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#you’ve been lied to on the internet
itaipava · 6 months
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— f1 boys as your boyfriends.
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˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS:
he’s the fun and cheerful kind of boyfriend. the kind that spams you with his silly internet discoveries, like an interesting article or a tiktok video or random vlogs. the kind of boyfriend who calls you ‘beautiful’ all the time, even when you’re not looking or feeling good. the kind of boyfriend who gets over fights easily - the kind of boyfriend who makes it hard to be mad at him because he’s so genuine and generous. the kind of boyfriend who praises you constantly and has a genuine admiration for you. the kind of boyfriend who makes you feel heard and understood. the kind of who suddenly drags you into a store to buy cheap plastic ‘promise rings’ and then asks you as a joke; when the two of you stop having a good laugh, he says with a soft, content smile, “you know... i’m really going to do this one day.”
˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO:
is the kind of boyfriend that lifts your mood and makes you feel lighter just being around him. he’s very open with his physical affections and words - probably the one who says ‘i love you’ first and he does it at the most random moment and with the purest beam of light on his face that makes your heart melt.  the kind of boyfriend who shows you off to friends;  you often hear “daniel don’t shut up about you, please help me” or “he’s so in love with you, it’s disgusting”. the type who calls you out of the blue and drags you off on unplanned dates - he’s sometimes the reason you end up neglecting your work, but he makes it up by helping you get through later.
˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ:
is the kind of boyfriend who still looks at you with the same passionate gaze, no matter how long you’ve been together. the kind of boyfriend who picks you up wherever you are because he doesn’t want you to be alone, especially late at night. he is more of a listener in the relationship, but he also speaks his mind and values honesty. the kind of boyfriend who suddenly blurts out ‘you’re so beautiful’ while watching you laugh with your friends; even when others stop and turn to him, it doesn’t bother him, because it’s just the truth. the kind of boyfriend who kisses you a lot on the forehead and temple. the type of boyfriend who makes you feel safe, welcomed and protected just by being around him.
˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC:
he’s the kind of boyfriend who pays attention at you even when you’re not looking at him, and unconsciously knows all the little habits you have. the kind of boyfriend who not only knows your little quirks on the surface but also understands you so deeply that you sometimes think he can read your mind. the kind of boyfriend who likes to sit beside you in silence while you do your own thing. the kind of boyfriend who tells you to go to bed early but also calls you and you end up staying up late because the conversation flows so naturally when you talk to him. the kind of boyfriend who loves watching you sleep while gently stroking your cheek with his thumb; your peaceful and lovely sleeping face makes him feel calm, as if he is right where he should be.
˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON:
he’s the very cuddly, relaxed and comfortable type of boyfriend to be with. he sends sweet little messages during the day to see how you are doing. he is also very tolerant and open-minded. the type who always seems to know what you’re feeling - he’s good at noticing small changes in your voice, expressions, habits or mannerisms, so “i’m fine” lies don’t really work with him. he’s so affectionate, always making sure you’re healthy and eating well. the kind that thinks a lot about the future together. the kind who marathons your favorite movies with you. the kind that brings you chocolate, snacks you like and other necessities when you have your period - comforts you and makes you smile when you have mood swings. the type of boyfriend who looks at you with so much love and affection that makes your friends fall in love with your relationship. the type of boyfriend who supports you in everything, but also gives you advice and helps you overcome your problems and difficulties. the type of boyfriend who makes his love for you obvious in everything he does for you.
˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI
the “best friend” type of boyfriend. he can be a little shy and awkward about showing his affection, especially at first, but there’s also this feeling of comfort around him. the kind of boyfriend who treats you like he’s known you forever, but still blushes and gets nervous whenever you praise him or kiss him randomly. more like a listener, but he’s so considerate when he talks; the kind that asks questions you never thought of or that no one asked before. the kind who have a verbal habit of saying “we” instead of “i” because subconsciously include you in most of his future plans - no matter how big or small. the kind that gives you so many kisses on the forehead. and whenever he hugs you, you can feel all his love for you, you can feel at home.
˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN:
he’s the kind of boyfriend who likes to take you everywhere he goes: his favorite park, favorite restaurant, favorite cafe, favorite record store. the kind that remembers almost everything you like and don’t like, which makes him amazing when it comes to buying gifts, among other things. the kind of boyfriend who remembers your hours or when you’re free and calls you at those times because he wants to hear your voice. if you don’t, he likes to leave voice messages. honestly very sincere. he’s the kind of boyfriend who lets you use him as his personal pillow all the time; no matter where you are, if he sees you dozing, he won’t think twice before letting your head rest on his lap or shoulder. the kind of boyfriend who lovingly calls you an ‘idiot’, but you know, his idiot.
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writingbyshiloh · 8 months
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Third Time's the Charm
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Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?
AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.
CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta
WC: 2.0K
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Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan. 
At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.
When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.
Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.
The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan. 
When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.
Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying. 
Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress. 
You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.
“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.
“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”
They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words. 
“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand
You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them. 
You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend. 
You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her. 
You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol
Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all. 
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In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.
Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.
When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.
You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.
“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.
“You don’t have to.”
You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”
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“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table. 
“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”
“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.
“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way. 
“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.
“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window. 
Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.
Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.
“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”
“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.
“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too. 
“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go. 
You stand and straighten out your dress. 
“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself. 
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You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up. 
You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is. 
‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting. 
“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it. 
“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.
“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”
“No, what you said in front of my parents.” 
Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going. 
“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest. 
It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking. 
The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.
“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near. 
Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again. 
Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible. 
You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.
Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.
“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.
You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit. 
“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan. 
“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 
You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall. 
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heritageposts · 2 years
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how do i start to read marxist leninist/leftist stuff ? i searched on the internet but it’s super confusing lol
the most important value for me as an ML is anti-imperialism, so i guess i'll always recommend that people start with works centred on that
some suggestions below (all books should be available either on marxist.org or as pdf/epub files on libgen)
American Holocaust by David E. Stannard
about the colonization of america. not explicitly marxist, but it's probably done more to radicalize me than any other piece of writing. this is the pile of corpses capitalism is built on:
Within no more than a handful of generations following their first en counters with Europeans, the vast majority of the Western Hemisphere's native peoples had been exterminated. The pace and magnitude of their obliteration varied from place to place and from time to time, but for years now historical demographers have been uncovering, in region upon region, post-Columbian depopulation rates of between 90 and 98 percent with such regularity that an overall decline of 95 percent has become a working rule of thumb. What this means is that, on average, for every twenty natives alive at the moment of European contact-when the lands of the Americas teemed with numerous tens of millions of people-only one stood in their place when the bloodbath was over. To put this in a contemporary context, the ratio of native survivorship in the Americas following European contact was less than half of what the human survivorship ratio would be in the United States today if every single white person and every single black person died. The destruction of the Indians of the Americas was, far and away, the most massive act of genocide in the history of the world. That is why, as one historian aptly has said, far from the heroic and romantic heraldry that customarily is used to symbolize the European settlement of the Americas, the emblem most congruent with reality would be a pyramid of skulls. - David E. Stannard
2. Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism by Vladimir Lenin
Imperialism is capitalism at that stage of development at which the dominance of monopolies and finance capital is established; in which the export of capital has acquired pronounced importance; in which the division of the world among the international trusts has begun, in which the division of all territories of the globe among the biggest capitalist powers has been completed. - Vladimir Lenin
3. The Wretched of The Earth by Franz Fanon
Let us look at ourselves, if we can bear to, and see what is becoming of us. First, we must face that unexpected revelation, the strip-tease of our humanism. There you can see it, quite naked, and it’s not a pretty sight. It was nothing but an ideology of lies, a perfect justification for pillage; its honeyed words, its affectation of sensibility were only alibis for our aggressions. A fine sight they are too, the believers in non-violence, saying that they are neither executioners nor victims. Very well then; if you’re not victims when the government which you’ve voted for, when the army in which your younger brothers are serving without hesitation or remorse have undertaken race murder, you are, without a shadow of doubt, executioners. And if you chose to be victims and to risk being put in prison for a day or two, you are simply choosing to pull your irons out of the fire. But you will not be able to pull them out; they’ll have to stay there till the end. Try to understand this at any rate: if violence began this very evening and if exploitation and oppression had never existed on the earth, perhaps the slogans of non-violence might end the quarrel. But if the whole regime, even your non-violent ideas, are conditioned by a thousand-year-old oppression, your passivity serves only to place you in the ranks of the oppressors. - prefrace by Jean-Paul Sartre
4. Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire
Yes, it would be worthwhile to study clinically, in detail, the steps taken by Hitler and Hitlerism and to reveal to the very distinguished, very humanistic, very Christian bourgeois of the twentieth century that without his being aware of it, he has a Hitler inside him, that Hitler inhabits him, that Hitler is his demon, that if he rails against him, he is being inconsistent and that, at bottom, what he cannot forgive Hitler for is not crime in itself, the crime against man, it is not the humiliation of man as such, it is the crime against the white man, the humiliation of the white man, and the fact that he applied to Europe colonialist procedures which until then had been reserved exclusively for the Arabs of Algeria, the coolies of India, and the blacks of Africa I have talked a good deal about Hitler. Because he deserves it: he makes it possible to see things on a large scale and to grasp the fact that capitalist society, at its present stage, is incapable of establishing a concept of the rights of all men, just as it has proved incapable of establishing a system of individual ethics. Whether one likes it or not, at the end of the blind alley that is Europe, I mean the Europe of Adenauer, Schuman, Bidault, and a few others, there is Hitler. At the end of capitalism, which is eager to outlive its day, there is Hitler. At the end of formal humanism and philosophicrenunciation, there is Hitler - Aimé Césaire
5. Blackshirts and Reds: Rational Fascism and the Overthrow of Communism by Michael Parenti
probably the most accessible introduction to communism that doesn't demonize countries that have undergone—or attempted to undergo—a transitation into socalism (like the ussr, cuba, etc.)
The very concept of "revolutionary violence" is somewhat falsely cast, since most of the violence comes from those who attempt to prevent reform, not from those struggling for reform. By focusing on the violent rebellions of the downtrodden, we overlook the much greater repressive force and violence utilized by the ruling oligarchs to maintain the status quo, including armed attacks against peaceful demonstrations, mass arrests, torture, destruction of opposition organizations, suppression of dissident publications, death squad assassinations, the extermination of whole villages, and the like. - Michael Parenti
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calaisreno · 12 days
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Under the Weather
There are days when everything goes wrong. I don't mind, as long as you're with me.
1731 words / Prompt: Weather
When John pushes the door open, he’s hit with a Baltic blast of air from within. This is surprising; it’s a cold day, but generally 221B is a bit warmer than outdoors. 
“What’s going on?” he asks the bundle of blankets on the sofa. 
“Not much,” Sherlock replies. “Lestrade called with a case. I solved it over the phone.”
John lets out a sigh; it becomes a small, vaporous cloud. “I mean, why is it so cold in here?”
“The temperature outdoors is minus seven degrees. In here, it is four degrees above zero. Eleven degrees warmer. You ought to be asking me, why is it so warm in here?”
“I mean,” John says, keeping his jacket buttoned and sinking into his chair, “Why is it bloody four degrees inside our flat?”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say that? The boiler’s broken.”
“Have you rung someone?”
The blanket bundle sighs. “Mrs Hudson is away, visiting her sister.” He’s using his patient voice, which means that John is going to have to shout if he wants an explanation. “I don’t know how to fix a boiler, and there’s no service tag on it, so I don’t know who to call.”
“You might have looked in the phone book. They do list people who fix boilers, you know.”
Sherlock waves a hand dismissively. The hand is wearing a purple mitten, which probably came from Mrs Hudson’s knitting basket. “This is 2010. Who uses phone books these days?”
“Maybe the internet knows who fixes boilers?”
Sherlock wags mittened hands at him. “Fingers frozen. Can’t type.”
“And all day you’ve been waiting here for me to come home and save you from freezing to death?”
The pile of blankets mumbles. 
“What?”
“I said, you’re better at dealing with boilers.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to call someone to fix a boiler, Sherlock.”
“Exactly.” A pair of grey eyes and a pink nose peep out of the blankets. “The electricity still works. Can you make tea? That might thaw my fingers.”
Cursing softly to himself, John fills the kettle. At least the pipes haven’t frozen, though that might be next. He sets it on the base, and flicks it on. The light remains unlit. “What did you do to the kettle?”
“Oh, erm. Why do you ask?”
“It’s not working.”
“It is a very old kettle. They don’t last forever, you know.”
“Oi!” He holds up the base. “Why is the cord no longer connected to the base?”
More mumbling. He catches the word experiment and something about microwave not working either…
Cursing a bit louder, John opens his laptop and searches for someone who will repair a boiler. He casts an evil look at the sofa as he dials the first one he finds. 
A minute later he ends the call. “It’s after hours,” he announces. “And the weekend is just starting. I left a message.”
He tries three more numbers, then five more, leaving increasingly desperate messages. 
For a moment he sits, eyes closed, and contemplates the long, cold weekend that lies ahead. Maybe the telly works, at least. He takes the remote and presses the power button. 
“Cable’s out too,” Sherlock’s voice says. He still in his blanket pod, but knows John well enough to anticipate his thought process. “Ice on the lines.”
“Well,” John says. It’s all fine for Sherlock, who is in a cocoon, unaffected by the weather inside the flat. “I’ll be upstairs putting on my arctic gear.”
“I’ll call for takeaway,” Sherlock says.
John’s room is even colder than downstairs. This is mainly because water has been leaking through a hole in his ceiling. The hole is a surprise, an unhappy one. Not big enough to see sky, but enough to let water in. This morning, before it started to rain and the temperature began to drop, followed by ice and snow, the ceiling was intact. His room was nice and warm—and dry. 
There’s no way he can blame Sherlock for the age of the roof, the weather’s bad timing, or the bad luck that hovers over John like a small, dark cloud.
He curses loudly as he opens drawers, hunting for his long johns and wool socks. Finding them, he sits on the bed and curses again as water soaks into his pants.
“Bloody buggering hell! What did I do to deserve this!” 
The fates have no answer for this.
Finally, having discarded his wet pants, donned his long johns, wool socks, a pair of corduroy trousers that fit over the long johns, a polo neck pullover, and the warmest jumper in his drawer, he heads down the stairs, cursing at a volume loud enough for the other resident of the flat to hear.
The sitting room is silent, the lump on the sofa unmoving. 
“There’s a hole in the roof!” he announces. “My bed is soaked through.”
“We could make a fire in the hearth,” Sherlock suggests. He’s poking his head out now, looking like a curly-headed turtle. 
“By we, I assume you mean me.” John grabs the blanket off the back of his chair and wraps it around his shoulders before sinking into the chair. “Do we have any firewood?”
“A relevant question.”
“Look, I won’t mind burning some of your books if it’ll keep me warm.”
“My books are valuable. You might try burning some of those idiotic spy novels you read. But there’s some firewood downstairs, by the back door. I’m sure Mrs Hudson won’t mind us using it. Better than coming home and finding our stiff, dead corpses—”
“Let’s not talk about corpses right now.” Not while I’m thinking about killing you. “Did you order some food, I hope?”
“Angelo’s is closed, due to weather. I ordered Chinese.”
 “Thank god.” John leans back in his chair. Every muscle in his back is tight from a very long day, and he’s shivering hard, wishing for a cup of tea. 
He hears movement from the sofa and opens his eyes. Sherlock stands, shedding his blankets. He’s dressed in a pair of John’s tracksuit bottoms, John’s Christmas jumper, and wool socks that look suspiciously like they came out of John’s sock drawer. 
He’s glaring down at John with concern (if such a thing is possible). “Stop shivering.”
“Involuntary response,” he replies, teeth chattering. “That’s my jumper you’re wearing.”
“I didn’t have anything warm enough.”
“You made fun of that jumper at our Christmas drinks thing.”
“Well, it’s more appropriate now, isn’t it?” He arranges one of his blankets around John, tucking him into his chair. Then he strides out the door. 
When he returns with a bundle of firewood, John is reflecting that there won’t even be hot water. No bath to warm him up. Just Chinese food and blankets.
The fire is looking somewhat robust by the time the doorbell rings. 
The Chinese food helps, though it’s been in transit long enough that it’s not very hot. Sherlock apologises for the tea kettle. And the microwave. When they’ve eaten, he collects the empty cartons and takes the leftovers into the kitchen. 
“Fridge still works,” he calls out. “Just warning you, though. It will probably stop when the indoor temperature drops below freezing.”
“Look on the bright side,” John replies. “We’ll be stiff, dead, corpses by then. Beyond caring about milk for the tea we can’t make.”
Sherlock comes back with a bottle and two glasses. “Here’s something to warm us up.”
He hands John a glass and pours. “Happy anniversary, John.”
John laughs. “Right. One year living at 221B. I didn’t expect you’d care about things like that.”
“Why not? One year is the longest I’ve managed to cohabit with anyone. It’s been… good.” He sits down, his face pink in the firelight.
“It has been good,” John admits. He remembers the first time he came through the door, saw Sherlock’s clutter, and wondered what he was getting himself into. He remembers carefully probing, trying to determine whether Sherlock might be interested…
Well, nothing ever goes to plan. That’s the story of John’s life.
He leans back, all the weariness of the day dragging his eyelids down. 
“John, wake up.”
“Mm?” He sighs and opens his eyes. 
Sherlock is standing over him. “You can’t sleep in your chair. In the morning your neck will hurt.”
“True, but my bed has become an ice floe.”
“Sleep in my bed.”
“What? Oh, you’ll take the sofa.”
Sherlock shakes his head. “Self-preservation, John. Body heat.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We must sleep together.”
“Together?”
“It’s the only way.”
“You want to sleep with me?”
“Science, John. If your core temperature drops too low, you die. And all the firewood is gone, so we have to improvise.”
Improvise, indeed. The bedroom is colder than the sitting room, but the bed is large and, more importantly, not a frozen slab of ice. Keeping their clothes on, they crawl under the covers and move towards one another. Sherlock’s arms go around him, and John lays his head against Sherlock’s chest. 
It feels like something they do all the time. Or something they should have done months ago. 
John shivers a bit, not from the cold. Sherlock smells like kung pao chicken and expensive scotch. 
“Skin-to-skin might be warmer,” Sherlock says. “We shouldn’t take chances.”
John giggles. “Is the boiler really broken?”
“Of course. Did you think I was only trying to get you into my bed?”
“Sherlock.” He feels Sherlock’s nose with his own. It’s like an icicle. “You could have had me in your bed a long time ago, if that’s what you wanted.”
Sherlock is silent. He buries his face in John’s shoulder. “Really?”
“I didn’t think you wanted that.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you?”
“Everything went wrong today,” he whispers. “And then you came home.”
“This was an especially bad day.” John snuggles into him. “The surgery was full of snotty kids and over-protective parents. Nothing interesting, just mucus and vomit. I didn’t get any lunch. The bus was late. And when I came home, it was freezing. But you were here.”
“John.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t mind all the things that are wrong, as long as you’re with me.”
“Not that I want more misery, but…” John kisses his nose. “You’re the one I want to share it with.”
Sherlock kisses John’s nose, then his lips, lingering. “Let’s get these clothes off before we freeze to death.”
109 notes · View notes
pascallatte · 1 year
Text
oh sweet live
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader
Summary: after a short social media break after their announcement, they decided to go on live just to spoil another thing and just them answering fans.
Date: February 2018
warning/s: future spoilers(??), age gap
Taglist: @benonlinear, @t-stark35, @heyitsme-2, @elleeeee21, @holmesstrange, @tagakalat, @flyestvenustrap, @oldermenaremyreligion, @cherryred444, @avengersheart, @guacala, @pukka-latte, @hobiismyhopeu
A/N: some sort of a filler chapter cause I like it when celebrities do live and stuff.
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“Hello everyone!!” You said, setting up the camera when you saw the comments flooding in. You were in your apartment about to go rest when you decided to go on live. This would be your first appearance since you’ve gone public with your relationship, so doing this without preparation or guidance is scary and nerve-wracking. But still, with you being you, you decided to do what you want and let them do what they do.
Once the camera stills from being moved around constantly, it can be seen that you were sitting on the floor in what seems like your living room, given the couch and kitchen behind you that you’ve stated was behind the living room. Sitting on the floor with just a jacket and sweatpants on, bare-faced, with your hair down just how you like it, your coffee mug near you, you looked comfortable and ready for bed. But here you were.
“Anyways, hello to those who are watching. I’m sorry I’ve been absent from the media lately…” you said apologetically as you gave the viewers a small smile. You watched the comments roll through, often about how you are, what you’ve been doing the past month, and of course about you and Pedro, the main event of your live. “…life has been busy at the moment, but I promise you new projects will come.”
Drinking from the cup, you reached for your laptop, placed behind you on the couch. “Y/n, how are you doing these days?” You read, “hmm….. I’ve been doing good, going to the gym has been a new habit of mine, and I don’t regret it,” enthusiastically, as you flex your arms under the fabric of your jacket.
“What are you doing this valentines day?” Squinting your eyes as you read it, debating whether you should answer it or not, “for valentines? I don’t know, we- I haven’t really planned anything yet,” you lied as you scrolled through your laptop. 
“Where’s Pedro?” With a knowing look, you sighed, leaning back on the chair. “So it seems like the comments are filled with questions for Pedro,” raising your eyebrow you decided to tease them. “Guys, I’m the one on live why’d you keep asking for that old goose,” you joked leaning on your hand that was propped up on the table.
“You should do a q&a, y/n-”
“q&a?? How? I mean it’s not like I’ll do it,” you replied still looking at the comments. “Open your twitter and search up your name- oh now that’s interesting,” once again, reaching for the laptop placing it on your lap.
“Tha-that’s something I haven’t really thought of doing, but I’ll do it for you guys as a sorry for my absence.” The clicking of the keyboard was heard before an “oohhhh,” was heard from you. Widening your eyes, you looked back and forth from the screen of your laptop to your phone which was capturing all of your reactions.
“These are- woah. I should do this more often, it’s….interesting to say the least,” you mumbled to yourself. Looking back at your phone, the comment section was flooded with requests that you should read some tweets and say what you think. And to think that you weren’t showered with hate in the comments made you feel less tense than before and that alone made you continue. 
“Read some?? Sure, but I’ll have to make sure these are internet friendly as much as possible”
Humming at the first one, “one of you guys said here, ‘I fucking knew they were dating, what kind of friends would travel alone to one’s hometown just for fun’ to defend ourselves and others who do it, many would do it if you’re close and comfortable enough with them so yeah.”
“I wish I was Pedro’s girlfriend,” laughing at that, “oh boy, umm no comment.” Your response earned some complaints from the live’s comment section, but you paid no mind.
“If y/n ever scrolls here on Twitter and sees this, I just want to ask you what is your guys’ favourite pass time snack?”
“this is cute- favorite pass time snack??” You thought for a moment,
”OH mine is some good ice cream and fried combo, why you ask? It’s because growing up there’s this small old store near my house so every time class ends I go there to get some, and it’s been my favourite ever since. And Pedro’s are- it kind of changes every time we order some in but he’s been eating tacos recently so I think that tells us something.”
Scrolling through Twitter, your reactions vary from almost bursting out in laughter, to being uncomfortable, surprised, and in awe of the sweetness of the tweets. “Y/n and Pedro are literally couple goals, from the way they were seen the past years, I can tell this relationship isn’t new,” you read. Silence passed for a couple seconds before looking at your phone. 
“Should I tell to you guys? I mean you should’ve seen how long we were in his post but..” You paused as a notification rang through, “oh ok- ah going back. As I was saying, I would think that you guys should know by now but the comments say the other. So long story short we’ve been together since march of 2015,” you said as you shrugged your shoulders as if what you’ve said wasn’t that much of a big deal. 
The comment section went wild at your reveal, stating that they were deprived of the information and that they should have sensed a shift in your relationship at that time of the year. you went back to checking your Twitter and this time searching Pedro’s name knowing that he has more ‘interesting’ content. As you were about to read one, your doorbell rang making you look at the phone before standing up, “be right back.”
Your rushed footsteps can be heard before the door squeaked as it opened. Whispers can be heard in the background making the people in the comment section excited, knowing the only person that would enter your apartment at this time of night was the one and only Pedro Pascal.
Pedro was seen peaking from the side of the camera before laughing and a smack was heard. Ruffling sounds started back again before you were seen in the video once again but now with a jacket in hand. You placed it on the couch as you leaned to read the comments on your phone.
“I’m back, was that- yes that was him,” you confirmed, knowing that they’ll only ask more if you denied it. “Can we see him? Uhmm..” You look to the side to where your room was, “I’ll ask him, I don’t want to if he doesn’t want, it's been a long day,” you explained thoughtfully and softly in hopes they would understand.
You waited for a bit more for him to come out, now dressed similarly to what you were wearing. “Cielo, they’re asking for you,” you whispered. “Is it on live?” Pedro was heard making the viewer's spam comments. 
Nodding, “yeah, d-do you want to join or you’d rather rest?” You said reaching for him off-screen. He only stood up, making his first appearance as he rounded the couch to sit next to you. Reaching for your cup, he sips a little, “hi, how are you guys doing?” He greeted before reaching behind you to pull you to him.
“What were you doing when I got here,” he looked down to ask you. “I was reading tweets on Twitter, they told me to and I got curious. Want to join me?”He silently nods before taking your phone.
“Hi, Pedro- hello y/n’s followers. You don’t mind me taking over this live do you?” He teased which made you chuckle as you leaned on his shoulder, while the phone was propped up on his knees. Letting them have a look at your current position which the watchers found cute and “oddly comfortable” to them.
“Okayyy, so you were reading tweets right?”
You only nodded in response giving him the laptop, for him to read. “Did you buy the stuff, I told you to?” quietly as you leaned away from him to look behind you. “Yeah, I think so. But I wasn’t sure about the other things.” Humming you stood up and ruffled his hair before going to your kitchen.
“Soo internet...Let’s do this,” he went back to scrolling through Twitter. “Apparently we got our Javier Pena and Catalina Mendoza continued in real life. Hmm- actually it’s we’ve been rolling on it even before Javi and Lina got together.”
“If y/n ever needs someone to come to comfort her when they break up, I'm here just to let you know,” Laughing at the tweet he turns to you, “Y/n will you ever break up with me?” Pedro asks the very confused you.
“What? What do you mean?” You ask as you popped your head in frame, face clearly confused. “This person was telling the whole world that if we break up they’ll be there for you.” 
“Ohhh, well to whoever you are yo-it won’t happen sometime soon so don’t wait up on me.”
Pedro breaks out in a smile while exaggeratingly placing a hand on his chest, “Awww, she loves me.”
Chuckling, “Actually I take it back,” a gasp was heard from Pedro before you went back to doing what you were doing.
Huffing,” okay, so someone saw us in the gym yesterday and quote in quote “if I knew they’d show up in my gym today I should’ve worn my booty shorts. Y/NNN NOTICE ME!” He shouted which made you look at him again before sighing.
“” Now that Pedro and Y/n have confirmed they're dating, I want them in a rom-com.NOW.” oh a rom-com? I mean sure, you never know, we might be working on one right now,” he teases as he looks at your phone whose comment section was wilding up.
Finishing up what you were doing, you closed the fridge before making another cup of coffee because you know for a fact that Pedro has finished it. Taking a cup, you fill it up then walked back to where he was, of course still reading off of Twitter.
“Hello again,” you said as you sat down. “What’re you reading now?” You asked peering over his shoulder.
“They were asking for spoilers for projects.”
“Oh! That’s confidential all I can say is that we’re having so much fun in shooting-“ you gesture to him, “- and preparing for it,” pointing to yourself.
Both leaning back on the couch, you slither your arm around Pedro’s waist as you point at something before laughing. He gives you a look before covering your mouth before you can speak. “Please, y/n don’t. Please oh god!” Embarrassed he face-palmed before looking at the phone.
“Fine ok ok, I'm sorry. I won’t,” you said still laughing your ass off. You reached for your coffee and gave Pedro a side-eye knowing that he was already looking at what you were drinking.
“Cielo, you’ve already drunk my first one. How ‘bout you lay off of the coffee, yeah?” A grunt was heard from him before he closed the laptop, focusing on the live instead.
“How long have you been on?”
“Uhmmm, 10 minutes I think. Why?”
“Nothing just wanted to know why you weren’t asleep yet. It’s like past midnight already,” as soon as he said that you looked at him adoringly before pinching his nose.
“Nowww, ‘can I be in your video?’ We’re not entirely sure how that works but I’m not sure sorry.”
“Someone’s asking you why you were spotted with Tom Cruise the other day,” he said with a small smirk. Knowing that you can’t really tell them why, so it’ll be fun to see how you come up with an excuse.
“I don’t know actually-no I do know, we- well I was walking to the cafe I was frequent at then he like sort of popped out of nowhere so-yeah. Isn’t that right P?” You looked towards him only to see him holding back his laughter. You shook your head no which made him lean on you circling his arms around your waist.
Changing the topic,” our plans for the summer? Of course to the beach, just not sure where,”
"Plans for Pedro’s birthday? Hmm, that’s a surprise for you guys and himmm," squeezing his cheeks.
“Who are your top artists?- she's currently listening to Adele and I’m listening to all sorts of stuff but I’d still say Prince, obviously” he sassed, making him shake with your laugh as he was still leaning on you.
“Quebec? we just visited during the winter, and got back on the second week of January, I think.”
You let out a loud gasp, “Pedro! Pedro!” slapping his shoulder.
Looking up at you, disturbed, “What?”
“Nothing was just reading the comments” your laugh was replaced by a wince when he pinches your side
“Would y/n get a tattoo soon? Who said she doesn’t have any” teasing the comment section. In which you laughed as they bombarded you with “what is it?”, “When you got it?” and weirdly enough “where is it?”
“English or Spanish? What do you mean, like in conversing or career choices?” Pedro reads aloud as he lets out a breath, which made his tiredness show.
Nodding, ”I’d like to do another Spanish film or series though, you?” You look at him playing with the roots of his hair while he answers, “I’d use any, as long as I like what’s going on.”
“Who would you like to work with- Nicholas Cage, absolutely,” you giggled at his quick response.
“I don’t really have one 'cause everyone looks fun to work with but I’d want to do more adventure or action movies” you answered, making your answer as brief as possible.
Caressing you back, Pedro looks at you, confusion painted on his face, “You’re already in one though?”
“Huh? What do you mean? I haven’t done one after wrapping up for Ocean’s 8?” You pleaded to him with your eyes hoping that he gets you were faking your confusion.
“No y/n the big one, with all the planes and jet- the one with-“ his voice came out muffled as it was your turn to cover his mouth with your hand. Silence enveloped the room as soon as he registered what he had said along with the look of shock on your face. Clearing out his throat he nods and then went back to leaning on you.
“What’s your workout routine? 
“Oh, that’s a nice question” he perked up almost forgetting what he almost spoiled a while ago.
“I lift and-uhh, and running is a thing I do now.”
“It’s called the tom cruise regime guys go look it up,” backing away from him you took his shoulders to make him look at you.
Looking at him wide-eyed, conversing with him through them again. Pedro looked back at you, but this time watched as you take the phone.
“Hi, guys so uhm, we actually have to go or else you’ll have to witness the murder of your beloved Pedro Pascal. Bye!!” You quickly ended the live after that.
802 notes · View notes
weemssapphic · 7 months
Note
Good evening, my internet-lawfully wedded wife. I would like to request that Hanahaki Phasma story please? 🥺🥺🥺
Hello 💖 Thanks for the request, lovely 🥺 I finally had an idea for how to write this and I am very happy with how it turned out - and nervous as I've never written for Phasma before. I hope you like it, regardless of the angst 🥺 Thank you to @dianneking for beta-ing and helping me with the title, it means a lot 🫶🏼
Forget-me-not
Captain Phasma x f!reader
Summary: Of all the people you could’ve fallen in love with, it had to be Captain Phasma. Could your love for her be your death sentence?
Words: ~3.1k | ao3 link in title
Content/warnings: Hanahaki disease trope, angst, no happy ending, mentions of blood + death, character death, briefly nsfw (light smut - minors DNI)
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Icy blue eyes stare deeply into your own, pale pink lips are curled up into a devilish, seductive smirk. Phasma’s face is flushed and her pupils are dilated as she watches you come undone above her, bucking your hips against her and coating her abdomen in your arousal as you chase your high.
You’ve had sex with Phasma a handful of times now, which is strange in and of itself. You’ve heard plenty of stories about her since starting with the First Order – stories of one-night stands, lovers being used, abused, and discarded – threatened into silence, fired, even disappearing.
It would be dangerous to assume that you’re special – that you somehow mean more to Phasma than the other women she’s slept with. No one means anything to Phasma, that is one thing she has made abundantly clear. Phasma is the only person who means anything to Phasma. Everyone else is disposable, a means to an end – in this case, the end being her own sexual pleasure.
But then why has she let you into her bed time and time again? At first, she was demanding and dominating, relentless; taking, taking, taking. You cried during your first time with her – you were so overstimulated, yet she wouldn’t let up, and she punished you any time you tried to touch her. After that, you feared you’d be discarded like the rest – but then it happened again. And again. And then, one night, Phasma even allowed you to touch her. Watching the Captain Phasma reach the height of her pleasure on your fingers was something akin to a religious experience – you were ready to worship the woman, to give your soul over to her after hearing her moan and feeling her body shudder against your own. She’d taken her helmet off for the first time that night as well – you were immediately struck by her beauty. The planes of her face had a softness to them that had thrown you off-guard, her eyes – blue, oh so blue, oceans you could drown in – felt hypnotizing as they pierced your own. She’d been reluctant at first, but somehow – somehow – you’d managed to convince her – it must get quite hot and uncomfortable under that helmet after all. After the threat of torture methods that you hadn’t even heard of, ensuring you would never so much as think of telling a soul about seeing the great Captain without her helmet, she’d revealed her face to you.
And now, looking down at that charismatic, captivating smirk through the lustful haze of your fourth orgasm, you know you’ve gone and made the most fatal error you could possibly make.
You’ve fallen in love with Captain Phasma.
~~~
And what a fatal error, indeed.
After your latest rendezvous in Phasma’s quarters, you see her next at training the following morning. The bright fluorescent lights bounce off the chrome of her armor, flawlessly polished – though your mind is rather stuck on what lies underneath. Silken blonde locks, slicked back to emphasize her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. Long, muscular arms and large, slender hands; rock-hard abs and legs that seem to go on for miles, with thick thighs that you can’t help but picture wrapping around your head. After seeing the fearsome Captain outside of her armor, you fear you can never unsee it – and you’ll always be left wanting, yearning for more.
Perhaps there would be a way to convince her that you’re worth more than a quick fuck – you can’t stop thinking about those strong arms wrapping around your waist in your post-coital haze, fingertips tenderly caressing your bare flesh as soft lips press chaste kisses all over your face. You would look into her eyes – which would fill with affection – and tell her you love her, and she would say it back with a smile on her face.
Cough.
You’re caught by surprise at the sound that bubbles forth from your chest, tickling your throat.
“FN-196, is something the matter?”
Phasma’s voice is cool and collected – dangerous. You shouldn’t have made a peep – but you can’t help it. Another cough tickles the back of your throat and forces its way out – you try to stifle it but that just makes the coughing fit worse.
“N-no-“ cough “I’m sorry-” cough “It w-wo-“ cough “It won’t happen again, Captain.”
You clear your throat awkwardly and straighten your back as Phasma stalks towards you, stopping right in front of you. She’s inches away from your face, though she’s tall enough that you’d have to crane your head back just a bit to look up at her. You don’t – you think she might kill you if you do, so you look straight ahead at your reflection in her armor.
She looks down at you for a moment, her head tilted ever so slightly – you wish you knew what she was thinking. Does she really hold any shred of affection for you, does she favor you at all? Or is she plotting the quickest way to dispose of you?
“One more sound and I’ll have you scrubbing TIE fighters all weekend.”
Merciful.
You nod curtly. “Yes, Captain.” You don’t dare say anything else.
~~~
After your little coughing fit, you briefly worry that you’ve caught a cold. You seem to be in the clear, however – you don’t cough again after that, not for a few days.
But then it happens again, as you’re walking past Phasma in the corridor. One moment you’re fine, the next you look up and see her walking towards you. You come to a halt and step aside to allow her to pass, a sign of respect. She affords you the smallest of nods – an acknowledgement that makes you swoon – and that’s when it happens. You cough, more violently this time, as though your lungs have run out of air and are shriveling up as a result.
Phasma stops in her tracks and turns towards you, staring. Waiting for the coughing to stop. It does, eventually, and you feel your cheeks burn. You know she can’t see it underneath your helmet, but you’re certain she can sense your embarrassment in the way your shoulders droop and your hands begin to fidget as you stutter out an apology.
“Are you ill?”
“N-no, Captain, I don’t think so.” You shuffle from foot to foot – you can feel another coughing fit coming on, and you really don’t want Phasma to be around for that. “Just a tickle, must’ve breathed in some dust.” Right. Through your helmet. As if Phasma would believe that.
She hums, giving you a once over. You squirm.
“Good.”
She turns and starts to walk away. “Come to my quarters tomorrow night.”
Your heart flutters as you watch her round the corner, disappearing from view.
Cough.
~~~
“Mmh, oh- f-fuck,” you mewl, as Phasma’s hips slam into yours at a brutal pace, her dildo disappearing inside of you as she thrusts the entire length into your cunt. A bead of sweat collects at her temple, rolling slowly down her flushed cheek. Her hair sticks to her forehead, falling into her eyes – hungry eyes that devour you as she ravishes you. Her lips are parted to let out quiet grunts, her abs ripple with exertion and her biceps flex as she holds herself above you.
Your eyes roll back in your head as the dildo reaches deep inside of you – your breath quickens and you feel a guttural moan tear from your throat as your orgasm hits you, your walls clenching around Phasma’s cock. She’s relentless – she doesn’t let up, fucking you through your orgasm and even after, as you sink into the mattress and try desperately to regulate your breathing.
Phasma reaches her own peak and tumbles over it, and it’s a glorious sight. Her jaw goes slack and her eyelids fall shut, a broken moan slips past her lips. Her entire body trembles a bit and her hips stutter in their movements. The fact that she can get off by watching you cum is incredibly arousing to you, and it makes you feel special.
She removes the harness and the dildo and tosses it on the floor beside the bed, before lying down next to you – not to cuddle, no, never to cuddle – just to rest for a moment and recover from her orgasm. You turn your head to glance over at her. Her eyes are shut, allowing you to admire her openly. She’s breathing heavily, her cheeks are red, her forehead is sweaty. She looks heavenly, divine even.
You wish she would let you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close. You wish she would let you feel her lips against your own. You wish she would let you card your fingers through her hair and caress her jaw and tell her how much you love her, and you wish she would say it back. You wish-
Cough.
Oh no. Not again.
Phasma’s eyes shoot open and she looks over at you, raising an eyebrow. You avoid her gaze as your lungs constrict and you cough again, and again. Something tickles your throat – it’s as if something is stuck there. You cough harder – it has to come out. Covering your mouth, you cough again, and feel something soft hit your palm.
A small, blue flower petal. Your eyes widen in horror as you stare at the petal in your hand.
No. No, no, no, no. It can’t be. It can’t-
“What is that?” Phasma asks. Her brows are knit together and she cranes her neck to try and get a look.
“N-nothing” cough “it’s nothing.”
But Phasma isn’t one for playing games. Long, slender fingers curl around your wrist, vice-like in their strength – a snake devouring its prey, and she forces you to show her what you’ve coughed up.
Her upper lip twitches.
A billion micro-expressions cross her face, too quickly for you to place any one of them. When she looks you in the eyes a moment later, her face is devoid of any expression at all.
“It’s time you leave. Don’t be late for training tomorrow.”
You don’t need to be told twice – the hard edge to her voice scares you, so you clamber out of her bed and dress as quickly and as quietly as you can, your cheeks burning as you feel Phasma watching your every move. You hurry to leave, leaving the flower petal nestled among the sheets.
Phasma stares at it as you leave. She knows what it means. She’s no fool – she’s seen the way you look at her, how eager you are to please her – both in work and in sex.
An intense, burning rage fills Phasma - her insides suddenly feel like molten lava, her heart pounds viciously. If you die, Phasma will lose one of her best stormtroopers - and one of her best lovers. And you will die, if it's Phasma you’re in love with.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to love you back. There’s a reason she’s let you warm her bed for so long, after all. You’re skilled with your tongue, certainly, and you look so enticing when you’re being fucked into oblivion. But there’s something else – something Phasma doesn’t quite understand, something she’s never felt before. It’s not love, at least she doesn’t think it is – it’s nothing like how other people describe love, a feeling that Phasma doesn’t ever recall feeling.
But it’s something, and it’s been so long since Phasma has felt anything. Around you, in those brief moments after sex just before she kicks you out of her bed, she feels just a little lighter. Her usual anger is subdued, a dying ember where there’s usually a roaring flame.
It’s not enough, though. She knows this. She knows you know this – you must know this.
You’re a fool – a damned fool – Phasma thinks. Only an idiot would fall in love with her.
~~~
As is to be expected, your illness gets worse. You begin to disrupt training with your coughing – Phasma finds this annoying as is, but what she finds even more annoying is the unfamiliar sense of guilt that gnaws at her stomach, knowing she’s the cause of your… distress.
She dismisses you from training – the others will get suspicious, and your performance is lacking anyway. It’s best if you stay in your quarters.
She goes to check on you one day, in the middle of the night. Briefly, she wonders if she should have come at a more reasonable hour, but then she hears the coughing through your door and she knows you haven’t been able to fall asleep yet anyway.
You answer the door, your eyes bleary and your face pale. There’s blood trickling down your chin and a few small, crushed flower petals cling to the sweaty fabric of your nightgown. And yet, you smile at her. She tilts her head – why are you smiling? You’re a fool – a damned fool.
“It’s progressed then?” she asks. The modulator in her helmet keeps her voice level, and for that she is grateful.
Your eyes fill with sadness but your smile – soft, gentle – never wavers. You nod and open your mouth to speak, but you’re interrupted by another coughing fit, and bloody flower petals spill out of your mouth and onto Phasma’s boots.
Phasma looks down at the stained chrome, then back up at you.
“I-I’m” cough “sorry” wheeze “I-I’ll c-clean it-“
“Leave it.”
Your eyes widen and your cheeks redden, but you don’t dare argue.
Phasma turns her head to the right, then to the left. The corridor is empty. She takes a step towards you, into your quarters, until she’s nearly flush against you. Lifting her hands to her head, she removes her helmet, and cool blue eyes pierce your own. Your smile is back now, and she doesn’t understand – in fact, it makes her a little uncomfortable. A smile like that has rarely been directed at her (even if there is blood dribbling down your chin and your eyes are slightly unfocused) – it takes all her willpower to maintain eye contact.
“You shouldn’t have fallen in love with me.” Her tone is lacking noticeably in bite, though neither of you acknowledge this fact.
“I know.”
Cough.
“You’ll die.”
“I know.”
Wheeze.
Phasma’s lip twitches and her eyes dart between your own. Your smile is steady and true, even as your eyes fill with tears.
Phasma knows what she should say – what anyone else in her position would say. ‘I’m sorry’. Except she can’t say it, because she isn’t. Is she? She’s unsure – she’s never actually felt sorry for anything, not even for betraying her own family. Why should some random woman, a subordinate of hers at that, change that?
She remains silent. She nods curtly. You stifle another cough as you nod back, blinking slowly – it appears as though, somehow, you understand. As though you know that Phasma even bothering to show up in your quarters at all before your body leaves this galaxy is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.
“You d-don’t h-have” cough “to love me b-back. Just d-don’t” cough “for-forget me.”
You chuckle. Phasma doesn’t think it’s funny. She blinks, puts her helmet back on.
“Goodnight, FN-196.”
She doesn’t spare you another glance as she leaves.
~~~
Early one morning, Phasma is called to your quarters – as your superior, if something has happened, she needs to be informed.
And Phasma immediately knows what’s happened. Underneath her helmet, her eyes scan your body – limp, pale, covered in blood and flower petals. Even worse off than the last time she saw you. Usually, such a gory sight stirs up a sort of crazed bloodlust deep within Phasma’s soul, a gleeful sort of giddiness. Only now, when it’s you covered in blood and sweat, unmoving, she feels no such thing.
Her lips curl into a frown – wrong way, wrong way, she should be smiling! She shouldn’t be upset!
Sometimes, when one is confronted with death, they regret. They think of all the things they wished they’d said, they wish for one more moment with the person they care for.
Phasma doesn’t regret. She knows she couldn’t have told you how she feels about you anyway. How does she feel about you? Perhaps, she could have told you that when she’s with you, she feels for the first time. But would that have been enough to save you? No, probably not. And perhaps it’s better this way. It would have gotten messy – Phasma doesn’t mix work and relationships (only casual sex, only ever casual sex, only with people who are disposable). She’s not even sure she was built for a relationship – in fact, she’s certain she wasn’t.
So, no, Phasma doesn’t wish for one more moment with you in which she would profess her undying love (is she capable of such a thing?) and see the bright smile on your face when you realize your affection is returned. But her heart does ache a little – just a little twinge, really, in a very foreign sort of way – and, when she thinks of never feeling your silken skin under her fingertips again, her stomach twists.
The stormtrooper tilts his head. “What should I do with her, Captain?”
Phasma’s gaze never leaves your body, even as she’s addressed directly. What should one do with you? The thought of doing anything at all makes her heart clench.
But she can’t show weakness.
She can’t.
She swallows thickly. Discreetly.
Blinks twice.
Then her face hardens. The stormtrooper can’t see it underneath her helmet anyway, but it’s part of her mask. She has to play the part if she’s going to keep the respect of her troops. Self-preservation has always been vital to her, after all.
“Take her away.”
The stormtrooper shrugs and slings your body over his shoulder, before carrying you out of the room – carelessly, like a doll. Phasma grits her teeth – you should be treated like a precious thing, carried bridal style and showered with kiss- no. What is she thinking? You’re nothing but a corpse now, it hardly matters how your body is treated. Except, for some reason, it matters a lot to Phasma, though she cannot let on to that.
She waits.
She waits until the door closes and the footsteps of the stormtrooper’s boots against the cold metal floor fade.
Her gaze falls to the floor where, amongst a few droplets of blood, a single, tiny, blue forget-me-not petal rests.
A single tear drips down her cheek, catching on the inside of her helmet.
x
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ottosbigtop · 6 months
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as an outsider. can u sum up the tragedy. of the stream. i am curious
so imagine. If you will. Big internet series everyone really liked. From 2021. And fans have been either hoping or losing hope for a possible continuation. (Or directly and obnoxiously pestering the cast but I don’t count those ones)
Two years later. Two weeks from today. Vague but very pointed teaser video drops on YouTube. It can’t Not be the thing everyone thinks it is, because the creators have dealt with people being obnoxious about this long enough that they would probably say something if everyone was getting their hopes up, right.
hours before the stream. Vague confirmation from other people working on the stream that it’s A Big Thang. You wait in anticipation. You clear your schedule. You make a day out of it.
breaking bad gmod roleplay.
it’s breaking bad gmod roleplay for 30 minutes. 1 hour. 2 hours. 4 hours. It’s all breaking bad gmod roleplay. You’ve been lied to. Scandalized. Bamboozled and kerfuffled. You’ll never recover from this.
and then. After a lot of people who were either disinterested in the stream or actively feeling like they’ve been duped have left. Apparently they drop an actual teaser for the actual sequel. I wouldn’t know. I was in my feels about concept of parasocial entitlement and the ethics of the funny that I left the stream. But apparently . Psychic beam of fucking half life 2 funny will be real in t minus whenever.
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justjams2003 · 7 months
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Fast Pace- 3
Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?
Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader
Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any
Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk
Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08
Word count: 2,6k
Masterlist
Part 2~Part 4
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His eyes pierce you like an ice-pick to the brain. Dark like a storm and prowling your mind, trying to pry an answer from you. He looks like a model, posing for a magazine cover. He’s leaned back, sipping from his wine, hair perfectly in place and his broad shoulders lure you in. Those coal-brown eyes don’t beg for you to say yes, but command you.  
How you wish now that you could your friends and beg them to reply for you. But you can’t. You have to pull up your big-girl pants. He’s read you back to front like some cheap pamphlet. You’ve never told anyone about your big dreams. You’ve kept it under wraps, a daydream that keeps you busy when the nights are too long. The only one that really knows is your Instagram algorithm, which constantly shows you other people living your dream.  
Is it too vapid of you? To only want the sweet life and not want to work for it? It’s not that you haven’t tried. You’ve spent three years working your ass off in that damn restaurant and nothing has come from it. You’ve not gotten a single raise, no other higher up, fancier, restaurants have wanted to take you in.  
Your lip is caught in your teeth, and you can’t help but blush at the thought. “Would it make me lackadaisical? A floozy? Lazy?” You ask, unsure if you're asking for his approval or trying to convince yourself. He smirks and shakes his head, then takes your hand. “Quite the opposite, it would make you smart. If you take this opportunity, then you’ll get an advantage that other girls could only dream of.”  
He continues, trying to convince you. “Model work isn’t easy, it will be ruthless, even with my influence. If it helps, I promise I won’t do everything for you, not that I could. But I’m certain if those agencies see you, they’ll want you immediately, as it happened with me.” He caresses each of your knuckles and his words go right to your head.  
“And there would be conditions?” You ask, truly you’d already been convinced. All you really can think of now is your safety. “Naturally, you know how those lawyers are. NDAs, and certain other requirements, from both our sides.” His words are so smooth and play exactly to your heartstrings. The struggle in your mind seems to crumble with each soft sweep of his thumb on his hand.  
You stare him down, trying to see any lies or hidden agreements but you get nothing but sincerity. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.” His face lights up in a huge grin and seems to almost jump in his seat. “You won’t regret it, princesa. I’ll make sure of it.” He places small butterfly kisses all over your hand. His stubble tickles and you can’t help but let the giggles fly from your mouth.  
“You won’t need for another thing, ever again.”  
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Screaming is heard through the phone. You can’t help but laugh at your best friends’ reactions all while you soak up the feeling of being snuggled up in bed on a Thursday morning. “Tell us more. Right now.” Jas demands through the phone. “Well, after I agreed to the whole thing, he got us celebration crème brûlée, another one of my favourites.” They gasp and then scream again.  
You had set your Instagram radar to follow everything related to Carlos, and your phone is going crazy. There are already so many photos circulating around the internet. There are photos of him and you at dinner, luckily though you can’t really see your face.
Rumours circulate of who this new mysterious girl could be. If you’re new or if it’s a long-term thing. Then, of course, people mostly upset because Carlos might not be single anymore. There are other people too, excited to finally see him with someone.  
You can’t help but sigh, is this really what you’re getting yourself into? Are you really ready for people speculating about every single aspect of your life? Are you ready to allow yourself to be given to the public like that? More importantly, are you ready to share him? You can’t help but wonder if the fans will like you? Will they accept you or will you ruin his reputation? 
“We’re so proud of you for saying yes, it is what we would have said,” Jas says again and you can’t help but laugh. “And we’re also very proud that you didn’t make it easy for him.” Ilsa comments and you know she’s thinking more long term than Jasmine or yourself. You’re scared to even tell them of the things people are saying. Should you be shocked that this feels normal already?  
 “Then, after the date, he asked for my bank information and then proceeded to deposit me 5,000 euros. He called it a down payment. And a taste of what is to come.” They proceed to scream once more and roll your eyes at them. You’re happier now to have the water apartment for another month. Not that you need it, looking at the F1 calendar.  
A knock is heard at the door. “Uh, girls, I have to go. I’ll text you guys all the deeds at the end of the day.” They say their goodbyes and their goodluck’s. You throw the sheets you’ve had since university to the side and run over, expecting some sort of package or invoice, you throw open the door not looking to see who is outside.  
“Carlos, hi,” you smile, now feeling incredibly self-conscious about the pyjamas you’re wearing. The shorts have a few holes in, and the shirt is stained more than you’d like to admit. “Good morning, hermosa. I hope I did not wake you, no?” Those earth-brown eyes scan over every inch of your form and a smirk creeps across his face.
“Don’t laugh at me, you’re early. You said the flight was at nine and I haven’t gotten ready yet,” a blush coats your cheeks as his charming grin grows wider. “I am not laughing at you, hermosa. Quite the opposite, you look...” he’s holding back, you can see it in his eyes. Already you can tell he wears his heart on his sleeve.  
Carlos’ mind is somewhere else, and his eyes are glued to you. He then snaps out of it, “May I come in?” He asks and now you’re really blushing. The place is small and rundown, the paint is peeling, and you’ve given up on trying to get rid of the musk that the building carries. Not to mention, the place is a mess after your frantic packing last night.  
“Yes, uh, please excuse the mess.” His eyes don’t even glance at any of the strewn-around clothes or dirty dishes. His hand naturally falls to your waist, pulling you closer and then placing a small kiss on the crown of your head. You can’t help but notice how perfectly you fit into his side. After he sits down by your small kitchen counter you notice the things he’s carrying in his hands.  
A packet of paper, and a leather bag. “You can make yourself comfortable while I go get ready.” Again, you go to leave but you’re pulled back by the wrist. In one quick motion, you find yourself standing between his strong legs. He holds up the bag for you, “I’ve brought you something to wear. And don’t bother packing, we’ll buy anything you need there.”  
You go to protest, but he gives you a sharp look, a similar one from last night. The look that fuels and tames the fire in your body all at the same time. And yet, you keep your mouth shut and follow his instructions.  
The hoodie is huge on you, it hangs on the middle of your thigh and the sleeves hang over your hands. It’s bright red with black shoulders and the Ferrari logo is unmistakable. You pair it with plain black leggings and sneakers. You hold the cap, that came with, in your hands, and already you feel a bit showy. 
You walk out and Carlos’ eyes immediately snaps to you. Those stormy eyes of his instantly go even darker. He rakes his hand through those dark locks of his as if he needs to ground himself. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” You give a playful scoff, but he shakes his head. He stands up and takes the cap you’re holding from you.  
“I must disagree; I want everyone to know you’re mine now.” He picks up the hat and places it comfortably on your head. His gaze is strong, and you scrunch your nose, unsure if he approves of your appearance. You hadn’t bothered with too much makeup. Your reaction causes something you’d compare to an animalistic growl come from him.  
“He esperado tanto por esto.” His Spanish tongue is something that should be illegal, simply because of the way he makes you feel. You’re certain he could call you a hideous beast and you’d still fall to your knees. “You have no idea what you do to me, mi amor.” His finger just lightly grazes your cheek and you’re entirely mesmerized by the way he stares into my soul. As if you’re a prize he’s been yearning for all his life.  
In desperate need to hide yourself from his burning gaze, you switch the topic, in fear that he might find something wrong with you if he looks long enough. “What’s with the papers?” He looks almost annoyed to be doing something other than admiring you. “It is courtesy of my lawyers. The NDA we had talked about last night.” He takes your hand and guides you to the seat next to him.  
“It’s more to protect the public image than anything. I don’t think it’s needed, but you know how they can be, no?” He jokes while you read it through. If you had a lawyer, you would’ve had them read it through, but you don’t. So, instead in a leap of faith, you sign it without much thought. You can hear your mother yelling at you in your mind.  
“Alright, are we ready to go then?” You ask, not wanting to think more about the legal side of this all. More so just excited to jump into this new life. Excited to see all these new places you two are going to together. He raises his brow at you, “Are you sure that you’re ready?” He asks, taking his hand in yours and you have to hide your smile.  
“Or, is my pretty girl eager to join me in the public eye?” He shoots you a wink and a blush creeps across your cheek. You can’t help but blush your lip and hide yourself from him. How does he always know just what is going on in your mind? “I knew I chose right; other girls would be so scared to face those vultures. But I can see....”  
He seems to trail off, gently caressing your cheek. “Hmm, yes, what do you see?” You bite your lip and flutter your eyes, loving any sort of physical attention from him. He then shoots you a wink before shaking his head. “Come, we’re going to be late.” He stands up from his seat, taking your hand and dragging you out the door.  
“No, please, Carlos! You can’t do that to me!” You whine, though it’s all fun and games. Still, Carlos mutters under his breath, as always in Spanish. A language that you now consider learning. Just to know what he’s saying about you.  
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“What are you doing, hermosa?” He asks, watching as you pull out your phone and look at the Instagram again. Ilsa likes to say you’re addicted; you just like to say you’re connected. This, however, isn’t exactly something that you wanted him to know about. A bit embarrassed more than anything scared that he’ll judge you for your extreme consumerism.  
You hide behind your hair, “Nothing,” you mutter immediately turning your phone off. He rolls his eyes at you, then wraps his hand around your waist. He then drags you across the seat, right next to him. He then takes your thigh closest to him and drapes it over his leg. His hand stays there, rubbing soothing circles. “Give it here,” he says, his eyes stern and his hand held out.  
This time you don’t give in and just cross your hands, staring him down. Your phone is your safe space and not even your closest friends are allowed to see it. “Niña terca,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw locking tight.
“If you give it to me now, I’ll buy you a new one.” Your own jaw this time hangs open. This time you give in with a huff and hand him the old 2017 Samsung, already open. Is this how it’ll always be? How much of yourself are you willing to give to him, for your future? 
A smirk crawls on his face, that smile of his could stop traffic. If he were to be charged with a crime, he could simply flash the judge that smile, and they’d free him of all charges. “You like seeing what they say?” Your ears are bright red and wish the earth would swallow you whole. You give a small shrug, “It’s all I used to have time for.”  
“But you don’t post that much, no?” He asks, and you can see him going through your account. “I don’t have anything to post.” Carlos shakes his head. “I must disagree, mi amor. Your beauty should be seen by everyone. But we will make sure that you have too much content, no?” His sweet whispers are something that you’ve been yearning for all your life. 
 “Why don’t we do, what do the people call it?” You furrow your brows, there is a language and generation barrier. You can’t help but smirk at his word choice. “The younger people you mean? Oh, lord, what have I gotten myself into?” You say, referring to the age gap between you two. How lucky aren’t you? As if you’d been written into the perfect book, no plot turns, no villains, nothing.  
This time it’s him who blushes, “No, no, no, hermosa. What do they say? Where you post the kissing instead of letting them find out slowly?” A loud laugh escapes your lips and he too blushes and can’t help but laugh. “A hard launch?” He laughs, this time, he is the one hiding his face in the rook of your neck.  
“Yes, yes, just like so.” There is a moment of silence between the two of you as consider it in your mind. “You mean it? You don’t want to see how the team reacts first? To see how the fans react?” Your voice goes quiet, insecure about your worthiness of him. “I’m sure. I’m sure of you. I’m sure of us.” You don’t deny him and allow him to take the photo.  
He takes a few photos. One with his face still hiding in the crook of your neck, the next where your head sits on his shoulder while you stare up at him. In the last he’s placing a kiss on your forehead, the 55-logo hard to miss.
While you choose the photos to post, you can’t help but see just how much adoration you look at him. In your deepest heart, you hope he doesn’t see it too. He can’t know just how excited you are for this. How much you already like him, and how you’re enjoying his company more than his money.  
You posted the pictures with the caption, “I like a fast pace too.” Of course, with Carlos tagged. He then posts it on his story. And after the rest of the car ride, he tucks both of your phones away and makes sure you get to know each other as much as possible.  
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lovelybucky1 · 2 years
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Kinktober Day 7- cum play
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warnings: gender neutral reader, cum play, facials, male masturbation, dirty secrets, 18+ minors dni
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Rooster knows he’s a little bit fucked up. Has known since he first discovered porno magazines and had internet access. He’s always had a thing for cum, but it’s not the white, sticky stuff itself that did it for him.
Seeing it on skin, leaking out of wet holes, dripping down thighs, being cleaned up with tongues. It was dirty, messy, all the things that went against everything he was taught.
He’s always been neat, kept his things clean and tidy. It’s how he was raised. And it’s also why having a messy, desperate little thing in his bed is so enticing.
He would never have done this unless you asked for it. He would have taken this with him to the grave, but you pried it out of him.
“Tell me a secret,” you asked as you laid in bed, the room dark.
He shouldn’t have told you, but the cloak of darkness made him feel less shy. He wouldn’t have to look you in the eyes and say it, wouldn’t have to hide his blush. He spit it out in a rush, and you were quiet for a moment, considering.
“I want to try it.”
You opened Pandora’s box, and as much as he’s enjoying himself, he knows that he can never take this back. The toothpaste is out of the tube, he’s indulged himself, and he doesn’t want it taken away.
Now here you are, on your knees and looking up at Rooster with eyes too wide and innocent to be looking at his cock. He stokes himself over your face, aiming his tip right towards your mouth.
You asked him to do this. It’s not wrong, he has your permission, but he feels so fucking gross knowing what lies ahead, and even grosser because it turns him on.
“I want your cum, Bradley. Don’t worry about the mess, I want that too. Cum all over me and then we can clean it off together, okay?”
Your voice is as gentle as it is seductive. You know he likes to hear you talk, but you also know that he needs reassurance when trying something new like this. He needs to know that you like it, and that it’s okay for him to like it.
You sit up on your knees and hold onto his thighs. The contact makes him shudder and he squeezes his cock a little at the tip, seemingly to stop himself from finishing too soon.
Your eyes trail from his face, down his chest and toned abs, to the tip of his cock. A milky drop of precum beads at the head and inspiration strikes. You lean forward and rub your cheek against his cock, the wetness smearing across your skin and it makes him moan.
“Fuck, honey,” he bites out. Another spurt of precum hits your cheek and you smile up at him, sweetly and innocently, like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. You’re a goddamn tease and Bradley has never been more in love.
After a feel more rough tugs at his cock, his abs clench and release, contracting as he edges his orgasm.
“C-cumming!” he chokes out, just as the first drop of cum hits your cheek. It’s hot and sticky, and it ends up covering you from your forehead to your chin.
You’re eyes, which were closed once he started to cum, open and you look up at him to find a blush high on his cheeks, and his forehead slick with sweat. He looks wrecked, and he hasn’t even seen the aftermath yet.
“Look at me, Bradley,” you say gently.
He peaks open his eyes and a low growl you’ve never heard him make leaves his throat. He reaches out to swipe his thumb through the mess on your lips.
“Look like a fuckin’ mess,” he mutters, eyes full of adoration.
“All for you,” you smile.
“I’m gonna have a heart attack if you keep lookin’ at me like that, dollface.”
Your smile just widens.
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strawberrywinter4 · 23 days
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May 8 | Prompt: Hobby
“You look horrendous.”
Sherlock’s words thrash Greg’s daze, and he turns to the detective to make sure he heard correctly. “What?”
“I said you look horrendous,” Sherlock repeats, eyes not leaving his device.
Greg holds a scowl, his eyes flickering down to the floor. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
It’s odd that Sherlock would even mention anything other than the case they are currently glued to. They are about to question the suspect that is being brought by other enforcers. In the mean time, Sherlock and Greg have slipped into a peaceful silence in two uncomfortable chairs just outside in the hall. Only now it’s not so peaceful and Sherlock has brought that upon them through insults.
“What I’m trying to make you understand is that you obviously haven’t slept properly in the past week,” Sherlock observes. “When you and your wife were together, that was never an issue.”
Greg has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Mm.”
“Sherlock,” John hisses as he comes toward them with two coffee cups. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere.”
“Oh, please, John. You were informing me of that viewpoint just last night,” Sherlock says.
Greg’s jaw drops open as he looks between the two men, Sherlock impassive and John embarrassed. “Oh, I see how it is, then!” he says, crossing his arms. “You two just want to have a laugh so you decide to think of ways to gossip.”
“No, Greg. That’s not what this is,” John argues calmly, sending a glare to Sherlock which he ignores. He hands the coffee to Greg, and Greg’s about to deny it in stubbornness before he gets a whiff of the warm goodness. Instead of turning his nose up at it, he takes it, mumbling a ‘thank you’ in the process. “I was only saying that you seemed off, mate,” continues John. “You’ve been digging yourself in cases and that isn’t like you. We’re just worried, is all.”
Greg sighs, his tenseness dissipating. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping, it’s just—”
“It’s fine,” says John, taking a seat next to him. “But…you know, my suggestion is that you find an activity you enjoy or something. Get your mind off work for a while.”
“I second that,” Donovan pipes up when walking towards them. “You look awful, Greg.”
“Yes, thank you,” Greg grits out.
“When you feel up to it, get home, look on the internet,” Donovan instructs. “Trust me, I’m sure you can find a hobby, no matter how weird.”
And Greg does just that. After the case, he heads to his flat and takes a long nap, it nearing 5AM. Once he’s woken up and somewhat refreshed, he scrolls on his laptop.
The first suggestion that pops up is gardening. He could do that.
He sets up a little string of seeds in a row of dirt just outside his balcony. He had asked the man at the shop which seeds he recommended, and the kind man sent him off with various different seeds.
“I’ll name you Toby,” Greg says as he plants a seed he doesn’t know the name of. This should be simple enough.
The plants are short lived when Greg buys a hose and puts it at the wrong setting when watering the plants. It’s at the highest setting and when he turns it on, the weight of the water knocks the wooden bucket of plants off, sending them flying down his balcony. He winces when he hears them crash on a car below, the vehicle honking. Greg rushes inside, trying to ignore the loud cursing that the owner of the vehicle provides.
“How about knitting?” Molly suggests a few days later. “Always calms me.”
“Okay,” Greg considers. “I’ll knit something for you.”
Molly smiles shyly. “I’d love that.”
That activity is short lived as well. Greg can’t hold his frustration for one moment as he constantly pokes himself, gets lost with the tutorial on YouTube, and all in all, the supposed sweater turns out to be a bundle of false direction.
Greg puts the attempted knitting project on the counter in front of Molly.
Molly smiles in pity. “It’s a start.”
“No, it’s shit.” Greg sighs, wishing he could glare at himself. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” says Molly. “How about you find something a little more simple? Something that doesn’t require a set of rules.”
Donovan suggests a hiking trail outside of London. Greg can do that. He can absolutely do that.
“Fuck!” Greg curses when tripping on another long set of weeds. A family passes him, sending him horrified expressions. Greg huffs, sweat dripping down his back. “Yeah, why don’t you take a picture while you’re at it.”
He doesn’t know how Donovan recommended this with such ease, as if it’s the simplest activity in the world. So far, Greg has received numerous scars on his ankles due to sharp ends of rocks and vines, he’s cursed every minute he’s walked (he’s sure he will get kicked out of the park soon), and dizziness from the heat has taken over.
Once back home, he flops on his bed, rolling himself up in blankets. He’s not good at anything. Nothing is for him. Greg shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Either he’s shit at all hobbies or he’s meant to suffer as a workaholic.
A week later, his neighbor, Mrs. Sue, knocks on his door. When Greg opens it, she’s holding a grey kitten with bright yellow eyes in her hands. Mrs. Sue sneezes several times, putting on a smile.
“Hi, Greg,” she says a bit timidly, her nose noticeably stuffed. “Uh—well, my sister left me with this and I was wondering if you could sit her for a day, only a day. I need to find some place where they will accept cats because I’m quite allergic.”
“Oh,” Greg says. “I mean—yes, of course. I suppose I could sit for a day. What’s her name?”
“Luna,” Mrs. Sue informs, already handing him the cat. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”
When she leaves, Greg shuts the door and puts the loudly purring cat down. She rubs against his leg, looking up at him with innocent eyes.
“Well, aren’t you just a cutie,” Greg comments. “C’mon. I’m sure I have some milk. Cats like milk, right?”
The whole day, Luna is nothing but attached to him. When Greg sits, she settles herself on his lap. When Greg does his light workout routine on the floor, she’s under him when he does push ups and on top of him when doing sit-ups. Greg can’t help but laugh. Even after he’s taken a shower, she’s waiting patiently outside the door, looking up at him expectantly.
Afternoon hits and the doorbell rings. Disappointment admittedly looms through Greg, especially when he looks down to see Luna sleeping soundly against his leg.
He opens the door and Mrs. She is holding a box. “Thank you so much, Greg,” she says. “I can take her now. I found a place.”
Greg blinks, and he’s considering giving her back to Mrs. Sue. Maybe it’s for the best.
But when Luna looks up at him with her big yellow eyes, Greg can’t resist.
“Erm…actually,” he starts. “I wouldn’t—y’know, mind keepin’ her.”
Mrs. Sue’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean,” Greg shrugs, “she’s a sweetheart. I would be happy to, actually.”
Mrs. Sue signs in relief. “Thank god. I didn’t even know if the place I visited would have accepted her.” She smiles. “This works out perfectly, Greg, thank you.”
Once she’s gone, Greg sits on his chair and pats his leg. Luna hops up and begins to purr against his chest. “Guess this worked out just fine, hm?” he says as he scratches behind her ear.
Though it isn’t classified as a hobby, Greg finally finds something that keeps him busy and content. Though Luna’s constant mewing and purring can be annoying at times, Greg is delighted to have another pair of soft footsteps on the floorboard. He’s happy to have some noise other than himself in the once quiet space. He’s glad to have something to come home to, something to look forward to.
——
Thanks for reading! I know I haven’t been following with the prompts, but I’m sick at home and actually have some time to write so I thought I’d do this prompt today lol.
Greg is one of my absolute favorite characters and I love, love, love writing him. I stand by that he’s both an impatient and patient man, but that’s okay! He finally found something that makes him happy.
Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you for making this a tradition of sorts. I loved writing this!
Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked
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oriandcate · 2 years
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The List of Raw Quotes immortalized by the Internet:
“People who value any aspect of creation would do well not to pit gods against one another.”
“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” 
“I will face God and walk backwards into Hell.”
“Then perish.”
“I have been through Hell and come out singing.”
“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?”
“Do you think God stays in Heaven because He too lives in fear of what He created?”
“To become god is the loneliest achievement of all.”
“You kneel before my throne unaware that it was built on lies.”
“This is Hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods.”
“Impudent of you to assume that I will meet a mortal end.”
“Bury me shallow, I’ll be back.”
“Take this gift, for the gods surely won’t.”
“One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled.”
“Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?”
“Deviation from the norm will be punished unless it is exploitable.”
“You cannot kill me in a way that matters.”
“Pick a god and pray.”
“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love.”
“We are the timeline that God has abandoned.”
“Pick a Hell and rot there.”
“Every day we stray further from God’s light.”
“I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.”
“I’d sell you to Satan for one corn chip.”
“The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math.”
“If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight as I always have.”
“I am a monument to all your sins.”
“It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.”
“You’re rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, my friend.”
“The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.”
“I don’t believe in divine retribution, but then life throws people like you at me.”
“God wanted me dead, now you get to find out why.”
“The fruits of the earth do not exist to be worth something to us.”
“I’ve got a date with destiny, and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss.”
“Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held.”
“To sit still is to submit to a god who cannot stand to see such power in potentia mere inches from realizing itself and overcoming him.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“…but sadly I am only a little bug and you are a garden.”
“In a society where all adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”
“How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”
“So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.”
“…For they are a scoundrel and a foul beast of fields untouched by green.”
“Do you not think that Satan, too, has some affection for the inhabitants of Hell?”
“Does poetry flourishing even in the cracks and grime of the world devalue its beauty? Is the divine rendered plain when it becomes commonplace? Would you have the sublime subjected to the gatekeeping of a self-serving elite? Better it should be used and misused as us absurd commoners see fit.”
“Lock your doors and windows. God will forgive your absence.”
“I stand here, a fool of my own making.”
“Canon is but the sandbox in which I strike lightning to form glass. Trouble me no more with your quibbling and quorums, lest I grind you to dust beneath my heel and build stories from the remnants of your bones. Avast, foul fiend.”
“In the end, everyone is aware of this: nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.”
“’It’s not that deep.’ Maybe not originally, but the ground is soft and I’m ready to dig.”
“Ask the moon. Ask what it has witnessed.”
“Some things don’t belong on this plane of existence and the universe conspires to correct that.”
“Weird is a prerequisite to all things good and entertaining.”
“The sunrise has never caught me sleeping.”
“People are trying to be right no matter how wrong they are, I am here, accepting my primal desires.”
“Swear all you want, but the gods have shut their ears.”
“Tis the nature, curse, and cure of humanity to be forever attracted to the abyss.”
“If you hit a mole over the head for long and hard enough, eventually it learns to mind its own beeswax. Keep whacking.”
“If we built a tower of Babel, in this day and age, no one would stop us. We would build, and build, and one day inevitably breach the gates of heaven. And we would send in a probe, and then an exploratory team, clad in hazmat suits and protective gear, to enter the gates, and lo! before them would be a great, winding mass, a crumbling chitinous mountain range, a swooping winding wormous cavern, pale and sickly and turned to dust. And we will understand why no one stopped us: it will be the exoskeleton of God.”
“I must make time fear me most.”
“My third eye is open but damn it needs a monocle.”
“Some sins follow us, trotting along and planting themselves in dark corners, high shelves, gathering dust like a forgotten potted ficus, forever a part of the inner scenery of our minds. They thrive there. In the dark. Knowing we will someday stumble in. This is why ‘tis unwise to explore the inner chambers of our souls.”
“Ideals are made of gold and light, but human lives are made of blood and tears, and spill with slippery ease; choose carefully what hills to build and die upon.”
“I shall dig my very own shallow grave. Onward.”
“Confidence! A fool’s substitute for intelligence!”
“Weird hill to die on, but at least you’re dead.”
“Our paths may have crossed briefly, but you’ve still had the misfortune of knowing me.”
“What’s a little blood and bone? We all come down to it, in the end.”
“I could set the world on fire and call it rain.”
“War allows us to dress our monsters up as saviors, and many would say I’m one of those monsters.”
“You haven’t learned anything until you learn monsters have nightmares too.”
“To live is to haunt.”
“Can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding.”
“In the future, you will stand at the grave of God which I dug, weeping, and I will be the only creature you will be able to answer to. You will beg for death, but due to what you said today, I will deprive you of that luxury.”
“I wanted rain and I thought the best way to do that was to make God cry.”
“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”
“Here’s the thing about a haunted forest: it’s not going to haunt itself.”
“Your skull is the garden where fact flowers into meaning.”
“I shall use your voice for violin string and serenade your widow.”
“If God had wanted you to live he would not have created me.”
“I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering, and tonight I intend to make you very wise.”
“If I cannot bend heaven, then I will raise hell.”
“Remember that if you go knocking on enough doors asking to see the Devil, eventually he may answer.”
"No one of honor is interred here. The dead are raw materials, and nothing more."
"That there is a feller what sat down on a snake in the grass one day, and it ain't crawled outta his asshole yet."
"Pay a man enough and he'll walk barefoot into Hell."
"All these moments will be lost in time; like tears, in the rain."
"To feel sorrow is to deserve peace."
"No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."
"There is no light at the end of this tunnel; so it's a good thing we brought matches."
"The answer to despair is action."
"You'll be reduced down to a single atom when I'm done with you."
"What's at the end of a million? Zero, zero, zero; big old hole, with a wall around it. That's all a bank is, you know: a great big old hole you throw money into, and all it ever seems to do is make the walls higher."
"Always strive to eat the stars."
"Why would you want to savor the taste of poison?"
"The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."
"It is better to die standing than to live kneeling."
"The anger in your heart warms you now, but it will leave you cold in your grave."
"Darkness without light is an abyss; light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side."
"We can't have faith for everybody."
"Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars you won."
"To rend one's enemies is to view them as objects: hollow of existence and meaning."
"Your soul sparks with a nonsense that makes this world bearable."
"He ain't one of the creatures God made."
“The unconscious hides in a language like a thief hides a diamond in a chandelier.”
“I just know no fruit has ever tasted as sweet as the ones I ate while bleeding under the blistering summer sun.”
“I pray nobody kills me for the crime of being small.”
“That’s the problem with gods; their pleasure and their wrath often look the same.”
 “If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.”
“Stupid should hurt.”
“do you think god is nuclear. do you think you cannot look upon deities the same way you cannot look at the center of a mushroom cloud. do you think the energy generated from fission is released from divine clutches. do you think that god exists in the space between the nucleus and the electrons and in the bonds of compounds and in the numbers on the page that got us there. do you think radiation is a warning. do you think it is an eraser. do you think it is wrath or a mistake or a byproduct of entropy. do you think god is plasma, where electrons are wherever you want them to be. do you think that we were supposed to find this out.”
“If you aren’t worthy enough to pull the sword, be strong enough to lift the stone.”
“I can’t go to hell. I’m all out of vacation days.”
“Despite everything, its still you.”
“The more you kill, the easier it becomes to distance yourself. The more you distance yourself, the less it will hurt. The more easily you can bring yourself to hurt others.”
“My mother says kissing a man without a mustache is like eating eggs without salt.”
“A character is a ghost, a story is what it haunts.”
“Pain travels through families until someone is ready to feel it.”
“The gods did not breathe the breath of life into us and give us gifts of a shape, a will, and a voice just so we could pay bills and die”
“you gotta have friends who are older than you, not because you’re a dumb kid, but because you’ll be terrified of growing up otherwise.”
“you’ve made me so hard i beg for softness”
“Scorn is more palatable than the howling hunger for things to have been different for you.”
“Being able to endure something does not equal an obligation to withstand it.”
“To live is to haunt.”
“I am a chewy rubber Polly Pocket skirt and God is a four year old girl.”
“The big picture is made up of brush strokes, fool.”
“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”
“these are old bones and i am merely a passing occupant”
“The board is getting dusty but the boogeyman has not yet blinked. when he does, you better make that move.”
“And when we kill the gods neither heaven nor hell will be waiting for them because they created those to imprison us.
“What makes a man a warrior is his willingness to place himself between what he holds dear and anything that threatens it. This is the way.”
“The anchor gives the ship the world to love.”
“In a society where adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”
“You pretended to be the hero of a story you never saved.”
“this world is a banquet of knowledge and each of us has brought a dish to the table.”
“This is the time of vengeance and no life is worth saving.”
“The ghosts that inhabit this place are more alive than you’ll ever be.”
“May the only thing that dampens the flames of hell for you be God spitting in your face.”
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thatsdemko · 1 year
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lie detector - c.pulisic
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masterlist part two
requested: n
parings: Christian pulisic x athlete!reader
warnings: just a cliff hanger + it’s short
a/n: I’ve had this idea in my head for so long and yes don’t worry there will be a part two! whether you voted y or n on my poll here it is hehehe
you dated Christian years ago. things ended on good terms, and you couldn’t have been happier for each other. you never deleted the photos from your Instagram, as you must have forgotten they existed, so when the World Cup was going on, people were digging deep on Christian and found the old photos that still lied on your account. ever since then, you’ve received numerous follows, dms, and comments.
you weren’t someone who wasn’t used to cameras. in fact, you played for the United States women’s national soccer team. you were used to being framed next someone like Alex Morgan or Megan Rapinoe. you just never expected to be sitting in your current interview hooked to a lie detector being asked the question you dreaded the most.
“you dated this man right here, correct?” Linsey horan pushed the photo in front of your face allowing you to get a closer look at the brown eyed and brunette haired captain of the United States men’s soccer team.
“Yes, that’s Christian pulisic.” you said, you tried hard to remain calm, but you could feel sweat starting to build up at your forehead watching Lindsey giggle at the card in her hands.
“do you regret breaking up with Christian?” she set the card down shooting you a look, “I so badly want to know the answer.” she rested her chin against her knuckles anxiously awaiting for your response.
“umm,” you chuckled nervously trying to stay still so the reader could get a good indication on your pulse, “yeah I do. he was truly an amazing boyfriend and I wish him well in whatever comes next for him.”
Lindsey shot her head immediately over to the reader who nodded, “she’s telling the truth.”
“yes! the internet is going to go psychotic.”
christian saw the interview. his family, friends, and teammates had all sent him the video of you and Lindsey doing the lie detector test.
“he was truly an amazing boyfriend and I wish him well in whatever comes next for him.” the words replayed in his head like a broken record. he couldn’t get those words out of his mind, it had been over a week since the interview and he was so hung up on it that the next move he made, he didn’t even know he did it.
“hello?”
“is it bad that I miss you?”
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vcnillazelda · 2 years
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disallowed (p.h)
summary: your heavily christian parents found out about you dating patrick.
tags: toxic christianity, (forced) religious beliefs, religious trauma, (verbal) abuse, child abuse, patrick being kinda sweet, slight solipsism, angst with fluff, fem! reader
i’m not trying to bash christianity whilst writing this. i’m just using the more radical/toxic side of christianity purely for a dumb story on the internet. i’m truly not trying to offend anyone and if i have i’m sorry. much love - vcnillamilk <3
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⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰
“y/n.” your father’s voice called from the dining room. you tense, already halfway up the stairs. “yes?” you respond, voice weak. “come here. we need to discuss something.” his voice was stern, almost disappointed. that’s how you knew you were in trouble. “coming, father.” you turn, walking back down the stairs and into the dining room. your parents were both waiting, with your father sat at the end of the dining table and your timid, god-fearing mother stood slightly off to the side just behind him. you don’t speak, waiting to be addressed as your father stares you down. “we’ve heard through the church that you’ve been seeing someone.”
no…
“oh? is that so?” your voice is strained, you’re already close to crying. your father always saw through your lies. “yes… would you happen to know anything about this topic?” he asks, tilting his head back to stare down his nose at you. “no, father.” you respond, voice mumbling. silence falls over the room like a blanket, only to be interrupted by your father’s palm slamming down upon the tabletop and a shriek from your mother. “don’t lie to me!” your father stands, the chair screeching backwards. “you know god hates when we lie.” your father adds on, pointing to you. “i’m sorry.” you whimper, tears dripping down your cheeks as you look down, already clutching your hands together out of nervousness.
“patrick hockstetter. of all the sweet boys at the church you chose the anti-christ!?” he roars, hands hitting the poor, abused dining table as your mother flinches, clutching the crucifix around her neck. “i’m sorry..!” you shout back, sobbing softly. “you are to never, ever- see that boy again. do i make myself clear?!” your father asks, and you nod shakily. “answer!” you jolt, snivelling pathetically. “yes, father.” you mutter, waiting for any more harsh words to be thrown at you. “i’m disgusted by your actions, y/n. god gave you life, and you’re doing this- this taboo?! i didn’t raise you like this.” the man scolds, as if he were talking to a puppy and not his daughter. “i’m sorry.” you whimper, hands trembling before your shrivelled form. “go. say twice the amount of prayers tonight and hope that god forgives you.” your father waves his hand, dismissing you for the evening.
you turn on your heel, rushing from the room and bee-lining to your bedroom. you would lock the door, but your father had personally unscrewed every single screw with a butter knife to ensure you weren’t ‘sinning’. you had no privacy. you whine, clutching your face desperately to try and stop the tears. you didn’t want to pray, didn’t want to appease god for your supposed ‘misdoings’… but you didn’t want to go to hell..! flopping onto your bed, you curled up into a tight ball- sobbing into your pillow for hours. patrick wouldn’t take this well, even you weren’t taking it well. your breathing slows to soft hitches every now and then as you gaze at the small statuette of holy mary. “what do i do?” you whisper, silently hoping for an answer. no one returned your call.
⋅. ✯ .⋅
patrick was annoyed. vexed. absolutely furious. you had been ignoring him all fucking week. the worst part was, he had no idea why. you two had last been on good terms, you had been smiling with him as he retold a very overly dramatic story about how henry had fallen down some stairs in school one day and sprained his wrist. he had walked you home and you gave him a small kiss on the cheek for his act and his good story telling, no doubt.
patrick had tried everything. cornering you in the cafeteria, slipping notes into your locker, calling your phone that sat upon your bedroom table, he even got victor to approach you to try and get some answers. every time, you turned a blind eye, keeping your eyes downcast and your body rigid. something was clearly wrong with you, but you didn’t talk to him. how dare you not talk to him. patrick swallows his anger, storming away from the gang and towards you. you were carefully slotting your science books into your locker; he knows how you love to keep it organised. snatching your arm, patrick hauls you into an empty classroom, almost feeling bad when your lower back smacks into the teacher’s desk. you stare up at him, eyes mixed in sadness and fear. “i’m so fucking pissed.” he starts with a snarl.
“why the fuck are you ignoring me? at the beginning of this shit you always said to talk about stuff to one another- what the fuck is this?!” patrick demands, gesturing wildly with his hands. you were trapped. patrick was blocking the only exit, you had nowhere to turn to. “i can’t..” you whisper, attempting to slip past patrick, but he blocks the door with his arm. “can’t what? huh? you finally come to your senses that not everyone in derry is a god-loving prick like your family? you gonna go date someone from that shitty fucking church you go to? here’s some news princess; i am your fucking god.” patrick rants, and you shake your head. “no.. patrick you don’t understand. i can’t see you anymore.” you whisper, as if someone could overhear you.
patrick furrows his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?” he responds, and you sigh; unsure what to do with your hands. “my father- he’s not allowing me to see you anymore. i’m sorry.” you mutter, avoiding all eye contact. patrick completely softens. all his internal anxiety and stress venting from his body. so it wasn’t him, it was your family. he should of known! “babe, don’t listen to them.” patrick sighs, rolling his eyes a little as he tugs you to his chest, wrapping his slender arms around you. you both needed that hug. your hands clutch the back of his shirt as you slowly start to cry, your face buried into his shoulder. patrick let’s you weep in silence, his chin resting upon your head as he listens to you. your soft apologies eventually reach his ears, and patrick scoffs. “don’t start that shit. your dad’s a dick and your mom’s too scared to leave him.” patrick states, and you exhale shakily. “i mean, seriously.. how that guy managed to get through high school amazes me. he’s definitely got some complex.” the way patrick talks about your awful father makes you laugh a little. “yeah.. maybe.”
patrick smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “stop listening to them. you should listen to me instead.” he mutters to you, and you nod a little. “yeah… i should’ve spoken to you instead of hiding. i’m sorry.” you respond, hands gently grasping his neck as he kisses you again. “it’s alright.” patrick shrugs, much to your surprise. “you’re not mad?” you ask softly, and he shakes his head. “nah. i mean, i was at first- but not i know it’s your parents it’s fine. we don’t have to listen to them, baby. you can screw whoever you want.” his voice is teasing at the end, and you giggle softly; kissing him again. patrick tightens his slender hands around your hips, and he doesn’t intend on letting go any time soon.
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Note
echoes celica is an excellent character and i’m tired of acting like she’s not. she is a pious teenager who got traumatized into keeping her burdens to herself because of the instability of her childhood years with being forced to evacuate to ram then again to novis, because of the burden of being the crown princess and being in danger of being kidnapped sold assassinated etc. she trusts the evil purple priest guy will sacrifice her for the right reasons because as zofia’s new ruler she now has responsibility to make sure that valentia won’t continue in its sorry state and AS A PRIESTESS bringing her god (or even *a* god) back to their usual is a more direct/effective means of change than just going to war until something changes. that and she really would sooner die than send her beloved and rigel’s new ruler to his doom. remember when she had that prophecy of him dying to rudolf? even if that’s not how it went down that doesn’t mean he’s out of danger considering jedah made her watch him killing his dad and freaking out in the aftermath. she said she would start relying on her friends more after conrad made his dramatic reveal but really it is not that easy to just kill bad habits you’ve been holding onto for years. even after jedah starts teleporting her friends to the evil basement and lies about just sending them outside what is she supposed to do? say no thanks to a guy who is ridiculously tanky bc of cheat magic and could evaporate them all? now i still have several problems with how that whole series of events goes down and it IS more misogynistic than how it was in gaiden but celica’s decision on its own is the least of them and i think it makes perfect sense for the character they’ve been setting up until this point.
in fact it’s a rationale that also applies to what she says at the end of act 2! it’s deeper than “violence bad and yet celica kills pirates?? 🤨🤨” it’s because what she’s done as a priestess cleaning up the water of some pirates is on a lesser scale than waging war on the neighboring kingdom and more importantly she’s just trying to keep alm from getting skewered on rudolf’s lance and he just happens to say the exact things that hit her where it hurts so she gets riled up
I will defend Celica on the internet.
!!!
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calliesmemes · 2 months
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SONGS ACROSS THE INTERNET
A COLLECTION OF SENTENCE STARTERS FEATURING LYRICS FROM MYRIAD SONGS — found in my Spotify playlists, on Tumblr and Pinterest, and pulled from my own songwriting notebook.
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CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.
SPECIFY muse for multimuses.
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“   Revolutionaries wait for my head on a silver plate. ”
“   Oh, who would ever want to be king? ”
“   I dreamt I was a soldier. ”
“   What’s your real name? ”
“   I’m your biggest fan. ”
“   How could you be so judgemental? ”
“   We’re living in the age of lies. ”
“   I am barely sane; this is pulsing in my veins. ”
“   Those troublemakers must be so lonely. ”
“   I'm causing you so much frustration. ”
“   I’m sorry that I let you down. ”
“   You’re nobody ‘till somebody wants you dead. ”
“   I don’t want to spend my life trying to fight for what’s not mine. ”
“   I want nothing less than to be who I’m meant to be. ”
“   It’s so hard to breathe. ”
“   Would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned? ”
“   Sometimes I get the feeling she’s watching over me. ”
“   I keep breaking under the weight of everything. ”
“   I know I’m more than what I fear. ”
“   If you go to war, then I’m going with you. ”
“   Maybe you’re right to have doubts in me. ”
“   Only fools tread where angels fear to go. ”
“   I’m afraid of what I’m risking if I follow you. ”
“   Good stories are bad lives. ”
“   I know that you want to be seen and to be heard. ”
“   They don’t know anything that you’ve been through. ”
“   You don’t even have the potential to be half as great as me. ”
“   I will stay, and I will fight with you. ”
“   Now, I wield the sword that you left behind. ”
“   You’re not what a hero looks like. ”
“   If it’s evil that you’re planting, then it’s evil that will grow. ”
“   I can see the fear in your eyes. ”
“   There is so much that you could be, if only you’d join me. ”
“   There’s something wrong in the village. ”
“   There’s nothing wrong with you. ”
“   I know I’m meant for something else. ”
“   I see you in my dreams. ”
“   We make one hell of a team. ”
“   I’ll never, ever leave your side. ”
“   We have so much in common. ”
“   Can you see right through me? ”
“   You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. ”
“   I think you’re my best friend. ”
“   It was only just a dream. ”
“   I tried to play God, and I paid with my son. ”
“   I’ll never, ever leave your side. ”
“   I’m not the girl I ought to be. ”
“   I break tradition. ”
“   You were clearly meant for more, if you weren’t a life lost in the war. ”
“   You are not here to conform. ”
“   I don’t wanna live in a man’s world anymore. ”
“   I see things that nobody else sees. ”
“   I don’t see why you would want me. ”
“   The only one who’s really judging you is yourself. ”
“   I need somebody to hold me. ”
“   So what if I’m crazy? The best people are. ”
“   It’s obvious the way that you’re hurting. Who made you think that you deserve it? ”
“   Who made you a monster? ”
“   We’re all afraid of you. ”
“   I’m a bad liar with a savior complex. ”
“   Why don’t you take the chance? ”
“   If nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy. ”
“   Real men don’t need other people. ”
“   Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful? ”
“   There’s nowhere safe to hide. ”
“   This is how legends are made. ”
“   God forbid I’m seen just as an average human being. ”
“   This event will be history. ”
“   I’m worried that I’m not in the right place. ”
“   You took me down, but you didn’t finish me off. ”
“   Enjoy your temporary win. ”
“   Come pick up your stride. ”
“   I have played a part in the way that things have gotten out of hand. ”
“   If I’m going down, I guess I’ll take you with me. ”
“   Show me how you justify telling all your lies. ”
“   Abandon all your wicked ways, make amends, and start again. ”
“   Oh, I wish I’d find a lover that could hold me. ”
“   We are friends, are we not? ”
“   It’s the truth if it’s officially the story. ”
“   I have romanticized every little thing that you’ve said. ”
“   Just know that if you hide, it doesn’t go away. ”
“   Close your eyes and take my hand. ”
“   America has a problem. ”
“   Somewhere, someone’s got it worse. ”
“   This could be the death of me. ”
“   Remember, everything will be alright. ”
“   Can't you see how I cry for help? ”
“   It's torturing me, but I can't break free. ”
“   Tell me why you're putting pressure on me and every day you cause me harm. ”
“   Tell me what’s been happening, and what’s been on your mind. ”
“   I refuse to lose another friend. ”
“   Hiding from the truth isn’t going to make this okay. ”
“   I don’t think I’m still alive. ”
“   We are problems that want to be solved. ”
“   Don’t make me be the bad guy. ”
“   I know I won’t be leaving here. ”
“   Fate is upon us. ”
“   I’ll never let you sweep me off my feet. ”
“   We’ve been conditioned not to make mistakes, but I can’t live that way. ”
“   I’m terrified of rejection. ”
“   I’m focusing all of my energy on just staying awake. ”
“   Show me what you’ve got, and I’ll show you what you’re missing. ”
“   I’m not prepared for the future. ”
“   They were quick to recognize the devil in me. ”
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littlemisspascal · 8 months
Text
Rockford & Roan Pt. 4
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Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’
Word Count:2.8k
Summary:  “Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…
Rating: T 
Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, HTTYD reference, scars
- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair
Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 💗
Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜
Series Masterlist
The Case
You take possession of one of Rockford’s spare notebooks, yellow and spiral bound, scribbling down details about the case he’s been asked by the police to help investigate.
7 suicides over the past 8 months 
Unsure why the brief lapse during the third month
Perhaps to throw police off potential trail?
Victims are all different ages, backgrounds, careers
Also found dead in different locations across Fox Leap—alleyways, parking lots, isolated spots
No witnesses
No suicide notes left behind 
Single commonality: all died by ingesting a cyanide pill
Suspects? None
Police aren’t convinced deaths are connected 
Rockford is certain they are
I don’t know what to think
The Invitation
Friday evening finds you job hunting across the internet from the comfort of the couch. It’s another one of the steps of Dr. Odair’s grand therapy plan to reintegrate you into society. Of course, what she failed to mention was that the potential career opportunities for ex-military empaths are few and far between. You lean back against the cushion, resisting the urge to grab your mug of tea and pour it onto your laptop. It’s not the computer’s fault there’s a prejudice against those with mind-gifts after all. 
The squeaks of Banjo’s stuffed toy pull your attention towards the dog rolling around on the floor, his beloved plush panda Bamboo held between his paws, teeth gnawing at its leg. Rockford lies stretched out on the white rug nearby, eyes closed, the picture perfect example of tranquility. He isn’t sleeping—you can tell by the tapping of his fingers against his stomach, a song only he knows—but it’s nice to pretend. For all that you’ve pestered him with questions about his job and for all that Rockford has patiently answered each one without even the tiniest thrum of irritation, his bizarre, seemingly nonexistent sleeping schedule is a topic you’ve yet to broach with him. 
Brown eyes snap open, startling you so badly it’s a miracle your laptop isn’t sent crashing to the floor. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Rockford’s on his feet and stalking off down the hallway in a blur. You blink, caught off guard, and exchange a look with an equally bewildered Banjo. Should you follow after him or…?
A knock on the front door makes the decision for you.
The prospect of a guest sends Banjo into a tizzy, ditching Bamboo without remorse, tail wagging so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. You can’t exactly blame him. Other than a quick visit from the landlady to give you your own set of keys and introduce herself— Professor Rosasharn Claremont, an instructor of forensic sciences at the local university with prehensile hair she used to slap the back of Rockford’s head for not visiting her enough—nobody’s knocked on the door as long as you’ve lived here.
You’re not sure who’s brain function shorts out first when you open the door: yours or the unknown man wearing a police badge on his belt. He’s middle-aged, dirty blond hair, a scar twisting along in a distorted line from the left side of his mouth to his ear. A hideous mark, but at the same time intriguing in its uniqueness. You can’t help but think how if it was copied onto the right side, it’d almost look like some kind of villainous grin.
Banjo’s attempt of squeezing between your leg and the doorway to get a good sniff of the man is enough to jumpstart you back into motion. Nudging him away with your socked foot, you tell him to return to his bed, punctuating the command with a firm point of your finger. Only once he sullenly pads away, ears drooped as if you’ve just gutted Bamboo right in front of him with a butcher knife, do you turn back to face the policeman, who appears to have also gotten over his initial surprise.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“Inspector,” he corrects with an accent you can’t quite place, almost like a rumbling sort of growl, but despite the harsh sound his tone is polite as he introduces himself. “Inspector Dorrance with the Fox Leap Police Department. I’m here for Tim Rockford.”
His emotions are almost unnaturally steady, like he’s got the internal parts of a clock ticking away rather than temperamental hormones. You figure he must’ve gone through some sort of training course for mood management. Smart. A lawman with a high pressure job, anger issues, and a loaded gun is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Oh, is this about the case?” you ask with far more perkiness in your voice than you intend. 
“He told you about that, did he,” Inspector Dorrance says in the exact same instant that Rockford calls out from the depths of the apartment, “Get to the point why you’re here, Kez.”
Kez? You mouth to yourself before opening the door wider, inviting the inspector to step inside. He isn’t subtle as he looks around, gaze lingering noticeably on the few personal items of yours spread throughout the room, before he turns towards the hall.
“Another body’s been found. Abandoned warehouse near the wharf.”
“And?” Rockford asks, still out of view. 
Dorrance side-eyes you, clearly debating with himself the legalities of discussing an open case with a civilian present. A civilian he clearly knew nothing about as of two minutes ago. You offer up only silence in response, too curious for your own good to leave without him directly asking.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Your roommate emerges from his office, his trench coat gripped in one hand and mouth fixed in an unimpressed frown. He gestures between you and the inspector. “Kez, my current roommate and match, Roan. Roan, my ex-roommate and one of the only competent members of law enforcement in the city, Keziah. Can we get back to the victim now?”
Your eyes widen. Ex-roommate? How long have they known each other? There’s definitely a story there. 
“I’m sorry,” Dorrance begins, “did you just say she’s your match? When the hell were you going to tell me this happened?”
“Apparently not,” Rockford mutters. “I was going to tell you when it came up. And it just did.”
“You—” Dorrance cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.
It really is a credit to Dorrance’s mood management training his emotions don’t even so much as dip or catch fire. Instead, he shoots Rockford a look that plainly says, We’re going to be talking about this later, and then turns to face you once more.
“I wish we were meeting on better circumstances. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you since you’re his match that underneath this—” he gestures vaguely at Rockford which doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You just gestured to all of me.”
Dorrance carries on, unbothered, “—is a giant question mark nobody will ever find the answer to. But if I were to bet on anyone coming close, I’d put my money on you.”
“Thank you, I think,” you say, daring a quick glance at Rockford’s face, which you’re pleased to notice has softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll be the first one I tell if I do.”
For whatever reason, your answer has the inspector immediately smirking, left side of his face stretched tight due to the scar tissue.
“Kez, in addition to being a recurring pain in my side,” Rockford explains, sensing your confusion, “is also a lie detector. Any hint of dishonesty and his gift’ll catch it. Makes him handy in the interrogation room.”
Gifts can be interesting like that sometimes, lining up perfectly with a specific job. A singer with the ability to alter their voice to any pitch, a fireman with an immunity to burns, a veterinarian who can speak to animals–you’ve seen them all. Human lie detector is a new one though, you’ll admit.
Dorrance shoves a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone vibrating with an incoming text. He scans the message, smirk wiped off his face and replaced with grimness. 
“Right, back to the reason I came over,” he says briskly, tucking his cell away again. “You know how the victims never leave notes?”
“Yes.” Rockford’s listening attentively, eyes narrowed. “What of it?”
“This one did.”
Rockford’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch of his brow. His mind though, oh his mind’s the calm before the storm. Something’s beginning to stir awake underneath the surface. Tempted by the reveal, hungry for more details to dig its teeth into. 
For weeks you’ve wondered about the depths unknown to your empathy, about what lurks there. You’ve got a distinct, icy certainty crawling up your spine you’re soon to discover another side of your match previously unseen. 
“Will you come to the scene?” Dorrance asks hopefully.
“Of course. No point sitting at home when there’s an exciting development going on.” Rockford begins slipping his arms through the sleeves of his trench coat, adjusting the collar to his liking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been down to the wharf.”
“Just try not to piss off anyone, will you? One dead body is enough to deal with as it is.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rockford says with a wry grin. Then, turning to you, he arches an eyebrow, “Well, Roan, you got any plans this evening?”
You think of your laptop back on the couch, numerous job sites still left to be checked. 
“Uh, no,” you answer, shaking your head. “Not really.”
“Roan was in the military,” your roommate tells the inspector, but his eyes remain held on your face, a speculating glint in them that has you subconsciously straightening up. Almost as if you’re standing at attention. “You saw a lot of violent deaths, didn’t you?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Witnessed several dangerous situations?”
“Worst of the worst. Stuff of pure nightmares.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavier. There’s a crime scene needing to be examined, a case to be closed, and yet everything seems to have slowed down all at once. As if the very air itself has frozen solid. And you realize you’re holding your breath, waiting for something.
“Want to see some more?”
An invitation.
Dr. Odair’s been telling you now that you’ve matched and your mind-gift has become more manageable, it’s time to pick up some hobbies. To go out to more places for fun other than just the library and dog park. No doubt she was probably thinking of safe and relaxing options like chess or badminton or pottery classes at the rec center.
The problem though, is that safe and relaxing doesn’t spark a wildfire in your blood, bringing you back to the days where you had a clear purpose to fulfill and problems to deal with head-on. You want another adventure, and here’s one dangling right in front of you, just waiting for you to say—
“Hell yes,” you blurt out, and even without your mind-gift you can tell Rockford’s happy with your choice by the half curl of his mouth and crinkling around his eyes as he asks Dorrance for the address.
The Doubt
Rockford holds the cab door open for you, sliding in after you’ve settled against the plush seat with Banjo secure in your lap. The little mutt’s tail beats a rhythm against your jacket, excited about the trip even if he has no clue the final destination. You’re still not convinced bringing a dog of all creatures to an active crime scene investigation is the wisest move, but let the record show your roommate has a helluva weakness for Banjo’s puppy eyes. 
“Keziah’s team of imbeciles disguised as CSIs are wreaking havoc on the scene as we speak. I highly doubt there’s much more damage Banjo can cause,” Rockford had said with an amused look when you voiced your concern. “Besides, no man left behind. Isn’t that the military creed?”
And well, he wasn’t wrong about that. (Not to mention, you’ve got a pretty big weakness for Banjo’s sweet brown eyes too…)
The drive to the wharf is brief without too much annoying traffic. Outside, the sun’s dipped out of sight and darkness is enveloping the city, street lights blinking on. Inside, it’s quiet except for a country song playing lowly on the radio. The cabbie’s mood is easygoing if not a little bogged down by exhaustion whereas Banjo’s is a bouncy spring of enthusiasm, nose practically pressed against the window as his eyes struggle to keep up with all the sights rolling past. Still, as entertaining as the pup’s emotions are, your mind-gift continues circling back to the man sitting next you like a homing pigeon.
Nothing’s changed within his mindscape during the journey. The calm, almost eerie stillness from before is still in effect. You can tell he’s thinking about something—the man’s never not thinking—but whatever it is clouding his gaze, furrowing his brow, is not disturbing enough to imprint upon your empathy. It’s moments like this one where you wish you were a mind reader, if only for a few seconds. 
“We’re here,” Rockford announces, paying the cabbie his fare.
Scrambling out of the vehicle, you set Banjo down on the ground. While he performs a full-bodied shake, you take in the cluster of police cars and flashing lights and abundance of barricade tape surrounding a warehouse, derelict and foreboding, along the waterfront. The press have also caught wind of the scene, prowling around with their microphones and cameras like vultures. You swallow, subconsciously twisting the leash around your fingers.
You’d wanted an adventure and yet…this is all so very, very different from a battlefield. It’s a whole other form of organized chaos, and it’s terrifying not having the slightest clue how to safely navigate it. 
Your initial fears were misplaced. It won’t be Banjo making a mess. It will be you.
Rockford starts forward, clearly eager to get to work, only to halt after five steps when you fail to follow. He turns around to look you over from head to toe, carefully nudging at your mind-gift as he does so, confusion only deepening when he fails to understand your lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”
You bite your lip, glancing nervously once more between the hive of activity and his steady brown eyes. “I don’t think I belong here.”
Rockford stares at you, the glow of the street light illuminating one side of his face. 
“Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…
Your head’s already shaking aggressively before a response forms. “N-no, absolutely not!” you say hastily, frantic to assure him of the truth. You close the gap of distance, hoping somehow being closer will remedy the spiraling situation, but when that doesn’t smoothen out the wrinkles on his forehead your empathy reacts by hurling a tangled ball of loyalty-friendship-safety-contentment straight at him. The most desperate of Hail Mary plays.
Rockford sucks in a breath. You watch his expression spasm, knocked off-kilter, before it settles into something as exasperated as it is fond. This time, the nudge against your mind-gift is firmer, the only warning you get before the ball you’d thrown returns and smacks you square in the chest. 
“Oh,” is your immediate reaction, breathless from the intensity.
What was it he had said before? You and him are two halves of the same whole.
And then there’s a warm hand on top of your head, gentle, affectionate, and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. You blink up at Rockford, heart thudding in your chest.
“That’s right. You,” he says slowly, purposefully, “belong anywhere I am. Banjo, too.”
Banjo woofs, baring his teeth in a snaggletoothed grin, and you’d chuckle at that if you had any air left in your lungs. Not for the first time, you cannot help but marvel at your match’s realness. There’s no such thing as perfection, but you think he comes pretty damn close. 
“Now you’ve done it,” you aim for humor, but you can’t shake the wobble from your voice. “You'll never know a moment’s peace again.”
“Ah, peace is overrated,” Rockford declares with an unconcerned shrug, hand returning to the pocket of his trench coat. “So, we’re in agreement then. We’re stuck with each other.”
“Mhmm, no take backsies.”
You needed this moment, this reassurance. The doubts you hadn’t even known you carried have been firmly put to rest, vanquished by the proof he values the soulbond tying your lives together just as much as you do. 
But despite the importance of this conversation you can’t keep ignoring the flashing lights up ahead forever. Your eyes slide past Rockford, spotting Inspector Dorrance in his grey suit amongst the sea of navy uniformed officers gesturing with his arms.
“Ultimately, it’s your choice where you go,” Rockford says, and it’s clear he’s made up his own mind by the way he turns away from you, resuming his walk towards the scene. 
You watch the dramatic flaring of the bottom of his coat with each step, watch the tapping of his fingers against his left thigh, watch as the man tosses one last remark over his shoulder:
“Keep up, Roan. We both know you’re coming with me.”
By the time he reaches the barricade tape, you and Banjo are right by his side. Exactly where you both belong.
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