left this in my car." He handed me over an unfamiliar plastic bag, but after a quick look inside, I could tell that it was my sports bra and socks from training.

"Oh yeah, um thanks." We stood there awkwardly in the frame of the door until Salma came up. "Left them in his car huh?"

Pedri immediately tried to speak but his mumbles were cut off by Salma. "Leaving your clothes in one guys car and then going out with a different guy the same day is truly boss energy." Pedri looked at me concerned.

"He and Gavi drove me to class ok, so let's get inside. Thank you Pedri, I really appre-" "Come in Pepi! Take a seat." Salma cut me off and ushered him in. Looking down at me, he made his way to my seat on the couch.

"You know what guys, I'm actually gonna head to bed." Salma pouted at me. "Come on, it's only for a few minutes." I shook my head and went into my room, grabbing my clothes so I could take a quick shower.

By the time I finished my shower, I could still hear Pedri and Salma talking. I wrapped a towel around myself and made my way to my room. That was of course, until I bumped into him.

"Maybe look where you're going next time." He said to me, a look of disgust plastered on his face. "Get the fuck out of my house." He laughed.

"Yeah cause this two room apartment is a house. You seriously need to get a life." I pushed past him, opening my door. "Oh and maybe you should try and be welcoming for once. God knows it'll do you a world of good." I slammed the door after hearing his comment. I have no idea why I even gave him the time of day.

He's such a piece of shit. I'm literally a university student who also happens to be a footballer - a women's one at that. I have no choice but to live in a shitty apartment with my teammate. I don't have the type of money he has.

pls let me know if you like this! i'll update as often as possible and pls give me some requests! i'll write about anyone (m+f)!! thank you!

part two!

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astridthevalkyrie · 2 months

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cw: afab reader + she/her pronouns, creepy stuff, yandere ig??, very very very brief and extremely mild use of phone as a vibrator, if you've seen gravity falls this is inspired by the soos and the real girl ep 💀

You pause and exit out of the app right as you open up the video call link, ignoring the twinge of guilt you feel at leaving during such a steamy scene. It's not real, you remind yourself, like you have a million times in the past month. A part of you wants to find the coziest corner of this library and play until you've leveled up all the memories you can and gone on all nine claw machine dates you're allowed to, but it's time to unplug.

Besides, you have an actual date.

"Hey!" your boyfriend greets as soon as the video loads up, grinning when he sees your face. "Are you in the library?"

"Yeah. Booked a room all for you," you tease, setting your phone down to focus on your laptop.

"Wow, I'm flattered. So what's been up lately?"

You sigh. "Nothing much. Same old boring stuff. What about you?"

He starts talking about his new job, the entire reason that you and he have been long-distance for the past few months. You're not going to lie to yourself—it's rough. It feels like torture, not being able to see him and hold him and kiss him. You've really, really missed him. That's probably why you've turned to dating sims of all things in the first place.

Your phone buzzes while he's talking, and your eyes flick over to the screen.

new text from alien boy <3

Your brows furrow in confusion. This app doesn't notify you about new texts, because they only come through while you're on the app itself. And you never just get texts, unless you've leveled up on affinity, which you haven't in the past half hour.

Whatever. Probably some new feature or event you don't know about yet. You turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

"—And my break will be in two weeks," he finishes his story, then smiles. "Which means in two weeks I'll be seeing you, pretty girl."

Eyes lighting up, you lean in so you can blow him a light kiss. "I can't wait. I already have the whole weekend planned out. We'll go to the park, the museum—I thought we could go canoeing if you wanted to—"

Once again, your phone buzzes.

alien boy <3: didn't we have plans that weekend?

Your stomach flips unpleasantly.

Huh?

"What is it?" your boyfriend asks, noticing your struck expression.

"N-nothing, just—this app I downloaded, it gave me a super weird notification. For a second, I thought it was, like, listening to me."

He chuckles. "Creepy. What app is it?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, not sure if you should even tell your boyfriend that you've found solace in fictional characters during his absence. "Just some stupid game."

This time when your phone buzzes, you jump a little in your seat.

It's not a text. Someone's calling you. Your shoulders almost sag until you notice there's no name on the caller id, just a small spaceship emoji.

"What the hell," you mutter under your breath, putting one finger up to the camera. Your boyfriend nods in understanding, leaning back and muting himself while you swipe and answer the call. "Hello?"

No answer.

"Hello-o-o?"

Still nothing. You almost hang up, until the barest of sounds makes your ears perk up. If you strain them and press the phone so close it's smushing your cheek, you can hear something. It sounds like someone whispering, but you can't make out anything.

"Hello? Um, your audio is super low, I can barely hear you. Hello? Can you hear me?"

With no change, you hang up, frustrated. It might be a prank call. You're in the library on a Friday night and there's barely anyone here, one of your friends might've thought it was hilarious to mess with you.

"Spam call." You shrug uneasily, slipping the phone down between your thighs this time instead of on the table. He nods in understanding, then starts saying something.

"You're still on mute, sweetheart, I can't hear you."

He makes an oh face, then leans forward a bit to use the mouse. After a few seconds, though, his eyes narrow in focus and he shakes his head. He looks up, mouthing can you hear me now?

"Nope. Can you still hear me?"

An affirmative nod. Weird. It's still showing that he's muted on your end. "What, is it not clicking?"

You see him look back up to the screen, whether to nod or shake his head, you don't find out, because the screen glitches out for a moment, and all you see is a door.

You shriek, clamping a hand over your mouth.

His face is back in front of you again, and you still can't hear him, but he clearly sees how freaked out you are, because he tilts his head up concernedly, as though to ask you what's wrong.

You didn't scream because of the glitch.

You screamed because you've visited your boyfriend at his new place before, and that door was his door.

"Can you hear me? Is your door locked?" He only looks more confused, shaking his head like you're the one who's muted now.

Your phone lights up before you can grab it and call him, and you gasp when it buzzes against your core and doesn't stop buzzing. It doesn't vibrate this much when you get a call, and there is no call on the home screen, nor text, nor any kind of notification. It feels like it presses itself into your skin more, and you grip the table with one hand at the brief jolt of pleasure before snatching it and unlocking the screen.

Before you can click the phone app, Love&Deepspace opens. You groan in frustration, trying to swipe up to no avail. Did you accidentally click on it? It wasn't even in the list of apps on your main page.

Movement from your laptop catches your eye. Your boyfriend's looking forward, but not at the camera. He's looking at—at something, and he backs up in his chair, looking terrified all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you say as loud as you can, but even if he does hear you, he doesn't respond, and instead, his mouth falls open in a silent scream.

The screen goes black, and then so does the entire library.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." You look back down at your phone, ready to crack it if it doesn't swipe up and get out of this stupid app—

There's no one there.

Your heart stutters in its chest.

There's always someone in the Destiny Cafe.

There's no one there.

And on the little white armchair in the background, there's a dark streak of red dripping down and staining the cloth.

"What the fuck," you whisper, eyes wide. Your laptop screen flickers.

The facetime has been replaced by grey-blonde hair, that gently brushes against baby blue eyes with a soft, unassuming smile.

"You shouldn't pause me," he coos, "now, where were we?"

a/n: i hope no one tells me that people don't put their phones between their thighs while sitting bc i very much do. also. i'm talking to a guy on FT in the library tomorrow. hope i don't have gift of foresight. or maybe i hope i do muwahahaha. this is actually mad goofy and not scary at all

#love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #xavier fic #yandere xavier #xavier x reader #lads x reader #lads xavier #l&ds x reader #xavier #l&ds fic #xavier x you #xavier x mc #xavier x y/n #love and deepspace xavier #valkyrie stories

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sweetbrier2908 · 4 months

Text

have you guys ever thought about how satan's personality is actually the combo of his 6 other brothers and somehow he's still unique in his own way and that somehow creates his charisma. just as i start making satan's moodboard and i start to realize man i love him so much it's hard to breathe.

i mean, he's like the most hard-working demon in the family, lucifer works because he has his responsibility and because he forces himself the perfect figure for the whole devildom and also because of diavolo the moment he realize no one watching him he immediately drop the whole responsible act; but satan works and studies and reads just because he loves doing things and learning. he never wastes a single opportunity to learn new thing. he loves art and beautiful things, just like asmo but at the same time, he doesn't care about his look, just like beel, and they both make asmo so mad because they seems like they can't realize how attractive they are. he loves to play pranks on lucifer with belphie but somehow he is also willing to take care for his brothers when they're wasted and constantly checked on lucifer when he lost his memory. he loves cooking for his family and even when his brothers make riddiculous request he still tries to satisfy them. he's maybe the most boring guy you've ever met, he's a nerd, he starts to talk like levi when he visits destinations from his favourite shows, he looks serious in his stundent id, and he's so intellectual and normal and you may or may not have already seen someone like him in your life. he's so normal, he has nothing stand out but his love for cat. his laptop is covered in cat stickers and he has a cat wallpaper on his devices. he's so normal. he acts normal unless when he's angry. he's decent. he's also popular. but at the same time, don't you guys find him adventurous? he loves trying new things, he meets people here and there and makes friend here and there. you will see him at some super fancy restaurant and you also see him on the bleachers of some sports game. he even manages to take his whole family to a film festival because of his connections. he learns new things everyday and he tries to experience as much as he can. he loves nature, he loves camping, he loves animal to the point he flooded the whole house with cats. he knows all the things about human world and stuffs but he's not allow to go there. i mean, satan character is just the combination of many factors and he's so normal but so adventurous and caring and i can picture him having a super peacful life until you figure out he used to go to war and maybe fighted with the dragons and owns a rich comany stuff like that.

he's just doing whatever he likes without caring about people's opinion and make him...like gosh...i love him i love him i love him i love him i love him.

p.s: one of my theory is that satan wasn't born from wrath (yes i know the devs confirmed that but wasn't lucifer so angry to the point he started a war and stripped out his wings because he loves his brothers and sisters so much he didn't want to see them hurt?) but actually he was born from the love lucifer has for his family so that's why you can see satan shares similarities with all of his brothers.

#obey me #obey me satan #satan is also a perfectionist #just like lucifer #obey me theories #obey me headcanon #i do love him so much #also i think satan character is so complicated but the the devs of obey me can't even grasp it #and that lead to there's always something missing about his story #that what i feel #im so happy that nightbringer did a better job in developing satan's characteristic and story #just a little bit better #so i want to write for satan as much as i can #i love my caring delicate gentle having anger issue daddy issue demon so much #obey me nightbringer #obey me swd #satan obey me

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rqgnarok · 1 year

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Hear me out. Jamie’s love for chains x Taylor’s “I want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck”… Just thinking about Jamie wearing reader’s initials😩😩😩 *insert that feral screaming crying throwing up meme*

anon u hit my weak spot with the taylor swift reference i love this request sm

It was a brutal game.

Dani was unfairly sent away with a red in the second half, which gave the other team just enough time to tie against an unorganized Richmond. The end result of 2-2 tasted more like defeat than anything else, both as a player and a fan.

You couldn't even be there for Jamie, away on a work trip that had you cursing and screaming at the game playing on your laptop in a random hotel room. All you wanted was to bring Jamie home and hold him until the sting of the game left his bones, you were worried he might fall into a sulk without you there.

But there were still three more days to your assignment until you were able to come home and you had to settle for a FaceTime call later, watching interviews of the boys in the meantime where they put a brave face for the media and fans.

Jamie, still a little disheveled from the quick shower he took in the locker room smiles a brittle grin at a reporter as he settles in for an interview. He asks them how they've been and talks praises about his teammates and coaches despite the results. You reach a hand to trace the shape of his face on your screen, his cheeks and mouth, and the bridge of his nose when something catches your attention.

It's a simple golden chain hanging loosely against Jamie's chest. You frown, trying to recognize it from the jewelry he usually wears. Your boyfriend's taste was usually something flashier- fashion statements that people talked about on Twitter usually as either a hit or a miss, nothing in between, but you can't place ever seeing this one before.

He fiddles with it, not a nervous tic but rather a comforting one, and you see some tension melt from his frame when he comes in contact with the pendant that hangs from the chain.

A pendant with your initial.

Warmth washes over you as soon as realization does and the feeling of homesickness increases tenfold. You have no idea when Jamie got that, let alone why he didn't tell you about it, but you can take a guess.

He's shy, Jamie fucking Tartt, bashful and sweet when in love despite the cool appearances he keeps for the media and, less and less these days, his teammates. It feels like a privilege whenever he lets you see those wholesome parts of him: when he picks you up from work with flowers just because or when he cries at weddings and you have to sneak him tissues during the vows.

He's so good and he's yours- and this subtle but meaningful display of affection answers something that wasn't even a question. You're his, completely and irrevocably.

Hey handsome you text him, unable to wipe the smile from your features. You can't bring yourself to make fun of him about this, even asking him about it feels like breaching a limit he quietly placed for himself, so you don't. You up for a call later when you get home?

His response comes less than ten minutes later, the interview over. You imagine him cooped up in his scar, face illuminated only by your text thread, biting his lip in concentration as he types a response but a smile peeking out, cheeky.

can u talk now? we can chat on the way

cant wait to hear ur voice

Your smile widens as you press the call button.

#jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #the way i ADORE HIM #tysm for this anon #anon ask #leo writes

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webslingingslasher · 6 months

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i was thinking about how boyfriend!frat peter would swing his way back to trouble and like thinking if she needs something or what she was doing all the time he was on patrol like

"has she seen the episode we didn't get to finish?"

"nah, she wouldn't... right?"

"i hope she forgot bout it"

"i think she ran out of toilet paper"

"gonna be so mad if she saw that episode without me"

kinda messy in a peter way but he likes to find himself thinking about her after being spiderman because sets him down to earth again <3

the second peter had his hand on your window, your laptop slammed shut. you were sitting a little too straight up, your hands in plain sight.

'were you watching porn?' you sputter, the idea making your chest feel warm. 'no! i was just looking at stuff.' peter's eyebrow quirks, 'porn stuff?'

'no!' your eyes flash around the room, it's a guilty look. 'oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad. what kind of stuff are you into?' peter swears he's joking, but when he playfully reaches for your computer you flatten yourself on top of it.

'holy shit, it really is porn.'

'it's not porn! it's... it's... for you. yeah, it's for you and it's a surprise!' your boyfriend blinks, 'you have to believe the lie to sell it, trouble.'

you couldn't be caught, peter would never forgive you.

'you got me at a bad time, you were supposed to call me on your way over.'

'did you miss me that bad? you had to pregame my arrival?' you huff, sitting up and fixing your hair, you don't realize how close your boyfriend got.

'i wasn't doing that!'

'you were about to.'

'no!'

peter's having way too much fun, 'then what were you doing?'

'i already told you, nothing!'

peter's quick, he grabs your laptop but not before you catch the other side. a gentle game of tug and war. 'i'm gonna look.' you tug, it's useless, peter could rip it from your grasp in a second.

'no! not allowed!'

'then tell me what you're hiding.'

'no!' you screech louder when he takes total ownership of the machine. guilt washes over you, you've been caught red handed. the only solution was looking at your knees.

your boyfriend gasps in horror at the screen, it sounds like how you knew he'd feel about it.

'i'm sorry, peter. you were never supposed to find out.'

'how could you do this to me? to us?'

you can't even make eye contact. 'i know, i'm sorry.'

it's like it chokes him to say, 'how long has this been going on?' you look up at him, if you plead he may accept your apology.

'not long, i promise! it was just today.... and maybe last week. but i swear i'll never do it again.'

'this hurts, trouble. this really hurts me.'

sure, maybe you did betray his trust a little. but he's the one that got you hooked in the first place, he can't push all the blame on you.

'but you've already seen it! and i really wanted to see the next episode and you weren't here and i figured it would be okay... but that was four episodes ago.'

'fine. but you need to keep me updated, because the only reason i'm rewatching it is so i can experience it with you.'

a subtle confession, something you weren't supposed to take to heart, but you did. the whole reason peter got you watching was so he could relive all his favorite parts, but with you.

you pout, peter pushes your computer back in your hands and points at your bottom lip. 'no. you dug your grave, you don't get to be sad that i'm sad.'

'but i'm really sorry.'

'sorry you got caught.'

'no! i'll never watch it without you, i promise.' except you were in the middle of a very juicy scene and you're itching to press play. peter can read you like a book.

'you wanna do it right now, don't you?'

'no.' ..... 'yes.' ..... 'but i won't.'

'god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.'

peter doesn't understand the restraint you're showing. 'you stink, go take a shower.'

'promise you won't keep watching?'

it's hard, but you can do it for him.

'promise.'

#frat!peter drabbles

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theminecraftbee · 5 months

Note

On the subject of modpack recommendations, I made a custom one for myself a little while ago and i've been playing it nonstop since.

It's very chill, and lighter on the mods so my silly little laptop can run it without crashing. I put it together cause most modpacks are so complex and overwelming to my lil brain. I've found it a good mix of still feeling like minecraft, but having the benefits of the 'more' from the mods.

The lineup is: Create, Farmer's Delight, Sophisticated Backpacks, Waystones, Comforts (the sleeping bag mod), an animals mod called Naturalist, Xaero's Minimap/Worldmap, Decorative Blocks, Macaw's Doors/Trapdoors/Lights & Lamps/Bridges/Paintings for some more decor options, and Simple Hats (I wanted to wear a fox hat on my head. sue me). There's a few basic quality of life mods too, like AppleSkin and JEI, and some compatability add on mods for Create and the waystones to the maps, but that's it.

It's worked really well so far, and i haven't crashed at all-- though i have fallen victim to the massive sinkhole in the neighboring savannah I've been using as my strip mine and tree farm. I put keep inventory on, it's fiiiinnnneeeee-- I never like having stakes for death anyway, makes it too stressful. Let me throw myself from build height to bedrock without having to do the walk of shame for my stuff--

My game chugs a touch with Create, but all I had to do was turn down my graphics and be VERY careful to not dump out thousands of entities at once But that's just Create, really

oh, this can be a really great approach to playing modded too, especially if you personally know what mods you like and don't care about stuff like recipe compatibility! the main advantage of a 'true' modpack is normally that the good ones balance the recipes of the different mods to each other, and also i really prefer modpacks personally that have quest systems. but if your goal is to "play with mods" mostly, or, say, like you, you have a computer that can't handle heavier modpacks, or you just wanat a few things you like, this is a path that is DEFINITELY an option for a chill modpack!

i will say for those new to modded, here are some mods i recommend everyone include of the QOL variety, even if they're otherwise not doing many mods:

some variety of mimimap; xaero's is the one i'm most familiar with but choose your favorite.

if that minimap doesn't come with waypoints for some reason, get yourself a mod that adds waypoints.

quark. i never play modded minecraft without quark, if only for the rotation lock feature alone (never worry about which direction you're facing while placing a block again). you can go through quark's website to decide which features you'll enable and disable, and this is possible to do through an in-game gui, so even people who don't want to touch .json files can easily configure what quark features they do and don't use! it just adds... so many little qol things.

appleskin. this just makes the food bar more useful and shows you saturation. i don't know why vanilla doesn't do this.

jei (just enough items). you will ALWAYS WANT JEI WHILE PLAYING MODDED I CANNOT EXPRESS ENOUGH HOW HANDY THIS IS. a searchable list of every item in the game, which you can click on in order to see their recipes, and even automatically transfer items from your inventory to a crafting grid for that recipe! it's in every modpack ever for a reason! the larger the modpack, the more you're gonna want this!

a performance mod. personally i'd recommend not using optifine, as optifine is a mod a lot of other mods note break them, but if your particular pack is optifine compatible, go for it! most packs i've seen go with either sodium on fabric or rubidium on forge, but there are also other options! i'd just include at least one.

any other convenience you've ever had in another modpack that you want! personally, i need something like tom's simple storage network, drawers, or both to want to play a given modpack, because i get sad without storage, but maybe you only want to play packs with a variety of crops! maybe you think sophisticated backpacks or sophisticated storage are a requirement in your mind! maybe supplementaries or other decorative mods are a requirement to you! the world is your oyster! add whatever of those!

#answered #vivitheanimaxen

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evanoxvt · 29 days

Text

The struggles of disabled people without support at home.

I've been away from home for over a week. I have next to no expectations put on me here, but I still have my weekly physical therapy and both myself and Town Crier to take care of.

TC eats 3x a day and obviously, I need food too. My grandparents are cooking about one meal a day at a nearly consistent time, so I'm eating at least once a day consistently. At home, I was lucky if I ate a single meal a day.

I (sometimes) help with setting the table, which consists of paperplates, paper napkins, silverware, and glass cups. Since both me and my cousin help with this, I'm usually not doing any heavy lifting at all.

I spend part of the day downstairs and 'randomly' will go upstairs to lay down for awhile. Usually, after my mid day break upstairs, I bring my laptop downstairs and play some games until dinner and end there or resume playing until the end of the night.

No one critiques my daily routine. No one asks me to do more than I can. Everyone appreciates when I help out.

I was having trouble walking and standing yesterday because I did far too much the day prior, but because I spent the entire day resting I was able to contribute to cooking dinner and I cooked the pasta roni (~10 mins of intermittent standing required). I was able to play games and rest afterward without being yelled at for not doing more, and was even thanked for helping cook a portion of the dinner.

I have a funny sad thing to say about this: Somehow by being asked to do nothing, I've found I can do so much more than when I'm asked to do a tiny bit.

The shittiest part of this story, as random small bits put together as it is, is that I am more disabled when I'm asked to be functional, and less disabled when I can go at my own pace or back out if need be. At home I get asked to do things like empty the dishwasher (which is tons of light to heavy objects, Ina short period of time), vacuum (which is alot of heat, standing, walking, arm movement, a eight on my arm, back movement and back bending, navigation, balance, etc), cleaning things like the bathroom (which required detailed work for some parts plus moving all the things needed so they don't get in the way or touch the chemicals). I could go on and on and on but the point will get muddled if I write the entire list and every problem on every "basic chore" because the truth is that I need alot of breaks, a long period of time, and the option to back out of all of these things to be successful at it without seriously hurting myself. If I do too much today, it will affect me for multiple days. If I do too much for an entire week it will affect me for a month or more, etc. I sometimes feel really good like I did on Friday and accidentally over do it and need to be able to back down from most things for a period of time afterwards.

I normally can't make a box of pasta roni AND move anything heavy (like my laptop) on the same day at home because I'm always expected and forced to do so much more. I usually can't make cookies on days like today where I need to spend multiple hours at a time lying down in between short bursts of sitting or activity, but today I could because there's nothing else I have to do so spending potentially all of my energy is okay. Resting afterwards is okay. No one is upset because less than an hour after making cookies I had to lay down and still am. NO ONE said it's not okay. However if I go home cookies are a luxury therefore the logic goes that "if you can bake some cookies, you can do some dishes too". At home I wouldn't be able to make the cookies because it opens up the idea I'm able to do a ton of chores. I'm not okay right now, that's why I'm resting.

I feel like I'm ranting in circles at this point... but honestly I don't get why most people will see me do one "simple" (for them) thing and assume I'm okay to do things even they don't want to do because it takes up alot of energy... I really don't get it. My health sucks, it goes up and down all day long, all week long, and yet people want to pretend I'm making it up if I can do literally a single thing normal people can...

I hope my fellow disabled friends and people I haven't met yet find themselves in better social situations than me because this isn't okay in any way.

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writing-whump · 3 months

Text

Too much sun

Matt gets sick and calls Isaiah for help. Contains emeto.

"Have fun, Matt."

Matthew turned at the phrase, giving Isaiah a sceptical look. "Last time you send me away to have fun, you ended up with a flu from hell. I'm not making the same mistake."

Isaiah sighed. "Alright, but that's a lesson for me, not for you. And I did call Sel back, didn't I?"

Matthew frowned. He was all ready to leave, shorts and a shirt. Some of his new friends from boxing invited him to a basketball game and the weather was perfect for the courts outside on the beach by the Danube river.

"Matt, for real. I'm alright. I'm literally swarmed with homework and assignments, I'm doing two lectures outside my faculty and I don't know what their faculty's style and method focus is at all and I'm gonna be trying to do the volunteering thing at the lawyer's office for wolves on Fridays...besides, I was no invited," Isaiah said with a smirk.

He was so happy Matthew was getting his own friends, that he was reaching out to people and they were reaching back. And not just because they knew he was in the pack with Isaiah.

Matthew needed his confidence in this department build up, and there was nothing better for it than experience.

Matthew bounced on his toes, not looking reassured.

Isaiah grimaced. Did he need to hand out test screenings of his health for his friends to believe him, when he wasn't sick? This was getting out of hand.

"Alright, I'm going. See you in a few hours." Matt probably figured not that much could happen in that time as he turned to leave.

Isaiah relaxed, chuckling a little for himself as he opened his laptop to scroll to the right pdf.

The time flew quickly after he got to work, morning turning to midday and to early afternoon that forced Isaiah to fix himself a lunch as a break. He was working his to do list off very well, satisfied, neglecting his breaks.

Around 2 pm he was sipping coffee on the balcony, wondering if he shouldn't take a walk or go on a quick run. Would Matt be in the mood for some sparring, when he got back, or would he be too tired?

Seline was visiting her parents, hopefully successfully this weekend. One of her uncle's was celebrating his 50th birthday, so she was even farther away from him than usual, someone in Central Slovakia.

Very human focused family from her father's side, since the wolf part came from her mother. Isaiah wondered what it would be like to be there with her. He could play the perfect human, he had no doubt of that, but Seline didn't want him to play one. She wanted him to be a wolf, but introducing a wolf to the family was a more serious business and they both knew it.

His phone rang on the little glass table on the balcony, Matthew's name on the screen.

Isaiah smiled, picking up. "Miss me already?"

"I...saiah..."

Isaiah's smile disappeared at the weakness in Matthew's voice. "Matt? Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He heard coughing that turned into gags on the other end of the line. "C-could you...come pick me up? P-please..."

Isaiah was at his feet that instant. "Yes, of course. You are at the sport park, right?" He went inside as he spoke, grabbing his car keys. He was really grateful for his car during emergencies, even if the parking situation in Vienna was an expensive tedious business.

"Y-yeah." There was something slurred and scared in the trembling sentence.

"Matt, talk to me." Isaiah locked the door to the apartment, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. "What's wrong with you? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know what's wrong- I can't-urrup-" There was more gagging and something wet hitting the concrete.

"I'll be right there."

The way there was a blur with Isaiah wracking his head about what could have happened on the court. Concussion? Did he suddenly get sick? A fight with some hostile wolves passing through?

He parked the car the closest he could get to the area, getting out, just about to call Matthew for a GPS location, when he spotted a mop of dark red hair on a bench near the basketball court.

Isaiah all about ran to the place, heart speeding anxiously.

Matthew sat hunched down, elbows on his knees. There was no blood and no shadow, no visible signs of injury.

"Matt? Hey, man..."

Matthew lifted his head, squinting his eyes at Isaiah like he was looking straight into the sun and not into a pleasant afternoon shade under the trees. "Hi..."

That's when Isaiah noticed the vomit covering the ground, part of the bench and Matt's left sneaker.

Isaiah sat down on the clean part of the wood, hand going to Matthew's neck. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Matthew slumped forward at Isaiah's touch. "I don't know. We were playing just normal, it was hot and good and all. And then my head started to pound and I got dizzy and suddenly I was throwing up all over the place and I don't know why." There was more than a hint of frustration in Matthew's explanation.

"Okay, okay, we are gonna figure this out." Isaiah ran his hands over Matthew's face, his pupils were normal, there were no bumps...he was really hot and dry to the touch. He could feel no sweat, wasn't that weird after an intense game of basketball on a warm day?

Matthew's face scrunched up in a grimace at the ministrations, closing his eyes. His body suddenly pitched forward with a heave, bringing up a chunky wave of vomit.

Isaiah scrambled to turn Matthew's face towards the sidewalk, between his legs instead of at him, gripping his shoulder and upper arm to steady him. "Okay, bud, get it all out."

"C-can't stop," Matthew managed between gags, spitting at the puddle. He wrapped his hands around his stomach, hunching over even more. "My head really hurts, Zaya."

"Your head? Not your stomach?"

Matthew groaned, slumping to the side against Isaiah who let him fall into his lap, rubbing his back and shoulder. "Everything hurts. Cramps like a motherfucker."

"Okay. Just breathe, it will pass in a minute," Isaiah promised, not sure what it still was.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, head on Isaiah's tight, his face one pained grimace, throat bobbing.

"We are just going to stay here and breathe and then I'm going to get you home and it will all be okay," Isaiah said as calmly as he could, rubbing his arm. Could this be some kind of heat related issue? Heat exhaustion or heat stroke? He wasn't that sure of the difference, just that the symptoms were kind of similar.

"...ruined everything again," Matthew said, curling around his stomach.

Isaiah scoffed. "You didn't ruin anything, that's nonse-"

"Got all sick during the game. They all left."

Isaiah frowned, angry coldness entering his voice. "Then they aren't good friends. In fact, they aren't even decent people, to leave someone who is sick alone. What idiots."

"Nobody else got sick, I must have done something wrong..."

"No, you didn't. I think you got a bit of a heatstroke, there, bud, can happen to anybody." Isaiah put the back of his hand to Matthew's creased forehead. Still no sweat and hot to the touch. "We need to get you home and cool you down."

"Uhmmmm," Matthew grunted. "Don't wanna move. Dizzy."

"It's not going to get any better here. I got water in the car and we will be home quick, I promise. I'll help you."

Matthew took a deep shaky breath, but then started to lift himself up. Isaiah helped him to straighten up on the bench, then guided his arm around his shoulders, wrapping his hand gently around Matthew's torso.

The moment they stood up, Matthew groaned, more puke exploding out of his mouth.

Isaiah held him steady, when he swayed, more vomit splattering in front of them, spluttering everywhere.

"Ughhhh, sorry..."

"Shhhhh. Not your fault. Can you walk? One step at a time, we'll go slow."

Matthew got heavier, most of his weight hanging on Isaiah as he fought to catch his balance. He squeezed his eyes shut with force as if to block out all the light.

They made a few steps, when Matthew froze, gripping Isaiah's sleeve on his upper arm in panic. "Zaya, I can't see, I can't see- what-"

Isaiah felt cold sweat on the back his neck, stopping immediately. Matthew's eyes were screwed shut. "Shhhh, okay, don't panic. Describe it to me. What can you see? Pitch black? A blot at the center?"

"It's like black spots all over-" Matthew sniffled, sounding dangerously close to crying, breathing fast as he turned towards Isaiah's voice.

Isaiah readjusted his grip, one arm under Matthew's armpit all around his torso, holding Matt's arm around his neck tighter. "Could be just from standing up and the elevation changing. It will clear out in a few seconds." He stopped adding promises to his sentences, mentally preparing to just call 911 if it didn't.

Matthew gasped for breath as if he was choking, blinking his eyes, then breathed in relief. "It's clearing up again..."

Isaiah didn't let out the deep sigh of relief stuck in his chest, pretending like that was what he expected. "All good now. You are okay. Just a few more steps to the car."

Matthew's grip on Isaiah's sleeve didn't loosen, but he nodded tightly, letting himself be dragged forward.

Isaiah fiddled with finding the car keys, opening the back seat door to slide Matthew inside, door open, in case he needed to vomit some more.

He went to the trunk to locate a water bottle and some plastic bags, crouching down next to Matthew.

"How are you feeling, bud?" Isaiah offered Matthew the water bottle.

Matt took it, but didn't drink, eyes closed, but not squeezing them shut anymore, as if he was afraid it would make his vision blotchy again. "Ughmmmm. Like I'm gonna throw up."

Isaiah rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Everything-everything's spinning," Matthew belched, gripping the water bottle in his fist, the plastic squeaking under his fingers.

"This is very likely a heatstroke. The headache, the nausea, the dizziness....it will be fine. We'll cool you down, get you some good meds, and it will all go away."

"Uhhhhmmm," Matthew wiggled his hands restlessly in discomfort, bowing his head. "I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I know this could happen? So stupid."

"It's different for everyone. Some can take the heat better than others. You will know what signs to look out for next time. It's okay."

"But I wanted to- wanted to do something on my own for once." Matthew's whole face crumbled. "I didn't want to drag you into it to save me, I wanted to do it on my own-" Matthew sniffled again, breathing picking up and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the seat in front of him.

Isaiah's chest squeezed, realizing Matthew would be crying if he had the tears to spare.

Isaiah circled the car to climb in from the other side, hand going around Matthew's back to push him against his chest. "Aww, come on, bud. You did everything right. You are meeting new people, you got that new boxing gym...you are putting yourself out there, building a life for yourself outside your shadow, without accidents or fights you don't want. You are doing great."

Matthew let himself get dragged back into Isaiah's lap, breathing still panicked. "L-look how stupid I am. People are supposed to know these things at my age- they-I'm not supposed to be a burden on you, constantly getting sick on you-"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't talk like that. We all have our own learning curve. You were on your own from such an early age, Matt, it's harder to find out on your own," Isaiah said gently. "Besides, you are not a burden. You are my best friend. I don't mind saving your ass, when you need it."

Matthew snorted despite himself, before taking another shuddering breath. "Seline said- and the points- I don't know if I have enough- if I can help as much as you- you didn't call me and I-" he buried his head against Isaiah's stomach, shaking.

"Points? What points?" Isaiah didn't understand and didn't think this was time to find out. "You are doing enough. It's okay. We love you, of course we would want to help out. Not your fault, when you get sick. It's not a burden."

"It-it is, even you think you-"

"It's not a burden to get sick," Isaiah said firmly, rubbing Matthew's back. "Shhhhh. It's okay."

They sat there for a few minutes, Isaiah rubbing circles to Matthew's back and listening to his breathing hitching as he sniffled and found a slower breathing rhythm, watching out for gagging noises.

"There you go. All better," Isaiah murmured. "You didn't have a family that would look out for you like this. That's why you feel like a burden. It's not your fault, but it's not fair at all for you to feel like that. You get sick and we'll deal with it."

Matthew was lying limply over him, breathing much calmer, though he was still pale and frowning, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Come on, bud, let's get home....I can't drive like this," Isaiah said with a small smile, ranning his fingers through Matthew's hair.

Matthew lifted himself up with a groan, enough for Isaiah to slip from underneath him.

"What if I throw up on the way?" Matthew said quietly, stretched out over the back seats.

"There is a bag right next to you. And if you do, you do. It isn't such a big deal." Isaiah just wanted him home and lying down in a cool place already. The car was getting overheated, standing in full blown sun.

"Uhmmmmm," Matthew moaned as Isaiah got the engine started, a/c on full blast. "If it's no big deal...don't think...you had the right family either...Zaya."

Isaiah's stomach flipped at the words. He swallowed heavily, focusing on backing the car out the parking lot.

@bellysoupset

#emeto #sickfic #emetophilia #brotp #hurt/comofort #bromance #whump #angst #whump writing #my writing #werewolf wip #these two are a classic okay #I love their friendship #Matt

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 months

Text

I'll Always Worry (Spiderbro x Peter Parker PLATONIC)

Spiderbro taking care of peter after a mission cleaning his cuts, making him dinner and setting a bath for him and listening to him rant about whatever is on his mind also offers cuddles since my peter love language is physical touch

"Where's May?"

"Out. She's gonna be at a F.E.A.S.T. meeting all weekend, so I'm in charge."

Peter nods, and you see him for the first time. "Holy shit, Pete!"

He's covered in scratches, some of which are still bleeding, and didn't even try to get out of his Spider-Man suit, which is practically shredded.

He barely reacts when you snap into action, pushing your laptop aside and half-carrying him to his bed.

You help him get the wretched fabric off, and spend a while cleaning his scratches and cuts.

"Dude, what happened?"

Peter launches into a full on tirade and well, you asked. You sometimes forget that he doesn't have anyone to talk about this stuff with besides you, because your mom will worry about him even more than she already does and his friends don't quite get it

So you let him vent, and ask questions where needed

And watch the tension practically drain out of him as he talks himself all out of steam.

"Well... that sucks, buddy." You chuckle, and are relieved to see Peter smile wanly.

"I should get back out there...." he says softly, and you clear your throat.

"I'm in charge, Pete. Remember? So you're gonna stick right here. You need to recharge your batteries."

"But what if people are out there that I can help? With great power... comes great responsibility."

Your dad was a good man. But you have a feeling that Peter is making his last words into almost a mantra for existence as opposed to the dying words of a man desperately trying to distill all the paternal advice he would be unable to give into something, anything.

"You also have a responsibility to yourself, Peter. And part of having great power is knowing your limits. You can't help anyone if you hurt yourself doing it." you say sternly.

You gently take Peter by the shoulder, and he leans into the touch.

Thankfully, he relents. "I still feel guilty, though."

"Well, feel guilty in a bubble bath. I'm gonna make something for dinner for us, and I want you all melty and relaxed."

He chuckles. "I haven't had a bubble bath since I was a kid."

"You still are a kid, kid." You tease. "So relax, will ya?"

He raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay..."

He takes a while, so you go all out with dinner, making some cheese sandwiches, grilled with butter and smeared with a homemade pesto, and with some freshly cut tomato. You make a nice pile of them, and serve them with some soup.

Peter emerges in a loose white shirt and shorts, and he smiles at the meal you've made.

The sound of you two eating dominates the table - the food too good and the comfort too sweet to bother talking.

But finally when seconds and thirds are finished and your bellies almost uncomfortably full, you tell Peter this weekend is a recharge time. No Spider-Man.

You expect him to protest, but instead he nods, and he just... looks so lost.

"I figured we'd catch up with each other over the weekend. You know, order some pizza, play some games, chill."

"I'd like that."

"You wanna watch a movie with me?"

He nods again, and you grin at the eclectic collection of themed Band-Aids dotting his arms and legs.

You both crash on the couch, grabbing some blankets, but very soon, you stretch out an arm, and he leans against you.

Peter melts into the side hug, like he always does. The poor kid seems to crave physical affection.

Remembering when he first came to live with you all, when his parents died... he needed that loving, to make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

He became your little brother then, not just your cousin. And that first night he fell asleep in your arms, you promised yourself you would protect him.

It's become harder to protect him these days, but at least you can be here for this.

Your little brother falls asleep against you, and you let him rest, smiling a little as you watch the movie on a lower volume, watching over him.

#spiderbro reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male reader #headcanon #marvel headcanons #spiderman headcanons #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader

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ilexdiapason · 9 months

Text

(part one here) (part four here)

Oli doesn't try to broach the subject again until the pizza is delivered and the ice cube is a soaked-up puddle in a napkin on the coffee table.

When he does, though, it's with his hands in his lap and his best efforts to not sound like a scolding teacher. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

Martyn, in lieu of answering, pulls open the pizza box and wiggles a slice free from the still-stringing cheese. His fingertips bounce it between them, ginger; he bites down and clearly regrets it. Still, he chews, mouth caught in a conflict between ventilating the heat and keeping his secrets sealed tight shut behind it.

"Come on," Oli continues, gentle as he can push it. "I can't help you if I don't know what the problem is."

Martyn swallows. He looks like he's deliberating.

He must decide, whatever the stakes of this crisis are, that Oli's worth it, because he does reply.

"You know," he says, quiet, "I wasn't kidding when I said you should keep your computer away from me."

"Do you want me to take it upstairs?"

"I mean - bit late now. But yeah, that'd probably help."

So he probably has the conviction that something, somebody, is listening in through the machine. That's understandable; if whatever his situation was involved him being able to join some random strangers' games, he probably had a computer, and it was probably monitored, which would explain why he's so terrified of being tracked. It makes about as much sense as anything else in this exchange does.

Even if it didn't, though, Oli still would have taken his laptop back upstairs, tapped out a quick notice that he'd be unavailable for the rest of the day, and tossed it on his bed - and his phone beside it, after a moment's thought. Martyn's comfort is what really matters here.

"There we are," he says on his way back in, "the highest-tech thing in the room now is probably the microwave."

Martyn offers him a thin smile, which feels more like progress than anything else.

"Right." He sits back down, takes his own piece of pizza (which by now is a far more edible temperature than it must have been when Martyn tried it), and gets the whole thing down before he takes another shot. "You want to start, or shall I?"

Martyn exhales amusement. "Go on then. Tell me what you know."

"Not a lot," Oli admits, "apparently. You don't make a lot of sense. You fell out of the sky, you still seem fairly surprised that things are real, you didn't know we’d been playing Minecraft - and you were calling me CHEST agent, which isn't a job title my company offers, as far as I'm aware. What, were you born in a video game?"

"I told you I was born in Nottingham."

"That might have been a cover story!"

"Nah. Wouldn't lie about that. I am a real boy, Gepetto, you can believe me on that one."

"Well, there's one thing I know for sure about you," Oli says. "All this talk of being in there, though. I don't know. VR?"

"Something like. You -" he hushes his voice, even though it's the middle of the afternoon and the neighbours won't be home "- you're, like, a normal CHEST employee, then? Front end stuff?"

"Yeah. I told you, I'm a software dev. If it's a front, I'm not in on the secret."

"God," says Martyn, "okay, so you're still not safe, but… okay, telling you this now, you're not getting the whole truth. But your company sucks and you should quit your job."

"Sucks like questionable QA policies or sucks like torturing teenagers in the basement?"

"I - shit," says Martyn, "a lot of those agents might have been folks like me, huh. Damn. Least I never killed anyone."

"I seem to remember you being pretty handy with a knife."

"Yeah, 'cause none of that was real, I was a bloody rat in a maid dress. You can't be on at me for killing people there."

"Suppose Jimmy killed the gardener."

"Exactly!"

"So, what, CHESTCorp have figured out how to turn VR into R, and you got caught up in it?"

"Not CHEST," Martyn takes another go at his slice of pizza, "just Doc. It's real experimental stuff. You're lookin' at test subject number one, I'm pretty sure."

"And now that you're not a test subject any more," he finishes, "you're having trouble readjusting."

"I guess. It's just… y'know, like, it's nice to be back, but… weird. Incredibly weird."

"Two and a half years would do it," Oli nods.

They take another lull to properly eat. Oli hadn't realised before this how starving he is; he would have thrown something together from the groceries he'd picked up if he hadn't had a guest to entertain. Martyn, too, seems fairly intent on ingesting an entire pizza by himself. His mother’s voice sounds inside his head, urging him to slow down, but Oli ignores it. If Martyn ends up with stomach problems it’ll just be another stark reminder that he’s not… trapped in a virtual reality simulator, he supposes.

“So, er,” he picks back up, once they’ve cleared the wedges and made more than a dent in the pizza, “what now?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve gone through all that. Nobody’s going to believe you, I assume, if this stuff’s as top-secret as it seems to be.”

“Kinda thing you’d need a two-hour primer with your therapist for,” Martyn nods, “and a lot of faith in doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“But, what, do you just… go home?”

“I’d like to,” he says. “I would really, really just like things to go back to normal.”

There’s a silence. But they can’t rings clear as a bell in the air between them anyway.

Martyn looks down at the last three slices of pizza. “You should take me home.”

“You’re sure?”

He swallows. “Yeah. I’ll just… I’ll be a big surprise for my parents when they get back home from work. And then I’ll add you guys on Discord, and hopefully we’ll be able to talk more on there?”

“Hopefully,” says Oli, meaning it more than anything. His entire life’s been pretty much flipped on its head by this encounter. “We’re always wondering about you, y’know. Or, I mean, I am. Owen probably thinks you’re there from Apo, Apo probably thinks you’re there from Owen, all that, but… Hard not to wonder who the hell you really were, when you would never act like it was actually a game.”

“I mean, it’s all a game, isn’t it, really?” Martyn muses, half-distant. “Just in the long dream now.”

“Is that from the End Poem?”

“Is it?”

Oli shakes his head. No time for all that. “So I’m driving you back to Nottingham, and… you’ll DM me when you can?”

“Yeah.”

It’s the best he can ask for.

Martyn refuses to tell Oli his exact address, just asks him to drive close enough that Martyn can walk the rest of the way home. It’s understandable - a CHESTCorp employee knowing Martyn’s exact location is, apparently, an incredibly dangerous thing - but still a little concerning. He’d at least like to be sure that Martyn won’t be getting poached back by this Doc guy at the earliest notice. Still, Martyn’s comfort remains the most important thing, and so he leaves his Google Maps at home.

It’s a bit of an autopilot drive, even without directions. Oli feels the wheel under his fingers, the pedals under his feet, like they’re abstracts. He looks over once or twice and sees Martyn glued to the window, to the mirrors, hypervigilant; he hopes that Martyn feels a little more real now than he did before.

They’re idle at a semi-populated roundabout when Martyn straightens his back. “Second exit, then pull over,” he announces.

“Almost there?”

“Pretty close.”

Oli obliges.

Martyn, with just the barest tremor in his fingers, pops the car door and steps out.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

The words leave Oli’s mouth in a rush, the emotion behind them probably more visceral than Martyn is expecting, if the way he startles at them is any indication.

“Because - ‘cause if you need a hotel, or cash, or -”

“No,” says Martyn, “no, I’m fine. Promise.”

He hesitates, hand on the open car door, a few more seconds.

“And thanks,” he finishes, “I don’t - I’m not - I don’t know. Appreciate it.”

Oli understands what he’s getting at. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Nah, I’m gonna throw myself right in the Trent when you’re gone,” Martyn smiles, and Oli dutifully ignores the crack in his voice. Blame it on the last vestiges of teenagehood.

“And if you do end up needing to - I suppose erase all traces of your old life online… then it’s been an honour.”

“Yeah.”

“... Good luck.”

“Talk to you later,” Martyn says, and slams the car door closed.

All Oli can do, once he’s ambled out of eyeshot, is mechanically drive back home.

So that was InTheLittleWood. Friend group cryptid, unethical experiment, man with more trauma than Oli could ever begin to help him deal with… but man he was able to feed, and house, and walk through an emotional response, which is better than nothing at all. The one person in the world who Oli could almost hit with his car and have that be a better situation than the one he’d just escaped from. Still a mystery, too; he’s left Oli with far more questions than answers, left him returning to an empty house and wishing he’d been selfish enough to make Martyn stay a little longer, talk a little more.

Oli picks up his phone where he’d tossed it in the bedroom.

He has one new email to his work address.

Human Resources 3:04 PM

to me ˅

Subject: Performance Review

Dear Oliver,

You have been scheduled for a performance review. You are required to report to our Shoreditch location by 09:00 tomorrow, Tuesday December 12th. Failure to comply with this request will result in disciplinary proceedings, which may lead to your subsequent termination.

Regards,

Dan

Human Resources

CHESTCorp UK

Ah.

That’s… well.

The word termination is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that threat.

… Okay, so they’re working to a deadline now. That’s fine. He can deal with that. Martyn’s been dealing with far worse, right?

The friend request, at least, flips through from pending to accepted.

TheOrionSound — Today at 16:14

[Attachment: Screenshot_20231025_161408.png]

InTheLittleWood — Today at 16:14

Shit.

(end! now on ao3, if you’d like to leave a comment slash kudos slash bookmark!)

#ilexworks #reverse isekai au #itlwlore #oli theorionsound #martyn itlw

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