#you look like a kid who barely scored a part as an extra in the sandlot

[redtsundere-writes]

Out Of My League | Kayn Shieda / Rhaast

heartsteel!kayn shieda / Rhaast x f!reader

Part 3: Skillcurve.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

Sypnosis: A chronically online girl goes bowling with Heartsteel and ¿her boyfriend? Contents: fluff. Friends to lovers. A couple of dumbasses. Flirting. PDA. Word Count: 2876 words. Author's Note: I really like writing about Kayn cause I´m kinning so hard, I don't know it's bad or good. Requested by: @lovewhatsnotreal

After Kayn satisfied his need to kiss you until sucking your soul out, both returned to the auditorium holding hands. The Heartsteel members quickly realized what had happened once they noticed the pale red hickey on your neck. They were a bit surprised to find out what you were willing to do at school but they were still happy for you two. Yone was proud of you for achieving your goal, but he was disappointed in your indecency. 

Your love for each other was as young as the night and it was barely starting. While you were aware of Kayn's rebellious and reckless personality, you were unaware that his driving mirrored those traits. On the way to the bowling alley, he had run 5 red lights, 7 stop signs and almost ran over a woman. The entire ride you spent praying and holding on to your seat belt as if your life depended on it. Let me correct that, your life DID depend on it. 

Everyone had arrived at the bowling alley, including the captain of the volleyball team who didn’t want to leave Yone's side. “It seems that Kayn wasn't lying,” you thought, relieved when you saw how the girl forcibly hugged Yone's arm but he was just shooting disapproving glances at her. Ezreal was excited to finally be able to rest after weeks of rehearsals leading up to the talent show. K'Sante and Sett were arguing about who was going to have the highest score at bowling while Aphelios just listened to them even though he knew who was going to win: Him.

While Yone and Aphelios paid for the hours everyone would be playing, the others ordered snacks and drinks stupidly in the restaurant bar of the place. 

"I want some nachos with extra cheese, extra beef and… extra everything!" Kayn asked excitedly. He hadn't eaten all day because he had forgotten to do so out of jealousy. 

"What do you want, beautiful?" He asked you before snaking his arm around your waist. 

"I’m good," you said shyly.

You really didn't have much of an appetite being surrounded by strangers. You weren't afraid of the people you didn’t know because you knew, for what you had heard from Kayn and Yone, that they are good people. Yet, you couldn't shake the shame away. You had to know them better to be able to trust them. 

"And chicken nuggets!" Kayn shouted so that the cashier could include that in the order. 

Everyone got their shoes. Sett helped Aphelios tie his shoelaces like the prince he is. The captain, seeing this, asked Yone to do the same but he flatly refused. Having his shoes on, Ezreal began to dance to check that they were tied properly. You and Kayn just watched him and laughed at him because he looked funny. 

Everyone was playing in their respective turns. You asked to be the last because you had never played in your life. Not having many friends, you had not had the opportunity to do things that other kids your age usually do for fun, such as going to karaoke, going to the arcade, or skipping class. Your life used to consist of playing League, practicing your guitar skills, and aimlessly surfing the vast web. Maybe that would change now that Kayn was your boyfriend... only if he asked you.

Even though Kayn confessed and kissed you, you didn't know exactly what he wanted from you. Did he want you to be his girlfriend, his lover, his friend with benefits or was this just going to be a situationship? You wanted to ask him where you stood with him but this wasn't the right time. 

"You may be better than me at playing League but you won’t beat me in this," Kayn said with a proud smile. 

Kayn is very competitive. He loves to compete and that is why he usually turns everything into a competition. Even the most ridiculous thing can become a competition if he puts his mind to it: seeing who can fold a burrito the fastest or who can stay awake the longest.

You rolled your eyes at his statement but didn't look away to watch how you were supposed to play, since you didn't have the slightest idea what you were supposed to do. Kayn took one of the heavier balls, stood in front of the throwing line, swung the bowling ball back to create momentum, and then threw it so that it glided fluidly down the lane. The ball knocked out all the pins with one shot. Strike. 

"HOT DAMN!" Kayn exclaimed, showing off his satisfying shot. 

“Oh wow, it's Faker” you thought. Aphelios indicated with his finger that it was your turn, so you approached the throwing line. Kayn smiled at you as you approached him to exchange turns. 

"You got it, cutie." He said before spanking you. The colors rushed to your face instantly. 

"Hey!" You barked embarrassed. He just stuck his tongue out at you and scooted away to watch you throw.

You took a deep breath to ignore what Kayn had done. You approached the bowling balls station. The balls came in various sizes and colors. You decided to take one just because it was your favorite color and stood in front of the line again. You replayed in your mind how Kayn had launched his shot and tried to imitate it as best as possible with the best aim. Your ball ended up deflecting into the left channel. 

Kayn poke fun at your missed shot as you blushed. You felt like a humiliated tomato. You went back to the ball station to grab another one. You took a deep breath and tried again but the ball fell back into the same channel. You dropped your head in surrender as Kayn laughed harder. Aphelios came over to smack the back of his head for mocking while Sett approached you. 

"You don't know how to play, do you?" Sett asked empathetically. 

"It's the first time I play," you declared embarrassed. Kayn stopped laughing upon hearing that. Now he felt bad for making fun of a rookie. 

"Don't worry, I can teach you," Sett offered. He had done it partly out of kindness and because Aphelios asked him via chat. Kayn did not hesitate to interject. 

"I'm better at playing, I think I can teach my girlfriend," Kayn reproached the big man. 

You frowned at the title he gave you. Not because you didn't want to be his girlfriend, but because he hadn't asked you. Maybe you weren't good at reading social parameters but you knew that those kinds of things are asked. At least now you knew what Kayn wanted from you. You decided to get revenge for making fun of you. 

"Girlfriend? Where?" you asked while pretending to look for an imaginary person on the horizon. Kayn was now frowning at you, an expression that made Sett chuckle. 

"I'm talking about you, dummy," he scolded. You stopped, pretending not to understand. 

"Me? I don't remember you asking me," you said while inspecting your nails as if you didn't care. Kayn ground his teeth in frustration. 

"You're mine, I made that hickey," he reproached, pointing at your neck. 

"This? A friend did it to me," you said with an evil smile. Sett burst into laughter. 

"Go fight somewhere else, it's my turn." K'Sante said as he approached you. You gave Kayn a wink to indicate that you were just joking, to which he just shook his head, drawing away from the fact that you were playing with his little heart. You both returned to your seats to wait for the next turn. 

The food arrived minutes later. Ezreal had ordered a little of everything but encouraged everyone to grab from his plate. K'Sante and Sett ate wings as if they had never eaten a bite in their entire lives. Kayn's nachos looked monstrous but appetizing. While he ate, he struck down anyone who even thought of grabbing his food. You were obviously the only exception but you only ate one to try them out and covered your mouth while you did so in shame. 

"Who ordered the nuggets?" asked Yone, who was distributing the food. Kayn, having his mouth full of cheese and meat, only pointed to you so Yone would give them to you. 

"I didn't order this," You told him confusedly as you looked at the nuggets in a plastic basket. Kayn swallowed what was in his mouth to answer you. 

"I ordered them for you," he answered before taking a mouthful of nachos. You were surprised to hear that.

"I know you love nuggets and that you don’t like eating in public, but you must eat," he said, encouraging to eat without feeling embarrassed. You smiled to yourself seeing that he knew you so well and cared about you. You decided to eat the nuggets because he was right, they were your favorite. 

"Strike, baby!" Kayn shouted as the ball knocked down all the pine trees in his next turn. You approached him to follow the turn pattern. 

"I'm going to teach you, so pay attention," he asked as he examined the weights on the balls. 

She picked up a  bowling ball number 10, a ball for the average weight of an adult woman. He gave you the ball to hold and then pulled you towards him so that your back was against his chest. This way you could imitate his movements precisely. His slippery fingers grabbed your wrist and with his other hand he adjusted your back to make sure your posture was straight. 

You blushed as you felt his warm breath tickling your ear. It was the first time you were so close to him with several people watching you around. You swallowed to calm your nerves. 

"Do you see the marks on the floor of the track? Focus on those, not the pines," Kayn explained patiently. You nodded, signaling that you had understood his indication. 

"Good girl, now just follow me," he asked.

He forced you to move your arm and legs back to create momentum. They then walked forward while you swung your arm in the same direction to shoot. As he had promised, the ball hit the second row of pine trees and caused them all to fall in a domino effect. You smiled when you saw the result. 

"I made a strike!" You exclaimed happily as you raised your arms in victory. Kayn smiled at you seeing you so excited and imitated you in celebration. 

"Thank you. I teach on Thursdays," he said with a mischievous smile. 

"How much is it for private lessons?" you asked, playing along. 

"Just a couple of kisses," He purred before pulling you by the waist and kissing your smile. He gently held your chin as he guided you to paradise with his lips. 

"Get a room! There are people who did come to play!" Ezreal scolded before throwing an empty soda can at Kayn's head. The pink-haired boy turned to glare at him. You just laughed, blushing. 

"Thank you for inviting me," you thanked the members of Heartsteel once they were ready to go home.

Ezreal said it was a pleasure and all the boys said goodbye to you. Yone advised you to call him if Kayn ended up being detained by the police before heading to his car with the captain. Your date took you by the hand back to the car so he could take you home “safe and sound.”  

They got into the car and you melted into the seat from the exhaustion caused by social interactions. Kayn massaged your shoulder from the driver's seat and told you that you did a good job. You smiled weakly at the compliment. You had really had a good time, you just weren't used to having so many people around you. 

Kayn turned on the car's interior lights and reached for something in the back seat. You looked at him confused. He brought a makeup bag with him as soon as he sat up straight again. 

"Are you going to touch-up your makeup?" you asked curiously. 

"You're the one who needs a touch-up. I'm not going to let your mom see that hickey," Kayn said seriously. 

You instinctively covered your neck as soon as you remembered the mark he had given you that afternoon after confessing. You looked in the visor mirror to check the severity of the mark. You were relieved to see that it was a pale red shade and not purple. Kayn approached you to inspect the mark and adjust your neck to begin covering it. 

"I'm going to apply concealer," he said before reaching his hand into his small makeup bag. 

"I didn't know you wore makeup," you commented without moving your neck. 

"Do you think all this beauty is natural?" Kayn joked as he applied the product to your neck.

"Eh... yes," you giggled. 

"Well, you're right. I'm too beautiful for this world, but sometimes I get pimples on my face," he joked while blending the product with a makeup sponge. 

You laughed at his comment. Kayn smiled to himself seeing that you weren't surprised or made fun of him for wearing makeup. In his life he had come across people who had distanced themselves from him just because they knew that he wore eyeliner, he was happy that you were not like them. You weren't really surprised by this because Rhaast would sometimes call you while he was painting his hair or nails, so it was safe to say that he did more than just his eyeliner. 

"I did my makeup today thinking it would surprise you but I see that you are better than me at it," You said, feeling a bit silly for feeling like a makeup artist just because your eyeliner was symmetrical. 

"You look beautiful," he flattered you. You still weren't used to him saying those things to you, but you would soon. He finished covering the hickey with translucent powder over the concealer so it wouldn't sweat away on the way home. You thanked him when he finished and he replied that it wasn't a problem. 

After a crazy car ride while listening to his favorite songs at excessively high volume, Kayn finally parked in front of your building. You wanted to stay with him longer but you both needed to rest after a hectic day full of emotions. 

"Thank you for driving me," You said before leaving a kiss on his cheek. 

You were going to move away but Kayn's hand on your neck didn't allow you. He clenched your jaw slightly to keep you close to him while he kissed your entire face. He also wanted to stay with you longer. If you lived alone, he would have stayed the night to make the most of every moment with you. The only thing stopping him was that he now had a couple of in-laws who wouldn't be too happy with that idea. 

Your hands briefly ran over his chest until they reached his shoulders to feel him closer to you. Kayn tilted his head to deepen the kiss, an intimate and profound expression of affection that transcended the surface. The safe feeling in his chest every time he kissed you made him drift into a peace that he hadn't felt in a long time. He was sure that he had found the person with whom he wanted to have a thousand and one adventures. 

You detached from each other when both started to lack air and a thin trail of saliva briefly connected you. Kayn wiped your lips with his thumb to release your face and take your hand. Both smiled upon the realization that you were finally together, well, now you were closer than ever. 

"I've never wanted to be someone's boyfriend so bad," Kayn whispered to you as his fingers gently played with yours. Brushing your skin with his fingertips, wishing you could touch each other like this later in your relationship. 

"Can I?" He asked before kissing the back of your hand. 

It was something you had only heard in your deepest dreams, now it is your new reality. Kayn loved you the same way you loved him. You smiled at his interesting proposal. 

"Only if you promise me you won't break up with me in a month," you joked. Kayn rolled his eyes at that tasteless joke. 

"I'll break up with you when hell freezes," he said between joking and serious. 

"You convinced me, I accept," You said before planting a kiss on your nose. 

Kayn got out of the car and walked around it to get to your door to open it. He helped you down and walked you to the entrance of your building. You said goodbye to each other and then you entered. As soon as you disappeared from Kayn's sight, you started jumping excitedly to your apartment. You did! You were officially Kayn's girl! All your hard work had paid off and you felt like you would explode with excitement. Because of your strange burst of energy and the makeup, your parents didn't even realize that a handsome vampire had bitten you.

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Masterlist.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #modern au #heartsteel #kayn x reader #shieda kayn #kayn #heartsteel kayn #kayn league of legends #yone #ksante #ezreal #sett league of legends #sett lol #sett x aphelios #aphelios #heartsteel yone #yone league of legends #heartsteel ezreal #sett #rhaast #fanart #kayn lol #shieda kayn x reader #lol heartsteel #my fanart #kayn fanart

[valentine-writes]

Can you do enemies to lovers with 1016 Miles?? :3

[ this will be my last req for this account, moving to my new blog officially once this one is up! catch me on @l0vem41l <3 reqs will be open there when i'm ready ＞︿＜ ]

overachiever

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, burnout, reader also attends visions academy, reader is trying so so hard to not be mean and fails (im so sorry), one-sided academic rivalry, author doesn't know how american schools work (i am so so sorry), comfort (?) 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3」

↳ ft. miles morales (1610)

author's note: YES I CAN!!! however,, i put a lil twist on the prompt given and made it academic rivalry (i genuinely cant find a viable reason to beef w/ miles i am so sorry (-﹏-；) !!) anyways! hope this works with you!!! soz itz so short!!! :[[

"wow," your friend's eyes light up, scanning over your test results, "...you've gotta be like, the smartest person i know."

you laugh politely, smiling at them as they hand your paper back. "no, it's really not that big of a deal–"

"what do you mean 'not that big of a deal?! dude, you got 100% on a test most people failed." your friend shoves their paper in your face as evidence– a 57% in red on theirs. "that's like... the highest grade achievable. probably the highest in cla–"

"THIS GUY GOT A 101%!"

everyone turns to the voice– the loud kid who sat behind miles eyeing his test.

you blinked in disbelief. you didn't even know getting extra credit was possible on this one.

miles looked up at the faces of his staring peers faces filled with disbelief and slight annoyance, and fumbled to set his test face down on his desk. he flashed an awkward grin "uh... yeah?"

-

▸ you liked miles. he was friendly. sweet. genuine. you couldn't hate him if you wanted to. no, you didn't feel hate towards him. it was just... jealousy. simple, petty, burning jealousy.

▸ visions academy was something you had to work your ass off for, constantly studying just to stay on the level of the students who attended. NERDS. all of them were nerds. but you were attending this school too sooo,,,

and then there was miles. someone who barely even had to try to get the highest grades. he had you seething.

▸ the most humiliating part was the fact that he had little to no interest in competing with you at all. the few times you had spoken were awkward and curt on your end, and yes– it felt awful being so mean for something as small as personal resentment.

▸ nothing justified your one word responses or the accidental snark that would slip into those few words. you mentally kicked yourself for the times you watched his grin falter because of something you said, miles awkwardly trying to laugh off whatever cold remark you just shot at him.

he'd walk away, dejected, and you'd stand there for a moment– frozen as you fought the urge to run up to him and try to explain yourself or beg for forgiveness. it didn't make sense to at this point. maybe he'd just accept this was the way you were– the way things would be between you two.

▸ so yes, perhaps in your pursuit of favouring school over every other aspect of your life, your social skills were left rotting and underdeveloped. but you knew, deep down, it wasn't just you being awkward.

being around him made you feel small. talking to someone, radiating the aura of someone with a promise-filled future made you look completely directionless and clueless in comparison. the effort you put into your academics was almost repulsive to think about when miles could take a test with a blindfold on and probably still score 90s.

maybe it was the deep set fear that you'd never amount to anything if you didn't burn yourself out trying. all of a sudden, the academic validation of being good wasn't enough. not when you were one of the best once.

▸ you spent an absurd amount of time trying to avoid him, deliberately moving to the furthest corners of the library so he wouldn't see you there struggling to wrap your head around whatever you were being taught in physics.

heavens above forbid that he walk up to you, greeting you with that sunny smile and cheerful voice that could make anyone falter. you may have been jealous of him– but oh, how you hated that feeling that way when he nothing but well-meaning.

-

the last sip of your coffee– long cooled by now thanks thermodynamics– did nothing to make you feel less dead. you had lost track of the time you had spent practically decomposing in this library, studying for an upcoming physics test that had you reeling just by the mere thought of it.

you sighed, staring at the papers strewn on the desk. your hands fidgeted with the pencil in your hand, it's eraser and tip rendered flat and useless by now, as you tried to muster the energy to gather your things to leave. it was much too late. the library would be closed soon and you'd be forced to go back home to study at your own desk in your bedroom.

this was routine. go to school, study in the library until it gets dark, and go home to study more– the next day, you'd find yourself still awake and studying or with a headache, your cheek pressed to the desk, and drool on your notebook. yeah. your bed hasn't been used in a solid while. and science homework isn't exactly the comfiest pillow. but this is what you were used to.

standing up, you stretched out a bit– and immediately froze as a familiar voice called your name. you paused, reluctantly turning to the source of the voice.

"...god, morales–" you huffed, "you nearly scared me half to death."

this is the friendliest you've been towards him in a while, he notices, as you flash him a tiny, crooked smile on your tired face. all potential malice you could have held had been beaten out by your absolute lack of energy.

he approaches you and looks at your desk, considering what to say to fill the silent air. he places a hand on your shoulder, you stiffen–

"hey." miles flashes a grin, not his signature smile but,, somewhat of a forced smolder.

you stare and resist the urge to cringe, wondering if you were sleep deprived to the point of hallucinations. you gently brush his hand off your shoulder.

"...hi?" you respond, unsure of what to do.

miles is snapped out of whatever stupid trance he was in by your voice.

"oh– uh– yeah, hey," he repeats your name again, trying to recover from whatever that was, "is– is everything okay?"

"i could ask you the same thing."

he lets out a little chuckle. "you know what i mean. all... this." miles' hand gestures vaguely to your desk and current state of complete entropy. "how long have you been here?"

you avert your gaze, shame burning in your face. "i... don't know?"

a pause.

miles places a hand on your back this time, in an attempt of friendly comfort. geez, are they keeping you locked in here?" he quips, earning half of a dry laugh from you. "c'mon. you should probably get home and rest by now."

"but–" your lips part in protest, looking back up at him to argue– but he just looks back, concern filled in his dark doe-like eyes. all possibilities of fighting him on this were out the window.

"you need it." he insists, a gentle smile forming on his face. much better than the weird smoulder from earlier, you think. "i'll even walk you there."

before you can speak up, he moves away from you, beginning to help you gather up your things to pack up. you mumble a silent thank you to him, which he accepts happily with a nod.

as he hands over the papers, his eyes scan them. "oh! physics? i love physics."

"no shit, morales." you scoff, snatching up the papers from him and stuffing them in your bag. "it sure seems to love you."

yet again, you've managed to mess things up. you bite the inside of your cheek before you can say anything worse. a sigh escapes your lips, as you decide to at least try and save the interaction.

"look... i'm really sorry. it's been a rough day, i've been struggling to get the concepts down, i'm falling behind and feeling stupid as hell right now, and– to make everything worse, the fucking test is just stressing me out and i just– i just..." you trail off from your ramblings, a sob getting caught in your throat as your shaky hands grip your backpack.

"woah, woah, hey– it's okay."

he slowly puts an arm around your shoulder, careful not to startle you or make you uncomfortable. you don't even realize how you lean into him. "let's just get you home. you've done your best, yeah?"

you nod. he offers you a little smile.

"exactly. and that's enough. okay? you're doing more than you can handle right now." there's a few more shared words as he reassures you.

part of him wonders how long this had been going on– how long you had been working yourself until you broke– mainly because that test that was stressing you out was more than a week away. yeah. he'd need to convince you to watch after yourself more often.

-

"and now a silly one!!!" (more lighthearted hcs below for the aftermath of this becuz goodness me.)

▸ things definitely ease up around miles. if he can't convince you to step away from your work, he's chosen to be able to regulate it.

studying with him in a local cafe is now a frequent thing you two do together. miles always gives you time to work, but will then ever so subtly lure you into moving on from your work to hang out with him normally. and it works. every single time. you might start in the library or cafe, but where you'll be later? always a mystery.

whether it's a walk in the park, going back to his place to chat, or finding some random activity to do, you find yourself bonding with him more and more. your jealousy begins to fade, finding a friend in him instead of someone you have to one up.

▸ you both spontaneously decided to see a new horror movie once and accidentally got miles in trouble with his parents for coming home after curfew. and he'd 100% do it again in a heartbeat if you asked.

▸ no matter what you get on that next test, miles is going to congratulate you like it's the best he's ever seen. he's overjoyed to share your achievements, to celebrate them like no one in your life ever has.

miles holds up his test as you tell him your grade. "you got a 92? hey look– me too!"

a snarky voice speaks up, "well, i got a 98% so–"

"no one was talking to you." miles retorts.

you press a hand to your mouth and look away, trying to stifle laughter. was he always this sassy or did you just end up rubbing off on him?

▸ you both end up being extra studious for the next test (breaks included this time) and he's sure to be extra loud about congratulating you for your perfect 100%

maybe the sass wasn't all you,,, but the minor pettiness definitely is your influence. it's actually not. miles is pretty easygoing,, but man did he not like when that random ass kid gave you attitude.

you smile at miles, ensuring to do the same for him if not, a little louder

"what? 'm complimenting you." you tilt your head at miles' stunned expression.

for a moment, he stumbles over his words. "i know– you just– i didn't expect that from you, so–"

you laugh. "what? you want me to go back to being mean or something?"

miles laughs too. it's hard not to stare at the way he lights up a room like this.

▸ things feel lighter now. you've made social progress with others, you have a life beyond just school– and you have miles. part of you wonders if you'll ever be able to tell him just how much he means to you and how you wish you could've just been his friend from the start.

sometimes, in the corner of his eye, he catches your wistful stare. and though he doesn't utter a single word, you start to feel that he cherishes you just as much.

#WOOOOOO #and we are MOVING!! #unedited as balls im so sorry #i like miles. i did have to rewatch clips cuz i STILL CANT GET SPEECH PATTERNS RIGHT. #i will one day. trust #atsv headcanons #atsv x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #many tags #academic rivals but it's a conflict with no teeth

[askmerriauthor]

regarding pokemon sleep, it looks like you’re just looking for things to complain about. it’s designed to be this chill thing you check on during the day and leave running at night. to play it, all you have to do is sleep and feed your pokemon. no one’s telling you you to have to be the very best at it or pressuring you into paying for stuff, let alone the game itself.

If I was just looking for things to complain about, I'd still be out here whinging over Pokemon Cafe's delightfully charming art style being absolutely wasted on a junk puzzle game instead of a full RPG or cozy slice-of-life Sim.

Regarding this post here.

Hi, I'm MerriAuthor. Apparently we haven't met because anyone who follows my blog would know that I've worked in game development well on 20 years now. I've worked across the industry from little nobody indie houses, to overseas gacha-fodder, to big ol' AAA major studios. Video games and their design are a big part of my life and, boy howdy, do I have some FEELINGS about the direction the industry as a whole has gone in as the years go by. Especially in regards to the predatory monetization of gaming and how it actively preys on children, uninformed parents, people with addictive behaviors, people with hyper-competitive personalities, and similar behavioral traits solely for the purpose of making money at their expense.

it’s designed to be this chill thing you check on during the day and leave running at night. to play it, all you have to do is sleep and feed your pokemon.

As with the previous person I spoke with on this topic, that is the base function of the game. But it's by no means the design of the game. Pokemon Sleep's entire game play rotation and marketplace are designed around encouraging the Player to interact with it as much as possible within an intentionally limited time frame. Meanwhile, the game's own time scale is such that it expects Players to log hundreds if not thousands of hours of interaction with it. Its own base gameplay loop is a weekly schedule and its shop schedule is monthly. Some Pokemon require a bare minimum of 150 hours of logged sleep to even access. Pokemon Sleep wants you to be in it for the long haul.

It's also based on collection; nearly every facet of the game is listed numerically and with a percentage value or progress bar, which are functions designed to produce urgency to complete them in the Player. Human brains don't like seeing an unfinished goal, especially one represented so overtly as an unfilled progress bar or a percentage value with a decimal. Want to have your favorite Pokemon as your napping buddy but don't want to put in a ton of effort playing the game to boost up your Snorlax's power score? Better hope it's one of the low-tier Pokemon assigned into the lower brackets of the gameplay progression, because otherwise you're never going to see it. Though you could always just fork over some cash. Nearing the end of your week with Snorlax and you're just shy of a milestone you've been aiming the entire week for? Good luck! You can pay money for that extra little boost, and once you've done it you'll resent its absence enough to want to buy it again! Do you want to level up that cutie first Charmander the game gave you at the very beginning specifically to ingrain itself with faux emotional value into your favorite Charizard? Want your Eevee to evolve into one of its most popular Eeveelutions? Want a Lucario, period? You'll need to put in hundreds of hours of consistent sleep to save up enough Sleep Points exclusively toward that goal... or you can just buy access to it immediately, through first purchasing access to the Premium Subscription! A Premium Subscription which, again, doesn't auto-cancel if you delete the app and can't be canceled through the app itself, for all you distracted parents who don't pay attention to fine print and wonder why your kid's game is running up a bill on your credit card each month after the 14-day free period - just long enough for you to have forgotten all about it in the first place. Snorlax wants a specific kind of Berry this week, but none of the helper Pokemon you recruited gather that berry, or they do and are just too low on Energy to manage it? Aren't you lucky! The shop will just sell you solutions to these problems the game itself created specifically to get you to shell out money!

no one’s telling you you to have to be the very best at it or pressuring you into paying for stuff, let alone the game itself.

Here's some screen shots from the game's own app page. Buttons to make purchases and drive interaction - the app store, sleep pass, how many dream shards you have, a prompt to buy more inventory space, your missions, your current goal, the progress meter and rarity values of your Pokemon's sleep styles, your collection and their levels, etc - are all constantly and prominently displayed. The entire first day of actual gameplay in the app is a tutorial explaining how it wants you to do more than just sleep and passively collect to the point that it literally sets a daily schedule of activity for you. The mechanics explanations are so egregiously long that the Professor character literally apologizes to the Player for being so long-winded about it. Oh, an adorable moment of self-depreciation and understanding! How humanizing and encouraging of empathy from the user, done with a cheeky wink and nod. Now that we've softened your emotional state ever so slightly, here's some more microtransaction-driven gameplay elements!

If this was really just a cute little game to idle around with for its own fun, there wouldn't be a cash shop, nor would the game require a consistent internet connection to its servers. The big thing with games like these is that they're not made for the Player's benefit or entertainment. They're made to make the parent company profits. That's it. If the Pokemon Company didn't think they'd make substantial returns on the investment of development, support, marketing, and online distribution costs to put this game out into the world, they never would have made it. That is a core reality of any product put out these days. I just spent this last week helping my studio's marketing and sales team make sales projections for one of our upcoming titles, figuring out how much we could reasonably charge our potential customers literally down to the penny. And the game we're selling isn't even a service with any kind of microtransactions or DLCs. Profits are fundamental in any studio production and, where microtransaction apps are concerned, are the core focus of why the app exists.

If you're perfectly happy with playing Pokemon Sleep as an idle "pop on every once in a while, poke for a few minutes, then forget about and never pay a cent" kind of game? Totally fine, you do you. But understand that Pokemon Sleep doesn't want you as its player and will not cater to your experience. The core gameplay of Pokemon Sleep is already designed to actively degrade into a subpar experience for those who don't pay to play and that rift will only become more pronounced as time goes by. Everything around the cash shop exists for no other reason than to encourage you to use the cash shop. Over time, the gameplay will further contort itself to drive more interaction with and reliance upon the cash shop as the app sheds its non-paying users who just tire of it and move on, instead doubling-down on the lingering, paying users who have already proven themselves a reliable stream of revenue. That is how these things always go and have always historically gone.

There's also the consistently apt adage of "if you're not paying for the product, you are the product". Pokemon Sleep requires an internet connection any time you want to interact with the app - there is no offline mode. Further, the actual fine print in the terms of service (not the bubbly, legally-meaningless assurances put into the game text itself) addresses that it will collect and may share your device information, user ID, and app activity (ie, the schedules, timing habits, and spending habits the game itself has ingrained into its interaction with the Player) for analytics and advertising purposes, and that they're okay with sharing (ie, selling) that information to third parties without naming who those third parties are. And boy, does the game really want you to link your Google, Apple, and Facebook accounts to it as part of its core functionality! Worth keeping in mind as well is that the app requires constant access to your microphone and can pick up sounds as minor as a sheet rustling when you turn over in bed. The game's bubbly, meaningless text assures you that it doesn't save or transfer the snippets of sleep recordings it makes of you each night, but it makes absolutely no assurances whatsoever in the fine print that it's not using your microphone for other purposes. It does, however, point out that it will be making use of your phone's functions even when you're not using the app.

So, yeah, I'll just still be over here not playing Pokemon Sleep and encouraging others to do the same, as well as pay closer attention to the nature of so-called "free to play" games.

#pokemon #pokemon sleep #game design #game development #microtransactions #corporations are not your friend

[seishireos]

incentive

nagi seishiro x mikage reo. teen. 750 words. tags: rewards, kissing ao3 link

"If you score a hat-trick, I'll give you a kiss."

For a lazy genius like Nagi, you just needed to dangle some bait to get them running.

Manga volumes, gacha funds, in-game cosmetics, and, in moderation, days off from practice — Reo would reward Nagi with whatever he could think of just to keep him from slacking off; but lately, he was starting to run out of ideas.

They still had a couple more games to go; and if they stayed undefeated until the end, Hakuho High School would qualify for something for the first time and represent Tokyo in the All Japan High School Soccer Tournament — all thanks to their star duo.

Nagi was at his most stubborn against the weaker schools, ‘wastes of energy’ as he’d called them, the ones that barely put up a fight. At this point in the competition though, everyone was taking it so seriously, you’d think their lives were on the line. It should probably be fine.

“Hey, Nagi,” Reo called out to the other boy lazily stretching by the corner of the pitch. “If you score a hat-trick, I'll give you a kiss,” he joked all too casually, before jogging away to regroup with the team, resuming their warm-up.

The opposing school scored an early opener against them, breaking their clean sheet streak just ten minutes after kickoff. Reo didn’t even give it a second thought seeing Nagi on form the whole game; it had been a while since they'd even conceded a goal.

The game ended 3-1 in favour of Hakuho. They were to advance to the quarterfinals.

Nagi was staring at Reo with his big, almost buglike, eyes the entire time in the locker room; and Reo almost didn’t get why until he walked up to him and spoke up, waiting once everyone had left.

“Got a hat-trick.”

Oh. That.

Reo was a bit confused, unsure why Nagi would actually want a kiss from him — but even if he wasn’t serious about it, he did mention it; and he had to hold up his end of the deal, like always.

So, Reo leaned in, happily giving his best friend a quick peck on the cheek. No biggie.

And when he pulled away, Nagi was pouting. He would worry that Nagi realised it was weird, but he recognised this expression — he saw this exact same one all the time, when Nagi would ask for a few more minutes of rest in between training, for a piggyback ride, or for just anything.

“That’s all?” Nagi asked, sounding like a disappointed kid who wanted an extra piece of candy.

“Eh?” Now Reo was utterly dumbfounded, unable to process the last thing Nagi said, much less the next.

“Can I get a real kiss if I score three again?”

Next game. Quarterfinals. Nagi didn’t score three —

He scored four.

Two figures stood at the very corner of the room, hiding for the chance that someone would walk in at any time. Nagi was looking at Reo expectantly now, if he had a tail you could imagine it wagging.

Reo was nervous for some reason, even though he decided he didn’t mind. He had to take a very deep breath, several actually, before finally leaning in; closing his eyes and gently putting his lips on Nagi, who instantly kissed back, like he’d been waiting for this moment for so long. He half-expected Nagi’s lips to be rough and chapped, but they felt so soft against his own.

Reo kept it short and sweet, feeling like he wouldn’t be able to handle it if it lasted even a second longer; Nagi chased after him the second they parted; but Reo was quicker to turn away, avoiding eye contact — but it wasn’t because it was bad, because it wasn’t.

It went pretty much like he expected, apart from liking it more than he thought he would.

“You’ll have to keep scoring for more,” he said, embarrassed.

“Okay.” The reply came almost instantly; Nagi was absolutely unashamed and Reo didn’t fully understand why Nagi was so eager for it, but if it meant he could motivate him better than ever, he didn’t mind.

It soon became awkward when it fell silent, and the realisation that they were still in this position, in this corner of the room, hit — but when Reo was just about to move, Nagi spoke again.

“Hey, Reo…” he started, his tone somehow innocent and dangerous at the same time. “What do I get when we win the nationals?”

This guy…! They haven’t even qualified yet!

#blue lock #nagi seishiro #mikage reo #nagireo #blue lock fanfiction #writing

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e11 there's no place like home (w. robbie thompson)

shaky over the shoulder pov cam thing in the opening giving me evil dead/army of darkness vibes. campy

SAM You made egg-white omelettes? DEAN Yeah. Breakfast of Champions -- you know, if you're a dork like you.

i got nothing against egg white omelets but gotta admit they are so anemic looking that i prefer egg beaters if i'm goin that route, gimme some yellow colored egg whites :p

SAM And you slept past 7:00. DEAN Yeah, well, until we get answers on this Mark of Cain, I am on a 12-step program not to backslide. SAM 12 steps? DEAN Yeah. Hey, if Cain found a way to live with it after going dark side, then I just got to find a way to keep it in check, so haven't had a drink in a week, eight hours of rack time every night, and . . . now this masterpiece.

taking notes so he has a healthy relationship with alcohol, went cold turkey for a week and he's fine!

DEAN It's crap. Ugh. God. Soon as we get rid of this demonic tramp stamp, I am back on the booze, burgers, and . . . more booze. Tell me you got something.

totally fine!

DEAN What are you saying, Charlie tortured someone? SAM Uh . . . DEAN Our Charlie? Yea high, wouldn't hurt a Hobbit, practically sparkles?

she's just taking on the adopted family business of torturing 🤪

the score here also had this kind of thing in the previous episode, this percussion that slowly accelerates like a heart beat and it's kind of stressful. but when i was a kid, there was something in a show or movie or hell an ad, i don't know, that had this heart beat sound that freaked me the fuck out and i associated hearing a thumpy heart beat with getting increasingly anxious. lol. but, this is a single thump, not an actual heartbeat thump, so that's good at least :P

very pretty shot. ps, tell sam you're struggling with the stabby feelings

SAM (reading from the Charlie’s file) "Anti-authority disorder, clinical depression, violent outbursts." Charlie was, uh . . . DEAN Dude. If a shrink interviewed us at that age, you think the report would be all kittens and rainbows? Come on. She's a good kid. There's got to be an explanation for this, man. There's just got to be.

dean making the excellent points. also kinda violating her privacy but needs must, right? -_-

possessed/soulless/evil twin? i'm reading my summary of s9e4 and like, i barely remember any of oz-related stuff (i didnt write much about it either so that's probably why)

CHARLIE Oh, Sam, you're adorable. You're not gonna hurt me. In fact, that's your problem -- all good-guy code, no bite. What a waste. And you . . . (turning to Dean) Always letting this albatross hold you back. DEAN Okay, all right, you know what? I don't know what's going on here, okay? But this -- this is not you.

--

GOOD CHARLIE She's trying to win me back. Dark Charlie won the war single-handedly. But... She did some truly awful things. But I told her I didn't want any part of her near me again, ever. Going after the person who mur-- mur-- uh...Who took my parents away is her messed-up way of showing me how close we are, or -- or could be. I keep calling her "she," but she's me. I'm the one doing this. DEAN Charlie, that -- that's not who you are, okay? It's -- it's a twisted version of -- GOOD CHARLIE Me.

gee, sounds so familiar! support group for being soulless/darkside embodied/mark of cain

this whole oz/dorothy/charlie plot wasn't good the first time around and really did not need revisiting 😔

this dude again! did a hiky for him in the episode he was in back in s2 (probably my least favorite episode, tall tales)

riverdale - barclay hope as clifford blossom / the killing - barclay hope as michael ames / spn s2e15

brief sidebar about how dumb it is that food is assigned a moral value. he's trying to be extra Good which means eating a bunch of stuff he doesn't like. he can go back to being Bad and eating tasty food later. fatphobia never takes a day off

this sterile "swanky" waiting room with the terrible muzak is giving me hives

a) the last thing dean needs is dark charlie encouraging him to be dark b) he got tricked by dark charlie twice in a row and she stole his car? sheesh, man. off your game

great, now dean gets to feel guilty about beating the shit out of charlie

CHARLIE Yeah, well, there's one thing that you have that he didn't. You're a Winchester. I forgive you, Dean. DEAN Yeah, well, I don't. CHARLIE I know. Kind of your move. How's that working out for you, huh?

tell him, charlie

<3

SAM She's right, Dean. You can do this. We can do this. DEAN Then let's get to work.

yes we can

i'm glad they keep bringing back charlie, i've really come to love her and the dynamic she has with them. but i wish they'd given her less nonsense plotlines

the amount of redhead recurring characters past couple seasons is pretty funny. it's like riverdale, overrun

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 10x11 #charlie bradbury #barclay hope #spnhiky #hiky #riverdale #the killing

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 2d

*Warning Adult Content*

Kitten - Part 4

- Knox -

"Goddamn it, Finn," Knox slams a fist down on the table and everyone jumps in their seats. "You know where our territory begins and ends, so why the fuck were you at Club Inferno tonight?"

Finn, now bandaged up, casts an apologetic look at Knox.

He hates being such a colossal disappointment to the man who basically gave him his life back, yet here he is causing trouble even when trying to do something good.

"I went there to meet a woman," Finn quietly explains. "We've been talking for a while and tonight was her first night dancing on stage. I was there to show support, and honestly, I didn't plan on sticking around for long. I thought I'd go unnoticed but I brought the guys with me for backup just in case."

"The idiots who agreed to go with him are new prospects who didn't know any better," Gavin says. "I thought Rex was smarter than that, but apparently not. Finn used them, guaranteed they'd get patched in quicker if they helped him out tonight. They'll be punished along with Finn."

Knox rises from his seat, jaw ticking and eyes seeing nothing but red.

"You got us into a war because you wanted to score extra points with the woman you've been fucking? Is this a goddamn joke or what?"

"I'm sorry," Finn whispers, averting Knox's gaze. "I accept whatever punishment is to come but... please don't kick me out, Pres. I'm nothing without this MC. Everyone here is like family to me and I..."

"Relax, Finn. I'm not that fucking dramatic," Gavin laughs. "Good pussy or whatever it is you're into, can make the strongest man do questionable things. I'd go into battle for my ol' lady in a heartbeat and I'd expect everyone sitting here to have my back. You fucked up and you'll pay for it. We can't bring our dead back but what we can do is avenge them. That being said, I want everyone to keep an ear to the ground. The Jackals could strike at any moment, so we need to remain extra vigilant when going out and doing runs."

Twenty minutes later, Gavin ends the meeting and pulls Knox aside.

"What information did you get out of that kid you brought here?" Gavin asks when they're alone. "Anything we can use against The Jackals?"

Knox shakes his head.

"He barely knew Shaun and he doesn't know what could be on that USB. He was basically in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. I plan to monitor him for a few days, see if he comes up with anything new or sticks to the story he originally told me, then I'll send him home."

"I'll allow it. Now go get some rest, brother. It's been a long fucking day."

Gavin slaps Knox on the back before heading upstairs.

When Knox returns to his room, he's greeted with an awkward scene.

Everett is standing on one side of the room hunched over in a defensive position and Cole is on the opposite side with scratches all over his face and forearms, some of them bleeding.

Exhaling a deep breath, Knox looks at Cole for an explanation.

"That kid's a damn psycho," Cole exclaims, panting slightly. "Ten minutes after you left, he tried to make a run for it. I stopped him, then he started attacking me. His fucking nails are shaper than a cat's. Look at my damn face, Knox. Look at what he did to me."

Cole dramatically points at his face, his skin a bright, angry red.

"We should've shot him in that damn alley..."

"It's just a few scratches you big baby," Everett taunts. "Suck it the fuck up already."

Knox smirks, looking at Everett.

"So it's true, kitten? Did you really try to run when I explicitly told you that you wouldn't be going home tonight?"

"He's ten times smaller than you, so I thought I could take him down," Everett replies, keeping his eyes on Cole.

"I clearly underestimated his stamina."

Knox dismisses Cole and then orders Everett to sit at the foot of the bed.

He obeys without putting up another fight.

Knox stands before Everett, looking down at him with his hands clasped behind his back.

His grey eyes explore Everett's, seemingly searching for something that he can't quite put a name on.

"I've been informed that Shaun was much more important than we all thought. He's the son of my rival and now that he's dead, a war will follow."

"Okay?"

"You're right in the middle of it, Everett. You're in danger as much as we are."

"What do you mean I'm in danger? I didn't kill anybody."

"That's true but it won't be long before The Jackals discover you were the last person to see Shaun alive," Knox says. "When they realize that package will never get delivered, they'll want to know where it is. Safe to assume they'll either think you have it or that you know where it is."

Everett cradles his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

"I can't believe this is happening to me."

"Now you see why it's imperative you hang around here for a few days," Knox concludes, wrapping up his plan to pull more information out of Everett. "The Jackals can't touch you here. You're safe behind these gates, I promise."

"What about my friends? My family?"

Everett stands and shouts, weakly shoving Knox in the chest.

"You took my phone and never gave it back, asshole. They're probably worried sick about me."

Knox acts before he can talk himself out of it.

He cups Everett's face with one hand, his thumb stroking Everett's cheek.

His skin is fever-hot to the touch.

"You've been through a lot tonight, Everett. You should really get some rest before you pass out." Everett blinks, unmoving.

"Exactly where do you expect me to sleep?"

"In here with me. Where else would I send you, kitten?" Knox smiles, his grey eyes shimmering with mischief. "My bed is big enough for the both of us. I'll behave if you do."

[tartt9]

@belasso asked //

the loss was a hard one. ted knows jamie takes man city losses harder than any other. he understands the stake they have, the history and the trauma. it's why he tries to keep an extra close eye on their ace whenever the pitch is shared by richmond and the champs. it's why he ushered jamie into the boot room post match when the boy looked like he was about to implode in on himself, and it's why he took him into his arms for a comforting hug once the door shut behind them. " i know these kinds of losses get to you, but they're not all on you, jamie, " ted begins, his voice soft, instinctively dropping a kiss to the crown of jamie's head, like he often does to henry after the boy's had a rough go of it. " we win as a team, and we lose as a team. me and all those boys out there are here for you, just like i know you're gonna be there for them. you're not alone in this. "

Jamie hates this. He doesn't like to lose to begin with, but losing to City feels like he's been shot in the chest every single time it happens. And it keeps fucking happening, doesn't it. Premier League Champions, every single match graphic City posts boasts [ because, yes, jamie still follows his old club on twitter. he doesn't engage, but he sees. and seeing is enough ]. He plays his fucking heart out there on the pitch, he leaves everything he has in front of those fans, bares his soul to them in the only way they'll accept [ high stakes football plays. taking tackles, taking the roughness de villardi always lays into him with. and getting up. fighting. all ninety minutes, jamie fights]. The crowd wants to see a footballer in the throes of passion? Jamie will give them passion. He will give them a fucking show.

Jamie has always hated United. That's why he plays matches against them so hard. At the Dogtrack, at Old Trafford, Jamie's a battler. That's something he'll never give up. But... against City? Jamie loves City. There will always be something inside of him for those boys in blue, for the club that saw potential in him when he was just a kid from a council estate lacing up his first pair of boots. But with love comes pain, doesn't it. The pain of not having the name O'Gara on the pitch anymore [ retirement, a footballer's first death. the loss of a brother, a friend, a mentor ] to pester with all of Jamie's affection whenever he crosses the halfway line to attack. With love comes admiration. The admiration of a Spanish man in City's technical area, a man who truly has nothing but love in his heart for the game, for his players [ and that includes jamie - jamie greets him after every fucking loss, hugs him, offers a well played, boss - for pep was the first gaffer to see potential in jamie - the reason jamie is richmond's ace now is because pep saw something in him in 2019 ] and the joy on his face when they bring him a win. With love comes torture. The torture of a phone buzzing [ though, oddly enough, the phone hasn't buzzed since wembley... ] and the words that are sure to come through it if Jamie picks it up.

When Ted nods him into the boot room, Jamie's got his hands shoved up under his kit, tugging at the hem, sweaty, boots still laced firmly onto his feet [ as if there'll miraculously be a third half, a chance for jamie to prove that they haven't lost yet, that they can't have lost yet - the match is still going on, he knows de villardi's weak spots, he swears-- ] head bowed. He knows Ted isn't the yelling sort [ though ted has shouted at him before... only once, but it has happened, and jamie cannot forget it no matter how hard he tries ] but part of his brain - that torture part - has conditioned him into it. Losing to City means yelling. Means abrasiveness. Means he didn't do his job well enough. Doesn't deserve the 9 on his back. The 9's supposed to be the goalscorer, the star. And, put on a show he did, but score... he did not. So he's prepared for that abrasiveness, prepared for that yelling, that lecture, the hand shoving at his head.

But what he gets is a hug. And what he gets is a soft, kind voice. And soft, kind words. And a kiss where he expected a shove. Jamie can feel tears coming to his eyes as his arms come up to hug Ted back, feeling so small. He can't find the words he wants to say - they're all mucked up in the back of his throat, all stuck there, dying there. All he can do is hold Ted tighter, afraid that he'll drown on all of those words in his throat if he lets go. ( I wasn't enough. I could've done more. Sam was wide open. Dani's pass was perfect. Isaac's defence was remarkable. And I wasn't good enough. ) Ted's voice rings clear in his ears. We win as a team, and we lose as a team. Out there, you're just one of eleven. Me and all those boys out there are here for you. Thanks for speaking your mind. Please, continue to do so. You're not alone in this. Jamie tilts his head, pressing his face into Ted's neck, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He's sure that Ted can feel Jamie's tears on his skin, but he can't bring himself to care. He's a man - he's allowed to cry. Men can be strong and they can be soft at the same time. Soft is not a bad thing, Jamie. "Thank you, Coach..." he finally manages to get words out. It hurts, but he does it. Jamie doesn't know how long has passed - if any of the lads are still in the dressing room, if Beard and Roy are waiting for Ted to give a post-match speech about being a goldfish, but Jamie is still holding to Ted like a lifeline, not prepared to let him go - not prepared to be released, to be expected to swim on his own. He's still half-certain that he'll drown.

#belasso #trick i ...... am so sorry this got so long........ #answered !

[mycheerykid]

Perhaps shops ought to re-label altering rooms as "capsules of disgrace." Little stalls you stroll into once you wish to query your price and worth. Am I the one one who feels this fashion?Initially, there's the lighting. Let's face it: fluorescents don't flatter any face. Then there are the mirrors. We could also be higher off with the carnival freaks. Perhaps I would like garments higher if I seemed like a stretched-out piece of licorice carrying them. I do not know if it is the angle or the standard; all I do know is that almost all dresser mirrors are ineffective.Lastly, there are the dimensions labels. You are taking the quantity you suppose you want, solely to find that somebody scored on a curve after they assigned these digits to that pair of denims. Apparently her curve did not take your curves under consideration!It would not matter who you blame: infants, ageing, lengthy hours at work, or the man who at all times leaves sweet within the break room. the reality is that there's nothing irregular within the change of physique. In truth, it is virtually a assure that your physique will not look the identical at forty because it did at twenty. Frankly, it will be slightly unusual if at sixty you seemed thirty, or at thirty you seemed 13. But there's this unstated strain most of us face to maintain our our bodies from altering. We battle post-pregnancy adjustments, hoping to "bounce again" to our pre-baby methods as quick as a celeb. We refuse to “develop previous”, praying to seek out the proper merchandise and rituals to keep away from the indicators that we've got celebrated extra birthdays. For some, frustration over physique change is as widespread as lunchtime. They emphasize a full abdomen that shrinks barely throughout digestion.However at present I ask you: Is it extra regular for our bodies to vary or keep the identical? Wasn't it God who designed our stomachs to develop whereas we eat and our hips to develop after we're anticipating a toddler?Though entrepreneurs inform us that we are able to purchase all the proper issues to battle with our our bodies and win, I'm wondering if there is not extra to the story. Perhaps the physique change is not as unhealthy as we have been advised it's. How a lot disgrace may we take away if we stopped preventing our our bodies and as an alternative allowed them the grace to vary? Listed here are three concepts to grace your altering physique.1 // Acknowledge that bodily change is a traditional a part of the human expertise. It's straightforward for us to simply accept that little kids turn into kids who turn into youngsters after which turn into adults. However there isn't any scientific purpose for us to imagine that change stops at that time. Puberty, being pregnant, menopause, ageing: physique change is a traditional a part of all the pieces. Our our bodies reside organisms; They're at all times adapting to what we ask of them. In some seasons, our our bodies will look completely different than in different seasons, relying on what we're going by means of. Every part we expertise in life we ​​expertise by means of our our bodies. Give your physique the grace to vary and adapt to no matter circumstance or season you end up in.two // Notice that change might be wholesome.Do you know that when your physique feels pressured, it adapts that can assist you operate higher? For a few of us, which means including just a few kilos in case we're in peril of lacking a meal. Your physique was designed by God to assist hold you alive. No to win magnificence pageants. If it will increase or thins in sure seasons, give your self grace that your physique is attempting that can assist you get by means of it and keep alive.As a substitute of denying him meals or preventing him like he is your worst enemy, attempt to decide to be on the identical group as your physique. God created your physique to be sensible sufficient to let you know once you're drained, hungry, thirsty, or overwhelmed.

What wouldn't it be prefer to hear and reply to indicators out of your physique? Positive, as a single mother it is not at all times straightforward to relaxation once you want it. However even stopping for 2 minutes to take a seat on the sofa, take a deep breath, and shut your eyes can reset your physique to face no matter comes subsequent. Physique change isn't the enemy. Your physique can also be not the enemy. The true enemy might be all these salespeople's voices telling you to disregard what your physique wants and observe their plan.3 // Know that God made your physique GOOD, irrespective of how you're feeling.There are some seasons when chances are you'll not like the best way your physique appears to be like. However, throughout these instances, you could have a singular alternative to apply your religion. Are you able to imagine that your worth is greater than the way you look or what measurement you put on? Are you aware that you just had been made on function for a function? Are you able to imagine the reality of God's phrase: that you just had been introduced collectively, deliberately, by the identical God who created the solar, moon, and stars?At any time when we're tempted to place down our our bodies or really feel overwhelmed with frustration over the influence of ageing, infants, or a busy schedule on our our bodies, keep in mind that physique disgrace by no means comes from God. It is not sitting in heaven shaking your head about consuming takeout once more. Disgrace by no means helps us attain our bodily well being objectives anyway. As a substitute, I think about God smiling and reminding us to not fear. (Matthew 6:25-34) Of all of the issues we stress about, I'm wondering if our jean measurement should not be off that checklist. Our our bodies won't ever cease altering, so why battle them to adapt to a sure supreme? As a substitute, why not keep in mind that God loves us past measure? Even after we do not feel liked, his love would not depend upon our emotions. We can provide grace to our altering our bodies and really feel peace as we pursue its function for our lives, irrespective of our measurement or form. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '258516525820625'); fbq('track', 'PageView');

[itsfkntrue]

It's OK to go...

In many ways I didn't want to write this, but I can't deny the insane way that this story ends.  It's the beginning and the middle which are the hard parts.

My dad was my hero, when I was a kid.  He was funny, successful, jacked, and had excellent taste in cars.  He did as he pleased,  most of the time, and believed that most things were negotiable if you played the game right.  He also fucked up, alot, but that came later.

So he was my hero, and the driving force behind my athletic passion to win.  I had the talent, but he gave me that extra motivation in his face as I walked off the field with a win, a goal scored.  Looking back it was ever present, and not understood at the time, but it kinda dominated me.

The day his father died, I saw him cry for the first time.  As I walked out of the funeral behind the coffin, waiting at the door like they always do just to really fkn torment the ones closest, I saw a car waiting on the street outside.  Coffin…car…tears.

I hug my family and hop in the car, they go to the cemetery to which I am ashamed to say I have still not been to.  One day I will.

I left bc I was the captain and leading scorer in the state and my team was in the soccer. sectional playoffs. I had to go, and it was going to be close. I believe the funeral was scheduled so I could make it, but no one ever told me.

I got to the field after changing in the car, ran out to the game and it immediatly started,  45 seconds later I scored.  We won one nothing and they hit the post, a round post, 3 times that day.  It was meant to be.  My family came after the burial, and my dad told me that night, behind I'm sure 3 or 4 dewars, that he loved me for what I gave him that day.   A gift 10 years in the making, and the greatest gift I ever gave anyone.

It was all decline from there on out with failed businesses,  depression, anxiety, alchohol, financial stress, and watching my stoic hero continue to fall.

The hardest day was when I told him he was no longer in charge of the family.   He sullenly accepted it like a man who had someone finally call out the truth he had known for years.  After, we got a drink together at his dive bar to just take the edge off and there I met his "friends".

After grabbing a bar seat, 3 different people came up to us and were super excited to meet me and share that they believed that my dad was the most amazing person they ever met.  God knows the stories he must have told over numerous chardonnays to the barflies in there, but it appears he was their champion like he was for me once.  It was beautiful and sad all at once.

After a routine biopsy surgery, my dad coded and was revived.  Revived to a remaining life of psychosis and confusion which lasted for 5 to 6 years.  In his mind he was living his life, windsurfing and closing deals, and feeding his dog from a supply of snacks that he didn't have.  He was in his mind, and that was better than being aware of the shithole hospital psych ward he was contained in.  We considered it in a demented way, better than what he was before. Sober, smoke free, but lost.

I saw him for the last time in December of 2020 in the middle of covid.  He was in terrible shape, could barely talk and was going to pass "any day".  I said my goodbyes and told him I loved him, to which i got the only noticeable response from someone clearly out of it.  I always thought he didn't hear me, and it bothered me as I left.  It continued to bother me.

2 weeks later I'm walking around my hood, and he was still barely holding on everyday.  I believe there is a connection between people that is not fully understood,  and 100 years from now maybe we will figure it out.  I felt a wave of connection hit me, so I decided i wanted to talk to him…

"Dad we love you and it's OK to go.  It's OK to go dad you're gonna be OK.  We love you, it's gonna be ok"

I felt peace wash over me, as if this was overdue.  I went inside and back to work until 2 hours later I got the call.  Dad passed away…

"what time was it when he died"  I asked...

It was 30 minutes after I "talked" to him.  2 weeks holding on and then, gone that day, that time.   My hero completed his fall, but I believe to this day he landed peacefully.

Once more Dad, we love you and I know you're ok.

[darwindrawz]

So my dad told me I looked like I was cast as an extra in The Sandlot today.

For reference this is more or less what I looked like today.

#darwin said something #darwin drew again #he literally looked at my outfit and was like #you look like a kid who barely scored a part as an extra in the sandlot #I. #I fuckding wheezed #like sir I know for a fact you looked exactly like this in the 90s #14 year old jason is still trapped in his body somewhere and jealous I’m cooler than him

[bests-mistakes]

for me?

summary: shinichiro's gotten himself into trouble again, and you're starting to enjoy getting him out of it.

word count: 5,026™

warnings: swearing. out of character. shin hugs a girl again.

notes: reader and shinichiro are 17. this conducts the first part, i will see you all in the second :)

thank you all for reading this series up to now! i'm so happy to be able to share it with you all, and i hope to see you again in december when i resume this series again :)

i've edited this again and added an extra at the bottom!

three more chapters after this! and then part two starts!

“you introduced me as your what?” your eyes widen in disbelief.

“come on, it’s not a big deal. we’re friends anyway.” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant (more so for himself than you).

"no offence shin... but you do realize just how unbelievable this sounds, right?" you quirk a brow.

he sighs, "i know, i know, but i need your help. please! or else i'm gonna be indebted to mikey!"

so this is why shinichiro is so adamant on you agreeing,

"you made a bet with a seven year old?"

"yes." shinichiro sighs, trying not to use his last resort. “well, i’ve already told the people attending the wedding, so might as well.”

“you owe me.” you grumble.

damnit. you’ve thought of it before he has. shinichiro sano always seems to be in your debt, and he's afraid that the phrase "i owe you" will no longer have any impact on you if he keeps progressing like this.

“have you told your family yet?” you ask.

“yeah. they said it was no big deal.” he shrugs.

that is an understatement. emma, who has started becoming a hopeless romantic, is excited that you accepted shinichiro's request and her mind begins to wander into a future where you become her older sister.

mikey, who can't believe that shinichiro can score a girl, let alone you, assumes his brother is lying.

his grandfather has lectured him about wasting your time and making you look bad, knowing just how much his grandson puts you through.

“well, when’s the date?” you sigh.

“next week. i’ll pick you up beforehand.”

“alright.” you sigh again, waving your friend goodbye and heading on your way home. you wonder what will come of that day.

"(Y/N), (Y/N)! look at the cake! the bride and groom look so pretty!"

"it's a gorgeous cake, emma, but we can't eat from it yet." you carry her and her grabby hands away from poking the wedding cake.

"when i get married, i want to have a cake just like this one!" she exclaims, almost completely ignoring your statement.

"alright, baby, i'll make sure of it." you smile.

she blushes at the nickname, and any shenanigans she has planned beforehand are left long abandoned as long as you call her it again.

"do you have any family members you wanna see?" you speak up once you notice that she's stopped.

she nods, "i wanna show them my dress." motioning to the pretty pink dress she wears.

you put her down, watching as she runs to socialize with her other family members and friends.

it's barely been half an hour into the wedding and you already find yourself growing tired. shinichiro is going to need to do more than just owe you.

you make your way to the banquet, where cold water with ice cubes is being served. you gladly chug one of them in one go, hoping that no one has seen you. you throw the disposable cup in a nearby garbage, deciding to look at the array of food being served.

you find manjiro shoving his face into the appetizers, a few kids surrounding him. you recognize one of them to be keisuke, his infamous childhood friend.

"manjiro!" you whisper-shout. "stop being rude! you're finishing all of the appetizers, and stuffing them down your face!"

"yeah, mikey! you heard what (Y/N) said!" keisuke adds on (and not to help your cause).

he stops once he hears your voice, and you take this as a chance to wipe the crumbs off his face with your handkerchief. you hand him a mint, to which he chews on and directly drinks water after-so. how this kid lives the way he does, you don't know.

"sorry, sis." mikey apologizes, looking down at his shoes (despite knowing that the moment you turn your back he'll resume what he was doing).

"what do you mean by 'sis'!" keisuke exclaims, but manjiro and you ignore him.

you sigh, "it's fine, it's fine, but make sure the other kids have a chance to eat some too."

"mikey, what do you mean by 'sis'?!"

"huh? oh, well, (Y/N) and shinichiro are gonna get married soon, so i should start calling her sis now."

you quirk a brow, hoping manjiro will share his sources for the obvious lie.

"where'd you hear that from?!" keisuke shouts.

"emma." mikey shrugs.

keisuke turns to you frantically. "(Y/N), you're not getting married, right, (Y/N)?!"

"no, keisuke." you chuckle, leaning down to pat his head. "me and shinichiro are not getting married."

keisuke's eyes shine brightly, hope filling him as he begins to think that his one-sided crush might not be unrequited after all.

manjiro seems to notice this, "give up already."

keisuke begins to shout, and manjiro yells back, and you slip away during the chaos to try and find shinichiro before they suck you into it.

you find him next to his grandfather, the two conversing (he's receiving another lecture for not participating in the wedding's events).

"shinichiro!" you wave.

he doesn’t reply, turning to face you and offers a smile instead. when you make your way to him, you notice him staring at a crowd ahead. you greet his grandfather, who in turn entrusts his grandson to you, making his way to his other grandson. you follow shinichiro's eyes, where a few aunts are speaking to each other in a crowd. they notice you.

“shit, incoming!” he whispers.

the two of you face his relatives, putting on smiles and awkwardly latching your arms with each other's.

“oh, you must be the girl our little shin-shin brought along!” a tall aunt with eye glasses resting on her head clasps her hands together.

shinichiro quietly scoffs at the nickname, and you chuckle softly.

“he’s never mentioned having a girlfriend before! you're his very first, you must be incredibly special to him!” his shorter aunt joins in, the bun on top of her head shaking along with her excitement.

“dear, look!” the taller one calls upon her husband, who also seems to be the shorter ones brother. “would you look at that, shinichiro's brought a girl!”

shinichiro lets out another sigh, knowing the day is going to be long.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you.” you nod respectfully, hoping to take the lead.

“and she’s respectful too!” the shorter one quips.

“you hear that, shinichiro? it seems like these two ladies are going to make the next wedding yours.” the man laughs, before excusing himself back to the buffet.

(in your mind, you hope they're not lying about making the next wedding yours. you can't help but feel a bit bad for little keisuke.)

they seem to notice shinichiro's hesitance due to his lack of speaking.

“we’ll leave you two love-birds alone.” the shorter one giggles, and the two walk off together.

“your aunts are quite lively.” you smile, looking up at him.

“ugh.” shinichiro groans. “weddings are so tiring.”

he has a point. "i was with emma and manjiro a few moments ago, you should spend some time with them." you grin evilly, wanting him to suffer at the wrath of the seven year olds.

shinichiro just exhales, leaning on your head. you let him, wrapping your arms around one of his, knowing it'll be a long day for both of you.

"i'm glad you left your hair down today." he feels your shoulder move as you speak, and he swears that there can be no closer than this. "are you tired already?"

"mhm." he nods, and you feel his hair shift against your neck.

"c'mon, let's go sit down somewhere." you say, and he clings to you as you walk.

shinichiro is adorable when tired (something that you'll never tell him), mostly because he gives you no trouble and acts like a little kid. you find a seat next to the banquet, and ask him if he wants some water.

he nods once more, but you remember that manjiro has tampered within that area, and decide that it's safer to get him some juice instead. you make your way to the beverage stands, looking at all the options presented.

“you must be the girl all the aunties are talking about.” a pretty girl laughs. her voice is sweet, you want to make her laugh again.

“word got around that fast?” your eyes widen.

“mhm.” she drapes an arm around your shoulder, giving you a better look at her features -- you can't stop looking at her. “we all thought shinichiro was gonna die single, until you showed up.”

right, shinichiro. you glance over to the boy, leaning his head back against the wall in an attempt to get some rest. you finally notice how handsome he looks, in his slacks that are a little too short and button-up that he's put on hastily, leaving the first button or two open. you feel guilty for getting side-tracked.

you would have forgotten about your date if she hadn’t mentioned him, but the close proximity between you and her is the only thing on your mind.

“so, how much is he paying you? 1250¥? 2500¥?”

you chuckle at the irony, and decide to cover for him. “he’s not paying me anything, but he offered me an invite and i decided to come along.”

“yeah, i was joking. we both know he’s too broke for that.”

you both chuckle at her joke.

“oi, sana!” another one of shinichiro's cousins calls her. “it’s time for you to take the pictures.”

“coming!” she shouts back. “well, i’d love to stay and chat, but that was my call.” she gives your shoulder one last squeeze. "i recommend the apple juice, by the way! come find me after the wedding so we can keep talking!"

you nod eagerly, thanking her as you fill a disposable cup with apple juice. you make your way back to shinichiro, who downs the drink in just a few seconds.

"do you want more?" you furrow your eye-brows at him, watching as he leans forward over his knees. you begin to grow worried.

he nods his head no, instead patting the seat next to him for you to sit down on. "'m sleepy."

"when did you sleep yesterday?"

"'round four." he mumbles.

if you recall correctly, you remember shinichiro being outside your house to pick you up at eight in the morning. meaning, he'd gotten up a few hours prior to ten o'clock to get ready.

"why were you awake so late?" you sigh.

"studyin'."

you remember shinichiro telling you something about how he hasn't applied for college yet, but he can be eligible for an apprenticeship if he studies the usual six-month content in three and a half.

you remember questioning why they want him to study all the content in half the time, and shinichiro adding, "don't forget the extra few weeks."

you turn to face him, brushing the hair out of his face. you place a hand on his cheek, noticing that it's much warmer than usual.

"shin, you got a fever?"

"dunno."

you're not sure whether you're supposed to focus on keeping him awake or keeping him cool. you're angry with yourself for not noticing that he's gotten careless with himself, and you're angry with him for not telling you.

you decide that if you try and aid his festering fever, he'll fall asleep, and you have no choice but to keep him awake.

"'m sorry, shin." you sigh, getting up to look through your pockets for money. you remember seeing a coffee shop nearby to where the wedding reception is being held, hoping that you can get him one to keep him awake.

his eyebrows furrow, confused as to what you're apologizing for. "what are you looking for?"

"money." you sigh. "i was gonna get you coffee to help you stay awake for the time being."

he smiles, taking his wallet out from his back pocket. "i got some with me, let's go."

"you stay here, i'll get it for you." you reach forward.

shinichiro has recently been hitting something of a growth spurt, which makes him much taller than he was before, and therefore taller than you.

he waves around the wallet in the air, lingering over your head. "we're going together."

you sigh, "stay close to me."

the two of you link arms and inform his grandfather of your plans, to which shinichiro gets another lecture, and you get another praise for looking after him.

once you reach the coffee shop, you have to admit you look out of place among the other people. shinichiro doesn't seem to mind, tucking his hands into his pockets while your arms stay linked (you can't tell, but he's elated that you're worried for him and will most likely spend the next few days caring for him).

when it's your turn to order, the cashier does a double-take trying to figure out if what they see in front of them is real or not.

"one small coffee, please." shinichiro says as normally as he can, but sounding evidently tired to you.

"with one cream, one sweetener in it." you add.

they nod, coming back with the warm drink shortly and handing you the spare change as well as a message, "congratulations on your wedding!"

"oh, we're not-"

"thank you, have a great day!" shinichiro states, much more enthusiastic than he is when he orders.

leaning forward, he places whatever is left of his change within the tip-box, leaving the cashiers eyes wide and you confused. you don't bother to ask him why he's acting this way, excusing it on his state and deciding to help him through it.

the coffee seems to have a positive effect on shinichiro, giving him a temporary energy boost which allows him to participate within the wedding's activities (along with his permanent energy boost, you).

you're wandering around the area when something comes to mind.

"i met with your cousin earlier, sana." your hands clasp together as your eyes plead with him. “so, could i have her number?”

“later.” he rolls his eyes.

"why not now?

“i’m hungry.” he lazily blinks, heading over to the buffet table.

you notice that when tired, shinichiro acts a lot like mikey. it can be why the little mischievous blonde turns out to be the way he is now, the laziest little boy you know, and it encourages you to keep learning about shinichiro.

“come back here! you can’t ignore me forever, you know! shinichiro, i swear to god-"

he cuts you off by placing a piece of cake into your mouth, and you chew by reflex.

“this cake is good.”

“i know.”

“now, you-”

“ah, shinichiro!” another lady comes to greet you. “you haven’t introduced me to this pretty girl yet!”

you blush from the compliment.

“this is (Y/N), my date.” he motions to you.

“who would’ve thought that you’d finally bring a girl on my wedding date!” she squeels, then turns to you. “shinichiro's told me a lot about you.”

“oh, he has?” you ask.

“of course! when i told him i was getting married, he told me he’d bring a date with him this time.” she informs. “who would’ve thought that my little cousin shin-shin who i used to babysit would grow up to be a man!”

“mizuki...” he grumbles.

“you truly do live up to what i’ve heard, (Y/N). every previous gathering that shinichiro attended, he’d be distracting himself with his siblings or awkwardly interacting with others after his grandfather has scolded him.”

“oh.” you nod. quite unexpected of shinichiro, who seems to thrive on uniting others. “how has your wedding been so far…”

“you can call me mizuki.”

“how had your wedding been so far, miss mizuki? is there anything i can do?”

“ah, it’s been well. you’ve already done enough by attending,” she smiles. “but who knows, maybe the next wedding in the family will be yours.”

your face warms again, and shinichiro gets ready to drag you off.

“well, my husband has stalled enough for me to be here, i’ve gotta go now!” she waves.

"her dress is pretty." you say.

"hm." shinichiro hums in agreement.

"i wonder what prompted her to have a western-style wedding?" you ponder.

"what, you never been to one before?" he teases.

“no.”

“is that why you didn’t wanna come here in the first place?”

“sort of.” you shrug. “i didn’t really know anyone here, and i didn’t wanna intrude. i’m actually happy i came, though. your family’s really fun.”

“yeah, sorry. i can give you sana’s number now, if you want.”

you can tell he still feels bad, which makes you feel bad in return.

“you don’t have to feel bad, you know.” you reassure. “but if you do… there is a way to make up for it.”

“alright, how?”

“close your eyes.” you instruct.

he does as told, leaning forward slowly without you noticing. you see manjiro running near you with a piece of half-eaten cake, and you take it from him.

he shouts a "hey!" but you shush him before shinichiro notices (not that he would, too busy envisioning the rest of your life together). you place a considerable piece of the cake onto shinichiro's nose, making sure not to dirty your fingers and to mess his face with the frosting. his eyes open on impact, looking right down on yours.

“what's this?! why's it so... weird?"

you chuckle "oh, just some of manjiro's cake."

"ew, gross!" he begins to swipe the cake off his face immediately, searching for his younger brother to rub it off on him.

one glare from his grandfather is enough to send him in the other direction, in search of napkins and maybe a compensation for the trouble-making blonde known as manjiro.

when he doesn't return, you decide to search for him (leaving a confused manjiro with an empty plate). you find him grabbing napkins and trying to get the desert off his face.

“is it all off?” he asks once spotting you.

“no.” you lie, grabbing the napkin from him and plastering the piece on his nose again.

you begin to laugh, uncontrollably so as your arms grasp for your middle as some kind of grounding method. shinichiro just watches, unamused (and enamoured, he loves when you laugh, especially because of him, even if it is at him and not with him) as you struggle to form coherent breaths.

you wipe an invisible tear by your eye, "no matter how many years pass and how old you get, you'll always be a child, shin."

"shut up." he grumbles, tired of your antics.

“oi, shinichiro!” his cousin calls him over, the same one that called sana over. he laughs once he notices the cake on his face. “sana wants to take pictures of you and your date.”

“alright.” he nods to him, then looks down at you. “please get it off this time.”

“okay, okay.” you rolls your eyes, wiping it off and folding the napkin, throwing it out in the nearest trash bin.

the two of you make your way over to her, and she stands ready with her camera in her hands. she does photography. all the more reason to like her.

“okay, shinichiro! place your arm around her waist!” she instructs, seemingly in her element.

“are you comfortable with that?” he whispers to you.

“it’s just for the picture, right? it’s fine.” you answer.

he does as told, looking up at his cousin. “happy?”

“place it lower.”

“just take the picture already.” he whines childishly.

“no! it has to be perfect.” sana responds, whispering the next part, “especially this one.”

“come one, shin.” you chuckle. “listen to your cousin.”

he grumbles, but complies nonetheless.

“okay, (Y/N). place your arm around shinichiro's waist.” she continues.

you do as told, and wait for sana to take the picture. instead, she puts the camera down.

“no offence, but you guys look awkward.” she shrugs. “make it look natural, like you’re the couple getting married.”

shinichiro stands frozen, his sudden weakness for women kicking in. you, on the other hand, flash a smile, pulling him close to you. his eyes widen in surprise, and sana scrambles for her camera.

“perfect!” she exclaims, taking a few quick shots.

“can i see?” you ask, approaching her as shinichiro stood still.

“nuh-uh!” she raises the camera up high, whispering to herself again, “not until the aunties do.”

“please!”

“i’ll send it to you once i get them on my laptop. shin gave you my number, right?”

you nod, despite not having the fake-blonde’s number.

“well, my job here is done! make sure to keep in touch, (Y/N)!”

“i will!”

and you mean it, planning to squeeze out the twelve-digits from shinichiro, even if you need to use force.

shinichiro leans along the wall of the elevator, exhausted beyond tired and in need of three good night's sleep. the effect of coffee stopped around half an hour ago, mid-way into cleaning after the end of the wedding.

after cleaning, you're roped into staying with the little kids as the family chats with each other, after the extra guests have left.

the only people remaining are the bride's and groom's direct family, and shinichiro's family waiting for you both in his car.

“shin-shin, huh?” you let out a weak laugh.

“shut up.” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to his forehead and letting it fall down his face.

“did you have fun?” you ask.

“yeah, i guess.” he leans back farther. “thanks for keeping me company.”

“no problem.” you say.

a pause. “hey, shinichiro? could i have sana’s number?"

“later.” he hisses.

a comfortable silence overtakes the elevator, as the two of you watch the numbers go down.

“you looked nice today, you know.” he speaks up.

“thanks. you too.”

"you always look nice."

"thank you." you repeat, much more bashfully.

shinichiro closes his eyes. he's surprised you haven’t been parading him with questions, like ‘you offered to invite me, you didn't have to?’ or ‘what’d your cousin mean when she said you told her a lot about me?’.

he wants you to ask, wants to answer you without directly answering you. sure, he’s been stuck up, but how can he not be?

seeing all the married couples so happy, he can't be anything but jealous. how do they get along so well? how is it so easy to start something like that?

he slumps farther down the wall, and continues to do so, deep in thought. he's too tired to think straight, he feels he can fall asleep at any given moment if his eyes close for so much as more than a second.

he feels himself almost fall down, then a pair of arms hooking themselves underneath his own arms.

“be careful, dumbass.” you chuckle tiredly.

maybe he doesn't need to be thinking so deep into it. you're by his side, here and now.

he smiles. “thanks.”

EXTRA

your telephone rings, and you know who it is immediately because no one will dare call you at such an early time, other than shinichiro, of course. the numbers on your alarm clock shine "7:46 AM", your alarm has yet to ring. you pick up.

"yes, shinichiro?" you grumble.

"could you come now?" he says, not in a mind to exchange pleasantries.

"what mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

"i can't tie... my tie." he almost whispers, too embarrassed to admit it.

"ask your grandfather for help. you've just cost me fourteen minutes of extra sleep." you groan.

"yeah but grandpa does it too tight! and i... don't know anyone i can ask for help." he sighs -- is he implying that none of his friends know how to tie ties?

"you're so much trouble." you sigh along with him. "are you already dressed?"

"yeah, why?"

"come over. i'll fix your tie and after that you can wait for me while i get ready. we'll go back to pick up your family when i'm done, how's that sound?"

shinichiro agrees, the same way he always does when you come up with a plan; he trusts that you're always right. he's there sooner than expected, with pants that are a bit too short and a wrinkled shirt. the blazer seems to be the only thing in decent condition.

"you're kidding me, right?"

it's 7:54 AM and you've just barely finished your morning routine. he just laughs nervously, before you drag him inside to get him fixed.

"take off the shirt, and leave it on my bed. i'll have it ironed soon." he's nervous, but does as you say. you inspect the blazer, finding a small and almost noticeable stain along the breast pocket. "this too," you point to it. "did this belong to your grandfather?"

he nods anxiously, "he said he wore it in his 'sprier' days."

"then why don't you take care of it?"

"it was manjiro's fault." he replies almost instantly, earning a tired laugh from you.

"have you had breakfast?"

"a cup of coffee."

you sigh again, "you're so much trouble, shin. too much trouble."

before he says anything, you're dragging him shirtless and into the kitchen to eat yesterday's leftovers as breakfast, warning him that your mother is asleep and that if she wakes up, your wrath is not the only one he'll face.

he gulps and walks on his toes in response, even washing the dishes as you figure out how to get the stain out of his blazer without washing the whole thing.

you opt to rub it off with a small cloth, doused in a mix of water and laundry detergent. you dry it off with another cloth, not wanting to use a hair dryer and wake up your mother, and then hang up the damp blazer on a hanger.

you hang the button-up on a hanger, placing it on a hook as you begin to steam the article of clothing. shinichiro watches in awe as the wrinkles disappear with each spray of hot water vapour.

"woah... i didn't know that existed..." he whispers.

"i know!" you exclaim. "these are so much better than regular irons; the clothes don't get burned from the heat and it's much easier to use, since they're only coming in contact with hot water!"

shinichiro listens attentively to every word you say, making a mental note to remind his grandfather to buy one of those.

"you're so good at everything..."

"i know."

his eyebrows furrow as his bottom lip juts out, "i take it back. you have such an ego, just like manjiro."

"remember these words when you need my help again, sano."

"wait, i take-back taking-it-back. you are good at everything."

you chuckle lightly, holding back another "i know". you redirect your attention to his pants, at least one or two inches above his ankles, since he's been hitting a growth spurt recently.

you don't want to point it out and make him feel prideful for getting taller, so you silently go to grab him a long pair of socks and tell him to change into them instead. he raises his eyebrow in confusion, in hope of receiving an answer, but you just tell him that "his ankles look strange", and he changes them with a hurtful expression (you both know the other is joking).

he takes the button-up and the blazer, telling you he's headed into the bathroom to change (you don't understand his logic, but you tell him to "change" -- put on his clothes -- in your room while you head out to grab something). you leave and return with an old bottle of mens perfume, one you're sure is older than two decades.

"it belonged to my father." you admit, taking out the glass as gently as you can from its old box.

shinichiro watches intently as you bring it closer to him -- he knows how much it matters to you, even if you aren't willing to admit that to yourself.

"he always sprayed it twice on the right side of his neck, and then twice on the left. then once on his right wrist, and once on his left." you say as you follow your own instructions.

he tries to hold in a sneeze, horribly so, and you laugh at him as his face contorts into familiarly strange expressions.

"i'm gonna put this away and get ready. don't make too much trouble."

while you prepare yourself for the next fourty-five minutes, you ask shinichiro questions like, "should i do my hair like this? leave it up?" and, "which colour would look nicer?", and he feels ecstatic that you're asking him these questions, no matter how simple of a matter it may be.

(he wonder's if you'll ask him questions like this, when you get married -- if you get married, he clarifies.)

when you change into your dress, he closes his eyes a few times to make sure he's staring at you and not hallucinating something from his best dreams.

you're wearing a pink dress with seemingly silky material, straps loosely hanging around your shoulders as the cloth ruffles and ends a little ways above your ankles.

he feels his heart beat quicken as he places a hand over it, is his heart going to explode?

"emma picked it for me, she wanted us to match colours." you smile, trying to interpret his reaction positively.

shinichiro remembers his younger sister being elated about going out with you to go dress shopping, and returning with a cute little pink dress, but he doesn't remember seeing what you bought.

"i kind of wanted it to be a surprise. should i have bought something different?" you begin to hesitate.

"you're very pretty." he manages to choke out.

your eyes widen and you try to compose yourself, "thank you."

"all the time, you're very pretty." he restates with more confidence.

"thank you." you repeat as your face burns. you clear your throat, "it's almost ten, we should get going."

he nods, as you finish up getting ready and lock up your apartment. you look down on the floor, most of it covered by your dress (from your view). shinichiro seems to notice, and lends you a hand (for the wrong reasons, but you're happy to hold his hand either way), and you take it.

you hold his hand the whole way there, long after you've gotten in the car and manjiro's pointed it out. helping shinichiro out of trouble has its perks.

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taglist: @dora-the-grownup @nyapnyat @moonandflowersfairy @crapimahuman @shin08130 @yunn-stuff @theworldis-ahead @imkumichan @ryugujii-ken @gyros-cum-sock

#tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo manji gang #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #black dragons #black dragons first generation #shinichiro sano #shinichiro sano imagines #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro imagines #shinichiro x reader

[thatgoblin]

Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy x Rookie Reader Headcannons

Leon

At first you were in awe of your lead. THE Leon S. Kennedy was showing you the ropes and helping train you for the job you'd dreamed of. Hero worship was common in this line of work, but you did your best to keep it to a minimum. You didn't want to embarrass yourself after all.

In place of that hero worship came this insatiable need to make Leon proud. Whether it was memorizing and nailing every written exam or physical test, you wanted to earn his praise.

You worked hard, harder than almost everyone it seemed. Leon never saw you slacking and saw how serious you were about the job. Protecting people was what you had always wanted to do with your life.

So when the grades came back that you weren't doing so hot, you were mortified. How could you let this happen? You didn't slack off, you studied everything you could get your hands on, hell you watched instructional videos on YouTube before bed! But you still weren't making a passing grade.

You thought you would be okay with the physical part, but no matter how hard you trained, no matter the extra hours you put in, you just couldn't seem to get what everyone else did. The moves were simple, why couldn't you just grasp them?

The only thing you thought you had going for you was the firing range, but even that was less than acceptable. Every time you tried to do something the pressure got to you and you messed up. You were so busy trying to make sure you didn't fail Leon that you were failing yourself.

It was when you were called into your commanding officer's office to speak about your grades that you were sure you were done. You were given two weeks that were used for break to study and practice and retest. But you'd already had nearly four months and the best you could do was subpar.

You were in your room, packing your bags because you knew you were going to be kicked out of the program when Leon showed up.

"Hey, Kid, you leaving for break?" He asked as he leaned against the door frame of your dorm.

"Uh. . . No," you said, hanging your head in shame. "I'm flunking out. Figured that it would just be easier to pack my bag now than wait later till I was officially asked to leave."

"What? How are you flunking?" Leon asked, straightening up. "I watch you every day and you're one of the hardest working cadets I've seen."

"Hard work doesn't mean much when you can't apply it correctly," you said. "I can't get the fighting technique right, the written exams are all a bust, and I can't even shoot a gun right. I don't deserve to be here."

"Have you asked for help or for someone to tutor you? That's what I'm here for, you know," he said, moving into the room to sit on the bed next to you.

You stared at the floor as you took a deep breath, feeling all the insecurities come rushing through to the surface.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," you said. "I mean, I wanted to do it all myself without help. I wanted to make you proud that you were my lead. If I was always asking for help, what good does that do? It shows that I can't do something on my own and need my hand held like some baby."

Leon sighed as he folded his hands together between his knees.

"I get it. I do. Wanting to make your leader proud and show how good you are, but we're a team here. No one is by themselves. You're only so good as your team is and if you're not doing well then that's a reflection on us," he said.

"Oh god, are you guys getting in trouble because of me?" You asked, looking at him horrified that you were possibly making things hard for your team.

"No, no, I mean. . . We're a team for a reason. You have to lean on us and trust us so when we need to, we can lean on you and trust you. If you need help studying or practicing outside of classes, I'll help you. That's why I'm here. It can be hard to ask for help in any situation cause it means you're admitting to a weakness, but that's okay. That's how we get stronger as individuals and as a team," Leon said.

You nod with a sigh. "I have two weeks to get better before I officially am asked to leave. I don't know if I can do it on my own," you said. "Can you help me?"

"Of course. I've got your back, Kid," Leon said, giving you a soft smile.

Chris

The B.S.A.A. was not for rookies, but they needed recruits so here you were. They provided training on weapons, protocol, how to work the gear, basically everything. Because they wanted everyone to be a well oiled machine out in the field, they made sure if you couldn't cut it that you didn't make it out of training. It was life and death and while they needed the hands, they weren't sending people out to die.

The trainers rotated to take classes of trainees. You were lucky enough to get the legendary Chris Redfield for your class leader. He would be teaching everything and making sure that everyone was ready. You had heard of him before, knowing that he was a weathered agent and could almost do anything was daunting.

Which was probably why you tried to avoid him at all costs in one on one situations. He wasn't mean or an ass, but he was intimidating. His stature and history were more than enough to show he knew exactly what he was talking about. You didn't want to feel stupid or embarrass yourself, so you kept him at a distance as you worked almost on your own.

Sure there were classes and work that you were trained in, but just the fear of being the weak link in front of others was hindering you. All of your tests and physical training was mediocre at best. Sure there were people that weren't going to cut it obviously, but you were much closer to their end of the spectrum than the other end that was running circles around you.

It wasn't that you couldn't do it. You could, but sometimes you froze up because your hands did something your mind didn't want to do or nerves made you stutter and stumble over your words. Everyone in the class at least had a background in the military or the police force or FBI or CIA or some other group that was similar to this.

You on the other hand did not. You came from a more technical background rather than a physical one. While you were miles ahead on the written tests, the physical ones were going to kill your career.

So when the notice went out that you were on the chopping block to be let go unless you could prove you were capable of being in the field, you weren't surprised.

Half of you wanted to keep trying, but the other half was telling you to pack up and go. You weren't unique or special, so why bother to continue to try?

It was when you were were working with one of the large guns by the shooting range, that Chris approached you. Before then, you two hadn't said a word to each other outside of the classes or even directly to each other.

So when his large frame took a seat across from you, folding his hands on the table after setting a file next to him, watching you with the gun, you weren't sure what to think.

"Hi," you said, freezing as you looked from the gun to him.

"Y/N, right?" He asked. You nodded as you set the pieces of gun on the table. "Why are you here?"

Oh Jesus, no. Why now? Why here?

"Uh," you said, blinking rapidly as your brain tried to come up with an answer. "Because I wanna help people."

"That's usually the answer I get," he said, sitting back to let his hands drop into his lap. "That or 'to kill bio weapons.' That's also a popular one."

"Yeah?" You said, unsure of what he was getting at.

"But I don't think it's why you're here," Chris said. "Because I think you don't know why you're here." Opening the file, you could see it was all information about you. Your background, schooling, family, credit score, even online usernames. They had everything. "When I was looking through the potential trainee's info, you struck me as odd. It's not exactly an every day thing that we get people who are more tech inclined rather than have a police or military background, but it happens. Usually they wash out though and end up in our research department."

"But I don't want to be in the research department," you said, frowning. Was he going to push you over to that section of the organization? You didn't want to be there though, otherwise you would have applied there.

"Every time I talk to someone and they have the chance to go to research after speaking to them about it, they take it," Chris said. "They figured out they can't cut doing the ground work so they move to a different field, but not you. I see you everyday in training, working your ass off to keep up with everyone and you almost make it. Not quite, but almost. Almost isn't going to cut it out on a mission."

"I know, I just. . . I'm working on it," you said, trying not to sound hateful or rude as your hands started to move on autopilot, putting your gun back together. "I'm really trying and I just can't get over this stupid hump that's holding me back."

"What's that? What's holding you back?" Chris asked.

"Me. I'm holding myself back," you said with a sigh. "I second guess everything because everyone around me has the experience that I don't, but I know I can do it. I just choke when it's time to act."

"I know you have some experience that they don't," Chris said. You nodded, understanding what he was talking about.

"I was a kid when it happened, I could barely call it working experience," you said, pushing the empty magazine into the gun.

"It was for Sherry Birkin," Chris said. "Raccoon City for a 9 year old isn't something to sniff at. From what the reports said, you were by yourself for three days before you made it out."

"Yeah," you said, nodding as you moved to the handgun next, disassembling it easily. "Hid in my apartment till I saw military trucks driving by then ran out."

"You lost your whole family to what we're training you to fight," Chris said, keeping his eyes on your hands as your fingers moved without faltering as you put the gun back together. "You were a kid when that happened. I say it still counts for experience that no one else really has. You know what you're doing with the infected and you know what it's like in the aftermath. We need people who know what it's like so that we can stop it from happening again."

"So what do you propose?" You asked, looking up as you finished putting the handgun back together. "After school training? Tutoring? Or do you want me to be counselor for survivors or shove me off to R and D?"

Chris chuckled as he closed the folder to look up at your face.

"I'm not gonna cut you," he said. "You know what you're doing and you're right. You're hang up is yourself. I'm gonna work with you to get over it. It's probably one the easiest things to work through really."

"You mean I can stay?" You asked, relaxing back into the chair, not even realizing you had grown so tense.

"Yeah. I just watched you take those weapons apart and put them back together in record time without even pausing," he said, pointing to the guns in front of you. "I want to work with you, Y/N. This isn't going to be an easy fight, but I really believe you have what it takes to be a good B.S.A.A. agent."

"Thank you, Sir," you said, smiling softly. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. We'll start some one on one combat training tomorrow before class. You're going to be working double what the others are, but it'll be for the best in the long run," he said.

"Whatever it takes, I'll do what I need to," you said.

"Glad to here it. Now, while we're here in the shooting range, let's test your aim."

#resident evil #leon kennedy #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #leon kennedy x reader

[ohheyitsokay]

first base

part 6 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.7k

warnings: strong language, illusions to part trauma

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier Baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need ot know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the guys start to explain baseball both as a game and a career to the reader, and Frankie takes a step in the right direction instead of running.

>> 

It was Francisco’s idea for someone to walk you to your car, but Will ended up doing it, his mind too lost in thought for his usually sharp eyes to see. They missed the drop in Frankie’s shoulders, the tilt of Santi's head, and the way that even after the goodbyes, your fingers waved an extra  wave at just one of them before you turned away. He didn’t say anything as you walked and thanked him again for inviting you to his grandparents with everyone, and apologized for James’ absence.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his accent was more pronounced and you almost thought he was going to shake your hand before he pulled you into a rough hug.

“What for?” the Millers, you were learning, were physically affectionate, but there was something in the way he did it, something in the way he said it that made you pause.

“The other night, and,” he shrugged, for once not quite knowing what to say, and you could almost see the words swimming behind his deep blue eyes. With a content sigh, you perched on the edge of the hood of your car, settling in for a real conversation with William Miller. Ironhead, they told you, a golden top athlete and responsible older of Ben, and the whole group. There was a huff, as he acknowledged it, smiling a little bit.

“You guys protect him,” you offered, and he crossed his arms, leaning next to you. Will blinked, then uncrossed his arms again.

“Yeah,” his hands moved along the grooves of the car, as if he was concentrated on being open with you. “We have to.”

“You’re his big brother.” 

You didn’t ask, but they’re not? but it was implied. The sturdy first-baseman stilled, looking right at you. If this had been less of a conversation, it would have occurred to him that the prolonged time alone with you was creating a curiosity what was killing his friend inside.

“We were all him, a few years ago,” his eyes felt like they were boring into yours, intense in a comforting way, like he would ask permission before peering into your soul. “High on attention, moving too fast to think, caught up in the parties and girls and... all of it.”

Nodding while he talked, you muttered not relatable underneath his voice and he half smiled as he continued. Still, you understood what he was getting at.

“It got bad,” he said it like he had rehearsed it, or maybe had said it before. “Redfly wants it back, bigger, better. He could do it, too, if…” Will talked with his hands just enough to wave off the end of that sentence. “We all made mistakes. Did shit we aren’t proud of. Still sort of recovering from that. Just… don’t like seeing him make some of the same choices.”

“He’s got a big heart,” you said, asking not for confirmation, but out of curiosity. He grinned, breaking his frustrated reminiscing and nodded.

“You’re good for him,” he pushed off the car, a signal that he said what he needed to. Another hug, and at the same time as you said, “I like you guys,” you could’ve sworn he added, “For all of us.”

Pulling back, you stared, but he didn’t repeat himself, and you finished your goodbyes. The drive home, you forgot to turn on the radio the whole drive, thinking.

There was a place for you, with those five boys, it wasn’t a crazy once-in-a-lifetime thing. And maybe it was time to stop fighting it.

-

There was nothing about Francisco that you didn’t like – except he spilled your secret.

I actually don’t know anything about baseball.

Frankie was mad he shared it, too. His daydreams of having you pressed against his side – or better yet, in his lap – as he explained the beautiful game to you dwindled before his eyes. His friends were yelling, indignant, and excited. Already the evening was being planned, to watch a game and explain it to you and with resignation he knew they were all looking forward to it.

So, two evenings later, he found himself trying to get a seat next to yours on the little couch of Santi's rental. You brought snacks and a recording James had given you, and were wearing an old team tshirt that made his heart flip over in his chest.

It was silly, how eagerly they all waited for the recording to start, just boys excited to strut their stuff and show off.

“So exactly how much do you know?” Will was on your other side, the most relaxed of the bunch, sipping something fizzy. He seemed amused, more than anything.

“Let’s just assume I know nothing,” you shrugged. They were sure that wasn’t true, but it made it more fun.

“That’s me!” Santiago said, raising his eyebrows and pointing. It was, which you obviously knew, but you asked for it. Tom, who was gripping a beer while hovering by the food and texting, coughed a laugh.

“Okay, smart-ass,” you grabbed a handful of candy off the coffee table and threw one at Santi’s head. “You’re the pitcher. What do you do, other than throw the ball?”

He caught it, grinning, before Ben chimed in.

“Nothing.”

Santi made an offended noise in the back of his throat. He explained it to you – he was in control, throwing the ball in different ways to manipulate the batter.

“So, if all goes well, the batter misses and you catch it,” your eyes found Frankie’s, confirming, and he shrugged, more focused on restraining himself from pulling you against him. They then explained, strikes were good, but sometimes it was equally good to make the batter hit it badly.

“What’s a bat hit, at this level?”

Benny’s chest swelled a little with pride as he said anything he could catch. They corrected him – anything anyone could catch. That would give the other team an “out" faster than three strikes.

His voice was deep, but his laughter was lighter as Benny launched into a story like a overgrown kid trying to share. You could barely follow it as he jumped around and the others began to interject the pieces that he missed. It made you smile, how passionate they were about what they did.

Frankie saw a chance in the midst of the loud conversation, swallowed hard, and took it, sliding a little bit closer to you. He kept his voice low, as he explained that he and Pope would communicate the plan with hand signals. It was a gift from them, really, to let him show them you, your eyes alight as you looked at his broad, scarred hands.

The snap of the ball hitting a bat broke the moment, and all of you turned back towards the screen. Tom tuned in, telling you what he did in the outfield – mostly standing and running and catching and throwing – before he excused himself and slipped out. There was a joke somewhere, about the differences between infielders and outfielders, but no one made it.

You watched a tiny version of Will hit the ball, and the camera followed it as if flew all the way over the heads of the opposing team, past the fence and into the crowd.

“A home run?” That was one thing you didn’t really need to ask, but Will looked proud, anyway.

“Who has the record?” The real question, executed with raised brows and a conspiring sip of your drink as Santi made a face at you. At this point, you had their measure - jealousy wasn’t stronger that their comradery. 

Your elbow bumped Frankie’s ribs and even though it didn’t hurt, he winced. “Will,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“It’ll be me in a few years,” Benny added with his wide smile, not even trying to dodge the pillows and pretzels thrown at his face.

“Sore subject?” eyes in Frankie’s, it made him thaw -that you were talking just to him.

“I’m a bad batter.” It was the truth. It wasn’t really in his skill set and he normally didn’t mind because it meant he had to do it less, but… he really didn’t like letting you down. It didn’t seem like you really cared, though, he hoped with all his heart that he wasn’t hallucinating when you slid closer to him. You made a joke about how you would certainly be worse, and his daydream about teaching you returned in force.

“Actually,” Santi’s quiet voice seemed more thoughtful than teasing, and he leaned in so only Frankie could hear him. “Recently you’ve been better,” he punched his friend’s arm and added, “Because you’ve got a good luck charm.”

They both looked at you, squinting at the screen and comparing your score sheet to the correct one.

“I guess so,” Frankie’s tone was just as thoughtful.

-

Throughout the evening all the remaining men were affectionate with you, and it was weirding you out. You had just gotten used to being friends with minor celebrities, and now? 

It may have been the fact that you were just letting them show off their skills but something had definitely changed. It was like it was settled, your place with them, your value to them. Ben had sat in front of you, and asked you to run your fingers through his hair like you had before, as he explained what a shortstop did. He played it off like he didn’t do much, genuinely humble – but as it turned out, they were the most valuable player on the team, the core to communication and guidance. It was sweet, that he got so excited to share it with you, and accidentally let it all spill out.

Will remembered your drink, and teased you more than he ever had, letting himself banter with you and Santi.

Their hands were on your shoulders, ruffling your hair, on your arm, your knees, brushing or squeezing like they were trying to communicate to you how thankful they were that you actually cared. It was nice, but most of all, it was comfortable. It reinforced what Will had laid the foundation for - you really were a part of this, for the long haul.

Best of all was how close you were against the solid warmth of Francisco’s side. His arm was over the top of the couch, respectfully, and his fingers caught on your shoulder and the tips of your hair, like his restraint was crumbling. 

When the game was over and the Miller boys faked yawns and slipped out, the weight of his arm settled, finally, and you leaned into him. Soon, you would have to pull away, pretend you hadn’t wanted to cuddle him fully so you wouldn’t overstay your welcome, but it was hard when it seemed like he wanted you to stay, too. 

You made the time less awkward for Santi, though, since your final question was for the two of them, anyway.

“Will talked to me the other day, about before.” They snapped to attention, looking at you cautiously. “Would you guys… tell me, sometime? About all of it?” Knowing what you meant, the air was thick as they exchanged glances.

They didn’t have time for it all. Frankie’s hand fidgeted on your shoulder, and his grip on you tightened. You reached up and touched his hand, a reassurance, or maybe insurance for his overthinking mind, before you forced yourself to pull away. It didn’t need to be right now.

“Yeah, if you want,” Santiago was a man prone to talking, charming, working his was out of unpleasant situations. He fought the instinct. 

It came out haltingly, the high of their success, and how each one of them had crashed down in their own way. They didn’t share too many details of the other men just themselves, and how it had felt.

For Santi, he threw himself into the game, overworking his mind and body until his knees gave out. It cost him a small fortune in treatments, a lost contract with his last team, and forced him into a break with his long term girlfriend. He thought his life was over, shot straight into the ground, and ended up in continuous therapy for both his mind as well as his knees. Will dated a girl who was in it for the wrong reasons, had his proposal on tabloid covers before he saw it, and locked himself away. Tom drank himself into a quiet, secretive 30 day rebab. 

It was the hardest to share - Frankie’s drug use, his spiral as he balanced the two extreme sides of his life. He mentioned his family, his sister and he baby like weights on his shoulders, and his eyes told you and Pope both that he would tell you more later, when and if you wanted him too.

They each had been devastated by their mistakes, and you were almost in awe of them as they talked about keeping each other accountable, building and holding each other up, these past few years. There was plenty, like Will said, that was still healing, still being worked on, but it was amazing to see how far they’d come.

Francisco watched you closely, also fighting himself internally. It was a miracle you hadn’t run away, and he could see it like a sunrise on the horizon - hope. An actual real chance that he would get a shot with you, a real shot without secrets and faking it and anxiety. 

You were thanking them both, hands cleaning up as you asked them if there was anything you should be conscious of in the future. He wasn’t jealous when Pope hugged you for a beat longer than normal, and he had to smile at his friend’s excitement as he talked about what baseball had become to them, and how tight their friendships were.

“Now you’re stuck with us,” Santi really meant it, and Frankie made a sound so you knew he agreed.

His mind was running as you walked together to your cars, but the feel of you wouldn’t leave his chest and he couldn’t stop just... talking to you. 

The conversation had turned back to the game, and your growing love for it had nothing on his growing feelings for you. When you stopped at your car, he couldn’t bring himself to keep going, to move past and head home. The flow of words lulled and he found himself hovering close to you, above you like he had in the kitchen of your abuelo’s home. Your eyes flickered across his face, and he watched your tongue wet your lips subconsciously, and it was all over.

 Frankie pulled you into him, kissing you as gently as he could manage. He meant for you to be able to pull away, if you wanted to - if it was too much, all of the information. You didn’t take it, kissing him back and letting him press into you until your back was against the cool metal of the car. 

When you had watched them play, really watched and understood, Frankie had loved the way you looked at him, had thought nothing would feel better than your adoration. 

He was wrong. 

Feeling you in his arms, pinned between his body and your car, kissing him back like you wanted this as much as he did was the most intense thing he’d ever experienced. 

Pulling back, his voice was rough as he asked you if you’d want to talk, sometimes soon, just you and him. You were just as breathless as he was, and your affirmation felt as good as a homerun. When he stepped fully back so you could open the driver’s side door, your head ducked as you smiled at him, and he wanted to eat you alive. 

But he let you go, and as you drove away he thought about stealing after you, but he didn’t. There was a time and place for that, but after such a  perfect moment, Frankie was content biding his time. He still had more work to do. 

>>

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

#whump #emotional whump #ptsd tw #flashbacks tw #ableism tw #noncon tw #whump of a minor #referenced in memories #parental death tw #grief #angst #found family #memory loss #memory recovery #trauma response #trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #dehumanization tw #pet whump #past pet whump #negative stimming tw #self-injury tw #victim-blaming #internalized victim-blaming

[sunflowershouto]

when mineta hits on their crush - bakugou, kaminari, kirishima

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Thank you for the request, darling! I love jealous headcanons so these are definitely fun for me to write! If anyone wants to see this headcanon with other characters, lmk! <3

My requests are open!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Headcanon of Bakugou, Kaminari, and Kirishima reacting to Mineta creeping on their crush.

𝐛 𝐚 𝐤 𝐮 𝐠 𝐨 𝐮

✧ Bakugou usually ignores Mineta when he’s like this. Paying attention to some sad little creep is a waste of time, and frankly he doesn’t usually care to stop his classmate’s behavior.

✧ Despite that, when Mineta starts talking about L/N, Katsuki finds himself listening quite closely, an irritated grimace on his face as the stupid grape-head rambles on about how he’d like to see her in the girl’s locker room.

✧ He sits near you in class, and just as you’re about to spin-kick Mineta into orbit, you hear Bakugou scoff, his glare directed right at Mineta. His expression is much harsher than usual, but it looks like he’s trying to play it ‘cool.’

✧ “Oi. Do you know how pathetic it is for you to be drooling after someone so far out of your league?”

✧ You’re kind of shocked. Sure, he’s more going after Mineta than complimenting you, but you didn’t expect Bakugou to get involved at all. You’re confused as to why he suddenly intervened, and you feel like you’re watching tennis as your head turns back and forth between the two.

✧ Mineta sputters out some excuse about how beauty needs to be admired, his usual creepy speech about how he’s merely a misunderstood appreciator of the female figure. Gag.

✧ Before you can get a word in, Bakugou cuts in again.

✧ “I’m sure her boyfriend would beat your wimpy little ass for saying that!”

✧ “My who?!”

✧ “L/N has a boyfriend?” Now it’s Kaminari chiming in, both disappointed and surprised. “Damn!”

✧ “Yeah, as a matter of fact, she does! And it’s not gonna be some damn extra like one of you!”

✧ Most of your classmates are now huddled around Katsuki’s desk, prying to hear the name of the mysterious boyfriend that you didn’t know you had. You’re just dumbfounded, staring speechless at Bakugou and wondering where the hell he was going with all of this.

✧ They’re all nagging him now, eyes wide as they asked how he knew, and who he was.

✧ You know exactly what he’s gonna do as soon as you see that stupid smug grin cross his face. “Bakugou, don’t you da-”

✧ “It’s ME! Now will all of you losers go back to minding your own business?!”

✧ Before anyone can react you’re dragging him by the ear out of the classroom, marching him down the hallway and ignoring his profane protests. You start interrogating him as soon as you’re alone, asking him what the hell was wrong with him, why he’d tell your entire class a lie that was obviously not true.

✧ Bakugou, as Bakugou does, gets angry and tells you that he was doing you a favor, and that you were lucky to even be associated with him like that. He expects a thank you, because now Mineta will leave you alone.

✧ He’s going on a whole angry rant about how he only did it to shut the kid up. HE IS SO SMUG.

✧ You cut him off with a kiss, and when you pull away, now it’s him asking you what your deal is.

✧ “I thought you were my boyfriend?” you remind him, blinking innocently. “Saturday. Pick me up at six, and don’t be late.” You walk away before he can really respond, and he starts yelling at you to ‘get back here right now!’

✧ Sure enough, 6PM on Saturday, he shows up outside your house.

𝐤 𝐚 𝐦 𝐢 𝐧 𝐚 𝐫 𝐢

ϟ Kaminari and Mineta will occasionally scheme together, but not this time.

ϟ Denki has never really been interested in creeping on L/N the way Mineta has, and honestly sometimes he wants to electrocute his classmate just for looking at her.

ϟ It’s between lectures, and Aizawa isn’t in the room, so things are a chaotic mess, as per usual. Mineta is being Mineta and Kaminari is getting increasingly more irritated.

ϟ Mineta makes some weird crack about how he wants L/N all to himself, and Denki snaps.

ϟ You’re on the other side of the room, and Kaminari walks over to you, making sure that Mineta is watching before turning to you.

ϟ “Hey, L/N.” He’s clearly nervous out of his mind, and Jirou and Momo, who you had been talking to, are staring. His internal thoughts sound something like ‘WhatAmIDoingWhatAmIDoingWhatAmIDoing.’

ϟ “Come with me to the arcade later. I’ll pick you up.”

ϟ  ?????? THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN. THERE WAS NO PLAN.

ϟ “Uh. . . Okay?” you laugh, face heating up slightly as you looked up at him. No big deal, your crush just asked you to go out somewhere with him. This is fine.

ϟ She said yes?!?!?

ϟ “Sweet! Then it’s a date!” he cheers, a grin spreading across his face. Part of him is exploding because he just scored a date with the hottest girl in Class 1-A. The other part of him is gloating over the fact that he just schooled Mineta.

ϟ  “Right! A date,” you echoed, smiling as your blush deepened.

ϟ  What you weren’t expecting was for him to lean over and kiss you before returning to his desk, his hands resting on his head.

ϟ  “WHAT WAS THAT?!” Mineta is completely dumbfounded and on the verge of tears. “Not! Fair! How long. . . How long have you been hiding this!”

ϟ “What can I say?” Denki laughed, acting as though he’d been confident and aloof the whole time. “Guess I’m just a catch.”

ϟ Mineta ever speaking about you again is sure to get him zapped, if you don’t manage to do something about it first.

ϟ No one except you and Denki (and Jirou, who totally figured it out by herself) know that you hadn’t really been dating.

ϟ To this day, the memory of that day still haunts Mineta.

𝐤 𝐢 𝐫 𝐢 𝐬 𝐡 𝐢 𝐦 𝐚

♢ Eijirou already thinks Mineta’s whole shtick is pretty deplorable, so when it comes to Y/N, he’s always been a little extra touchy.

♢ Kirishima is a softie, but he’s not super great about expressing his feelings, so when anyone asks why he’s so specifically bothered by Mineta harassing you specifically, he defends himself by saying that the manly thing to do is to stand up to him.

♢ You’ve always sort of had a thing for Kirishima. After all, he always goes out of his way for you, whether Mineta is involved or not.

♢  Eijirou is practically your best friend, so you’re around each other more often than not, meaning that when Mineta is harassing you, Kirishima is most likely around to hear it.

♢ Most of the time he trusts that you can handle it yourself, it’s one of the things he likes about you. But sometimes, when Mineta goes too far, he steps in and makes sure to put the little scoundrel in his place.

♢ Today, it went too far.

♢ Usually, Mineta just stuck to words, and by now you’d learn how to deflect it. Today, though, was one of the few instances where Mineta just couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

♢ Your costume had been torn during training; it was nothing too scandalous, just your midriff had been revealed.

♢ Of course it was enough to make the grape-head lose his mind. He was all over you, and you were struggling to shove him off.

♢ “HEY.”

♢ You’re relieved to hear Kirishima’s voice, and soon Mineta is torn off of you and thrown harshly to the side, where Eijirou starts to yell at him.

♢ “What are you all bent out of shape about? Not like L/N is your girl or anything!” Mineta’s grating little voice argues.

♢ “As a matter of fact, she is. And even if she wasn’t, a real man would have helped her out anyway, you little creep!”

♢ You’re watching, somewhat shocked. Had Eijirou just called you his girl? Had he meant it?

♢ Mineta storms off in a jealous rage, and Kirishima smiles when he turns to you. “You good?”

♢ You nod, unsure of how to approach it. He barely even seemed like he’d remembered what he said. When you try to bring it up, he initially waves it off, but both of you know there’s definitely something more there.

♢ You ask him to meet you after school, and you’re impatiently watching the clock all day.

♢ You meet up in front of campus, and you start to ramble, not really sure what you’re saying but just trying to clear up whatever had happened.

♢ Kirishima cuts you off by pulling you close to him, his hand is on the side of your face. “I’m just gonna cut to the chase, ‘kay?”

♢ You’re dating from then on out, and literally none of your classmates are surprised.

//

#mha imagines #mha x reader #eijirou kirishima imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari imagine #kaminari imagine #eijirou kirishima x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #my hero imagines #my hero x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bakugou headcanons

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: So Close Yet So Far Away

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay 'Lady' Ray

Warnings: Language, talk of sex, throwback to sex, Pope is a crude asshole. Yearnnniinnngggg.

Summary: Lady and Pope get into an argument and Frankie sorts her out. Cue some elite level yearning.

A/N: HAHAHA I wasn't even meant to write this today but I woke up with this on my mind and I just had to because they're my BABIES. This is an instalment in the Frankie x Lady series and takes place back when Lady was in Frankie's squad, before they were an item.

Jay should have known better than to ask about everyone’s weekend. She just wanted to make small talk while they got prepped for a field exercise. She wasn’t ready to hear about their night out on Saturday, how Santi, Frankie, and Benny all scored some willing chicks, Will only missing out because he had a girlfriend, not because he didn’t pull.

All the while Jay was stuck with her family, listening to her mother go on about how she was too good for the army, she should leave while she was still alive, get a normal job, marry, have kids… She could have been out with the guys, maybe get lucky herself and if not, at least have a fun night. Get drunk instead of sad.

And now she finds herself listening to Santi talk about his one night stand, not giving Benny a chance to talk about his, while Frankie, quite characteristically, clammed up about personal stuff.

“Nutted her so fucking hard and all she did was beg for more,” Santi brags, “best fuck I had in ages…”

Jay’s been in the military since she was 18. She knows how soldiers talk, she’s heard it all, she’s participated in the crude joking, she’s not put off by it. But on this Monday morning, while the squad is assembling their equipment, she doesn’t want to hear it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pope, do you fucking have to talk like that?” she barks, unable to hear one more word about his sexual conquests. The rest of them cease their activities in wait for Pope’s reply. Working so closely together, sometimes spending weeks cramped up on assignments builds close bonds but also breeds discord. It’s normal to be at each other’s throats from time to time but it’s rarely Jay who flies off the handle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, My Lady,” Santi replies with a smirk, his voice at its most velvety. “I meant I made passionate love to her all night – “

“You are so fucking disgusting, you know that?” Jay hisses. “Just shut the fuck up about the whole thing, nobody wants to hear about it.”

“Clearly not you,” Pope drawls, quick to anger. In the corner of her eye, Jay notices Will shake his head at him. Don’t engage, bro, just drop it. But Santiago Garcia is someone who doesn’t let things slide when he’s in gear.

“When was the last time you got laid, Ray? You need to get those pipes cleared out. Get some d.”

When was the last time? Too long ago. She does have an itch but last time she scratched it, it just didn’t feel right. She had the same feeling of detachment as she experienced just now when she heard about last Saturday night, particularly the fact that Frankie got laid.

It’s not that she’s jealous. She’s just more comfortable with the idea that Frankie doesn’t sleep around with anyone.

“A dick isn’t going to solve my problems, Santi, unless it’s a big one up your sorry ass,” she snaps, a rude laugh from Benny telling her she scored a point. Staring hard at Pope, whose ridiculously handsome features show an obnoxious amount of amusement, she knows that he won’t budge until he’s drawn metaphorical blood.

“Just name the time and the place, Ray, I’ll be there. Will you?”

“Okay, knock it off.” It’s Frankie, of course. The voice of reason. “Redfly’s gonna be here any minute and I don’t want to do extra laps just because you two can’t play nice.”

Frankie always has that calming effect on her, even now when she’s inexplicably mad at him for having fooled around with some random girl he picked up at their usual dive. Is there a possibility of her being there again in the future? Jay doesn’t want to think about it. Right now, she focuses on the sense that Frankie’s words make. It’s not worth it. Santi’s not worth it.

“Just stay away from me, asshole,” she warns Santi before going back to her kit. The tension in the room eases and Benny, who’s closest to Jay, gives her a brief pat on the back and a nod that says Good call. She hears Frankie murmur something to Santi behind her back, then Santi’s mutter: “She on the rag or something?”

That does it. Jay throws down her backpack and spins around.

“You say that to my face, you piece of shit,” she growls, taking a step forward. Her body is quivering with pent up rage in need of an outlet and knocking Pope on his ass would serve as an adequate one.

“Jay, he’s not worth it,” Benny tries to placate her but she barely hears him. Her whole focus is directed at Pope and his shit-eating grin. He says one more thing…

“Got your panties in a twist?”

She lunges forward but doesn’t make it to Pope as several hands grab her and hold her back.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Calm the fuck down, Ray!”

“Crazy bitch – “

“You’re on really thin ice, too, Pope! Shut that motherfucking mouth of yours!”

Benny is physically restraining her as she practically vibrates with desire to beat the crap out of Santi, who’s held back by Frankie.

“Ray, he’s not worth it,” Benny tells her. “Take a walk. Smoke. Calm down. He’s an asshole.”

He’s right and Jay knows it. Mustering up all of her willpower, Jay rolls back onto her heels, straightens her back, and squares her shoulders. Without looking at anyone, she turns around and stomps out.

Frankie finds her by the vehicles, in the backseat of a Humvee. Her fore and middle fingers are rubbing against her thumb: she’s quit smoking but is clearly wishing she had a cigarette right now. Frankie climbs into the backseat from the other side and pulls up a pack from his pocket, offering it to her without words. Jay hesitates but eventually takes one and leans closer to him when he flicks open his lighter. Frankie can smell the anger on her, a sweaty tightness that radiates from her muscles. She sits back, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a frustrated puff of smoke.

“Fuck,” she mutters, “I don’t wanna die because of these.”

“I thought you quit?”

“I did.” She throws him a glance and a grimace before flicking the cigarette out through the open door. “I thought you quit as well?”

“I keep them around for emergencies like this,” he shrugs. Jay looks pointedly at him.

“Then you haven’t truly quit, have you?”

He loves it how she puts him on the spot like this, provokes him, forces him to reconsider, change his way of thinking. She always does it with such ease, sometimes with a teasing glint in her eye. She just makes him want to be a better person.

“I guess not.” He throws her a small smile that goes unreciprocated. She stares into the back of the seat in front of her, lips tight. Frankie would love to just sit here in silence and let her lead, let her open up in due time, but he knows that if they don’t join the others soon, Tom is going to make a scene.

“Pope’s an asshole,” he states. Jay scoffs but says nothing. “But what’s up with you? You usually don’t let shit like that get to you.”

Her nostrils flare and he sees the muscles of her throat flex. Eventually, she parts her lips to speak, her voice strained.

“I spent the weekend with my dear mother, my brother, and his family. And you know what mom’s like.”

Frankie nods. Yes, he’s heard about Jay’s mother and the dislike the woman has for her daughter’s career choice. The older brother is married with one kid and another on the way and he, of course, is a saint, a pinnacle of human achievement, his children the very essence of what makes a successful life, his wife the perfect picture of Woman.

Jay suddenly twitches, then kicks at the seat in front of her.

“Fuck!I hate this fucking shit!”

Frankie refrains from putting a hand on her shoulder, no matter how much he would like to. He might end up with a broken nose.

“I cut her off,” Jay says tonelessly. “Completely.”

“About fucking time, Jay.” He’s been waiting for this to happen and he wants to tell her that he’s proud of her but it’s not his prerogative, no matter how much he would like it to be.

“Yeah,” she agrees, still not looking at him. “I kept hoping that she’d get her shit together but…” Her voice trails off and she swallows hard. “Fuck. I miss my dad.”

“He’d be proud of you,” Frankie assures her, biting off the endearment that threatened to escape him. Mi amor. Querida. He wants to be able to call her that, wants to be the one she’d come to with her sadness. Wants to be the one to call her mother and tell her to go suck an egg.

“You should’ve called,” he tells her but she only shakes her head. Stubborn as a mule.

“You were out. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

It had been ruined the moment Santi laid eyes on the company of three young women by the bar. He had zoned in on the curvy brunette and Benny had picked the fiery redhead, leaving Frankie with the blonde. He didn’t want her, didn’t want any of the others, but he had fallen for the peer pressure and for every drink, he figured it could be a good idea to get laid. The girl was pretty, funny, nice. She had a hot body and was clearly willing. They had gone to her place and he had treated her like he would treat every woman he slept with: he ate her out, giving her several orgasms with his tongue before even thinking about putting his dick in her.

She had insisted on riding him. Frankie didn’t mind but as she bounced on his cock, her round, heavy tits jiggling in front of him, he didn’t see her face anymore. No, it was Jay all along, Jay’s long, lean body on top of him, Jay sinking down on him, her slick, hot pussy swallowing his cock while he swallowed her moan. The fantasy had become so real that he had to wrangle the woman off of him and take her from behind instead.

He left in silence once she was asleep, crept out like an asshole, a coward. He usually asked a woman if she wanted him to stay, he had once upon a time enjoyed having breakfast the next morning, sharing kisses when he finally left. But now, it all felt like cheating.

“You wouldn’t have ruined the night,” he tells her quietly. “It wasn’t that good.”

“The night or the sex?”

“The latter.” His ears are burning and he refuses to look at her.

“Too much to drink?” There it is: that sweet, amiable little taunt she saves for him only – or at least he hopes she does. He’s never heard her speak like that to any of the other guys.

“Wrong girl.”

Jay turns her head and looks at him. The distance between them in the backseat seems to shrink and grow at the same time when he returns her gaze. The hairs at the nape of his neck rise when he loses himself in the fathomless ocean-blue of her eyes.

He has to kiss her. He mustn’t kiss her.

“Are you two done with your fucking therapy session?”

Both of them startle when Tom shows up by the open door on Frankie’s side.

“I have an exercise op to run and I don’t have time to wait for you to feel quite ready, Ray,” he adds before slapping his hand to the roof of the Humvee. “Get your asses in gear.”

He leaves without having noticed anything. Frankie wonders how it’s even possible. Didn’t Tom feel the air crackle with electricity? Didn’t he hear how hard his heart was beating?

Jay gets out of the vehicle and slams the door shut, and Frankie follows suit. As they walk back, keeping a distance of two feet between them, Jay murmurs a Thank you, Morales to him.

“Sure,” he replies easily, forcing himself to sound neutral. “I got you, Ray.”

#my fic #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x lady