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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Palantir’s NHS-stealing Big Lie

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

Capitalism's Big Lie in four words: "There is no alternative." Looters use this lie for cover, insisting that they're hard-nosed grownups living in the reality of human nature, incentives, and facts (which don't care about your feelings).

The point of "there is no alternative" is to extinguish the innovative imagination. "There is no alternative" is really "stop trying to think of alternatives, dammit." But there are always alternatives, and the only reason to demand that they be excluded from consideration is that these alternatives are manifestly superior to the looter's supposed inevitability.

Right now, there's an attempt underway to loot the NHS, the UK's single most beloved institution. The NHS has been under sustained assault for decades – budget cuts, overt and stealth privatisation, etc. But one of its crown jewels has been stubbournly resistant to being auctioned off: patient data. Not that HMG hasn't repeatedly tried to flog patient data – it's just that the public won't stand for it:

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/nov/21/nhs-data-platform-may-be-undermined-by-lack-of-public-trust-warn-campaigners

Patients – quite reasonably – do not trust the private sector to handle their sensitive medical records.

Now, this presents a real conundrum, because NHS patient data, taken as a whole, holds untold medical insights. The UK is a large and diverse country and those records in aggregate can help researchers understand the efficacy of various medicines and other interventions. Leaving that data inert and unanalysed will cost lives: in the UK, and all over the world.

For years, the stock answer to "how do we do science on NHS records without violating patient privacy?" has been "just anonymise the data." The claim is that if you replace patient names with random numbers, you can release the data to research partners without compromising patient privacy, because no one will be able to turn those numbers back into names.

It would be great if this were true, but it isn't. In theory and in practice, it is surprisingly easy to "re-identify" individuals in anonymous data-sets. To take an obvious example: we know which two dates former PM Tony Blair was given a specific treatment for a cardiac emergency, because this happened while he was in office. We also know Blair's date of birth. Check any trove of NHS data that records a person who matches those three facts and you've found Tony Blair – and all the private data contained alongside those public facts is now in the public domain, forever.

Not everyone has Tony Blair's reidentification hooks, but everyone has data in some kind of database, and those databases are continually being breached, leaked or intentionally released. A breach from a taxi service like Addison-Lee or Uber, or from Transport for London, will reveal the journeys that immediately preceded each prescription at each clinic or hospital in an "anonymous" NHS dataset, which can then be cross-referenced to databases of home addresses and workplaces. In an eyeblink, millions of Britons' records of receiving treatment for STIs or cancer can be connected with named individuals – again, forever.

Re-identification attacks are now considered inevitable; security researchers have made a sport out of seeing how little additional information they need to re-identify individuals in anonymised data-sets. A surprising number of people in any large data-set can be re-identified based on a single characteristic in the data-set.

Given all this, anonymous NHS data releases should have been ruled out years ago. Instead, NHS records are to be handed over to the US military surveillance company Palantir, a notorious human-rights abuser and supplier to the world's most disgusting authoritarian regimes. Palantir – founded by the far-right Trump bagman Peter Thiel – takes its name from the evil wizard Sauron's all-seeing orb in Lord of the Rings ("Sauron, are we the baddies?"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

The argument for turning over Britons' most sensitive personal data to an offshore war-crimes company is "there is no alternative." The UK needs the medical insights in those NHS records, and this is the only way to get at them.

As with every instance of "there is no alternative," this turns out to be a lie. What's more, the alternative is vastly superior to this chumocratic sell-out, was Made in Britain, and is the envy of medical researchers the world 'round. That alternative is "trusted research environments." In a new article for the Good Law Project, I describe these nigh-miraculous tools for privacy-preserving, best-of-breed medical research:

https://goodlawproject.org/cory-doctorow-health-data-it-isnt-just-palantir-or-bust/

At the outset of the covid pandemic Oxford's Ben Goldacre and his colleagues set out to perform realtime analysis of the data flooding into NHS trusts up and down the country, in order to learn more about this new disease. To do so, they created Opensafely, an open-source database that was tied into each NHS trust's own patient record systems:

https://timharford.com/2022/07/how-to-save-more-lives-and-avoid-a-privacy-apocalypse/

Opensafely has its own database query language, built on SQL, but tailored to medical research. Researchers write programs in this language to extract aggregate data from each NHS trust's servers, posing medical questions of the data without ever directly touching it. These programs are published in advance on a git server, and are preflighted on synthetic NHS data on a test server. Once the program is approved, it is sent to the main Opensafely server, which then farms out parts of the query to each NHS trust, packages up the results, and publishes them to a public repository.

This is better than "the best of both worlds." This public scientific process, with peer review and disclosure built in, allows for frequent, complex analysis of NHS data without giving a single third party access to a a single patient record, ever. Opensafely was wildly successful: in just months, Opensafely collaborators published sixty blockbuster papers in Nature – science that shaped the world's response to the pandemic.

Opensafely was so successful that the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care commissioned a review of the programme with an eye to expanding it to serve as the nation's default way of conducting research on medical data:

https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis

This approach is cheaper, safer, and more effective than handing hundreds of millions of pounds to Palantir and hoping they will manage the impossible: anonymising data well enough that it is never re-identified. Trusted Research Environments have been endorsed by national associations of doctors and researchers as the superior alternative to giving the NHS's data to Peter Thiel or any other sharp operator seeking a public contract.

As a lifelong privacy campaigner, I find this approach nothing short of inspiring. I would love for there to be a way for publishers and researchers to glean privacy-preserving insights from public library checkouts (such a system would prove an important counter to Amazon's proprietary god's-eye view of reading habits); or BBC podcasts or streaming video viewership.

You see, there is an alternative. We don't have to choose between science and privacy, or the public interest and private gain. There's always an alternative – if there wasn't, the other side wouldn't have to continuously repeat the lie that no alternative is possible.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/08/the-fire-of-orodruin/#are-we-the-baddies

Image: Gage Skidmore (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Thiel_(51876933345).jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

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biblio-smia · 5 months

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Hear me out…

Clapton Davis with a popular!s/o

i'm hearing you out and i'm seated while doing so.

part two | part three

there is, without a doubt, a social pyramid at grizzly lake.

it's not extreme in the sense that people in different social circles don't interact at all (they do), but you won't find someone like ione foster having lunch with riley jones (although they used to be best friends...).

most students will have a group of friends they've had for years, unwilling to give up the integrity of that group for anyone reason - shutting anyone else out. you can talk to someone outside of your group, but know your place - you're not getting invited to that party on saturday.

as for you? you float somewhere near the top, not quite sure how it happened. you had so many friends you were constantly walking around in a pack of people - people just liked you, gravitating towards you and finding their eyes linger as you walked down the hall.

at grizzly lake, you were untouchable.

it didn't surprise clapton davis to see you in physics on the first day of the school year (he'd had a few classes with you throughout high school). but it did surprise him when your new teacher for the year, mr. kendall, sits you down at a lab table in the back of the room, away from all your friends. you give them a sad smile but take your seat, setting your things down and propping your head up on your hand.

you barely react when mr. kendall points his pencil to the space right next to yours and calls out, "clapton davis."

maybe it's because you know the entire room is watching you that you keep staring straight ahead, looking rather bored, expression unwavering as clapton slides into the chair next to yours.

he does look at you, eyebrows raised and lips upturned in a small smile, but clapton doesn't say anything. he slouches in his seat and eventually joins you in looking straight ahead at the board, wondering if you'd respond or ignore him if he tried to talk to you.

it's not like clapton hasn't thought about it before - he's considering finally working up the courage to go up and start a genuine conversation (or at least ask you for your number or something) at least once a week for the past year (though you've been on his radar for much longer). since freshman year, clapton has made exactly two comments that were directed to you, seven jokes while in your vicinity (four of which you laughed at), and probably over a hundred remarks in classes you shared (which still counted!).

sander thought the tally was against him. sander was also beginning to think clapton was seriously going to try and talk to you. no matter how much sander warned him, clapton insisted you were nicer to outsiders than they perceived.

now was clapton's chance to prove himself right - except the bell has rung and you're slinging your bag over your shoulder, picking up your notebook and meeting up with your friends. clapton can hear your laughter as you exit the classroom, eyes falling to the space you'd just occupied and realizing you'd left your pen.

there really isn't anything special about it (other than that it'd been in your hand), but clapton picks it up anyway, staring at the most common type of pen in the country for a few moments before finally, carefully, placing it in the front zipper of his backpack.

clapton was sure the absence of that pen made absolutely no difference to you; there were probably five pens exactly like that one in your pencil pouch. and yet, clapton made a little bit of a show of returning your pen the very next day. after all, it was the thought that counted, right?

"hey," clapton begins as soon as mr. kendall takes a tired seat at his desk, letting the class attend to each other. he's digging in his backpack and you're looking at him with a confused tilt of your head. clapton comes back with a grin and a pen in his hand. "you forgot this after class yesterday."

"huh?" your lips part and your eyes blink once, twice, three times before you finally realize what clapton is saying. "oh!" you say finally, still not quite recalling ever abandoning a pen. "thanks," you say sincerely, taking the pen from clapton and using it to write your name at the top of the worksheet that had been handed out. at least you won't have to dig another pen out now.

"sure," clapton says easily, though your focus is now on the equations in front of you rather than the boy next to you.

and for the first time in history, clapton is suddenly compelled to do his work. his eyes glance between you and the way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, your paper, and the textbook the two of you have to share. he flips through, eyes falling on an equation that looks pretty similar to #2. he punches a few numbers into his calculator confidently, sliding it over to you. your focus on your paper breaks, eyebrows slightly raised in confusion again (it's a cute look on you). you look at the calculator to clapton, who has one of his famously lazy smiles on, and back to the calculator. your face relaxes into a small smile.

"thanks," you say softly, ready to write down the answer clapton has presented you before you realize it's clapton davis.

"wait," you shake your head, laughing lightly. "there's no way that's right."

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, arms on the table and sliding towards you to take a good look at his calculation. "that's totally right."

"clapton, you shouldn't even be getting a decimal," you laugh a little harder now, taking the calculator - his calculator - and clearing his answer. you stare at your paper for a few seconds, biting your lip lightly as clapton simply watches, completely focused on the way your bottom lip springs out from the hold of your teeth. he barely realizes you're stuck until his curious eyes wander down to your fingers and see them hovering over the small buttons of his calculator.

"plus 27," clapton offers, reaching over to hit the respective buttons, fingers lightly grazing yours for just a moment. completely bullshitting.

"how'd you get that?" you ask curiously and too sincerely, forgetting who it was you were talking to. but then clapton grins and shrugs and you roll your eyes, hitting that clear button again - but there's a smile on your face.

"are you trying to sabotage me, clapton?" and clapton remembers exactly how you had completely captivated him earlier - of course you knew his name, but he'd never heard you say it before today.

he wanted to hear it more.

clapton shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "retaking physics wouldn't be so bad if you were my partner again." smooth.

"okay, the school year barely started," you laugh. god, why can't you stop smiling?

clapton leans forward again, crossing his arms on the table and setting his head down on top of them. he doesn't move as you reach into his space to flip the page of the textbook, your arm right up against his, but you don't move either. your arm stays there as you read and try to comprehend whatever it is you're supposed to be learning. clapton doesn't even try to pretend to read, his eyebrows raising as he looks up at you.

you feel warm under clapton's constant gaze, suddenly, weirdly self-conscious. your face is warm and you try, uselessly, to use that pen to direct clapton's attention back to the problem at hand.

"clapton."

"hmm?" clapton hums as you look over, not bothering to look away. he smiles instead at how flustered you seem to be when you avert your eyes (as if you'd been the one who'd been caught staring).

"we have to finish this." you're glancing at the clock. there's a little bit of class left, but everyone else is much further along.

clapton tries not to falter when you say we, picking up his pencil and nodding in agreement. he feels your eyes on him as he scribbles out different numbers in each blank space all the way to #10.

"done," clapton smiles, completely satisfied. he slides on his oversized sunglasses, fingers swiping through the music library on his ipod. he's close enough for you to look over curiously, unable to hold in a laugh as you get a peek of clapton's music choice.

"sting?" you're leaning in closer now, the soft scent of your shampoo reaching clapton's nose.

"uh, yeah. they're like the bruno mars of 1992!"

you laugh again, shaking your head.

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, smile on his face.

"nothing! nothing, that's just... not the type of music i thought you'd listen to."

clapton chuckles, eyebrows raised, body and attention turned completely towards you. he's holding out one of his wired earbuds for you and you decide that physics worksheet can wait.

it takes a lot of explaining afterwards to try and assure your friends that clapton davis walking you to class (and, in turn, being late to his own), earbuds dangling from both your ears while clapton excitedly explained the cultural significance of sting's fields of gold, did not mean anything. they don't believe you, teasing smiles and curious glances making that obvious.

though, you're not sure you believe yourself, either.

hello i got carried away <;3

please let me know if you'd like me to write more clapton x popular s/o + any specific scenarios!! i love love love pathetic loser men <;3

requests are open! | masterlist

#clapton davis #clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #clapton davis fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson #detention 2011 #v + clapton #v writes

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teastainedprose · 1 month

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Homelander x fem!reader

Homelander cumming in a pair of readers panties and reader finding out and wearing them in public or to work around Homelander

No explicit sex, but- What if cum sock, but it's panties? I didn't proofread this. Undercooked smut, whore(affectionate) used.

Homelander is disgusting, is your first thought as you pick up a pair of your panties. They're crunchy. None of that discharge is yours. You make certain to wash that pair twice.

The second time it happens you're annoyed. Third time? You're resigned to your fate. Now? It's expected. It's not as if you can ask the fucking Homelander to stop fapping with your panties

Sometimes the panties are clearly coated in a suspicious glaze, others there's only the barest scent of him before you toss the panties into the laundry bin. Those you don't mind so much. For the most part, you're resigned to your fate.

Homelander is a territorial creature. The man likes to mark you in any way he can. Sinking his teeth in a little too hard. Fingers digging in a little too tight. Practically rubbing himself against you as if to mark you with his scent and of course making certain your always stuffed full of his cum.

Thus it should be no surprise that the moment you walk into the penthouse that afternoon?

Homelander pounces you, strips you, and fucks you as if he hasn't seen you in weeks. It was four hours, jesusfuck you needy little- It's no surprise that even after your rough fucking? -because this round certainly was a rough fuck He still manages to find time to soil your panties. The ones you had carefully taken off and set aside before going at it like animals not even a full thirty minutes ago. The lacey number that matches your bra and won't show a pantyline in the dress you plan to wear tonight. Those panties.

The crime is committed while you were in the shower cleaning up, as there's a charity ball you two must make an appearance at tonight. The culprit has already fled the scene, of course. Bastard.

You pluck up your clearly wrung out panties, inspecting them. A visual once over reveals that at least your lovemaking had robbed Homelander the ability to truly mark up this pair. At worst, they reek of sex and him. Even your perfectly average nose can smell Homelander on the fabric. His super-abled nose would be able to smell it a mile away, you muse.

You pause, eyes on the panties as you turn over that fact in your mind. A low chuckle escapes you as you wriggle back into the panties.

It doesn't take long to get dolled up for the event as you make yourself presentable post-shower. You're polished, clean, and looking flawless. You smile at your reflection in one of the many mirrors within Homelander's penthouse before making your way to the elevator.

As you enter the party, Homelander isn't hard to pick out. He's the one in the middle of it all with a flock of sycophants simpering about the supe's feet. They know by now to part in your wake, placid smiles in place that never reach their eyes. Yet, they bow and scrape to you as well. No one would dare give offense to you or get between the Homelander and his woman.

You glide into Homelander's open arms as he throws you a winning smile, finger crooked for you to come closer. You obey, sliding an arm behind his back as his cape flutters with the movement while he tugs you closer into his side. "Missed you," He breathes as he leans closer.

The moment Homelander registers what you've done is obvious to you. His pupils blow out and there's an imperceptible tightening about the give of your waist under his gloved fingertips. He inhales deeper, leaning in to ghost his lips over your forehead as he does so. To onlookers, Homelander is a chaste and affectionate boyfriend. Only you are close enough to hear the growl on his exhale.

You grin wickedly up to Homelander, mirth dancing in your eyes. "You just saw me, you know." You mutter as you tilt your chin up, regarding him. Idly, you start to trace patterns at the small of his back with fingertips. Given your cheeky mood, you slide your palm down and give his backside an affectionate squeeze under the cover of his cape.

Homelander has to bite his bottom lip, swallowing down an eager noise as he shoots you a dangerous look. The sort that says you're going to get it later. Your grin only grows wider, because the event has only started and you know Homelander can't escape yet.

There's a speech to give, investors to schmooze, and rich bastards to wring dry all in the name of charity. Homelander performs admirably, playing the perfect boy scout as with you draped on his arm. His hands never stray from your waist, endlessly chaste. You know it's because if he lets them roam further up or down, Homelander will lose control and then where would you be?

Well-

Enjoying yourself for certain, but you've never been one for public sex.

The hours crawl on and you can see your choice to throw Homelander's mess back under his nose is an effective one. The small twitches, how he keeps inhaling deeply any time he leans close, how Homelander can't help but nuzzle into your neck every chance he gets with a storm cloud in his eyes.

This'll be a fun night.

The moment Homelander is let off the event's leash, he's all but dragging you to the elevator and mashing the button to the top floor. He doesn't even wait for the elevator's doors to fully shut before he's on you with a growl. Homelander is hiking up your dress in a flash to see what's underneath. His suspicions are confirmed. Those are the panties he used to work himself off one last time before heading down to the charity event.

"I knew it. You little whore," He chides affectionately as Homelander backs you up against the elevator wall. Those hands are ghosting around the edges of your panties before he unceremoniously yanks them down.

"It's your mess," You shoot back, smirking up at him.

"M'gonna make you such a mess," Homelander purrs back as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, deftly lifting you up with one hand while the other works at the bucket of his belt with practiced ease. You laugh gleefully because Homelander is always a man of his word when it comes to properly ruining you.

#how many drabbles can I start with “Homelander is-”#homelander #homelander x f!reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #x you #homelander smut #the boys fanfic #the boys smut #homelander writing #anon ask #ask #drabble #I don't know why the read mores keep MOVING in these asks

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 months

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Yandere Coworker (part 2)

Tw: Afab and fem reader, Cyprus doesnt take no for an answer and keeps you in his apartment

masterlist, part 1, part 3

You woke up with the biggest hangover of your life. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding against your skull, you could feel the alcohol from last night sloshing around your stomach.

You squeezed an eye shut while the other struggled to focus on your surroundings. This is not your bedroom.

Your blood runs cold upon realizing that you're not in your work clothes. But an oversized shirt that's exposing one side of your shoulder and reaching to your knees. Cyprus must have changed you last night, god knows what else he did to you while you're that vulnerable.

There is a ceiling fan above you that clearly hasn't been cleaned for a while. Old, ripped and yellowed posters of famous fighters were plastered on his off white walls, they're not even straightened. A pair of red boxing gloves were hung on the side of his wardrobe, whereas his suitcase is on a lone table by the corner.

You could hear something sizzling outside, it must be Cyprus cooking.

You got out of his bed and exited his room, gulping and bracing what's to come.

"Morning." He gruffed. You scanned the room and saw that it's a modest living room with a small kitchenette away from the main door. It's a bit bare, just a couch, a TV on a wooden stand, a dining table that fits four and a printer awkwardly pressed against a wall. It was resting on a stool.

There is a tattered punching bag in the corner, hanging from above. It has definitely seen better days.

You noted that he has two pedestal fans and another ceiling one, but no air conditioning.

You turned your attention to him, he was plating the food on some paper plates. Cyprus picked them up and turned around, tilting his head towards the table. You tried to ignore the fact that he's half-naked, only wearing a pair of shorts. You knew that the majority would salivate over his oddly unscarred, sculpted body and veiny arms. There was a healthy, bushy happy trail on his abdomen, looks like he had let them grow rampant.

You went ahead and sat down on one of the chairs. He placed a dish down in front of you before taking a seat himself.

It's toast, sausages and eggs, cooked the way you usually prefer.

"You told me last night, this is how you liked your eggs." He mumbled, digging into his own breakfast which consisted of the same items, just in more quantities fitting to his stature. "I hope I can trust the Drunk You."

You went straight to the point and asked what happened.

"We didn't fuck, if that's what you're asking." He nonchalantly told you as he stabbed his omelet with a plastic fork. "You puked all over yourself, so I had to change you before bringing you to bed."

You were astonished at the difference in his language at home, compared to the one at work.

You asked what the time is. You're going to be late for work and you cannot afford to lose this job.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he chewed. "Relax. I called in sick for you."

He did what now?

"I took an emergency leave off work today too. We're free until Monday." He continued, acting like this is a totally mundane topic to talk about.

You rubbed your face, dreading the day where you're going to have to face your coworkers.

"What's up with you?" He asked, staring at your flustered face. "And eat up, your plate is getting cold."

You asked him how he called in to tell your manager that you won't be coming in.

He shrugged. "Pick up the phone. Dial the number. Call. Hang up."

You said that wasn't what you meant, you asked what he told your boss.

"I said you were too sick to come in. What more do you want from me?"

You asked if you provided context behind his words. He couldn't just possibly do that on your behalf can he?

"I told Jane it was none of her business. All she needed to know was that you're not coming in and so am I."

Jane, the devil you and everyone else on your floor call a manager. He wouldn't have let that response slide if you were to do the same.

And she is a gossip super spreader. You're sure the entire building is already making their own speculations about the relationship between you and him.

You stood up and paced around, trying to expel the nervous energy you built up. Cyprus looked at you quizzingly as he munched on his toast.

You ask how he is so calm about all of this, does he not care about being the center of gossip when he gets back?

"Fuck them. I don't care what they think." He turned his focus back to his plate, stabbing more food and shovelling it into his mouth.

But you do. You didn't tell him that, though.

"Damn, sit down. You're always so jumpy. It's just me and none of Jane's crap you have to face at work." He complained. You still fidget with your hands and walk around in short circles.

"You know, I always wondered if you're as jittery when you're not in the office. I guess this confirms it, you are. How could you live like that, always feeling on edge twenty-four-seven?" He pushed his glasses back up, his grey eyes trailing your every move.

You told him that you have to go home. You have something to do, mumbling about chores and other weak excuses.

"That can wait. We should talk more." He brought his hand up to your arm, firmly grabbing them and trying to lead you back to your chair.

You said no, you have to go.

"You and I know it isn't urgent. Come on, sit down. I'll reheat your breakfast up for you." You managed to slip out of his loosened grip.

You asked where your phone, clothes and belonging are.

"They're in my apartment. Safe and intact. You'll get them, don't worry. Just, sit." His patience is thinning but you're too frazzled to notice.

You said you have to check your emails to see if Jane-

"Park it!" Cyprus barked as he rose up from his seat, pointing at the empty chair opposite of him, causing you to flinch at his raised voice. You hurriedly followed his command and sat down.

He sighed. "You really need to stop thinking about work."

You kept your lips sealed as you trembled. Fearing Cyprus. As promised, he took your plate to be reheated in the microwave. You wonder if it's safe to be microwaving a paper plate.

While that's happening, he pulled out two empty glasses from his cabinets and a jug of juice from his fridge. He sets them on the table and poured you and himself some.

"Christ, you're so shaky. Loosen up!" He snarked.

You said you have no idea how to approach this situation, it's completely new and you're being caught off guard. How are you going to relax when you don't know what to expect?

"Well, first off. I'm not going to hurt the girl I'm trying to get with." He walked to the microwave as it beeps. "That's you, by the way. If it wasn't already painfully obvious." He sarcastically remarked, pulling out your steaming plate.

"Here you go, princess." His tone was softened and endearing as he placed your plate in front of you once again, it's mildly soggy but still in one piece, holding your food. You reluctantly picked up your disposable plastic fork and ate, since your stomach was grumbling.

He returned to his seat and continued his breakfast too.

"Secondly," Cyprus gulped his food down. "I want you to tell me more about yourself, and I'll talk about my life."

You didn't respond to him, still warily watching him as you ate.

"I'll go first." He set his fork on his plate. "My name is Cyprus. Cyprus Andrea Rodriguez."

That explains the "R" in your Valentine's Day note. You found it amusing that his Initials spell out 'C.A.R'.

"I work in finance. You know that." You nodded.

"I smoke. I like my coffee black. I drive. I cook." He started rapid-firing facts about himself while counting his fingers. You already knew all these.

You asked him about the boxing gloves in his room. He smirked and leaned back against his chair, bringing his arms behind his head.

"Not so fast, your turn to tell me about yourself, pretty girl." You coughed in your hand to try and hide the fluttering of your chest upon hearing that nickname.

You also told him things that he already knew. You worked on the same floor as him, you do not smoke, you like your hot drinks a certain way and you like your eggs like how you're eating it right now.

He pursed his lips. "Pfft. Boring. I want to know what you do after work."

You said you would go home and scroll endlessly on social media. Or do more work.

"You're not fooling me, doll. I know a generic to-go reply when I hear one. I'm not your coworker here, you can tell me."

You thought about it. Yes, you would go to dinners and gatherings with your friends and other colleagues, but those aren't usually for fun. They're for keeping up appearances. Aside from that, you would just rot with your phone.

You told him that you would go out with friends.

"Who?" He brought his hands to his side and leaned towards you, now very interested in knowing your social circle.

You said he wouldn't know. It's no one from work. You quickly switched the conversation about his boxing gloves again. It seems like he wanted to say something else, but he ended up disclosing about his hobby.

"I box in my free time. It's a good way to release all that pent-up stress from dealing with Jane's shit on the daily." You eyed his deformed ears. Then you asked him if he does it for money too.

"Yes. It's one of my side hustles." He scraped the remainder of his eggs from his dish.

You asked what he was doing at the bar last night.

"Ah, ah. Your turn to answer my question, pretty girl. What were you doing at the bar last night?" He narrowed his eyes at you.

You said that you felt like drinking and going to the bar outside office hours. Was that so wrong?

He stared at you for a bit before replying, "You don't seem like the type."

You asked what he meant by that.

"You were never great at handling your own stress, doll. I know you don't like the smell of bars and the taste of booze. You were there as a 'last-resort' type of act, and I bet it's because of the guilt for standing me up."

While that is true, you don't necessarily appreciate Cyprus calling out as it is. You would very much prefer to remain in denial.

You said he has a good point. Then you proceed to ask him why was he there, in that one specific bar out of thousands in the city.

"I was there for a boxing match."

A match? Where?

"Somewhere." He was vague in his answer, you can only assume that it's nearby. "Next, what do you do on the weekends?"

You do not like these questions. They make you reflect upon your life.

You said spending time with friends, rot on the internet, or work. The last part made Cyprus grimace in disgust.

"The last thing on your mind during the weekends should be Jane's bitching. Work? Really?" You shrugged, saying that you're trying to save up enough for... you actually don't really know what you're saving for at this point. You're just doing what everyone is doing.

"You know you can't bring all that cash with you when you're dead, right?" He stood up, taking the empty disposables with him. Cyprus chucked it into the trashcan in his kitchenette.

You disregarded his last sentence and asked him about the paper plates and disposable utensils.

"They're cheap, and I don't have to do the dishes." what an interesting way of living.

You asked about his plans over the next three days. A flash of fear crossed your mind when you remembered you had to face your coworkers on Monday. They are going to ask all kinds of invasive questions and you're going to have to speak like a politician.

"What do you want to do?" He asked, leaning against his counter and staring down at you.

You said you wanted to pack up and go home.

He lets out a loud buzzing sound from his vocal cords. "Wrong answer, I'm not done with you yet."

You asked if you could at least have your clothes back.

"Later. They're in the wash."

You asked where is the wash.

"Downstairs."

You asked if you could go downstairs.

"Nope."

Why?

"It's lame down there, I'd have to say hi to my neighbors. And, I want to talk to you alone."

You asked if you can have your phone.

"Nope."

Why?

"It's charging."

Where?

"Not telling you." He pulled out a pack of smokes from his pocket and switched the stove on to light the cancer stick up.

You said you need your phone.

"To do what? More work? Dream on, I'm not helping you waste your life." He placed the cigarette into his mouth. Cyprus walked up to the window and blew puffs out of it. Occasionally he tapped his cigarette to knock the ashes off it.

You said you just need to check it. Someone might try to contact you in the event of an emergency!

"Trust me, it's nothing important. They're all from Jane." He took another drag of his cig.

You asked when will he be "done with you".

"When I feel like it."

You fell into silence, trying to think of something else to ask.

"I like you." He said, supporting himself over the windowsill with an arm. "You don't play that fake bullshit with me, you don't try to kiss my ass or fuck me over either. I like that a lot."

You watched him enjoy his smoke.

"You don't go around blabbering with a huge mouth. You're the only one in that damn building who minded your own business and respected me. I liked that."

You don't think you're any less nosy than your coworkers. But it was fascinating to see yourself through his eyes. Was that how you came off? You just didn't give a crap about Cyprus because he was antisocial and most likely wouldn't help you advance or destroy your career.

"And you're so fucking cute too. I had to snatch you up before anyone else did. But I couldn't lay it too thick, you and your reputation among the other mindless drones. I would have scared you off if I gave you roses in person, those pricks would have made a huge deal if I signed your letter with my full name." He stubbed his finished cigarette against the ashtray on the windowsill. Cyprus turned around and moved to the chair, he pulled it out and sat on it.

"I guess I came on too weak. It's fair. You wouldn't have known your gifts were from me. Did you like the chocolates? They were selling out fast, I knew I had to grab one for you."

You said it was nice, not knowing how to respond to his long rant.

You blurted out a question, asking him how he would define the relationship between you and him.

"You're my girl, duh."

You didn't know how to ask the next question without sounding rude or condescending, you wanted to ask what made him think you agreed to it. But no matter how you try to frame it, your question appears as a rejection. You didn't have to ask to have it answered, since he deduced from your uneasy expression.

"Fine. Deny all you want." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's see how long that lasts."

You decided to rip the bandaid out and told him you're not interested in a relationship. You tried to convince him that you were not worth the effort, but your words entered one ear and out of the other.

You were interrupted by a hearty laugh erupting from his throat. It soon died down, Cyprus leaned closer, and he lowered and deepened his voice to a husky growl.

"You should know, that once I set my sights on you, there is no stopping me." His piercing grey eyes struck terror in your heart. "I am a dogged man, princess. I do whatever it takes to get the girl I want and I don't share."

You're uncomfortable, this is a completely different Cyprus than what you're used to. You missed the quiet man who would keep his distance from everyone, not this menace.

You're going to have to figure out how to deal with your new unwanted lover by Monday.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere concept #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc cyprus #male yandere #yandere boyfriend #cw yandere #tw afab reader #male yandere oc #obsessive yandere #tw: yandere #yandere ocs #yandere x y/n

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redclercs · 10 months

Text

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

INTERLUDE: this is why we can't have nice things.

— the one where everybody's waiting to see the fall out.

warnings: this is basically like the INTRO chapter with all media, we're going to pretend publications and broadcast timings are not mistaken or fake, okay? ok. am i myself if i don't mention taylor swift in every chapter? no. foul language.

masterlist ✢ next

By Tom Gill // June 23rd

Vic Presley confirms y/n hasn't reached out to her even after Vic called asked her to in a publication a few days ago.

"I think she has blocked my number by now," Presley said, "I am devastated by this. I didn't think it was like her to discard relationships so easily."

Presley and y/ln have been friends since 2020, when they met at the opening of the SENSE Club in downtown Los Angeles and quickly became inseparable.

"y/n really was— is my best friend. I miss her and I want her to come back to me."

Vic Presley also commented on y/n's split from Aidan Kim in her own way: "I hate that she hurt Aidan. I was not aware they had so many problems, that's definitely the kind of stuff you tell your best friend."

y/n was spotted just a week ago with alleged (and constantly denied) boyfriend, Charles Leclerc on a stroll around Central Park. Victoria Presley couldn't help but speak her mind on this.

"y/n has changed so much since she met that guy. I met him in Miami and Monaco, he's not one of the good ones. He's managing to isolate her from everyone who loves her."

Once again, Victoria urges y/n to contact her so they can rekindle their friendship. "I am not angry at her, disappointed maybe. But I will always have my arms open for her."

SEE ALSO:

→ Mia Kim, the talented sister of Aidan Kim, set to make big screen debut.

→ Were Mia Kim and Victoria Presley mocking y/n y/ln in new Youtube Video?

→ Mia Kim: "y/n should have kept her mouth shut, there's still shit to be exposed about her."

FROM THE DREW BARRYMORE SHOW — JULY 6TH

[Y/N]: ❝(...) What matters to me right now, is that people now I am nothing of what they're calling me. I am not perfect, nobody is. But I have never cheated on a partner or used someone else as a 'toy' and most importantly, I built my own career.❞

[Y/N]: ❝It gets exhausting, you hear things about yourself you never even thought possible. It could be laughable if it wasn't so cruel❞

[Y/N]: ❝My relationship ended in February, but I believe it was over way before that. I acted in a way that was not fair to my ex-partner nor to myself, and I expressed my regrets about it. He had the right to not accept my apology, but not to make stuff up about the whole situation.❞

[Y/N]: ❝He's feeding his ego, he's a man, after all. But doing it at the expense of my work and my reputation is disgusting. I want one producer or casting agent to come forward and say they gave me a role thanks to my ex-boyfriend's input, just one.❞

[Y/N]: ❝I have surrounded myself with different people. They have been a great support system, always motivating me, and holding me back when I'm about to do something stupid. This also means I have left some people out of what's going on with me, and it's for the best.❞

[Y/N]: ❝Taylor Swift, bless her soul, has given me a lot of advice. She's the sweetest person ever and since the same guy that is trying to drag me has gone after her in a few interviews, she wants this to be over as much as I do. I think he made a mistake by messing with Taylor too.❞

[Y/N]: ❝Rumors will keep running, but I am finally at peace with knowing who I am and who I can trust. But those 'sources' should know my patience is running out.❞

By Jenny Highland // July 20th

Mia Kim and Victoria Presley are the hottest topic right now, but not for the reasons both influencers wish, as they are in trouble!

Both Los Angeles locals have received a 'Cease and Desist' letter from recovering actress y/n y/ln this week, per her team's advice. This was confirmed by both Presley and Kim on Twitter, saying they are 'flabbergasted' that y/n is accusing them of defamation.

While y/n is far from gaining her place back in the public's heart, we are not blind to what Victoria and Mia have done for the past month, riding the wave to get views and followers talking about their shared time with y/n. Who has every right to ask them to stop, as she has done in several interviews throughout the month.

For many people, this makes it more evident that it was either Presley or Kim who contacted tabloids to get their five minutes of fame and sink y/n deeper.

Actions have consequences for everyone, and if y/n decided to pick this fight at this point in her downfall/rerise/wherever it is that we are with her, it's because she knows she can win, right?

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! please let me know your thoughts! I know I'm ending your patience with this slow burn thing but I promise you we're getting there! Charles is back next chapter and you'll see haha. again, your interactions mean the world to me and i'm sorry if sometimes i don't reply to your comments, i'm just awkward but i love you all♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @sassyheroneckgiant @flowerchild-96 @fangirlika @shegotboreddsoo @roseamongthorns13 @cissyp @chimchimjiminie16 @saturnsrinqs @roni-midnights @gayyvodka6 @studioreader @its-ash-not-grey @lu-morningstar @ferraribabe @reidsworld @feelslikestrawberries @celestialams @kosmosgalore @heeseung-baby @missenclod @buendiabebeta @mycenterfold @aces-tattooartist @burningrred @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive@rainybabe25 @ru-kru @lazybot @teenagedreams-cl @cool-ultra-nerd @kuskumu @formulakay3 @bisexual-desi @somanyfandomsbruh @icarus-nex @haziefairy @xjval @xoxoloverb @sainzleclercs @headinthecloudssblog @incoherenciass @bookophiliac @torrie421 @nooshytushie @azxulaa @steephanie07 @anonymous8462 @tbisloneely @pukklv @bn7921 @be-your-coffee-pot @fdl305 @lovely-blackinnon @landonorizzz @ruleroftheuniverse @ivegotparticulartaste

want to join the paddock club? click here!

if you are not tagged please check your blog settings because tumblr isn't letting me tag you

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #cl16 fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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bigbrotherlouis · 7 months

Note

i would love to hear more about mcstrome 🫡

realistically i'm sure it's the age-old story of two kids end up in the same place and become best friends because of proximity and then once they leave being in each others' presence and grow up into adults that friendship fades away but there's still fondness there.

however fictionally? alexa play ribs by lorde

you are fifteen years old. you are fifteen years old and you have been drafted to a new team in a new city in a new country. you are the youngest person on your team and you are probably the best person on your team and you are eight hours from home, granted special exception to be drafted a year early into the OHL and you are proving yourself against boys two, three, four years older than you, but despite it all your team finishes almost dead last. you are rookie of the year.

you are sixteen years old. you are sixteen years old, and the second best player in the draft, the draft that should've been yours but wasn't, is coming to your team. you know him. you meet him in the summer and you're already friends, fast friends, and you've been dreaming about being teammates again. he talks fast and he's fiercely loyal and he keeps up with you on the ice and he reminds you of home. he is not your best friend yet but he will be. he invites you home during the summers and asks if you want to play street hockey with him. you come and you sit on the sidelines, already conscious of the worth of your body enough that you know this is not something you should be participating in. he doesn't care, though, captain of a team, yelling at mitch marner who is an awful goalie and keeps letting in goals, and winning that summer. you go to the beach together, pale and stretched out on the sand, and now you are best friends.

you are seventeen years old. you are seventeen years old and they have just named you the captain of your team. you're wearing the letter with pride but people are talking about you like you're the second coming of hockey jesus. they've been talking about you for a while now, but this feels like more. this feels heavy. you break your hand in a fight in november because you are, after all, still a teenage boy. you sit out and watch as your best friend lights up the ice. he is the best person out there when you're on the bench and it shows in the stats and the points. he can tell you all the stats and the points because he's good at remembering those. he says he can remember every single play he's ever made and honestly? you kind of believe him. the haunting specter of the draft covers your entire year, looming in the corners of your vision, colouring every interaction. you are good, and he is good, and there is no chance of being drafted together, no matter how much you secretly hope. the calendar is a countdown clock towards your end, but you make him promise you will stay best friends because you don't really know what you will do without him.

you are eighteen years old. you are eighteen years old and edmonton has already made your jersey even though the draft hasn't happened yet. the graveyard of first overalls and rumors of a curse after gretzky left. you're the next gretzky and you're the next coming of hockey jesus and the entire city is waiting for your salvation. he goes third. phoenix, which is the literal opposite of edmonton. you hang off of him the entire weekend before, realising that this is the crescendo. you will never be otters together again. there's little chance you'll even be teammates again, so you cling tight even as you're so breathlessly excited for the moment your name get called first. you trip off the stage in a jersey that doesn't quite fit right but has your name on the back, and quietly ask if you can watch this next pick before you go backstage. you twine yourselves in a hug when he follows behind and it feels awfully like a goodbye.

now.

you are eighteen years old. you are eighteen years old and your best friend is drafted number one overall. you always knew he was better. you always knew he was made for more, so it doesn't hurt. you're happy to follow in his footsteps because you are his best friend and nothing will ever change that. besides, third is still a good number. amazing, even. they send you back to erie but you expected that. no one makes it to the show unless they are exceptional or a team is desperate, and edmonton is both. he scores his first nhl point in his third game and you are named captain of the otters. life is good. he breaks his collarbone less than a month in, shattering his rookie dreams. he comes home to you, in erie, because no one else understands him like you do. no one knows how to manage him when he's broken and angry, but you have patience and a lot of love and loyalty. you lie in your big bed and take up most of the mattress, two grown boys in the dark, and you don't kiss him. you could, but you don't.

you are nineteen years old. you are nineteen years old and he is named captain of his nhl team, also at nineteen. he is the youngest captain in history. thirteen days later, you score your first point. a month after that, arizona sends you packing back to erie. this time it hurts. you were doing your best and it wasn't bad and your best friend is captain of the oilers and you are playing with your high school team again. they make you captain for the second year in a row, but it's not the oilers and it's not the coyotes, so does it actually fucking matter? you are determined to prove everyone wrong and so you drag your team to the memorial cup. you win and it feels like a fuck you and it is maybe the best moment of your goddamn life. your phone is quiet. you haven't had any texts from edmonton for months.

you are twenty years old. you are twenty years old and this is finally your goddamn year. except-- you go pointless in two games and arizona decides that's not good enough. you've aged out of the otters so you pack your bag for tuscon instead. you spend your winter bouncing between the nhl and the ahl, sometimes so fast it makes you sick. winter in the desert feels weird, feels barren. you lie on your floor under the a/c and deliberately do not think of the time you almost kissed your ex-best friend. he's your ex-best friend because he's got a new one up there, draisaitl who also went third but the year before you. he can keep up with him, even better than you can, because he's not being bounced up and down. you wonder if draisaitl ever wants to kiss him. you wonder if draisaitl ever has.

you are twenty one years old. you are twenty one years old and you are a draft bust. they've been calling you that for years but now they're right. arizona trades you to chicago for practically nothing, which is embarrassing, but it's alright because you've got an old otter, brinksy, there on your team. you're nothing special, but you're nothing bad either. if only you hadn't touched the hem of hockey jesus as a teenager. if only you hadn't known what greatness tastes like. when you face off against edmonton, he won't meet your eye. he slides out of the centre dot and draisaitl steps in and wins the draw.

you are twenty three years old. you are twenty three years old and you have a girlfriend now, a pretty one, and it's-- good. your team makes it to the weird-ass playoffs in august, because there's a pandemic now, and you get trapped in a hotel in edmonton. your girlfriend tells you that she's pregnant right before you leave, like right before, and you can barely care about anything else. you barely care that he is two floors below you and the last message in your texts was a happy birthday! three years ago. unimaginably, you knock him out of the playoffs on his home ice. in the handshake line, he offers you his palm and his eyes skate over you like you're a stranger.

you are twenty five years old. you are twenty five years old, and on yet another new team. that's good, though, even if he will always be so much better. your fiance asks if she should send an letter to an edmonton address and you hesitate. you are no longer friends anymore. you haven't been for years and years, even if you lie when the press ask. but you loved him, once. you loved him so much that you were part of him and he was part of you, and the teenager on a shared bed in the dark will not let you forget that. you put his name down on an envelope.

so.

you are twenty five years old. you are twenty five years old and a wedding invitation arrives at your front door. you slide your fingernail under the flap and freeze when you see the faces on the front. there's a secret you will never tell anyone, not even on your deathbed, but you think of it now. it takes up so much space in your lungs that you can barely breathe. and it hurts. your girlfriend, who you love very much finds you shredding paper into a wastebasket and asks if everything is alright. you lie. you can't imagine not lying and so she doesn't catch you at it. you tell her that you've always wanted to go to manchester, england. you tell her that you should plan a trip for the summer, and you end up on a plane to a different continent while your ex-best friend is getting married back home.

you are sixteen years old. you are sixteen years old and flat on your back at the beach, listening to the water lap up on shore. beside you, he drops to the ground to stretch out too, his bare arm pressing up against your own. it dawns on you, as consuming and as present as gravity, that you are in love with him. it dawns on you that maybe you always be.

you're the only friend i need / sharing beds like little kids / we'll laugh until our ribs get tough / but that will never be enough

#you: can you tell me about mcstrome?#me: writes 1800 words in second person and hopes for the best #second favourite dstrome couple for REAL #ugh i miss them #the most hurty and star crossed lovers story #dylan strome #connor mcdavid #mcstrome #connordylan #hockey #hockey boys #2015 draft class #jes thank you for sending mcstrome anons my way:)))

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

Steve's clock is ticking down. His timer has never had long, something that's always worried him, but now, now the time on his wrist has him nearly in a panic.

Five days.

He only has five days before his soulmate dies, and he misses his chance to ever meet them.

Robin knows about his short timer, and while she's unable to see the tattoo-like numbers ticking down on his wrist, she's been a great source of support. Unfortunately, even she can't erase the panic that's been building up in Steve as the clock ticks ever lower.

And then Dustin and Max rush into Family Video, and of course there has to be a Code Red while Steve is dealing with his own worries. He still goes, still helps, and in the process Steve meets Eddie.

Eddie who is loud, and brash, and funny. Who is kind to Dustin, and patient with Steve, and claims to be a coward but is handling all of this Upside Down bullshit so well.

Steve's soul has been singing ever since Eddie slammed him against a wall, but there hasn't been any time to think about it, to talk about it, and that's the ironic part, isn't it?

The deeper they get into this mess, the more Steve ignores the numbers on his wrist, counting down from five days, to four, to one, to mere hours.

Robin knows, knows that it's happening soon, even Nancy can tell that Steve is on edge, more so than he usually would be. Still, they make their way to the Creel house, leaving Eddie and Dustin behind.

Steve told Eddie, almost begged him, "Don't be a hero," and now he prays that Eddie has enough common sense to listen.

He doesn't.

Vecna goes down, and there are minutes left on Steve's wrist. He bolts back the way they came, knows the girls are right behind even as he outpaces them. He hears Dustin screaming and pushes faster, drops to his knees on the rough ground to find Eddie broken and bleeding out in Dustin's arms.

"Hey, Stevie," he says weakly, and Steve takes his hand between his own.

"Hi there, Eds." Steve knows he's crying as Eddie weakly smiles up at him. He doesn't even have to look at his wrist, he can feel that his time is almost up.

"Stevie, you take care of- of everyone for me, m'kay?" Eddie asks before he coughs, expelling blood and ichor from his airway.

Steve can feel his pulse getting weaker, feels useless as he watches his soulmate bleed out, unable to stop it.

"I will, Eddie. Promise." He takes a breath. "I love you, okay? I know we didn't have long, but I loved you for every minute of it, Eds."

Eddie slow blinks up at him and smiles. "Love you too, Stevie. So much. See you soon, okay big boy?"

Steve nods, gives a soft "Okay."

And his timer ticks down to zero as Eddie stops breathing.

#sure hope y'all like angst #i normally dont write angst because its painful #but this came to me in a vision last night and I HAD to #soulmate au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #joey writes #tw major character death #drabble

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dearestaussiechannie · 9 months

Text

☾ 4:52 AM ☽ — Bang Chan

word count: 2k paring: Chan x reader genre: Angst/Comfort warnings: gender not specified!reader, Non-Idol!Chan, Chan is referred to as Chris/Christopher the whole AU, established relationship, heavy grief, deals with loss, comfort, pet names towards reader, if I missed anything or if there are any typos please lmk! Authors note: I personally have been through some terrible loss as of lately and I don't really open up about how I feel about it to the people around me but I needed to get this out somehow. If you're going through anything like this AU portrays, my heart goes out to you and really keep the people that are there for you close. Much love ♡

It’s been four months as of yesterday, so why hasn't this ache left your chest yet? How do you cope with something like this? How do you get the people around you to understand what you're going through when you can't even understand it yourself? If not everyone, then to your sweet Chris? He’d been by your side when you had gotten the phone call, drove you there and even has kept you together as best as he could even with everything that's been going on in life but it seems no matter how much time passes, how much effort he puts in, you can’t get better.

You haven't been able to get out of bed without the thought of your friend crossing your mind. When you do have the energy to go out, the smallest things seem to trigger your pain. Even if you get to stay home all day, your dreams would punish you as well, forcing you to relive memories that you want nothing more than to bury until the pain has stopped. Currently, that's exactly what’s going on.

You’ve sat up out of a dead sleep to the feeling of nothing but pain, salty streaks of where tears had been falling for who knows how long covering your cheeks. You groan softly as you wipe your face, looking at the clock beside your bed reading “4:52 AM” in bold red numbers only making you groan again but this time a bit louder. When was the last time you'd gotten a good nights sleep? Dreading the thought of being awake, you slowly crawl out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man beside you.

Once out of your shared room, you walk quietly to the kitchen, stopping a couple of times to look at the photos hanging on the walls to ease your racing heart and mind. Once you've got a warm cup of tea and a blanket from the living room couch, you shuffle to the back patio door, unlocking it and swiftly slipping outside. The air was a bit chilly as it was now late September, sending a shiver down your spine making you pull the blanket tighter around you as the glass mug filled with tea keeps your hands warm.

The sound of the wind was peaceful, but nothing could surpass the amount of peace the sound of waves softly rolling onto the shore of the beach that your house was so close to brought to your mind. Chris had picked this house for the two of you to move into together since it was about the same distance both ways from your families homes and of course, your sweet boy loves the ocean. Every summer that you've lived here, you'd always have to drag him inside to eat, rehydrate, reapply his sunscreen or to simply relax. This year however, he’d given you that time due to what had happened. The thoughts of him running around in the water by himself or with his friends or with you bring the faintest of smiles to your face as you take a sip from your cup.

While you were outside, the person you’d left inside suddenly takes notice that you're no longer sleeping beside him and it causes slight panic to run through his veins. He repeats the motions you'd made earlier, rubbing his eyes before reading the clock that now said “5:23 AM” in those same bold red numbers. He fluffs his hair a bit as he stands, slipping his nightshirt back on and pulls a sweater over that as he takes notice of the cool temperature in the house.

He makes his way around, looking for you as carefully as he can so that he doesn't spook you when he does find you. Worry filling him more and more by the moment as he can’t seem to find you anywhere, finally looking out the back door with hope that you'll be there, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sees you, hair blowing in the breeze while you simply stare out into the horizon or into the stars. He leans against the door for a moment before he walks away from it, walking back towards the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea like you had but makes sure to get you another.

On his way back to the door, he makes sure to turn the heat up since he knows that you’ll be cold when you come back inside. Carefully, he opens the door and walks over to you, putting the drinks onto the small table in front of your patio furniture. The sudden movements pull you from your thoughts, quickly looking up at him and pulling your blanket closer. “Sweetheart… How long have you been out here? Can’t be more than 55 out here and you're crying..” He says softly, slipping onto the wicker sectional beside you, gently tapping your tears away with his sweater sleeves.

You were crying? When did you start crying and for how long? You rubbed your eyes a bit harshly as you looked away from him, sniffling slightly as you clear your throat and got a drink of your now cold tea. Chris doesn't miss a beat though, once you've pulled the mug from your lips, he takes it gently only to replace it with the fresh warm one. He also takes the moment to pull the blanket over himself as well, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he rubs your shoulder to give you some warmth.

“Christopher..” you start but he doesn’t let you finish. “Bad dream again?” He asks, looking at you, studying your face and taking notice of the redness in your cheeks as well as the tear stains. The only response you can give is a slight nod as your grip on the mug tightens, reliving your dream again making the tears rush to your eyes, bottom lip quivering as you start to shake. Chris doesn't miss these ques, taking your cup and putting it on the table before quickly pulling you closer, making you grab onto his sweater as you break down in his arms for what was probably the hundredth time in the past few months. He rubs your back gently as he listens to your soft sobs, noticing how hard you're shaking from the weather and the pain that you were feeling.

The two of you stay like this for what feels like hours as he keeps you close to his chest, his head resting against yours as he hums softly just for you to feel the vibrations, knowing how it helps you relax. His fingers thread through your hair, making sure not to pull as he also carefully rakes his nails across your scalp. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy as he does this, making everything in your mind somehow seem clearer. You take a deep breath as you wiggle closer to him, looking back out into the horizon, knowing this will be easier if you don’t look at him. It's always been easier to let him know your thoughts when you don't look at him.

“Chris, I miss them.. I miss them so much that it hurts. The thought of never getting to see them again, never hugging them again, never looking into their eyes, never seeing their smile ever again… it's haunting me. And there's nothing I can do to fill this empty spot that they've left. 15 years of memories, conversations, pictures, laughs are all just that now.. Memories that only I will ever remember… Why did they leave me here like this? Was there really nothing I could do to stop it? Nothing I could do to help them? Am I gonna feel like this forever? When will this pain end? I can’t take this anymore.. It's too much. I just wanna wake up from this sick nightmare and see their name pop up in my phone one more time.” You spill to him, sobbing between every word as you grab onto the blanket tighter, eyes burning from tears for the third time in such a short period of time, surely making you dehydrated.

Hearing all of this absolutely breaks Chris’s heart, having to watch his whole world, crumble and break like this. He keeps quiet as he keeps rubbing your head, listening to you speak since this is the first time you've opened up to him about what's been going on in that mind of yours for the past four long months. The pain, fear and regret that you've felt. He knows that his words won't help so he just hopes that his presence will. That the love that he has for you will help you in this agonizing process of healing that you're having to go through. He just wants you to know that even if you feel mentally alone, he's right here. He's here for you emotionally, physically, mentally and in other ways that he can be.

He softly presses his warm lips to your cold forehead, still gently humming. “My sweet angel.. I’m sorry that you feel this way and I know that there's not much that I can do since time will have to heal this wound but I want you to know that I'm right here, you're not alone okay? Even if I can’t feel what you're feeling, I will be right here to pick you back up when you fall or break. I will pick you back up just as they would want you to be. Help you every step of the way. I love you and so did they and that's what I want you to remember okay? It was all more than just a memory, it was their story and they were so lucky to have you in it, sweetheart. They were so lucky to have you as their best friend for as long as they lived.”

You wipe your eyes again, no more tears passing your lashes as you look up at him, slowly moving your hand up to his cheek and rubbing the soft skin with your thumb. “When you miss them, always remember to look for them in the sunsets.. In the stars.. Or..” He looks away from you then back down with a gentle smile, moving your face back towards the beach as he whispers. “In the warm, morning sunrises.. They'll always be right there.. Watching over you and cheering you on.” He whispers to you as he again presses his lips to your forehead, this time making contact with your temple as he takes your cold hands into his warm ones, rubbing over your knuckles with his thumbs.

You let out a broken chuckle that mixes with a sob, shaky breaths no longer turning into clouds as the sun starts to warm the air again. You look back to your sweet Chris, giving a sleepy smile before the weight of your head falls into the nape of his neck, indirectly telling him you're too tired to get back up and walk into the bedroom to get more sleep. Luckily, he takes notice, wrapping the blanket tighter around you, carrying you into your shared home and to the bed that's been waiting for you both to come back. This is exactly where you needed to be in a time like this. In the arms of someone who loves you no matter how broken you are. Home.

Once in the bed, Chris covers you both up as the sun peeks through the curtains like warm kisses before you look at the clock. It now reads “6:48 AM” and you sigh, flipping it so you couldn't see the numbers anymore, rolling over to face Chris, kissing him gently before closing your eyes fully. “I love you so much, Christopher Bang.” “And I love you, Y/n L/n.” He repeats, rubbing your back again as you begin to drift off into sleep. Sleeping better than you had in so long, now dreaming of the good things again, no more nightmares of grief… Just dreams of love.

"Goodbye for now but not forever, we’ll see each other in my dreams again. Don’t forget to come visit my dreams full of love for you soon."

Taglist: (to be added, comment or message me♡)

@bangchansbae

#dearestaussiechannie writes♡#bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader #chan x you #chan x y/n #chan x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst

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bellaturner · 1 year

Text

Use your Imagination

Contains smut

Summary: you and Alex have been dating for a while but he's gone on tour and you both miss each other.

TW: use of the word slut (that's all, i think. lmk if there's something i need to add)

1,3k words (sorry it's short :/)

Masterlist

This story was prompted by this live version of "Do I Wanna Know". I really hope you guys enjoy it 💕

This was written in the middle of the night and hasn't been proof read, let me know if you find any errors.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were used to being alone. You’ve been alone for most of your life. That’s until recently, when you met Alex at a random pub. You were both drunk and the conversation just seemed to flow smoothly. Before you knew, he’d asked for your number, promising to keep in touch.

Fast forward a few months and you two were dating. You’ve never expected to date a world famous rock star, but it happened. You were both very much in love and whenever you weren’t at his place he was at yours. You grew accustomed to his company. It felt good. Sometimes he would spend the whole day at his office or studio, but just knowing that he was close was enough for you. Even if you weren’t talking or interacting, the knowledge that he was there warmed you up on the inside, you couldn’t quite describe how but it did and you felt good.

You two weren’t dating for long, only four months, when his new album “The Car” came out. That meant the guys were going on tour, and Al would be away for a while. But it was fine. After all, you were okay being by yourself. So why is it that you felt weird?

It was a random Wednesday night, you were alone at your apartment and Alex was in Asia with the band - they’ve been gone for a month now. You were watching TV to pass time, when a random movie about a young couple came on. That’s when it all hit you. You started crying compulsively, not being able to hold back the tears. You missed him. A lot. More that you would like to admit. Being alone wasn’t fun anymore. Even though you talked everyday, you missed Al’s presence.

Due to the time difference between you two, it was the middle of the night for him, but you didn’t care. With tears streaming down you face, you got your cell and phoned Alex. It took him a couple of rings to answer and when he did, his voice was sleepy.

“mmm… hello?” - he mumbled into the phone.

“hey, babe” - you answered, wiping away the tears with the back of your hands, glad to hear his voice, but still upset that he wasn’t by your side.

You’ve been crying and your voice was showing, your hiccups were also a dead giveaway. As soon as he heard your voice, Alex woke up, worried that something might have happened to you.

“What is it, Y/N? Are you okay? Did something happen to you, love?”

“I-i… I just miss you, Al. That’s all” - you replied, choking on your words as you tried to calm yourself down.

“Oh, babydoll” - Al whispered into the phone - “I miss you too, Y/N. So much. It really isn’t the same without you”

You let out a small chuckle. You already knew that. He would text you multiple times a day giving random updates about him and the guys and saying that he could wait to go back home and be with you again.

“This is harder that I thought it would be” - you let out a long sight, the tears slowing down now that you were able to hear his voice.

“I know babe. But you have to be strong for me. I’m sorry I have to put you through this, but please don’t cry. It brakes my heart knowing that you’re upset because of me” - the pain on his voice was almost tangible. As intense as the one you were felling inside you right now.

“Do you promise you’ll be back soon?” - you sounded weak and even though you knew he would be back in two weeks, you needed his reassurance.

“Yes, doll, I promise. I’ll be there by your side before you can even think about being sad again” - his voice sounded hopeful.

Suddenly, you were smiling, think about his arms wrapped around you again. His intoxicating scent - tobacco and whiskey - flooding your lungs. His hands on your hair and back, pulling you in for a kiss. And, oh, his always so soft lips. You missed all those little things.

“I think about you all the time, you know…” - you said trying to sound innocent, but failed miserably.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me more about it” - he provoked.

Your tears were long gone now. You knew very well where this was going. So did Alex, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Do you think of me late at night, my darling?” - he asked seductively, his thick accent turning you on more than you thought was possible.

“Hmmmm, I most certainly do, babe” - you replied, half moaning. Just the sound of his voice was enough to mess with your whole body.

You could already feel that familiar heat between your legs, your core pulsing and aching for some relief. Goddamn this man had a strong hold on you.

“Oh Y/N, you’re such a naughty little girl, ain’t you, me love?”

You couldn’t help but let out a muffled moan, his words reaching straight to your core.

“Are you touching yourself, honey?” - he asked swiftly.

You hummed quietly in response, your hands trailing the hem of your underwear. You were teasing yourself with the thought of Alex’s hands on you while you listened to his sweet voice on the phone.

“That’s a good girl, just the way I like it”

You could hear the sheets rustling on the other side of the phone. You knew what he was doing, and the thought of him stoking his dick while thinking of you turned you on even more.

You let your hands inside your panties, sliding them up and down through your folds, letting out silent breathy moans as you went on.

“I wish you were here, Al. My hands aren’t nearly as good as yours” - you complained, frustrated by the fact that he could make you come way better than you could do so yourself.

“Use your imagination, doll” - he ordered, to which you happily complied.

The emptiness you were feeling was becoming too much to bare, so you quickly inserted two fingers inside yourself, enjoying the feeling and imagining they were Alex's fingers.

“Hmmm, Al. It feels so good” - you hummed onto the phone, wanting to get a response from him. Anything would do, you just needed to hear his voice.

“Are you fingering yourself, YN? I bet you wish those were my fingers inside that tight little cunt of yours, don't you?" - his voice was full with lust, and you could hear the stroking getting quicker and quicker.

Your clit was practically begging to be stroked. That delicious familiar sensation growing with each passing second. Getting stronger the more you curled your fingers inside you.

“Fuck, Alex, I’m so fucking close”

“That’s it, my little slut. Cum for me, darling. Imagine its my cock inside you, love"

Your rubbing got quicker and your breathing heavier. That statement alone was enough to send you over the edge. The heat between your legs grew immensely. Alex’s voice sounded so good, so sexy, he had you on your knees for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, Alex” - you whimpered while picking up the pace, your two fingers pressing against your g spot while your thumb rubbed your clit on a delicious, hypnotizing circular motion.

“I’m right there with you, darling” - his voice sounded heavy, desire overflowing through it. You knew he was coming as well, and his groans made your release even more intense.

You slowly removed your fingers from your pussy, panting. Both your and Al's breathing getting slower as you came down from your highs.

“I love you, YN” - he whispered after a few moments.

“I love you too, Al” - you smiled into the phone - “Sorry for waking you up”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Heeeeey, this is the first thing ive written in ages, so please be kind to me 💕

Also, I work with positive reinforcement, so please interact with this (just a like is enough - is that's how those things are called? I'm new to tumblr, sorry)

~ Bella

#alex turner #one shot #Smut #alex turner smut #alex turner x y/n #alex turner one shot #alex turner x you #alex turner x reader #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #the car #arctic monkeys

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reilliane · 2 years

Text

Stranger ⊱⊰ Kazuha

A/N: How can I not make a special for a certain universe when GAA just presents some lovely, lovely plot material?

✤ Golden Apple Archipelago (2.8) Event Special

➸ Related Works: Vigil

His last domain seems to be more disordered than before, he observes after appearing in a space surrounded by floating debris and sparsely dried maple trees.

Nevertheless, he recognizes it as his mirage—for only a phantasm as distorted as can immaculately mimic the chaos he has gone through during the time of the Vision Hunt Decree.

As per the norm of the past two mirages, he is alone without the company of his friends. Or at least, he thinks he's alone.

“Mister?”

Spooked—having not detected any sort of presence when he first arrived—he turns around, only to see a child no older than four, maybe five, peering at him.

“Are you lost?” she proceeds to ask, [c] eyes blinking.

The samurai didn't think it was possible for his own breath to fail him until now.

“I...” he trails off for a number of reasons.

Why is there a child here? How can she be here?

His quietude is taken in stride, with the little girl circling him about in what he can deduce is both excitement and scrutiny. He hasn't felt so uncharacteristically small in someone's discerning gaze.

The girl smiles at him, “Ah! Are you a wanderer? You seem to look the part, mister!”

“That I am.” he finally finds his voice to respond, having let go of his prior surprise. He really shouldn't be so floundered, though.

This is a mirage, after all—anything can happen.

“I knew it!” the jubilant exclamation makes him smile, even though his chest squeezes. “Then, maybe you're looking for a way out? There's a huge ship over there, come, come!”

He is already being dragged along by the hand before he can answer—not like he'll turn down the offer.

Just as what was mentioned, the Alcor in the stretch is a couple of minutes away, floating in an empty space. Even from afar, he can tell how the mirage has whittled it to perfection, mimicking the original vessel to a tee.

If he's going to be honest, though, then he's a little lost.

He wonders whether he should be astounded over the phantasmagoria's uncanny ability to create things from his subconscious or be astounded by how the little girl doesn't seem fazed at the oddment of it all.

Kazuha observes the girl's silver tresses and eyes the section of vermillion that fades to crimson. Her pink kimono is tidy and she appears out of place in this disheveled domain.

Like a single dendrobium amid the shipwreck on Nazuchi beach.

“May I ask why you are alone?” he questions, seeing a couple of familiar structures located on other floating islands. “An estate lies in the distance.”

He wonders if the others are there, navigating through the labyrinth for the—hopefully—last time.

“I'm not ready...”

Hm? The samurai blinks, puzzled at the answer. Not ready?

He pauses his steps when the child does, her head tipped down and her smile no longer present on her visage. It is an unusual sight, dismaying to witness.

“Father said I should stay outside for a while, so...”

Kazuha respects privacy, especially that of a stranger's. Most reasons are personal and are preferably hidden, but he can't restrain his own curiosity. After all, the one before him is...

“Can I...” his uncertain murmur doesn't go unheard, and the set of [c]s fixate on him as though weighing the possible ramifications of divulging her problems to a stranger.

The samurai is a little thrilled that the youngster's pretty shrewd for her age.

“Well, mother said I'm going to be a big sister today.” she ends up revealing with a crestfallen sigh. “I don't think I'm prepared to be one, I'm going to be so bad at it!”

Oh. It's... well, he's not expecting that out of the endless possible answers he could've heard. Not like he's against it or anything, of course.

In fact, he's rather astounded.

Dismay paints the round, youthful features of the little girl, implying just how burdened she is with her self-doubt.

To see such a sight pulls his lips down, at least, until he brings them back up in order to display himself as a model of assurance.

“Hm, with the way you're so concerned, I believe you'll be a fantastic sibling.” Kazuha quips, unable to stave off the growing smile when he's met with a marginally misanthropic stare.

“How can you say so? You don't know me, mister.”

To think she's a little cynical—or perhaps just chary.

“I am a stranger to you, as well, yet you are helping me board the ship.” he says in an 'as-a-matter-of-fact' tone, accompanying it with a firm nod. “You've a good heart.”

He can tell that his words are taken into consideration, the silence looming over them indicative of the cogs working in one's mind. It isn't long until the child is looking back at him, voice still tiny, though far from being uncertain as she was earlier.

“... Do you think I'll do good, then? Truly?”

The ends of her pink sleeves are being picked and fumbled away with her fingers.

Hesitantly, Kazuha pats her head, relaxing when it's received with a brightening gleam in the eyes. He nods, chest filling with warmth.

“You'll be excellent.”

Cheeks flushing with the same color as her kimono, the little girl stutters, as though unused to the assurance.

She has a tiny pout on her lips that she battles away with a beaming smile. Far, far brighter than the first one she wore.

“... Yes, yes, you're right!” she claps her hands with a giggle, “I have to be strong so I can be good! I'll keep your words to heart, mister! Now let's get you on the ship!”

Invigorated, she latches onto his bandaged hand—only to yelp an apology following the delayed assumption that he's hurt. He chuckles at it, shaking his head and saying that it's fine.

With the granted permission, he's tugged away again, only much gently this time. Like she does not believe that his hand isn't hurting hence her gentle hold.

It's warm.

For someone who's only known the coldness of grief for the past few months... this feels nice.

Kazuha almost bites his tongue when the child races up the uneven wooden gangway leading towards the Alcor, the latter nearly tripping over the steps.

When she manages to catch herself, however, he relaxes, sighing as he follows her up. He notices that she does not cross the threshold, nor does she question the lack of the crew.

She stays standing atop the last wooden board outside the ship, whilst he's already in the breadth of the vessel. His chest squeezes once more.

“Hehe, father will be happy that I helped someone out.” excitedly mutters the girl before gasping, struck with a realization.

“Ah, that reminds me! I need to go back home now! Take care-.. ?”

Her words fall short when the samurai lowers himself to her level and pulls her close in a bewildering yet warm embrace. How sudden.

“Mister wanderer,” her voice rings, a little muffled. “You're not going to abduct me, are you?”

His soft laughter is already rolling past his lips before he can even register them. He does not let go just yet. “Of course not. Forgive my sudden embrace, I am just reminded of my sibling.”

A gasp.

“Then that must be why you're traveling, right? So you can go back home!” Concludes the child after she's freed from the embrace.

She sounds enthused at the concept of him having a sibling, just like her. In a sudden burst of boldness, she holds onto the hands that held her once and shook them with vigor.

He doesn't understand the need nor the reason, but he goes along, waving and shaking her hands in tandem. The handshake makes the girl giggle until she's pulling away.

“Don't keep them waiting, they'll certainly miss you because you're family. I'll be going now!”

His hands hold the remnants of the warmth of another and he clenches his fingers in an endeavor to preserve them for a little while longer.

Standing back to his full height, he overlooks as his small, fleeting companion rushes back down to proper land with as much elegance as she can exude despite her haste.

Gone is the void in his chest, replaced with a mellow bud of melancholia, soon to bloom into one of acceptance.

To his surprise, the child stops then swivels, raising a hand to wave at him from the distance.

“Ah! Thank you again, mister!” he can still see her smile even from afar, “By the way, I'm [Name]!”

“I know.” his words are heard only by the wind as he smiles, feeling his eyes sting with water. Though they do not fall.

Ribbons of pink eventually cover the running girl until she is gone from sight, much like the phantasm she was in the first place. Still, he is ever so grateful.

Kazuha holds onto his scarf, lifting the fabric close to his eyes as he expels a shaky breath.

“Thank you, too.”

Even if the wound in his heart remains fresh, he is thankful for having seen her. Seen her smile, seen her be alright, seen her be alive.

“Nee-san.”

His wonderful older sibling.

a/n: so an angst/comfort piece for vigil :')) i think this cured my heart a lil' from writing mercy lmao.

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @uwu-dreams @yvechu @mininji

#m-vigil #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #kazuha angst #genshin platonic #female reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst

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adore-laur · 2 months

Text

REWIND: PART THREE

——

Three Months Later

Sticky residue from an hour-old apple juice spill is melding onto the kitchen table, a sugary and sweet mess that hasn't been wiped clean yet. A passable replica of rutabaga and parsnip soup grows cold in a ceramic pot on the stove, steam no longer wafting toward the ceiling. Powdered formula that escaped from a measuring cup dusts the granite countertops, a telltale sign that the morning routine has been rushed. Very, very rushed.

It's a quarter after nine, and Harry should be at work right now. He should be walking through the hospital halls with his clipboard in hand and a ballpoint pen tucked into the breast pocket of his doctor's coat. He should be hearing gasps and little footsteps sprinting toward him as arms wrap around his knees, instantly brightening the dismal day ahead. He should be making himself a black coffee with a pinch of salt and sitting down in his office decorated with sun and rainbow stickers on the sky-blue walls. He should be giving hopeful hands a lollipop of their choosing after a checkup.

And yet he's not because Reese hasn't arrived yet.

She's supposed to be at the house to babysit, but she's nowhere to be found. Friday morning light pours into the kitchen, a beautiful golden hue worth basking in, however Harry can't wait around much longer. He has to go to work. The kids need him.

An onslaught of calls and texts have already been sent to her, and his fingers are cramping from the number of messages he typed. He can't help but overreact, especially since Marlowe is becoming fussy from all of his running around and mumbling to himself. His face is getting warm with worries that something terrible has happened.

Harry needs his lifesaver. Where has she drifted off to?

He's not angry or disappointed. God, he could never bear being upset with her simply because she's never given him a reason to. Maybe she overslept or got her days mixed up. They’re common mistake that shouldn't warrant a freakout. Right?

Unfortunately, the dark-haired girl who swooped in and eased her way into his bubble is currently making him a jittery mess.

Reese really was some angel sent to him when he needed her most. Every time he has come home for the past three months, he has never seen his daughter more immersed in what she's doing. Whether it's watching Reese read a picture book or sitting on her hip while she cleans, she's absolutely mesmerized.

Harry would be lying if he said he isn't mesmerized by her, too. The softness of her voice, for example, is so quiet that he often has to ask her to repeat herself. He doesn't mind, though, since it gives him time to admire the way her cheeks turn cherry red. And when she comes over in her thrifted outfits and stumbles over her words when he compliments her style, there's just a way about her that makes him never want to leave for work. He desperately wants to get to know her.

But now, he has to go to work and she's not here. What happened to the girl who always arrives ten minutes early? The one who instantly takes his daughter from his arms so he can get ready? The one who doesn't mind adjusting to his daughter's needs without a second thought?

Harry sighs and checks his phone one more time as he shuffles to his bedroom. He paces around the room and mentally checks off his list of things he needs for the day: Pacifier, hearing aids, squeezable applesauce, four bottles of formula, an extra pair of clothes, the crunch of gravel...

Wait. What?

The sound of a car rolling into his driveway breaks him away from his thoughts. His heart goes through the motions of a rollercoaster. Is it her? Is it the mail carrier? Is it an intruder? It's too early for this.

Harry grabs his heavy tote bag of baby necessities and slings it over his shoulder before making his way back to the kitchen. He slowly treads toward the window above the sink, picking up Marlowe on the way so she doesn't leave his eyesight, and then moves the linen curtains aside.

In his driveway, Reese's familiar car is parked a bit crookedly. The maple trees shake in the wind and blow orange and yellow leaves onto her windshield, yet he can still make out her figure. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but he can't look away when he sees her head leaned back against the headrest with her eyes squeezed shut. She looks to be in some sort of pain; physical or mental anguish, he's not quite sure. Has she passed out? Is she always in this much distress when she comes over to his house?

Harry closes the curtains and locks eyes with Marlowe. He signs "What do I do?" to her and only gets a tiny hand harmlessly slapping his chest in response. He sighs sharply and kisses her fingers.

After about five minutes of sitting and then standing up from the kitchen chair several times, the tuneful chime of his doorbell echoes throughout the house. Fixing his hair, Harry twists the doorknob and gently swings the door open. Reese stands on the other side with puffy eyes and rubescent cheeks. A frown seems permanently stuck on her face, her chapped lips downturned enough to make Harry's heart speed up with alarm. Her hair is thrown up in two tight buns, and the coat she wears drowns her body.

What in the world has caused his bluebird to appear on his doorstep with clipped wings?

"Reese, is everything all right?” Harry asks cautiously. “Please come inside."

She breathes out a puff of air and nods quickly. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I'm late. I, uh... there was an emergency I had to take care of."

The contradictory statement throws him for a loop. She claims she's fine, yet there was an emergency? He wishes she would ust be honest with him.

"An emergency?" he repeats while ushering her inside. Marlowe coos happily and reaches out when she sees who it is. "Are you sure everything's okay? You weren't answering any of my calls or texts."

The quiver of her lips is quickly hidden by a smile. An extremely fake smile, Harry notices. "I'm fine," she tells him. "I can stay an extra couple of hours if you need me to since I'm late. Again, I apologize."

Her behavior is strange. She's not herself right now. She looks out of it, like there's static behind her eyes.

"Reese," Harry says gently, taking a step closer. "Tell me what's wrong. I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."

"I'm okay, I—"

"You're not. I saw you in the driveway.“

Her lips quirk to the side as her eyebrows sadly pull together. She shifts her weight on one foot and says, "My grandma is in the hospital. I had to take her this morning because she fell."

Harry's heart cracks open at the waver in her voice. There's also a pit of bubbling frustration that makes its way through his veins. Is she not comfortable enough around him to tell him when something's wrong? Something as serious as a family emergency?

He swallows it down and replies, "That's terrible. I'm sorry."

"You can fire me," Reese whispers, avoiding eye contact. "I understand."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Eyes widening, he places his hand on her upper arm and bends down to get her to look into his eyes. "Hey, listen to me. You had a family emergency, and I'd be an asshole if I fired you over something like that. You don't need to work today. Take as long as you need."

"I don't know what to do," she says, shaking her head. "I'm late to work and my grandma is at the hospital alone and my brother is at a friend's house and I haven't told him yet and—"

"Woah, woah, woah," Harry murmurs as he sets Marlowe on the ground. "Slow down. Talk me through what happened."

Reese rubs her palms down her face and says, "I was sleeping when I heard a shout of pain. I- I walked into the living room and my grandma was on the floor. She told me she got up from her wheelchair to get something. She's such a stubborn woman and must've fell and hurt her hip. She's in surgery right now."

Harry removes his hand that he realizes was still lightly gripping her arm. "What hospital is she at?"

"I took her to the Medical Center on Canterbury Lane."

"That's where I work. C'mon, let's go. I'm driving you."

"W-what?" she stutters, blinking three times. "What about babysitting?"

"Marlowe's coming with." He looks down at her and smiles. "Right? Gonna come on a road trip with us?"

"Harry, you don't have to do this," Reese says hesitantly.

"I'm not doing this because I have to, I'm doing this because I want to." The soup on the stoves catches his attention when he picks Marlowe back up. "Did you eat anything today, by the way? Here, I made some soup. And can you please grab the stroller from my room?"

Reese's dazed expression entrances him for a second before she nods and walks past him. It's like a movie is always playing on fast forward in her brain.

Harry wouldn't mind having a front row seat.

——

Reese is full-on panicking as she sits in the chair in the hospital's waiting room. She thinks that she's going into cardiac arrest. She can feel her heart in her throat as well as other parts of her body. It's definitely not normal.

It's quite an insensitive thing to think since everyone in the hospital is suffering in more ways than she is, but she genuinely feels like her heart is going to jump out of her rib cage. Which may be an actual sign of cardiac arrest. Which isn't good. Should she go see a doctor?

Reese hates the hospital. Too many people filtering in and out with melancholy expressions and paperwork in their hands. The ceiling is only one color, so she can't play checkers to distract herself. Even the tiled floors are solid white. It's so drab to the point that it makes her sad that Harry has to work in such an environment.

Rewind, rewind, rewind!

She wants to slap herself upside the head. Her brain is all fuzzy and no coherent thoughts are making it through. Harry, on the other hand, seems cool as a cucumber. With a nice black coat over his body, he pushes the burgundy stroller back and forth to rock Marlowe to sleep. Reese supposes he has to be calm, plus he's probably comfortable being at his place of work. It wouldn't help if he was freaking out as well.

A doctor has already come out and told her that her grandma is still in surgery. Now they wait patiently. It's not necessary to stay, but she feels like something bad will happen if she leaves. She doesn't even know what time it is. If she thinks about it for too long, her mind spirals back to how she was late for work and didn't give any sort of forewarning. She's not sure why she didn't respond to Harry's texts; the nagging feeling of being a burden might have had a part to play in it.

Her mind shifts its worry to her brother. Her legs are brought up on the green leather chair so they can stop bouncing with anxiety over whether her brother is going to come home to an empty house. She's insistent that he shouldn't have a phone until he's at least thirteen, so she has no way of contacting him to tell him what happened. Maybe she should pay more attention to who his friends are.

"Hold my hand, Reese."

Pause.

She lifts her head from her knees. His hand is reached out, his fingers delicately bent in offer. The silver ring on his pointer finger reflects off the sunlight that pours in through the large window, and she suddenly realizes she never asked what the symbol means. It's a great distractor.

"Your ring," Reese says, her words coming out a little raspy. "What's the symbol on it?"

Harry spreads his fingers out while looking at it. He twists the band so that the symbol faces upwards. "It's sign language for I love you," he explains, flexing his hand. "I got it when I found out Marlowe was deaf, and it's one of the first signs I taught her. Hopefully when she's older, I can get her a matching one."

Reese tilts her head and admires the engraved metal. "You should. That's really special."

He looks down and smiles shyly, simply curling his fingers to get her to grab them. When she places her palm in his, he pulls her up on her feet. Reese expects him to let go, but he doesn't.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks. “We have a couple of hours to kill."

"I don't know," she replies, enjoying the fact that her hands aren't cold or shaking anymore. "Anywhere but here."

"Home? My house? Somewhere to get a bite to eat?"

"You know what? A burger and fries sound like heaven right now."

Harry's eyes light up in the same way she's seen Marlowe's do. "There's a nice family restaurant downtown if you fancy going there," he suggests.

The corner of Reese's mouth lifts. "Yes, I would fancy going there."

When they arrive inside the cozy restaurant situated between two antique shops, Harry takes off his coat and puts it under the stroller, then pulls out a stool for the both of them.

The yellow sweater he wears fits him snugly. He sits like a schoolboy on the stool, his feet tucked up on the footrest and a posture that makes him look smaller. He starts unscrewing the cap on a bottle of formula, a towel slung over his shoulder where Marlowe's head rests.

He's petit in every sense of the word.

After the food and drinks come out, Reese feels the anxiety kick in as she takes the pickles off her burger. It takes her a while to warm up to people enough to initiate conversation, so what is she supposed to talk about with Harry? He's at a completely different stage in his life than her.

"What're you thinking about?" he asks, twisting the noodles of his chicken alfredo with his fork.

Reese drowns out the conversations around her and focuses on him. He seems to be the one to always reel her back in. "Everything and nothing all at once.”

Harry chews and swallows. "You're a mind drifter. I've noticed that about you."

"So I've been told."

"It's not a bad thing." He scratches his nose and then puts a fist under his chin. "Sometimes reality isn't worth being a part of."

Reese raises her eyebrows, letting out a laugh. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers," he says, lifting his glass of half-drunken lemonade.

"I sometimes want to take my brain out and put it in the washing machine."

The rinse cycle of her brain is in desperate need of a change. If only it was possible to douse it in detergent and let it spin, erasing stains of painful memories and coming out clean.

Harry nods and rubs his large hand up and down Marlowe's back, soothing her to sleep. "I feel that. My brain could use a good washing."

"Do you really feel that?" Reese challenges lightheartedly. "I've always noticed that you're so casual. You have no problem starting a conversation with anyone."

He bites his lip and laughs a little. "Why do you think I work with kids? They forget what I tell them the next day."

"Yeah, but with someone like me..."

He frowns in question. "What do you mean by that?"

"Someone with social anxiety." Might as well just air her dirty laundry out in the open. "You worked around it so easily, if that makes any sense."

Lips jutting out in thought, Harry shrugs and says, "I don't think l worked around it. It's just who you are. Friends adapt to each other, right?"

Friends. Are they friends? Reese recalls the times in the last three months where she has stayed for dinner with him and Marlowe, or when he would come home early some days and ask if she'd like to go to the grocery store with him to find ingredients for a new recipe he wanted to try.

In retrospect, she supposes they're well-acquainted. She's just been too in her own head to realize it.

"Friends also eat the other friends' pickle that they don't want," Reese says, stabbing a pickle slice with her knife and holding it out to him.

Harry smiles, his nose scrunching beautifully, then leans forward to bite it off the knife tip with his teeth. She observes him when he looks out the window and chews, his jaw flexing with each movement. Compared to other people she has met, he's by far the most comfortable to be around. She doesn't feel the pressure to rewind anymore when she's around him. What comes out of her mouth, awkward or not, he handles it with pure intentions. No judgement and no questioning looks when she drifts off into space.

One day, Reese will learn that life doesn't have a rewind button. It's not a movie. Mistakes will be made, and times will get rough. It's better to take life as it comes. There's no need to pause or fast forward, either. Living in the present is the only time you get.

Let the tape play how it was meant to. Then when the credits roll, it will be known that everything was worth it.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles #adore-laur #rewind series

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catofadifferentcolor · 9 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #58: Percy Jackson x Criminal Minds

While perusing the PJO tag for the first time in ages, I stumbled across yet another crossover I never would have thought of trying - and which, naturally, hasn't escaped my head. It managed to mash together the worlds of PJO and Criminal Minds... and so, naturally, I thought: if I were going to write this crossover, what would I do?

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until MoA. There Percy plays off the judo throw in New Rome to avoid starting a war with the Greeks, but after they're alone on the Argo Percy tells Annabeth that he doesn't appreciate 1) being blamed for his disappearance, as if Hera had asked him if he wanted to lose his memories and half a year of his life, and 2) being physically attacked by his girlfriend outside of weapons practice.

Naturally, Annabeth doesn't take this well and doubles down on her position, and the two fight like cats and dogs throughout MoA and HoO. By the time they reach Akhlys, Percy is hardly inclined to listen to Annabeth at all, and so doesn't stop poison-bending.

It's not obvious at the time, but not stopping fully unlocks Percy's divine powers. He's now immortal, like Chiron, but not a god. It's also rather the final straw for Annabeth and Percy's relationship.

Because he doesn't immediately realize he's immortal, Percy goes on with normal human things like high school and college - attending both at Camp Jupiter, which is better equipped to handle demigods than the average mortal school. It's only after he starts grad school at nearby Stanford University and gets a lot of comments on how young he looks does anyone start realizing what's happened.

Fast forward to about 15 years after HOO, when Percy has joined the BAU - because even immortals have to pay the bills somehow.

In my head I picture this to be S8/S9 of CM, largely because I enjoyed Alex Blake's character and think she'd be a good outsider POV for the story I want to tell, but dealer's choice.

Percy proves to be the BAU cryptid. His primary and secondary school records say unsub in the making... then he double majors in marine biology and classics in college (because everyone who survives four years in the legion or slays a particular number of monsters gets a classics degree when they graduate by default). Then he goes on to get a doctorate in psychology from Stanford... and swim twice for Team USA in the Olympics. He once went on vacation in the Keys and found the wreck of a lost Spanish galleon free diving. He's polite and mild mannered and goes nowhere without at least three knives on his person and a week's worth of survival gear. When he's tired, his reports sometimes slip into Ancient Greek or Latin. He may be a Hellenist and speaks of Hell as a place that he's been.

Percy is, in short, unfathomable to his profiler colleagues. They like him, but every new thing they learn about him only complicates the profile they're definitely not putting together.

He's been in the BAU for about 18 months before they receive reports of a serial killer's dumping ground in the Oakland Hills, not more than a mile from Camp Jupiter. The victims are all in their late teens and signs indicate all were killed in a ritualistic way. Most of those the investigators can identify are runaways.

Once the BAU is on site, Reid determines that someone is trying to recreate an obscure Ancient Roman sacrifice.

More importantly, Percy realizes that, yes, these are definitely the bodies of Roman demigods - and not one of them was killed by a monster before they could get to camp. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a secret entrance to camp not 100' away from the oldest body.

It's this last point that causes Percy to lead his team to Camp Jupiter. This is a revelation in itself and should answer many of the team's questions about Percy but give them twice as many new ones.

It should also be perfect timing, as they arrive just as praetors Frank and Hazel were thinking of reaching out to Percy, as he's the only real investigator either camp has. They're not aware of most of the murders, as it's not unusual for one or two demigods every year to be killed after leaving the safety of camp, but the last three victims went missing in the last three months under odd circumstances.

(One was a granddaughter of Apollo who'd talked about wanting to join the Hunters of Artemis, and when she disappeared everyone assumed that's what she did, only for the Hunters to visit later claiming she never showed. The most recent was a daughter of Bacchus who hated the regimented life of the legion and wanted to transfer to Camp Half-Blood where things were a little more their speed. Most the others were legacies or the children of minor gods.)

They set up shop in Percy's house - in part because CJ has no police force beyond the legion, which houses their main suspects - in part because Percy's house is built like a Roman temple on the edge of the temple district and no one would dare sneak into it.

(The demigods have been actively treating immortal Percy as a god, because if deification worked for Nero, they can make it work for Percy. And a deified!Percy could only be good for them.)

In the end it comes out a grandchild of Hecate/Trivia was sacrificing other demigods to their ancestor in hopes of obtaining more power - they should be just powerful enough to disguise their actions with the Mist but not much more, and intensely jealous their ancestor handed already-powerful Hazel more power during the Giant War.

Bonuses include: 1) Thalia and the Hunters showing up to help, as do Nico and Will. This should be an intensely confusing family reunion to watch from the outside given that two are immortal. Extra bonus points if the BAU recognize Nico from some wildly successful paranormal investigative channel on YouTube and are shocked to find out all the ghosts are real; 2) Will calling Percy "mom", on account of the fact he's been dating Apollo for the last five years now - Apollo's longest relationship ever - though Percy refuses to consider marriage or children until fifty years have passed; and 3) One of the BAU being tangentially involved with the mythological world already - Hotch had a relationship with a disguised Justice before meeting Hailey and their child is at Camp Jupiter? Reid has just recently met a disguised Athena at a conference and is now worried he'll arrive home to a baby on the doorstep?

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you chose to do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #criminal minds #crossover #percy x apollo #trials of apollo #toa

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imaginesbymonika · 10 months

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“Shame” (Part 6)

A Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader fan fiction

Plot: For the last four years, kaija and Pedro have been dating in secret. The fear of rejection has turned them into a mystery that could only be encountered in yearning looks on red carpets or hands that are touching one another briefly. However, for the longest time, things have been working out that way just fine. But now Pedro's agency wants him to have a PR relationship with another woman and neither kaija nor Pedro is sure if their love is going to survive that.

Warnings: none other than sadness

A/N: you guuuyssss!! hi!!! i was gone for so long (?) i was really busy with university and life, but yeah, im back, i guess <3

Masterlist

Y/N stares at the front door. Her y/e/ced eyes move up and down the black wood until she believes that she must know everything about it. That no one in this world could possibly know more about this one door. She could be wearing a blindfold and be presented with countless different doors- but she would still be able to distinguish between them.

The woman chuckles softly and shuts her eyes. If someone would be able to read her mind, they would most likely assume that she was going crazy. And maybe they were right, maybe she was losing her mind.

After the award show, Y/N immediately hurried home. She informed everyone, that she has to walk the dog. Which is… assumably the most overused excuse in the entire galaxy, and also really stupid considering how she doesn't even have a dog. And also everyone knows that. However, she didn't give anyone any time to think about her words or ask any follow-up questions. As soon as the curtains closed, she rushed out of the venue.

And now she was waiting. For Pedro, of course. For their fight, which was inevitable at this point. Her phone vibrates and when Y/N turns it around she sees that her manager has texted her. "Matthew Gray Gubler reached out to me, apparently he wants your number. Do you know anything about this?" Y/N sighs and tosses the phone across the brown leather couch. She could deal with all of that later, right now the only thing that mattered was Pedro.

She wonders if he is on his way home right now. He hasn't texted or tried to call her yet, so maybe he is at the after-show party. Or maybe, just maybe he went home with his new girlfriend. Y/N wouldn't be surprised if he did. Who would desire to fight for something that seems damaged beyond measure? The actress waits for the typical pain in her chest that always followed her train of thought.

One time Y/N thought that she was experiencing a full-on heart attack. She was sitting at the breakfast table, right next to Pedro who was reading the Times in peace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a little black and white picture of Melissa, with some text underneath it calling her "the new It-Girl". Suddenly, this unbelievably powerful and painful feeling hit her like lightning. She blinked a few times and swallowed thickly. But she didn't say anything. Perhaps at that moment, she was silently hoping for one, but it didn't happen. Instead, she just reached for the milk.

Y/N lifts her head when she hears the keys in the door. She remembers when they picked out the door. She was the one who wanted a wooden door, while Pedro on the other hand said that he was a big fan of metal doors. Merely because they are able to withhold much more than wood. "You know, I just want us to be safe.", he had told her. Back then it made her heart feel light, now it just makes her want to gag.

The keys turn and a few seconds later, Pedro stands in front of her. "We have to talk."

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal angst #angst #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro x reader #pedro angst #x reader #pedro x you #pedro pascal x you #Spotify

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 months

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Sweet past - Ch.1

Summary: 3 years ago, you moved away from Austin, leaving your wreck of a father behind. Now, some news brings you back, and you try to navigate the new life with your dad's best friend, Joel, by your side.

No outbreak is happening here.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, some foul language, angst.

AN: This is my first time writing for any Pedro Pascal character. The story is a bit angsty and a little different from typical dbf stories out there. Nevertheless I hope you will enjoy it :)

Words: 1 231

Masterlist Chapter 2

It was one of those days when you really just wanted to lay down in bed and do absolutely nothing. You normally work with competent people, but somehow, all of them forgot how to actually think today.

Putting your shopping away, you turned on some random movie, poured yourself some wine, and just sat down, opening Instagram for a while. Just to see how the world looks outside your four walls.

Life was good. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but you finally started to stand on your own two feet. You thought less and less about that awful memory, and your job was getting better. You got promoted to sous chef recently, and you actually liked it. Likewise, you never thought you'd work for a restaurant, but hell, you can't really predict anything in life.

You jumped when the phone in your hand ran. A frown appeared on your face as you saw a number you thought you would never hear. You felt your heart quicken, if he was calling you, it meant that something distressing had happened.

“Joel?”, you answered, your voice small and uncertain. You haven't heard from him for three years now.

“Hey kiddo.” Yes, this was definitely Joel Miller. A gravelly, hoarse and husky voice that hasn't changed since all the years you have known him. The voice was so specific that you would recognize him anywhere. “How are you?”

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his question, not in the mood for a small talk when your gut was telling you that something was wrong.

“What made you think…”

“Joel”, he sighed, hearing the sternness in your voice. You felt it waver a bit, like he was nervous. Joel Miller was never nervous. Grumpy, annoyed. Sure, but never nervous.

“This is not something I want to talk about on the phone, but you never left an address.” He trailed off and took a deep breath. You heard him take a seat and made yourself ready for whatever bad news he got. Was it your father? Was he back to his old habits? Is he in jail or something? “He never wanted you to know. He didn't want you to worry…” You let him talk, take his time. Whatever it was, it was difficult, even for someone like Joel. “He's gone, kid”, your heart stopped, or at least that's what you thought. The same as the surrounding time. You looked straight ahead, unable to comprehend whatever was happening. “I'm sorry.” He said your name, but you weren't able to focus. “I… I… his liver…”

“Was he in pain? When he died?” Your voice shuttered, and tears appeared in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, this is not a talk to be done over the phone.” You sniffed and closed your eyes. He was right. It wasn't, and yet you weren't sure if you would be able to have that conversation in person. “I can plan everything out if it's too much for you.”

“I'll be there in three days. Thank you, Joel.” Turning off the phone, you laid back in the coach, letting your cries put you to sleep.

***

Austin was one of these places that brought so many happy memories, only to make you suffer when you truly tried to remember. Leaving the town was painful, but coming back here felt like someone was ripping your heart out. You knew you were coming back to nothing, but something was pushing you towards the path of the memories.

The ride to your old home wasn't that long and, thankfully, was spent in silence. The scenery hasn't really changed since you left the town 3 years ago. It was like the town stayed the same without a will to improve. And yet you knew and saw more and more new houses and shops. Yet they all looked like they could have been built all these years ago.

You thanked the driver, took your bags, and looked up to look at the house where you grew up. You smiled softly at the good memories. The one way before everything went to shit. Yes, you had a pretty good childhood. Two loving parents, a nice house, a good school and some good friends turned out to be more like colleagues when all went to shit.

You opened the doors with the key your father gave you the day you left. He was hoping it would make you stay and stop you from leaving the town, the house, and him. You kept it just in case, but you never knew you would use it so soon. 3 years sounded like a long time, but it went by way quicker than you thought. So much has changed since then, and you still weren't sure how those changes would affect the present you. You didn't know why you were even here. You didn't know what you expected from it.

You frowned in the hall of the house. It looked much cleaner than the last time you were here. The bottles weren't lying around, there was no smell of alcohol around, and the walls seemed to have been repainted even. A new carpet, and you froze, seeing the pictures hanging on the walls. Pictures of you when you were a child. Pictures from your high school graduation—the ones with your mom and dad. Before all went to shit. Such happy memories are all gone now.

You closed your eyes, stopping the tears from falling. Life was good then, even happy. You left the bags behind and walked around the house, surprised to see it in such a good state. It looked like your father had made some changes since you left. It looks like your money didn't go to waste after all.

Other than some refreshments, nothing has really changed in the house. It was just the way you remember. Your heart clenched when you walked to your room. He hasn't moved anything. There were still posters hanging, some pictures, and the same books you read in school. Even some CDs and DVDs you loved to watch with your parents on Saturday movie night. The three of you would prepare some snacks and watch whatever movie was chosen for the night. You loved those nights, they were like a fresh breath in your busy life as a student.

Your fingers reach for one of the movies when the bell runs around the house. You frowned and walked towards the doors, looking through the peephole. Your eyes widened as you saw who was on the other side of the doors.

“Long time no see, kiddo!” The man hasn't changed a bit. Still the same handsome face, rugged, tall, dark hair and beard signed with grayish strands. The familiar smile that looked more like a smirk. Something he would always send your way. Something soft and familiar now that you think about it.

“Joel!” You smiled, and without really thinking about it, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face behind his neck. You exhaled when his arm rounded you and hugged you back. His deep voice sounded like your name, almost unsure if you were really here.

“Let's come in; I've stocked you up a bit.” Holding your hand, he pushed you back into the house, ignoring the single tear that fell. It wasn't the time for it. Not yet, at least. Not after he already brought you the pain himself.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst prompt #dbf!joel #angst #fanfiction #pedrohub

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abalidoth · 5 months

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whats your fav album/albums??

Like anyone else who was sentient and within earshot of a radio in 2012, I was aware of Call Me Maybe. It was inescapable, virulently catchy, an icepick of bubblegum straight to the tympaneum. As mocked as it was beloved, as society is unable to tolerate anything feminine.

I don't strongly remember my feelings about it at the time. I was probably self-aware enough at that point to not explicitly shit on it -- that was right around when I was making my first tentative steps towards not identifying as a guy. But my musical taste at the time skewed more towards They Might Be Giants and Imogen Heap so it wouldn't have been anything I sought out.

Flash forward to the summer of 2015. I'm in a bar in Ames, Iowa with a bunch of other mathematicians, there for the Graduate Research Workshop in Combinatorics. After a hard day of bootstrap percolation and RNA folding and graph discharging, we descended on this little college bar's trivia night like a swarm of LaTeX-using locusts. Combinatorists tend to be eclectic sorts, so trivia comes naturally to us, and I'm no exception; our four mathematician teams took the top four spots that night, and my team was first among those. There are a few other stories that came out of that night, but the relevant one is that I heard a little song over the speakers called I Really Like You.

Like Call Me Maybe, IRLY was uncompromisingly girly. But I was at a stage in my life where that was a balm to my aching soul. I had been slowly growing in my femininity month by agonizing month, living in the freezing wastes of Laramie, Wyoming. I wore skirts around the house, went by ze/hir pronouns online, but nobody in person knew. Every Friday afternoon my wife would paint my nails, and every Sunday evening I'd scrub the authenticity out of myself with acetone and a cotton ball. So the femininity of the song was appealing to me.

So, too, was the lyrical content. It was self-awarely about a liminal state in relationships, that hazy limerence where actual commitment isn't in the cards, but the feelings are strong, so why don't we ride them while we can? It's not that it hasn't been done before, but Carly Rae did it well. I added the song to the mp3 app on my phone and didn't think much more of it.

Cut to the summer of 2016. Brexit had just happened, I had just found out my dad was planning to vote for Trump. The sun over the Rockies was bright, but the world was feeling small and hostile. We were spending the week with my parents and some family in a mountain town in Colorado. Emma and I aren't the hiking sort, so when the rest of the folks went out in the wilderness, we decided to explore some of the little towns in the area. In one of those towns was a record store, and in that record store was a CD copy of E-MO-TION.

I recognized it as the album that had that song I liked from last summer. We listened to it in the car on the way back up to Laramie, and I liked it a lot. Now, we usually listened to music on the old iPod that was connected to our aux cable, rather than the CD drive. So that CD just kinda stayed there in the car.

November rolled around. Trump won the election. My dysphoria and my fear and my seasonal depression blended into a eutectic misery, greater than the sum of its parts, a suffocating miasma of soul-deep pain, that I had to keep off my face for the sake of my students.

I started listening to that CD in the car more and more. I memorized the track numbers, I knew exactly what stretches of songs were best for which emotions. That album became a lifeline for me. When I was driving an icy road in the dark on three hours of sleep, stressing about my lack of progress on my dissertation, and the intrusive thoughts came in that maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if the car spun out on the black ice?

I'd put on Making the Most of the Night. Carly Rae knew I was having a rough time, and here she was to hijack me, hijack me.

youtube

#tesseranswers #tessa writes stuff

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melishade · 21 days

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Number 24?

This ask game

Ymir's panic attack after learning about the attack on the village. For more context: Part 13: What Optimus did to protect Ymir and Attack on the Village

TW panic attack. TW anxiety

Ymir had to go down to the village, and take her daughter with her.

It's not like she hasn't done it before. She's gone down there with her daughter plenty of times to get supplies on her own. Solveig insisted she bring her for proper social interaction. But this time felt different. Four days ago, Ymir saw a fire down in the village as she and Optimus were headed towards there. Ymir panicked, but Optimus brought her to reality and ordered her to run back up the mountain and to not look back. She bolted as fast as she could and found herself back at the cabin. She spotted Megatron watching Maria play with a pinecone, and Ymir used all the strength in her voice to yell out 'danger' before pointing down the mountain. Megatron didn't need to be told anything else as he bolted towards the path to the village.

Ymir brought her daughter inside for safe keeping and held a knife in her hand the whole time she was by herself. She had questions as she waited for Optimus and Megatron to return. Nothing could really harm them here. She was the closest thing that could, but...why was there a fire in the village? She could've sworn she saw men on horses, but she didn't get the chance to examine the danger in detail. And she could use her titan power to protect herself and Maria, but it would just draw attention, and it would destroy the home she lived in for over two years.

The door creaked open and Ymir tightened the grip on her knife and held her child close to her chest, but she dropped the knife when she saw Megatron's human form step inside. She was relieved and stood up while holding her daughter. She ran up to him, but she saw a shaken look on Megatron's face, and...there was no sign of Optimus. She looked at Megatron with a pleading expression, and Megatron seemed to notice that.

"The crisis has been taken care of," Megatron answered cryptically, "Optimus will return later. Don't come down to the village right now."

It didn't ease her worries. It only increased them, and she was running low on food. Optimus wasn't back, and Megatron said he was busy with helping the village. She had to go down there. She had grabbed her woven bag and was ready to pick up her daughter, but she started pushing at her.

"No!" Maria pouted. Ymir raised an eyebrow in confusion and she tried again, but the girl still pushed. "No!"

Ymir was still confused. What was she on about? The child walked over to the door and tried to reach the handle to open it. Ymir followed her daughter and opened the door to the green of the mountain. Maria took a few steps before crawling down the steps of the porch and standing on the grass.

Oh. Ymir realized what was happening as she walked onto the grass. Maria wanted to walk on her own. Ymir stood close by Maria as the toddler continued to walk. It was a slow walk. Maria could only get so far on tiny legs. When she saw her daughter becoming fatigued, she tried to pick her up, but the child refused. When they reached the pathway to get to the bottom of the mountain, Maria fell down on her bottom. Ymir had no choice but to pick her up. She whined in protest about being scooped up and held by Ymir, but Maria passed out rather quickly from exhaustion. Ymir smiled as she continued to make her way down.

As she reached the bottom of the pathway, she noticed that one of the houses in the village was being rebuilt. She could see the ground looking darker from the flames and realized that this was the house that burnt down a few days ago. Ymir quickened her pace and stood a safe distance away from the construction. She saw Megatron working with Beini and Garth to push up a support beam for the structure of the house. Darrbey, the carpenter, was talking to Solveig as he was carving out a new design. Ymir managed to catch a glimpse of the romantic, Tove, flirting with her boyfriend Garth from afar. Ymir could see his flustered face, but Beini shouted at him to focus while Megatron rolled his eyes.

"Oh, hey Ymir." Ymir looked behind her to see Magnar walking up towards her. Ymir pointed to the construction, hoping he would understand what she was trying to ask. She had left her notebook at home. She shouldn't have done that.

"Construction," Magnar answered, "A group of thugs attacked the village."

Ymir grew worried. Attacked the village?! Magnar noticed her worried expression and continued. "Orion and Matthew took care of it. The village is safe, but..."

But what? Answer her musician! Ymir pulled on his sleeve to prompt her to continue.

"I mean...," He seemed hesitant to continue, but he answered Ymir anyway. She appeared to be completely out of the loop, "Orion kind of lost it. He dragged one of them away and hasn't come back. The last thug brought up some 'Eldian Empire'-!"

Ymir heard nothing else of what he said after that. She only heard ringing in her ears as her woven bag fell off her shoulder. She suddenly found that she couldn't breathe. Her own mind was spiraling out of control. Her hands were trembling and instinct told her to hold Maria tight so she wouldn't drop her as she fell to her knees. The voices were muffled, someone was saying something louder but she couldn't hear it. They were back?! They had found her?! No! NO! NO! Oh god, please no! She can't go through that again! Please!

Megatron paused when he heard another one of those humans crying out for help. He turned his attention to the source and found the musician kneeling down and talking to...Megatron's eyes widened at the sight of Ymir on her knees, looking to be in a state of panic and despair, holding Maria so tight while struggling to breathe properly.

"Ymir!" Megatron abandoned the support beam, causing Beini and Garth to struggle and hold it up.

"Damn it, Matthew!" Beini shouted at him.

Megatron was tempted to go to the musician to choke him out, but Ymir was struggling to breathe. He got in between the musician and her and got on his knees as well. "What are you doing down here?! I told you to stay up in the mountains until it was safe!"

It was clear Ymir didn't clearly hear his response. She choked on her breath as it struggled to find proper momentum. It was clearly causing pain to her throat as she tried to reach for her neck and hold it to get it to stop.

"No, don't do that!" Megatron ordered as he pulled her hand away, but she still couldn't breathe right. Megatron noticed the other villagers approaching. Too many eyes. Too many people. He needed somewhere quiet. Megatron quickly grabbed Ymir and carried her and Maria in his arms before standing up.

"Deal with the repairs yourself!" Megatron shouted before he bolted towards the top of the mountain.

"Magnar, what the hell did you say?!" Darrbey demanded as Solveig walked towards the forgotten bag on the ground.

"I just told her what happened!" Magnar explained as Solveig picked the bag.

"She started panicking!"

"But-!"

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Solveig cut the conversation short as she folded the bag in her hands, "We continue repairs without Matthew!"

"But-!"

"Listen to Solveig and someone help us with this damn thing! Matthew's clearly been supporting his weight against this!" Beini and Garth were clearly struggling to keep the support beam upright.

Megatron continued running as far as he could towards the cabin. Despite getting there faster than any normal human would, it felt like it took an eternity. He finally reached the door and kicked it open before running inside and kicking the door close. He set Ymir on the wooden floor as she still continued to panic. Thankfully, Maria was still sleeping through all of it. The girl must've passed out earlier.

"Ymir, look at me!" Megatron grabbed her face and forced her to look at him, but the movement was too aggressive, and it caused Ymir to claw at his face and push her way out of his grip.

"No! NO!" Ymir screamed as she held Maria close to her chest. "Won't go! NO!"

Megatron didn't know what to do. The woman was in a state of panic and he didn't know how to comfort her! This was Optimus' job! And he wasn't here at all! What was he supposed to do?!

"O-Optimus," Ymir sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she trembled, "Where...are you? I'm...alone."

Megatron couldn't help but feel pity for her. He...he had grown attached to Ymir and Maria. He couldn't deny that now. And while Ymir grew used to his presence, it was clear that she only truly trusted Optimus. He hadn't been good to her. First few years, he was actually quite hostile towards her, and only cared for Optimus. Yet, she was the one putting in the work to understand him.

This human...she was too kind for her own good, and it was clear the empire took advantage of that. He had to make it up to her and show her that he could be depended on in times of crisis. Megatron slowly approached her this time and raised his hands to gently cover her ears. He placed his forehead against her own in order to ground her.

"Breathe," Megatron assisted, "Breathe, Ymir. I'm right here."

The hands against her head were cold, but they were comforting. It didn't pull or yank on her head. It just blocked out the sound. The lack of that sound allowed her eyes to focus on the figure in front of her. She felt something on her forehead and when she blinked, she could see the scars on the face there.

It was Megatron...and he was...comforting her? What...what was he doing here? Why was he doing this? Ymir felt Megatron release her head before sitting up straight.

"Are you okay?" Megatron asked her.

Ymir found that she was breathing properly and nodded.

"Good," Megatron said to her, "You're alright."

"...you're...here," Ymir was surprised.

"...I'm still here," Megatron said, "And I don't make this lightly, but I won't leave you. I know I haven't been good to you, but I promise, Ymir. I'm going to stay. If Optimus isn't here to protect you, then I will act in his stead to protect you and Maria."

"...You...promise?"

"This I vow." Megatron raised his hand and rested it on his chest, "With all my spark."

Ymir stared for a moment before, feeling an enormous weight released from her shoulders. He wasn't going to leave her alone. She was going to be safe. She could actually trust him. Ymir's body slumped against Megatron's shoulder in exhaustion, her energy now spent.

"...Sorry...didn't listen," Ymir apologized.

"I didn't give you the full context of what happened. I was protecting you from the truth because I didn't want you to have a severe reaction. That was my mistake. I know that now," Megatron explained.

"...Optimus?"

Megatron sighed. "I wish I could tell you where he went, but I don't know, and I don't know when he'll be back."

"My...bag-"

"The bag is unimportant. I'll get you a new one," Megatron cut her off.

"...okay," Ymir mumbled as she passed out.

Megatron had to tend to both Ymir and Maria for the rest of the day, and kept guard over their cabin at night. However, he still paced around the cabin in his bipedal mode. Where in the Allspark was Optimus? He could try calling him, but...

Megatron remembered that cold-hearted glare of fury. The thought of calling Optimus made him feel uneasy, since he had no idea what his mindset was but...maybe giving something to report to Ymir might lift her spirits, depending if Optimus was in the mood.

Megatron activated the comm. link and contacted Optimus. He was ready to speak, but he froze when he heard the sounds of terror and screams echoing in his comm. link. He could hear the familiar sound of blaster fire, and the crunch of something being stepped on!

Megatron quickly disconnected the line before he got enough extra information to picture the absolute slaughter that was happening right now. All of this...for a human girl. Was this really all it took to push him over the edge?

Never in his long life would he ever be grateful he never pushed Optimus that far.

(Megatron and Optimus switching roles in this one. It's great. So 6, 15, and 96 have been asked but the rest are free game.)

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