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snowdice · 10 days

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Unplanned Consequences (Part 5: Patton) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series-The End]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton/Logan

Characters: Patton, Logan, Virgil (mentioned), Roman (mentioned)

Summary: Sometimes... things change.

Notes: This takes place after Best Laid Plans

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“Hey Lo,” Patton said as he walked into the living room. Virgil had officially moved into an apartment with Roman a few days ago as the spring semester was starting tomorrow. This left Patton and Logan living alone together in the house for the first time since… The Incident.

Patton had just finished cleaning up dinner after getting Logan settled on the couch. The TV was on, but Logan was currently staring past it into space, something he never used to do, but had become a frequent occurrence since getting injured. It worried Patton a bit, but he tried not to think about it.

Logan looked up at him as Patton said his name. He didn’t smile softly at Patton like he usually would have. It made something clog in Patton’s throat.

“Hello,” Logan said.

“I… made us both some tea,” Patton said, holding out the tea mugs as though for his approval.

“Thank you, love.” He still seemed distracted and distant. He turned back towards the television.

Patton nodded and then walked over to set the mugs on the coffee table. Then, he sat down on the couch next to Logan. Years of instinct told him to scootch over closer until their arms and legs intermingled, but he hesitated.

Logan either noticed his hesitation, or noticed his deviation from the norm, because he glanced over at Patton. He lifted the arm closest to Patton and Patton instantly took the invitation, moving closer to curl up under his arm.

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

It was silent between them for a long moment, only the sound of the television droning on breaking the quiet. The news was on, Patton noted. There was coverage on a supervillain attack Prince had stopped the night before.

“I think I need to retire,” Logan said out of the blue.

Patton drew back to look at him in surprise. “What?” he asked. “You’ve been given medical leave until next fall. You’ll be more than recovered enough to go back to teaching by then.”

Logan looked at him for a moment and then gave him a wry smile. “I wasn’t talking about teaching, my dear.”

“Oh,” Patton said blinking at him. “Oh.” He took a moment to process that statement. “But you… you want to retire?”

“I wouldn’t say want,” Logan said, “but I think it may be the most responsible course of action.”

“You… I know you’re struggling with the leg and everything right now, but you’ll get better.”

“Patton,” Logan said, “you’re a doctor.”

“Exactly!” Patton said, feeling oddly defensive for a reason he couldn’t place. “So, I know exactly how people heal from injuries like yours. You’ll need time, but with physical therapy and…”

Logan cut him off. “With physical therapy,” he said, “I will get much better. I will perhaps walk again, maybe even without a mobility aid eventually, but Patton, I’m 57-years-old. This severe of an injury is not going to heal quickly or completely.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m getting old,” Logan said. “I’ve been slowing down, and this will not help me speed up. Being Bluebird is physically… and mentally demanding. I won’t be able fully meet those demands again after what happened.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said even though he wasn’t sure of that himself.

“It is,” said Logan. “It’s always something that would happen eventually. This has just… sped up the process.”

“You’re catastrophizing,” Patton said. It was probably an ironic statement to make when Patton’s words sounded so much more upset than his husband’s. “You’re making a rash decision because you feel bad now, but…”

“This isn’t rash,” Logan said, evenly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last months.”

Patton didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he said, nodding at the TV. The news had cycled around again while they talked, back to Prince, back to Roman. “I’m not the city’s only long-term hero anymore. Roman had been doing well before and is doing even better now. I will continue to help him on his journey, and it won’t be an immediate transition. Bluebird will still make a few appearances, but I do think it’s time. For my own sake and ultimately for this city’s too.”

Patton hesitated. Logan was right, of course, that this was inevitable. It’s just that Patton had never really thought about it. He didn’t want to think about it, especially now when Logan was still so hurt in multiple ways. He’d been telling himself that eventually things would go back to normal, but Logan had just confirmed Patton’s greatest fear: they wouldn’t.

It felt selfish to be upset, but Patton really couldn’t help it. Patton felt himself gripping onto Logan’s sleeve for support even though support was Patton’s job right now. He felt tears in his eyes, but he resisted letting them fall.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked.

“I…” Patton said. A couple of the tears escaped. “It’s just… I’ve never known a Logan that wasn’t also Bluebird.”

Logan sighed softly. He gently removed Patton’s grasping hand from his shirt sleeve to hold it in his own. “Things change,” he said, doing that thing where he stared into the distance again, “labels shift.”

A/N:

And that my friends, is the end of Sometimes Labels Shift.

It's been a long time coming and I'm feeling a bit emotional even though it's not the end of the Labeled Universe. We're just moving on to the next chapter.

All of our favorite Labeled characters will return in the new sub-series named Envisage. I hope to see you there.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #last fic that will be tagged with that #sadge #adriana writes #not pieces fic

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nothorses · 9 months

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I think these conversations would go better if we conceptualized terms like "homophobia", "transphobia", and "misogyny" not as the "basic" oppression that you start with until you sprinkle intersectionality on top, but rather as names for where more complex experiences overlap.

"Transphobia" is not the "base" we start with and build on with other experiences; it's the place where more specific experiences overlap. It's the middle of the venn diagram where "transmisogyny", "transandrophobia", and "exorsexism"/"nbphobia" all overlap with each other.

It's the thing we all have in common; not the thing that some people get extra special versions of while others do not.

#like i think there's a place for virtually any kind of more specific label #even differentiating the experiences of white people with misogyny for example-#not because there is any kind of white oppression. but because misogyny is shared between everyone experiencing it but there is no 'default #implying that white experiences are the default is weird!! and it could in fact open up room for conversations abt other experiences #to frame them as equally a part of the conversation about misogyny #rather than something fringe and niche that is only relevant sometimes #THAT SAID under the current cultural understanding that'd be a dangerous place to start this kind of shift in language use #but like. understanding this on a fundamental level does make conversations about things like transandrophobia waaay easier y'know?#it's not about whether we're More Oppressed it's just about naming different experiences

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funfettified · 2 years

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if u tag food as triggering, i don’t like u. please don’t do that on my blog or my posts. ppl who don’t want to see food will have #food blacklisted, but things like #tw food puts the idea in ppl’s minds that food is something bad, scary, or to be avoided. hi, everyone needs food to live, and as someone who’s dealt with disordered eating for going on a decade, painting food as something triggering is absolutely unhelpful. thx for coming 2 my tedtalk 🧁🍨🍡🥞 p.s. take good care of urself today, u deserve it <3

#lucky stars #reblogs r appreciated!#(possible)#tw ed #i try to make cutesy food posts partially bc they’re just nice to look at and partially bc it’s sometimes helpful for me personally to look #at it in a different light #and seeing people label it as a trigger is just. so disheartening #this isn’t meant to target anyone or call anyone out #i just want to see a little shift in perspective bc i know people are trying to be considerate in doing this but in reality it tends to have #the opposite effect

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sanguinaryrot · 8 months

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gender can be so confusing :/

#me when im always agender but my alignment changes #but it changes so infrequently that i will often begin to feel detached not only from one alignment #but from genderfludity or bigenderism as a whole #ive been in transfaggotry territory for so long that im like. its literally not a thing that im sapphic #and i know that i sometimes shift that direction. i know thats a part of my identity #but im so not over there that its like. i want to give up on that label. but i know im genderfluid. ive done this enough times now #idk...#its like. im so proud and happy being a trans bi agender achillean #that im like. oh yeah.....there are other parts of my identity. :/#and sometime ill have a shift and be the other way. thats how it goes #but like i said. im so happy where im at that i dread having a shift. i know that once it happens ill be like wooo agender sapphic lets goo #but for now im like. lets pretend that wont happen #im not embarassed or ashamed or anything #i just. am so happy with this gender right here #idk. im always happy with my gender its just that when im x im always like i dont wanna be y #and then im y and im like this is the best thing that ever happened. and vice versa #this is lowkey about me being like should i change my pronoun page to reflect that im not currently identifying as a dyke. lol

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clavicuss-vile · 1 year

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gahhh the gender rlly do be hitting tonight this is very like bittersweet. the trans lads will get it its that gender envy from yourself (did some masc makeup stuff) but also the thing of no one else will percieve you that way. if that makes sense

#its annoying bc i think the best label i have is genderfluid. like that fits my experience with gender to a T #and i also cannot be bothered explaining gender to every confused cis person on the street so i just stick with fem stuff 90% of the time #but sometimes it shifts completely one way or the other yk #or every way at once thats always a weird one #but anyway tonight its just gone completely masc direction and its just #sjdhueufgw eugh #i really wish i was a cis guy. really fucking wish #theres always the little lingering of that its just always kinda there but tonight its just hit full force yk #its not fair #gender

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medicinemane · 1 month

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You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost

That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up

I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)

I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt

Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...

I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean

What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point

#this is about me reblogging a post the mentions the word capitalism #and I sometimes do that and have people get in and argue about if something is or isn't capitalism #and it's like yeah mate and honestly I hear you; I'm not sure that it fully 100% fits here and if it does it's so broad it's meaningless #but like... read the bit before they said capitalism and have a think on that instead #like let's focus on the description of the situation and how we feel about that description more than a single definition #I honestly don't really care what things are called half as much as the actions being taken and how effective they're likely to be #don't really care if something's called hatemurderdeathism if it's making things better with no policies I hate #obviously there's some things where I'd be like 'hmm... let's not call it that; cause that implies some specific bad stuff'#but like broad strokes shit... capitalism socialism libertarian... what the fuck ever...#is there a strong social net while people are free to trade goods and services?#then I probably am mostly for this plan #fight about the name but leave me out of it #...that's another big part of why I don't call myself anything #takes too long trying to explain your definitions and get people to agree that it doesn't actually mean fascist murder #(cause whatever label you run under I bet I've seen someone call it a fascist murder)#nah; I'm not any this or that group... given up on that a long time ago #I'm just a stupid idiot with various ideas I'd like to talk with people to see how we can move the needle more in that direction #like the less people starving and being homeless direction #and the more worthwhile and productive work and less busy pointless work for megacorps direction #which I think means a shift to more small businesses... which is actually part of why I'm for a UBI #pretty sure I know at least one person on here with a business idea (and knowing them it's a good one)#but they just lack the financial stability to start the business #so I actually want a UBI cause I think it would be good for the economy #never gonna say I can't be stupid or wrong; but that is one of my motives #...whatever... none of this matters; really ought to hurry up and die but I procrastinate that as hard as everything else

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inkskinned · 7 months

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i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

#warm up #writeblr.#i am not going to personally comment on the pineapple debate #some things are too big for me.#maybe we could have everything on earth choose their own names.#wouldn't that be fun #it is a creative writing exercise. okay. ily #''why only these languages?'' ..... bc i dont know every language #sorry :(#PLEASE leave me comments about what words u think are correct. i love learning them #btw! this isn't saying these are the most BEAUTIFUL words for it... just the words that are the most CORRECT #like i quite like the word ''keynote'' as mentioned. it's got a lot of fun sounds in it.#but it is not CORRECT.#''gloaming''' is interesting and fun and poetic but it is NOT correct . evening is MORE correct #but less beautiful.#does that make sense?

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etherealkissed88 · 2 months

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SOMETHING “BAD” HAPPENED & YOU CANT GET OVER IT?

we know everything is neutral but sometimes we get attached to experiences we label as “bad” and that gets annoying. anytime something "bad" happens and i find myself attached to it / replaying it or dwelling in being that version of me who experienced that "bad" thing, i think about my future self, the one 5-10 years into her dream career, living her dream stress-free life with her dream house. would she care about this moment? will she even remember what i now labeled as a "bad" moment? no.

this helps me:

a) get rid of the attachment to that “negative” experience

b) shift to a better version of me who has good things happening

like seriously…in 10 years would i give a fuck about this “bad”experience? i doubt so. now that “bad” situation seems so small.

☆

another thing you can do it just accept that negative event happened. okay and now what? let yourself know: that was old me. im choosing to be a better version of me now. i dont have to be limited by that “bad” event. that thing does not define me. i can move on. yes it happened and now im over it.

you can use techniques to help reimagine another event if just moving on doesnt help you much. visualize or script your desired outcome (aka revise) and know from that point on, that what you visualized/scripted is true. decide to move forward as that version of you who experienced your desired outcome.

+ know that attachment is temporary. you may feel shitty today but know that when you wake up tomorrow, you may feel more relaxed about the “bad” situation. dont limit yourself to a “bad” event or define yourself based on “bad” experiences. you are self. you are greater than that and know that whatever bullshit you are dealing with now, you can and will move on from it.

kisses, jani ☆

#etherealkissed🎀#etherealkissed #loa blog #law of assumption #manifesting #loassumption #neville goddard #edward art #imagination creates reality #loastates

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genderqueerdykes · 1 year

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small observations for people who are just starting testosterone HRT

If you suffer from chronic fatigue, chronic illness, or mental illness, you may notice that your energy levels dip down very low after first starting T. this is due your body needing extra energy to process the extra hormones, not anything long lasting. after your body adjusts, this fatigue will go away, and you may actually find that you have way, way more energy now

Beards love to be patchy and mustaches love to be invisible or nonexistent at first. if your beard is patchy at first, or if you just can't grow a full mustache, this is also normal. it can take years of testosterone HRT for beards to become full, especially if you had low T to begin with. moisturizing your beard regularly can help reduce this, and also any potential itchiness from being too long. beards will get itchy for many if they get long.

The acne (should) go away after your body adjusts, and you will not be greasy forever. you will find that your natural body odor smells different, though. this lasts as long as you are on T, as far as i'm aware for most people, but it's only noticeable for me when i get very sweaty after a lot of exertion, or illness.

You may find after you adjust that you have generally a bit more stamina or ease with starting up or adjusting to new physical activities after you've adjusted. it may be easier for you to work out now because you don't become fatigued as easy, for example, or you may find it is easier for you to put on muscle density.

The mood swings will calm down in time- they are most severe right after you start T, and then taper down as your body adjusts. it doesn't turn you into a "rage monster". you just go through normal pubescent moodiness. it's manageable, especially if you have good coping skills like physical activity, journaling, or art while stressed.

Libido goes either way, i've noticed. many people see a huge spike in libido at first, sometimes it stays for a long time, other people don't notice any change whatsoever. also, T for most people will not change what gender or type of person you are attracted to, however it can change how you view yourself in relationships and lead you to changing your identity labels, or questioning things. it generally doesn't make people change their identities overnight, though

Periods do stop for the vast majority of transmascs. it can take a long time, but they do stop if your doseage of T is right for you. if yours haven't stopped and you do not have reproductive health issues, you likely just need a higher dose to see this effect.

Breast tissue reduces in density when higher levels of testosterone are in the body, so it is very likely that you will see your breasts become flatter or even "Deflate" a bit. this is entirely normal. my chest has been like this my entire life due to very high T from hyperandrogenism & intersexuality

Balding can definitely happen, but this is generally only if you have a genetic predisposition to it. i have actually not seen many transmascs bald, although for many of us, our hairlines do shift upwards, but it's not noticeable unless you compare how you look now to older pics of yourself, and generally it takes years for your hairline to migrate anyway, which is natural for AMAB people later in life anyway. even if you do bald, you can speak with your prescriber and have access to medications to help with balding. it's not the end of the road and many respond very well to medication.

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abyssruler · 1 year

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the 7-eleven diaries

albedo, alhaitham, childe, scaramouche, venti x gn!reader

your job isn’t the best one out there, but it’s easy and keeps you from drowning in tuition fees and rent. working at a 7-eleven on a midnight shift was supposed to be peaceful, so why is it that you constantly find yourself being bothered by weird customers? (modern au)

fluff, comedy, crack, cashier employee reader, modern au, written for fluffvember!

ALBEDO

It’s difficult not to take notice of the perpetually tired college student (much like yourself) who always comes at the latest hours to order a cup of black coffee and a can of beer. The first time you saw him order that drink was a memorable one, if only because of the way your eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw him mix the two drinks in a large, empty slurpee cup and proceed to drink it all in a matter of seconds.

Another memorable time was when he came in with only enough money to buy a bottle of water, then took a seat at a table near the counter and took out a box full of what you initially presumed were cookies. It was a traumatizing memory you look back on with a shudder as you remember the way he crunched down on it like it was a piece of biscuit instead of a motherfucking spider.

“They’re surprisingly nutritional, full of protein and fibre. It leaves a strange aftertaste, but it’s a good substitute for dinner.”

Since then, you’ve made sure to keep some food ready in the microwave for him, free of charge. He just looked so pitiful sitting by himself with dark under-eyes and greasy hair — the very image of a normal college student — that you couldn’t help yourself from taking money out of your own pocket to help a fellow comrade.

One day, he came to the store with blown pupils and a sort of dazed look in his eyes, words slurring together as he tried to explain to you how he’s finally created an edible liquid that can keep sleep at bay for at least 120 hours…with some small side-effects, but it’ll wear off with time. That’s when you found out he was a bio-chemistry student well on his way to getting a PhD at his young age.

When questioned why he drank the liquid instead of having someone else do it, his response was, “To experience it firsthand, of course. The basis of research is accuracy and precision, how could I be remiss as to leave such an important experiment to someone who could, in their ignorance, fail to mention an important detail that their mind might have labeled as useless.”

You’re not quite sure how he’s still alive by this point.

But his weirdness aside, you resolve to take care of him in your own way, from a fellow tired college student to another. You remind him to get some sleep, steering him away from eating spiders and encouraging him to eat more meat.

“But I am eating meat?”

“Albedo, that’s a spider.”

“And are you saying that spiders do not possess meat?”

“Oh, for the love of—just eat the goddamn sandwich.”

You think he appreciates it, if the way he dedicated his latest thesis to you is any indication.

ALHAITHAM

You were in the middle of answering a math problem your professor assigned that morning, papers sprawled over the counter with you hunched over it, hand in your hair and trying not to pull at it in frustration over how difficult the problem was. And then he’d come in like an angel, all perfectly shiny hair and a no-nonsense look on his face, took one look at you and the papers scattered across the counter and said one sentence that saved your grade in math.

“You forgot to put a negative sign right there.”

That was the moment you decided that he must be an angel sent from heaven. He always grunts whenever you call him that, though whether it’s from amusement or annoyance remains to be seen.

He doesn’t visit the convenience store much, but when he does, he always spares the time to help you out with whatever assignment you were working on, sometimes even taking the initiative of asking if you need his assistance in answering a problem — though he says this on a much less nicer tone.

“Are you gonna make me do your homework again?”

“My professer didn’t assign me one today, surprisingly enough, so no.”

He seemed strangely disappointed when you told him no, but you chalked it up to him being some sort of math wiz who gets riled up by equations and the like. Seems like kind of guy too, what with all the times he’s made a subtle jab at your intelligence — or lack, thereof.

“How could you possibly need a paper to calculate the answer to four-hundred and thirty-two times fifty-eight?”

“Not all of us are smarter than Rukkhadevata like you.”

“Who?”

He’s not bad company, though that opinion stems solely from the fact that he helps you (solves it for you, more like) with all your homework. Not without making comments about you lazing about on the job and letting your customer answer your assignment for you. You respond in a mature way by making fun of him.

“I’ve never seen you without those earphones. Are you hiding a pair of large ears or something?”

“No.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject.

Sometimes you give him a drink, usually cola or juice, as thanks for helping you out. He takes it without question, taking sips from it as he tutors you about this and that, occasionally commenting about your job and how you’re only making yourself suffer by taking on midnight shifts. You don’t see why he cares. For all that you jokingly call him an angel, you know he’s far from actually being one.

You once saw him on campus reading a book by the library. It’s easy enough to come up to him and make conversation, handing him an unopened drink you just bought from a vending machine. It just feels wrong not to, more of a habit by this point.

It’s then that someone decides to dramatically drop his books to the ground and point at you and Alhaitham. The blonde guy gapes and asks how in the world Alhaitham managed not to scare you away. His eyes zero in on the can of grape juice on Alhaitham’s hand, and then he proceeds to laugh, asking Alhaitham since when did he decide to start drinking what he once called was an unhealthy drink composed of sugar and artificial flavoring.

You made a mental note of that response, and later that night, you decide to hand him a packaged biscuit. Nothing unhealthy there. Technically.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I should start taking medicine in case my stomach burst from the amount of cola you hand me.”

“You could’ve just not accepted, you know.”

“It was given to me. Not accepting would be considered rude.”

“Didn’t Kaveh say you threw a bottle of orange juice to his face after he gave you one?”

“I did.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject, but you’ve since resolved to only give him the healthiest thing you could find on the store—which isn’t much considering this is a 7-eleven, but hey, microwaved salad is still salad, right?

He grumbles about the radiation but eats the salad anyway. Another win for you, you suppose.

CHILDE

He came in near the end of your shift, lips busted and an eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over his clothes. The grin on his face should’ve hinted you at his lunacy, but you’ve always been blind to warnings and the like, so you went over the counter and helped him up from where he’s slumped over the chips and candies isle.

Aether, your co-worker and the one who’s about to take over from your shift, only looked at you with tired eyes, “It’s too early for this shit.” That was, of course, Aether’s way of basically saying, you’re on your own.

So you picked up the ginger lying on the linoleum floors, heaving his arm over your shoulder to drag him to the nearest pharmacy — never let it be said that you were just a bystander. He groaned as the movement bothered whatever injuries he may have, but he still looked at you with wide, strangely lightless eyes, as if only now registering your presence, and said, “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

After you finished dumping him on the pharmacy and leaving the people there baffled at what to do with an injured guy, he grabbed your wrist and, with a bloody smile he probably thought was charming, handed you a piece of paper containing his number.

You never text him. Or call.

He comes back to the store a week later with faint yellow bruises across his face and a far too bright grin for someone who’s visiting a 7-eleven at two in the morning. He pouts about not getting a single text from you, but before you can respond, he’s moving on to another topic, mindlessly picking up a box of tampons by the side and setting it on the counter.

He only seems to realize what he’s done when you give him a strange look.

“Tampons are, uh, great for bloody noses!”

“…Right.”

You weren’t convinced at all, but you decided to let it slide. He seemed like a genuine guy, if a bit too enthusiastic sometimes. His mouth never shuts ups, always going on about this and that, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve normally had most normal people backing away. But your brain isn’t exactly at its best condition and being sleep deprived for the better part of your life has made it less of a brain and more of an organ that just helps you get through the day.

You don’t know exactly why he stays to chat with you, buying ridiculous amounts of stuff that were frankly far too expensive just to have an excuse to talk to you. You don’t mind it much, especially when he’s a great deterrent for any unwanted petty thieves or middle school delinquents trying to rob your store every week or so.

Apparently, he’s got a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie and being willing to fight anything and everything that breathes. And apparently, word’s gotten out that he’s into you, like, really into you, so most guys who have less-than-well intentions have decided that robbing the local 7-eleven isn’t worth the trouble if it means having to deal with Ajax.

“Actually, it’s Tartaglia.”

“Tarantula?”

“No, Tartaglia. It’s my street name! Ajax just doesn’t inspire the same fear into other people’s hearts the same way Tartaglia does.”

“Whatever you say, Tortilla.”

“It’s Tartaglia!”

He never brings up the fact that you never call or text him back, even when he’s somehow gotten ahold of your number and started sending you memes and updates about his day. When asked, he just shrugs and says he’ll win you over eventually.

SCARAMOUCHE

It wasn’t intentional, and you’ll admit it was completely your fault, but did he have to be such an asshole about you dozing off on the counter?

“Have the standards really fallen so low that employees are now afforded to sleep on the job?”

Here was this guy at two in the morning, bemoaning society’s failure in raising the new generation to have a proper work ethic at a 7-eleven store. The guy had a rolex watch and clothes that looked like they were worth more than your monthly salary — you’re not one to judge other people’s appearances, but he’s the very image of nepotism. And frankly speaking, you’re of the opinion that rich people shouldn’t be entitled to an opinion on what the working class decides do with their life, like falling asleep on the job.

…And oh, you just said that out loud, didn’t you?

Oh well, your manager will understand.

The guy with a bowl cut leaves fuming, but not before slapping a wad of cash down the counter to pay for his stupidly expensive noodles, snarling at you to keep the change since you clearly need it more than him.

You do, in fact, keep the change. Money is money, whether it’s from your salary or a rich boy throwing a tantrum.

The next day in class, a bag slams down the seat beside you, and you’re met with the same rich boy from last night, a scowl painting his rather pretty face as he hisses lowly about how he’s surprised you can afford to go to college. Talk about holding a grudge, you would’ve forgotten all about him from last night if he hadn’t given you his change.

He fumes even more when you don’t give him any sort of reaction, merely nodding your head at him and turning back to the board to listen to your professor drone on about this and that. It’s rather difficult to focus, however, when he keeps muttering sarcastic comments and barbs to the teacher beneath his breath.

“If you even had an iota of charm about you, perhaps your wife wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

You choked on a laugh, hand coming up muffle the sound, but he clearly noticed, judging by the way he snaps his head to you, eyes wide and seemingly surprised you found it funny. You only smile at him, an amused little thing, but he quickly looked away and murmured something unintelligible beneath his breath, his fists clenched and the tips of his ears curiously pink.

He comes back to visit your job that night, still with that air of haughtiness about him but a bit toned down. Even more surprising was the fact he didn’t immediately leave the moment he handed you his money.

“Do you want the change?”

“Are you so desperate for money that you’d go begging a total stranger for some spare coin?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Tch, fine. You can have it.”

He never fails to come back every night, always giving you the change for his bill, even when the amount is more than the items he paid for. Sometimes, he’ll even take out a snack or a drink from the bag and slide them over to you, cheeks suspiciously red as he did so.

“Don’t think this means anything. I’m only giving this to you because I know you can’t afford it.”

“It’s literally worth ten mora.”

“Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you?”

“Thank you, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be sure to treasure this can of cola that I would’ve never been able to afford without your help.”

“Shut up.”

He buys you a tub of ice cream the next night, the ridiculously expensive kind, to prove a point. The two of you eat it together at one of the tables, him grumbling about the stain on the table and the overall lack of quality and taste — at a 7-eleven — and you laughing whatever he says.

Well, you suppose he’s not as much of an asshole as you initially assumed.

VENTI

He’s a bit popular in campus, in the sense that nearly everyone is friends with him, which makes it impossible not to have heard about that one guy who’s really great at singing. You were, unfortunately, one of the few that aren’t well acquainted with him — aren’t acquainted with him at all.

So when he comes up to the counter, all boyish grin and ridiculously short shorts and a cute little pink hair clip keeping his bangs away from his face, holding an entire household’s worth of vodka and wine, you do what any rational semi-adult would do and look at him with a blank face.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

He laughs at you like this is a common occurrence he faces on the daily before slapping down his ID on the counter. And huh, would you look at that, he’s even older than you are.

He then lights up once he gets a good look at you. “Hey, you’re Albedo’s friend, aren’t you?” He abandons his alcohol at the counter in favor of looking around your quaint little convenient store. “So this is that 7-eleven he keeps talking about…”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s going on about, but you do know he must be a friend of Albedo’s, which makes you ease up around him. He’s nice. Sort of. If you ignore the teasing and the jokes and the way he keeps asking you to give him a student discount. For alcohol. You’d given him what you hoped was your best imitation of Kunikuzushi’s stink eye. You think you got it on point, if the way he deflates is any indication.

He comes around the store every weekend, saying he’s here to get a little treat for the awful weekday he’s had. You never fail to remind him that he has class every Sunday, to which he responds by opening a can of beer (which he hasn’t paid for yet) and sitting on the counter, bemoaning the injustice of putting classes during the weekends.

You once asked him why he keeps hanging around this store when there’s a perfectly good bar right around the corner, owned by that popular red-haired business major from your university. Venti just laughed and said he prefers the quietness here — and the company, he added with a wag of his eyebrows. He always teases you, sometimes borderline flirting, but it’s easy enough to wave it away.

The day you discovered he was actually well known in campus was when your university hosted a local event. There’d been stalls and booths set up everywhere and even a little mock-stage put up near the center for any band or singer to perform in. It’d been nice to have a break from the monotonous routine of going to class and studying then working at your job and getting less than ideal sleep.

And then you heard your name booming out from the speakers, and you turn your head to see Venti on the stage with that little lyre he sometimes carries with him to the store, saying he’d like your opinion on a song or two he composed.

He dedicates the song to you in front of the entire student body, then proceeds to sing the cheesiest, most gut-wrenching and cringiest love song of all time.

“Why did you have to pick that song?”

“Because it’s fun and cute!”

“I sometimes question your ability to distinguish cute from horrifyingly monstrous.”

There’s a mortified look on your face, but amidst the embarrassment and the teasing remarks of his friends, there’s a smile on your face that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away.

i’ll be doing a part two on this but with diluc, dottore, kazuha, xiao, and zhongli!

@maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @serramii @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss @scarasbaby

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #venti x reader #gn reader #modern au #fluffvember #fluffvember 2022

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

Text

Penny for your thoughts

Synopsis: You’ve recently been transferred to a UK base and struggle with British currency. Your lieutenant is mortified—and rightfully so.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,286 (approx. 5-6 mins reading time)

Notes:

I thought it was funny when I wrote it, okay? It’s a crackfic. There’s some teasing and playful banter in there, but I can’t label it as fluff.

Warnings: Profanity. Lots of it.

More A/N at the end.

———————————————————————

You’ve been trying to escape the lieutenant’s grip for the past two hours.

The upcoming mission requires close combat skills, he said. You’ll need to infiltrate a facility with minimum weapons and immobilise—but not kill—the targets for interrogation.

You admitted to him that you hadn’t practised in a long time and your combat skills were a little rusty. But Ghost assured you this wouldn’t be a problem and offered a refresher course in ground fighting and submission techniques.

You never imagined this would be an issue when you agreed to it. On the contrary, your lieutenant was an expert in combat, and training with him could be considered a masterclass.

Looking at it now, with your cheek pressed against the floor and your body twisted like a nautical knot, you wish you could take it back.

The mats have become your second skin. Ghost relentlessly pins you to the ground and immobilises your limbs while explaining the mechanics behind each hold. Sometimes you wonder why he gets into so much detail since you can’t hear shit and are practically knocked out.

Yet, he doesn’t give up on you. He advises you to feel the weight shift, urging you to exploit the slightest openings, encouraging you to break free. Whenever he sees you’re struggling or senses you’re uncertain, he taps your hand or leg, giving you clues to help you.

He immobilises you once more, but he pats your back this time.

“Alright,” he says, standing up, “that’s enough for today.”

He walks to the bench, picks up his towel, and pats his neck. You roll on your back and spread your arms.

“I feel like a pretzel.” You whisper.

“Yup,” he confirms, “that’s Jiu-Jitsu for ya.”

Drenched in sweat, you push yourself off the ground and slowly walk to your bag. You extract your towel and begin rummaging through your wallet to find spare coins for a water bottle. You manage to find one pound, but unfortunately, you fall short.

“Lt.?” You call out.

He turns halfway to give you his attention while tugging the velcro straps from his gloves.

“Do you have fifty pennises?”

He stops midway and lets go of the velcro strap. It can wait. His eyes have formed two thin lines, and his eyebrows almost touch each other.

“Do I have fifty what, soldier?”

“I need fifty pennises.” You reply, this time louder, “Do you have fifty pennises?”

His eyes have changed. They’re not squinting anymore. They are bulging. He frantically looks left and right, bringing his index finger to his mouth.

“Shhhh!” He whispers and runs towards you, waving his other hand in front of your face. “Shut your mouth!”

He closes the distance between you and looks behind him.

“What is wrong with you?” He whispers.

You raise your eyebrows and blink rapidly.

“No,” you reply, “what is wrong with you?”

He lets out a sigh and looks at his surroundings once again. He scratches the side of his chin and clasps his hands in prayer.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” he requests more calmly this time, almost begging you, “Make a sentence out of it.”

“I’m thirsty.” You explain.

“Obviously.”

He’s starting to get on your nerves. You open your palm and raise it to his eye level.

“Look,” you order and point at the coin, “I have one pound.”

“I can see that.” He replies and puts his hand on yours, pushing it down so he can look at you.

“The vending machine needs one pound and a half.”

“Say it.” He commands and swallows hard, “The vending machine needs one pound and fifty...”

You clench your jaw and look at him dead in the eyes.

“Pennises.”

He lets out a snort and clasps his hand at the bridge of his nose. He turns his back to you and takes a few steps away. His shoulders move up and down.

“Ah, soldier,” he replies, still looking the other way. “that’s a lot of pennises.”

You run a hand through your hair and sigh.

“I know my pronunciation is probably wrong,” you state and shut your eyes, “but I need them.”

“Don’t say that,” he says between gasps, “you don’t need that many.”

With your eyes still closed, you start babbling about how wrong he is and how you wish you had a million of them so you could escape this hellhole and retire on an island. He squats to the ground and covers his masked face with his hands.

He sounds like he’s whimpering. You might have assumed he was sobbing if you hadn’t known the cause of his stance. But you knew why he was half crying, half laughing. It sounded hideous. It was hideous. You just can’t remember the word.

What’s it called, what’s it called...

You open your eyes. Ghost is walking towards you, wiping away tears from his eyes. He retrieves a fist of coins from his pocket and, muttering something under his breath, chooses two. He pinches a silver hexagonal-shaped coin with his fingers and shows it to you.

“This,” he says, “is fifty pence, or 50p.”

“Pence or p.” You repeat.

“That’s right.” He confirms and pinches a smaller coin with his other hand. “Now, this little one is a penny. Fifty of these are called fifty pennies.”

“Pennies,” you echo and slap your thighs, “See? Was it that hard to explain?”

“Oh yes,” he replies and nods slowly, “yes, it was that fucking hard.”

You lift your palm. “Can I have the big one?” You ask.

“Say it first.” He commands you.

You roll your eyes. “Can I have the 50p, Lt.?”

“Of course, you may have the 50p.” He says and places the coin in your hand, “What you absolutely may not have is fifty….” He stops and lets a repressed chuckle out.

You press your lips together and bite your cheek to not respond to his teasing. But you can’t.

“…pennises, I presume?” You sneer.

“Yeah, no.” He says and vigorously shakes his head, “You don’t want that.”

You wince and rub the back of your neck. Ghost tries to comfort you, telling you it’s ok and you shouldn’t feel bad, but he doesn’t believe it himself. He’s smiling beneath that mask; you can tell by how the grimace alters his voice. You thank him for the coin and walk to the vending machine.

“Soldier,” he calls out, “how many times have you said that word since you came to the UK?”

You tilt your head and try to recall.

“I can’t remember.” You conclude.

“You can’t remember if you ever said it, or there were so many occasions that you can’t count them?” He asks with a trembling voice.

“No, Lt.,” you reply, defeated, “I don’t remember asking another person for that.”

He looks relieved. He lets out a long exhale and rubs his masked face with his palms.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” he says, “but I’m glad I was the first one.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I wrote this in March, along with this story (yes, they’re very similar). Although I liked the idea and thought it was funny, I initially discarded it because it felt stupid, and chose to post the other one (not like the other one is pure genius). It remains as such, but as I said, it’s a crackfic. I’m not researching how to improve human welfare.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost call of duty

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snowdice · 1 month

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Tales From Logan’s Office (Part 3) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Virgil, Logan/Patton

Characters: Logan

Summary: Virgil invades Logan’s office. (Multiple times.)

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Part 1 Part 2

Logan couldn’t help but smile slightly to himself at the framed picture he’d just put on his desk. Logan didn’t have too many personal artifacts on his desk in his on-campus office. He had a few photos and exactly one trinket (a little tiny snow globe with a klein bottle, or at least a 3-D representation of one, in it). All of these were courtesy of Patton. The new photo he’d just put up had been courtesy of Patton as well. His husband had forwarded him the picture this morning after finding it on the university’s social media.

It was a photo Logan had never seen of his son before, one that must have been taken by some student group during one of the welcome week activities this past August. He was wearing the T-shirt incoming freshman had gotten as a gift for being one of the first 500 students at one of the welcoming activities this year. (Virgil had been very proud of himself for getting it.) Logan could tell it had just been given to him as the shirt he’d originally been wearing was poking out from under it at the neck. He must have just pulled it on over what he'd been wearing.

Virgil had gone to every one of those welcome week activities, mostly for the “free shit.”

In the photo, Virgil’s hair was soaking wet from a water balloon that had at some point been tossed at him. (Logan had been sure to stay far away from the quad that day). There was still a bit of bright orange rubber in his hair.

He looked happy, like any normal freshman. The people around him in the photo, his classmates, his roommate, his professors would have no idea looking at that photo what he’d gone through in his earlier teenage years. It no longer showed on his face.

Well, at least, it did not show all the time.

The new photo sat next to a photo of the entire wedding party from Logan and Patton’s wedding. Three of the seven people in the wedding photo were dead. Logan had put that photo away for years and hadn’t taken it back out until, well, around when he’d adopted Virgil.

The last photo was one of just Patton and Virgil from only a few months after Virgil had come to live with them. Logan had taken the photo himself. Patton was asleep in an armchair and Virgil was looking at the camera curiously. Patton had framed that photo and brought it to Logan’s office himself. It had been the only one on his desk for a while; Logan had never touched it.

The boy in that picture was very different than the one in the photo Logan had just had printed off and framed that morning. Yet, they were the same. And it would be the same boy who would blast his way into Logan’s office 15 minutes from now. He had a 30-minute break between classes, and he apparently considered Logan’s personal space his own personal space.

He was right.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #platonic analogical #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #adriana writes

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l0vergirls · 1 month

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batfam making a move when they notice your insecurity at an all time high.

it would probably be around the week of valentine's day that they'd often see you sulking, and eyeing the flowers that your friends received with barely concealed envy.

what better time to put their plans into action?

if you fall for tim, then the others could breathe easier knowing you were closer to them than ever.

knowing you were an especially touchy person with your friends, tim had given in to temptation; he let his hands wander and his touches linger. nothing further than what would seem friendly, though it seemed to have an effect on you. and tim hung onto every reaction you gave.

whether it be the slightest hitch of your breath or the way you'd tumble over your words, he'd felt his heart quicken with each one.

next, there were flowers delivered at your doorstep which were signed with a single letter: T.

you had an inkling of who it could be, though you kept your expectations low.

you'd taken a liking to tim drake, much to your dismay. it was difficult not to fall for the boyish smile he always bore, even if it could be a little crazed sometimes. it was especially hard to deny your feelings when he would look at you like you hung the moon; his eyes were bright and had a twinkle to them that could rival the stars.

unfortunately, with your track record of almost romantic partners, you didn't expect your pining to go any further than lingering touches and flirtatious comments.

deciding not to mention it to anyone, you'd gone through the week as you usually would, albeit a little sombre.

it breaks their heart to see you upset— to see you think that you'd spend the day of love alone again. and so, they all decided to cheer you up in their own ways.

dick would stay a minute longer during your shift, cracking his lame jokes just to see you smile.

jason would initiate more conversation, wishing you a good day, or a good evening.

bruce and damian, unable to approach you outside of the suits, would do their part as their crime fighting alter egos. you would see batman and robin around more often that week.

as much as they all wanted to do more, they knew they had to hold back to allow you to fall for tim with no distractions. if they'd laid it on thick, it would only overwhelm you and cause you to pull back.

on the day of valentine's, tim had asked you on a date.

no labels yet, of course. the last thing they needed was to scare you off. they should really be rewarded for their patience.

the man of your dreams asking you out on valentine's day when you thought you had no hope? what else was there to say except for an ardent yes?

(a little secret:: the date ends in hot passionate sex .... reader's been deprived and tim's obsessed !!! of course they couldn't keep their hands off each other!!<33 and the others wallow in jealousy.......)

ive missed writing for these suckers so much :^) when i figure out how to write smut its so over for you guys

#yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #tim drake x reader #dc x reader #— dc.#— yan writes.

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writersblockedx · 1 year

Text

Just Material

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary - When Fred finds Y/n wearing a jumper which isn't her own (and certainly isn't his), he can't help but question who it must belong to. Warnings - Bit of angst, mentions of stress Words - 1.5K

Masterlist

It was a jumper. It was just a jumper. A bit of material, sewed together by needle and thread with absolutely no deeper meaning than such. At least, that's how Y/n saw it. Fred, however, saw the Hufflepuff title over the jumper, the smell that still lingered and the initials which were still printed into the label. Just two letters which taunted him: C.D

Fred had made it abundantly clear from the moment the two made their title of couple official, that Y/n was his. His hand seemed very so delicately glued to her, his eyes trained on her (even when she wasn't looking) and constantly trying to be at her side. This was mostly because of the great feelings he felt for the girl; feelings of which, sometimes, he struggled to comprehend. But there was too a small part of him which did it to ensure no one else got any ideas.

The boy wanted to make it out to be as if there was no point in trying. If he was to ensure that their relationship was shown to be as concrete as it felt, then no one else would try to slip their way between them. And Fred's plan had been working; it had been working bloody brilliantly. Well, that was before now. Because, as it turns out, the Weasley boy had walked into the library, set to meet Y/n, only to find her sat at a table with friends, dressed in a jumper which wasn't her own - and certainly wasn't his.

She was sat there, a book flicked to a page Fred knew she definitely wasn't reading as she quietly giggled with her friends. Friends of which Fred knew weren't Quidditch players who he also could assume wouldn't thus own Quidditch jumpers. So, the question which came to Fred's head, was simply: Who's jumper was it?

He had been standing at a halt in the middle of the Libary, so deep in thought he didn't have it in him to get Y/n's attention. That was until she caught his sight, smiled, then lost her smile as she noted his discouraged expression.

The girl retracted from her table and wandered towards him, "Hey," She flash a grin which wasn't returned. "You okay?" She asked him, brushing her palm against his forearm in hopes to ease whatever was eating him.

"New jumper?" He sneered through a firm frown.

Y/n looked down as if she were just reminded of what she was wearing, "Oh yeah, I ended up getting some bulbadox juice on me in potions, so Cedric offered me his jumper. Quite embarrassing actually." The girl laughed the story off as just one of them silly things, but Fred had made no move to loosen his ever so stern expression.

He just nodded stiffly and said, "So it's Cedric's?"

Y/n huffed. She knew that Fred could be...protective. It was an attribute which she did adore, but there were times, more recently, when she was finding it more difficult to deal with. If she were to talk to someone else for too long, or laugh too hard at someone else's joke that wasn't his own, she'd feel Fred shift at her side. Y/n knew he never meant it in a nasty way, it was just who he was. Not to mention, with exam pressure and such, any emotion between either of them seemed to become amplified.

"It's just so I didn't look stupid for the rest of the day." She attempted to assure him, but it seemed too late; Y/n had already lost him to his sea of doubt and troublesome worries. "Fred," She said through such a soothing tone, "It's just a jumper."

He shook his head and muttered, "It's not." Before turning his back on the girl, leaving her no chance to get in another word.

She watched, empty pupils and a blank stare as he walked away. Y/n wasn't sure what more she could have said - or even if there was much more she could have. So she settled in her stance, not daring to drag her sights away from the redhead until he had completely exited the Libary. Her thoughts raced. She couldn't leave it like this. Not when it was an argument that never needed to happen.

Before her plan had fully been conducted in her head, she was already walking. Of course, she couldn't be sure where Fred had run off to, but Y/n made a guess for the dorms as she wandered the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. She slipped through the entrance and found herself in the quiet confinements of the room.

There was a fire cracking in the corner, some vinyl playing quietly and a few students dotted around in their usual places. She scanned the room. Unlike the rest, she wasn't fitting into the tranquil atmosphere that the room created. Instead, she was pooling in worry and haste to catch Fred before this situation got worse. Her pupils found George, sitting closest to the vinyl player and having his gaze pulled to Y/n from the moment she had walked in.

The other twin pushed himself from where he was seated to meet the girl in the middle. "He's in his dorm." He informed and her eyes flickered to the stairs. "I don't know what happened, but just be kind on him, the O.W.L.s aren't have got him stressed."

Y/n nodded in understanding, "The thing is, nothing happened. Nothing really." She shrugged as she felt her gaze being pulled towards the stairs she knew led to Fred. "I just need to talk to him."

George flashed a smile that was soft and sweet, "He needs you, Y/n." He said in full confidence.

She returned the smile, already beginning to walk towards the stair way. "Thanks, George." And with that, the girl slipped away and wandered towards the dorm room she had been in too many times to count.

Her feet slowed as she reached the door, finding that the wood taunted her. Her breath ached against the air and she almost thought about avoiding this situation. She considered turning her back and running. As much as she adored Fred, this conversastion was one of which she knew they would struggle to get through. But it was one conversastion of which couldn't be silent.

So she brought her knuckles into a fist and patted them against the door. Y/n waited a moment or two before hearing an uncertain, "Yeah?" From the other side.

One last breath leapt from the comforts of lips before she swung the door open and entered the dormetory. She stood awkwardly in the doorway as she met Fred's eyes, sat with his legs flung over the bed side. Neither of them broke an expression. Their eyes were blank and empty, waiting for the other to make the next move in this chess game they found themselves in.

"What are you doing here?" Asked Fred as the girl took a step forwards, shutting the door behind her.

She shifted on her feet slightly, "Came to talk to you." Y/n answered as she dared to move further into the room. She watched as he huffed, shaking his head in dismay. So she too huffed and uttered out a, "Fine."

Fred's brows knitted as Y/n wandered to his waredrobe, reteriving one of his own hoodies, one of which the girl had stolen before. From there, she slipped from the one Cedric had loaned her and put Fred's on, his familar scent brushing against her nostrails once again. Then she turned to the boy and raised a brow, "Better?"

He dragged himself from the bed and met the girl in the middle of the room where he looked down on her, "It wasn't just about the jumper." He told her.

She reached a hand out, letting it cup the side of his face - something of which he had effortlessly eased into. "Then what is it?"

His own hand grasped the one which comforted his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to her palm. "It's just-" The words choked his throat as he pushed them out. "It's when you wear mine, when you go around with my jumper on, my number on your back, in Griffindor colours, everyone knows it's because you're mine." He paused and Y/n waited for him to gather his words. "So when you wear someone else's, I can't help but think it's the same."

Y/n would be lying if she didn't admit to the fact that her heart was fluttering, but still she comforted the boy and flashed him a soft smile. "I am yours. But a jumper, a bit of fabric, doesn't get to decided that. We do, Fred" She assured him as their pupils seemed tangled together - just as their hearts were.

Fred leaned his forehead forward until it met the girls. And there, through the silence of Fred's dorm, he whispered, "Mine."

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spdrvyn · 11 months

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TSUNDERE MIGUEL O'HARA THAT IS DENYING HIS FEELINGS FOR READER WHILE HE ACTIVELY THINKS ABOUT THEM 24/7 AND KNOWS ALL THEIR CUTE LITTLE QUIRKS (READER CAN BE SPIDERMAN OR NORMAL PERSON YOUR CHOICE) PLEASE I NEED TRUNDERE MIGUEL SO MUCH IM DYING IM STARVING *sob sob cry sob*

love, your best friend Dre <3

i won't say i'm in love — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( uhhh .... i have no clue who this motherfucker is! jk lol hi tommy [ you slut ] here is your severely in denial miguel fic, spoiler free. ))

"Lyla, arrange this mess."

Miguel waved his hand at the AI, eyes focused on the glowing screen in front of him. He always had the habit of keeping a messy desktop, though it wasn't a big problem for him considering his trusty artificial intelligence assistant.

To which the trusty artificial intelligence would poke and tease Miguel in response. At times, he really wondered if Lyla was secretly being controlled by a human. A pesky, occasionally annoying, childish human that constantly pushed his buttons.

"What's the magic word, Miguel?"

He groaned bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, massaging the stress lines that have formed from constantly being teased and played with.

"...Please."

Lyla lets out an electric hum, her avatar glitching into a thinking pose. She stares at Miguel with a confused look through her heart-shaped sunglasses. "Sorry. The signal in here is so bad. What was that?"

"I said, please, Lyla. Get to work."

"Oh, don't worry. I heard you the first time."

The man lets out a defeated sigh, he's given up on trying to defend himself against Lyla. Even when he's old and withered, this charade will continue like a never-ending circus show.

Multiple screens pop up in front of the AI, to which Miguel bashfully averts his gaze. He's normally organized enough, in the workplace but he's also very busy. Little things like putting files in the folders they belong simply evades his mind sometimes.

However, one file in particular stood out in front of him from the corner of his eye. It was a drive, among all the others that are colored in the regular shade of blue and labeled accordingly, this one was highlighted in pink with a little heart symbol at the end.

"Lyla, what's that?"

Her avatar glitches again into her in a sitting position, a little teacup in her hands as she takes a fake sip. "Hmm? I don't know, I don't see anything. Which one are you talking about?"

"Ay dios mío... The one in pink, Lyla. What is it?"

"Ohhh..." An obviously fake display of surprise makes itself present on Lyla's face, she opens the file. "This is a drive of all of the times you talked about that recruit. Lovingly, might I add."

Miguel's eyes darted around the screen, folding his arms over his chest. There were many, many videos of him. The scroll bar just kept going like there was no end.

Hesitantly, he pointed to one among the sea of videos and Lyla opened it. The playback goes as follows, the 'recording' is from her perspective, it seems.

Miguel is hunched over his desk, mumbling nonsense to himself until it becomes more coherent as Lyla approaches him.

"Whatcha' got there?"

The camera shifts and zooms over to Miguel's hand, to where he's holding a small tupperware. Filled to the brim with baked goodies, a small sticky note is pasted to the top of it however the writing is too tiny to make anything of it.

'They got me a gift.'

'That's the third one this week.'

His chest heaves as he lets out a deep sigh.

'...I know.'

A small moment of silence before Miguel continues speaking.

'Esto es tan tonto. I don't why they keep bringing me these... these things! I don't know why they keep smiling brighter than sun when they give them to me!'

Miguel frustratingly opens the tupperware, brings one of the pastries close to his mouth and takes a big bite. A small groan escapes his throat.

'I don't know what they're putting in these things to make them so delicious! Giving them to me, of all people. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So smart they are. Agile, strong, and capable and— and kind...'

Another bite.

'You know that you've gotten them gifts before, right?'

'But they all look idiotic next to this. Made with their precious time and care. Putting in the effort to make sure that they actually taste good and they do,'

Miguel closes the tupperware with a loud snap.

'¿A quién estoy engañando? They're amazing.'

"Miguel?"

That wasn't part of the recording. Miguel swipes at the screen and it fades out of existence, little pixels hovering in his sight before it completely disintegrates. Lyla disappears too as you swing onto the platform of his office.

He tenses up once he sees you, leaning a hand against his desk. God, he definitely did not want to look at you after what he just watched. He especially did not want to look at you because of the blush that stained his cheeks. Thankfully, mostly hidden by the darkness of his chambers.

Of course, you greeted him with the same warm smile.

"Haven't seen you all day today. Are you doing alright?"

"Fine. Doing fine. Just cleaning, why are you here?" Says Miguel, he despised how his heart pounded in his chest so loudly right now. Whenever he was around you.

Being so composed was what he was known for, what he was respected for. Yet, everytime you even look in the same direction as him, his exterior just melts.

"I just wanted to check in on you, was all. I noticed you haven't come out in a while, I brought you an empanada from the cafeteria just in case you were hungry."

You toss the small container to him and he catches it in one hand, he could hardly comprehend what was going on right now. Staring mindlessly at the box. "Thank you."

"Of course. Take care of yourself for me, I'll... head out now."

He watches over the edge as you fall off the platform, landing onto ledge that separates his desk from the rest of the room.

"Can you start ranting now? I want to get this drive up to 600 videos."

Miguel grumbles, opening the box and biting into the delectable snack before going back to organizing his desktop.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #romance #lyla spiderverse #lyla atsv

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fallenneziah · 9 days

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If you are excepting requests? May I request a ghost x reader where he sees reader working out and at first he thinks she’s doing it because she wants( he lowkey doesnt want her to lose the weight, 🩷he likes her chubby :((( )but then she just stops eating and doing things she normally does because she’s insecure and he just comforts her. kinda long but only if u wanna do it🫶🏼🫶🏼 feel free to change some thingsss

Aww, thank you anon. Requests are open, I'll happily write for you guys (please send me stuff 😅😂)

Beauty standards.

Cw: unhealthy weight loss, unhealthy coping mechanisms, eating disorder (in standard), Ghost taking care of you. Just fluffy.

Ghost is absolutely enamored by you. As a 6'4 man with muscles for miles, he absolutely adores you to be somewhat opposite of him.

There's just something about your soft tummy and despite how much you workout and how strong you get you never lose that soft plush to your skin that makes him want to pick you up and cradle you for hours.

There was something about your warm thighs. He loved holding them. He loved when you sat on his lap and he could pull your thighs in and squeeze the soft skin in his calloused hand.

What he would give to feel your tummy in his hands, sleeping with his head on your chest and your hands on his skin.

Your body is everything to him. He would love it, kiss it, and worship it every day. He just thinks you're absolutely beautiful.

But lately you haven't been feeling as excited about your body as he is. You'd promised yourself you would stop going on Instagram just to split compare yourself so much to the obvious filtered oblivion that were the supposed supermodels. And you promised you wouldn't let any of it get to you.

You were chubby, and sometimes being labelled as simply cute hit a little nerve inside you. Especially in military.

Slowly falling back down that hole. First staring to with a random weight suggestion board that had been cycling around. You decided to try it, and soon exercise took up a huge chunk of your day. More than it usually did.

Grabbing a half a bite of breakfast to leave for your ass crack of dawn morning run followed up by the crazy workout routine you'd been suggested.

At first Simon commented on the stride and how he was impressed you were stepping up. Under the impression you were taking care of your body's needs.

But it only got worse. Until you felt no change in the workout routine and simply decided you would just stop eating.

You had to get thinner somehow and you wouldn't stop until you could confidently post a picture looking like one of the Karcrashions.

You skipped out on meals and simply gave the excuse of being tired and that you'd get food later. But this only flew for so long. How you thought you'd get away with it with the others let alone your own boyfriend was a wonder.

Once again, laying in your bed after rejecting dinner, hearing the door open. You recognized the heavy footsteps as he approached, kneeling onto the bed.

"Hey Simon..."

Simon hummed, his arms wrapping around you, pushing the blanket back and laying down behind you, kissing your neck.

"Tell me what's wrong." He whispers, pressing another soft kiss behind your ear.

"I'm fine baby, I'm just not feeling hungry."

Simon kisses your nape again. "You're never hungry anymore..."

"Just on a new diet..." You mumbled, wanting to tell him and wanting to hide at the same time. Simon squeezed you gently, his hand splaying across your stomach. His kisses slowly stop and he lays his head there, just listening.

The moment of silence passed before you finally managed out. "I feel Hideous..."

Simon shifts slowly. "Why? What makes you feel... Hideous."

You roll onto your back, giving him a firm look. "You know exactly what. Look at me... No matter what I do I can't get rid of this stupid fat!"

Simon remained silent, nodding a little. His heart sank. Simon understood what it meant to hate yourself. He still remembers the time when he felt like he would rather die than live in his body.

But he loved your body. He could never see you as hideous.

"What? You mean your stomach?" He gently rubbed the plump area. You scoffed though. "It's everything. My thighs, my arms, my stomach..."

Simon looked you up and down, effortlessly lifting you up. He kneeled in front of you, gently wiping a tear before it could fall far.

"Fuck what anyone else says. Fuck it." He leans forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently kissing your thighs.

"I love every inch of you." He whispered. "The world can burn before I give one fuck about what they say about you."

You sniffled and grimaced. "I hate it... I wish I was skinny."

Simon looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're beautiful. You're perfectly healthy. What woman wants a bloke with abs and no fluff. Like sleeping on a goddamn xylophone." He gently kissed your stomach, holding your thighs.

"Everyone likes a little bit of fluff."

"I know I do."

He stood and swept you up again, making you gasp and grip onto him, legs curling around him. He played back down on the bed and postures you on top of him.

"No woman's stomach is completely flat, thigh gap? I couldn't give less of a fuck. All I care about is that you're still healthy, and ultimately, you're happy."

Your eyes brimmed with more tears, sniffling. "You don't... Think I'm ugly?"

Simon leaned up, sliding you down into his lap. He wrapped your legs around his torso and kissed you softly. "Not a day since I met you."

A lot of times, seeing your body in a positive light is a hard thing. Even with people around you who encouraged your proportions. Simon knew this. He knew he could help, he could love you and reassure you that he wasn't here just because of your body.

He loves his fluffy princess 😊.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x female reader #cod x y/n #fluff this time

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