#// there are still some more 'revealing' alternates -

[tickletastic]

Drink or Dare

Fandom: The Inheritance Games

Ship: N/A

Summary: Takes place during the game of Drink or Dare played in the treehouse in The Brothers Hawthorne. My take on how they managed to get a smiley face on Grayson's tummy during the game.

“No,” Grayson grits through clenched teeth, but his brothers can see the glint in his eyes, he's nervous.  “Absolutely not.”

Drink or Dare had always been a bit embarrassing, a bit vulnerable and silly. It’s an even playing ground for the Hawthorne boys, a way for them to get some semblance of real vulnerability from each other. So far, the dares hadn’t been too bad, at least not on Grayson’s end, but he figured his brothers were working their way up, there’s no way they’d go easy on him the entire time. 

After Xander was made to create a Rube Goldberg machine just to slap his own ass, and Nash chose to eat a piece of his cowboy hat instead of drinking the toxic slurry the brothers had made as the alternative option, Grayson figured the embarrassment and silliness would soon target him. His brothers were here to take his mind off of things after all, and Hawthornes have always been partial to believing that embarrassment could be a great distractor. 

“You know the game, little brother,” Nash says in his smooth, Texan timbre. How he’s the only Hawthorne brother with the signature Southern drawl is beyond Grayson, but the authority in his voice still sends a shiver down his spine, and the way his laid back demeanor lends itself to teasing his brothers.

“This is juvenile,” Grayson shirks, avoiding eye contact with all of his brothers, glancing shiftily around the treehouse. 

“I’d expect nothing more from a Hawthorne Drink or Dare,” Jameson remarks, signature lazy smirk on his face. He keeps capping and uncapping the Sharpie, the click-click-click working up Grayson’s nerves.

“Okay Mr. Broody McBrooderson, we’ve known that you’re crazy ticklish since, like, birth, basically. So why don’t you just let us draw you a new face? That, or my newest Hawthorne patented concoction is all yours to savour.” Xander buzzes, reaching out to poke Grayson in the side, to which he recoils so violently that he practically ends up in Nash’s lap. Nash offers Grayson no favours, and he digs into his younger brother’s ribs with two clawed hands. 

“Nash! No! Nahahash, stop it!” Grayson yells, trying to keep his normal edge of authority in his voice, his cool demeanor cracks with every knowing wiggle to his sensitive ribs. He starts to squirm away, nearly a mess already from Nash’s short row, and Xander, adding his teasing fingers to the mix, gets him begging embarrassingly quick. “Fuhuck! Okay! Ohohokay!”

“Begging for mercy already, little brother?” Nash teases, withdrawing his fingers from Grayson’s ribs and ruffling his brother's hair. Grayson huffs out of his nose and shakes his head out of Nash’s grip, batting away Xander’s lingering fingers.

“What will it be, Gray?” Jameson asks, grinning from across their makeshift circle. 

Grayson glares in Jameson’s direction, and sneaks a look at the grotesque mixture he can choose to drink as an alternative to his brothers’ silly dare. The “liquid” is a strange, mildewy colour, a terrible concoction of ketchup, A1 sauce, hot sauce, milk, and lemonade. It bubbles and curdles at the top, unendingly since Xander added the final ingredients to it more than an hour prior, and it’s enough to convince Grayson that maybe, just maybe, the dare would be more bearable. 

“Fine, but this is still a childish dare,” Grayson gripes while he begins unbuttoning his silky white dress shirt, revealing the white tank top beneath it. He grimaces at the feeling of cold air over his torso as he strips the tank top too. 

“Lay down,” Jameson demands, smirking at his brother, reaching out to grab the Sharpie he had placed on the floor. He’s on his knees quick, approaching the other side of the circle to kneel above Grayson. 

“Am I gonna have to hold ya down, Gray?” Nash asks, looming over Grayson with a far too pleased look on his face.

“I’m not five, Nash, I can stay still for a stupid dare.” 

“Something tells me that you’re going to regret that attitude,” Nash teases, kneeling at his brother’s side in case Jameson needs some help finishing the job.

“Alright, Gray,” Xander starts with a smile, a face of pure glee at the possibility of seeing his brother laugh for once, “this might tickle.”

Jameson uncaps the Sharpie, and brings it down slowly to Grayson’s skin, the anticipation making his older brother squirm. When the tip finally touches down on Grayson’s belly, he gasps, and curls completely into a ball, pushing the Sharpie away.

“Grayson, bud, I know you can do better than that sorry excuse for staying still.”

Grayson blushes bright red, and he hates that the embarrassment of it makes him blush even more. Its mortifying. He brings his hands up to cover his face, groaning in a rare display of vocal frustration.

Jameson takes this as the opportunity that it is and brings the marker down again to work on the eye of the smiley face he’s drawing. 

Grayson screeches, hands thrown down to protect him from the tickly, wet ink of the permanent marker, and Jameson levels him with a bored look. The reversed roles, Grayson acting out and Jameson responding with a bored indignation, flusters Grayson even more. He’s trying to get ahold of his expressions again when Nash grabs both of Grayson’s wrists in one of his hands, hauling them above his head.

“I warned ya, Gray,” Nash teases, nodding at Jameson to continue. 

Jameson tries to finish the first straight line he had started for the smiley face’s eye, dragging the Sharpie from under Grayson’s pec to the bottom of his ribs, but his older brother’s squirming, and the huffy, aborted giggles he’s letting out, distract from the attempted masterpiece. Grayson even starts bringing his legs up in an attempt to block his brother from continuing. 

“Xan, some help, please?” Jameson asks with a mischievous wink. Xander nods like an excited puppy before climbing on top of their brother’s legs, effectively pinning him so Jameson can have unrestricted access. 

“Wait! I’ll drink,” Grayson tries to reason, while Xander makes finger wiggling motions in his direction, making him dizzy with restrained laughter and anticipation. 

“No can do, Gray,” Jameson snorts, “you already chose your fate.”

“Them’s the rules!” Xander exclaims. 

This time, when Jameson’s marker makes its inevitable descent, there’s nothing Grayson can do but accept the giggles that are pouring out of him, the thought of the tickly feeling making him giddy even before the marker can touch down. When it finally does, Grayson snorts, throwing his head back into Nash’s knees, a smile creeping up that threatens to split his face.

Jameson is able to finish the first eye this time, despite Grayson’s wigglyness, and he gets halfway through the second when Grayson squeals, the Sharpie hitting a sensitive spot on his ribs. Jameson, always the troublemaker, presses down with the marker, wiggling it around in the same spot, going over the first half of the second eye again and again. 

“Ja-Jahahamie! Mercy, plehehease!” Grayson screeches, pulling desperately at his arms in hopes that Nash will show him some mercy. He’s been tickled absolutely silly by his brothers many times before, but something about this time is so flustering. Maybe it’s because it isn’t really supposed to tickle, or because he’s trained himself to be completely serious all of the time, or maybe even the stress with Gigi and Savannah. Whatever it is, it makes the Sharpie tickle a hundred times more.

“It’s a wonder you’re this ticklish and alive, Gray,” Nash teases, but he can’t help his own smile at his normally serious brother giggling himself silly. 

Grayson’s blush sits high on his cheeks, creeping up his ears, but there’s nothing he can do but take the silly torture. His giggles are high-pitched and bubbly, forcing out a playfulness he hasn’t experienced in ages. 

“JAMEHESON!” Grayson shouts, snorting through his laughter when Jameson begins to use the canvas of Grayson’s tummy as the location of the smiley face’s mouth. The repeated back and forth motion sends Grayson into a flurry of snorts and squeals, only egged on by Jameson deciding that the face should have a tongue exactly where Grayson’s belly button is. 

While Jameson fills in the tongue he drew with the marker, Grayson screams so shrill and panicked that it shocks him into stopping. When Grayson keeps squealing and shrieking, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes, Jameson grins down at him, lopsided. “Gray, I’m not even doing anything.”

“Oh,” Xander says, and Nash and Jameson both look his way, “that might be my bad.” Xander’s fingers are going to town on Grayson’s socked feet, and Grayson is laughing so hard that it’s coming out in wheezes, hiccuping for breath.

“Pl-p-puhuhlehehease! Cahahan’t! Gohohonna die!” Grayson begs, too weak to wiggle or pull for escape.

Just before Jameson can bring the marker back down to Grayson’s tummy, Nash’s voice, in his designated Big Brother Tone, cuts through the air, “alright, alright, kid’s had enough.” 

Jameson snickers, and Xander makes a vaguely disappointed noise before backing off of Grayson. Once he’s free, he curls up into a ball, stray giggles and wheezes leaving him breathless still. Nash can’t help but reach out to ruffle his little brother’s hair again.

“Thahat was hehell,” Grayson sputters, but the smile on his face has yet to go away.

“Could’ve been worse,” Xander says, “it could’ve been a Rube Goldberg machine to slap your own ass.”

[demonsfate]

this might be controversial or a hot take but......

on his twitter, harada is now denying franck genty telling them to make the women less sexualized, harada claims any design is because they wanted to do it. and like... sorry, but as always, i just don't believe harada. and like, YEAH, i agree - people are often annoying about designs, i don't care for the "WOKE RUINED [THIS]" idiots. but like. sometimes there's just no denying when something obviously happened. like the design choices aren't "GAME RUINING" at all, but before the store happened, when you look at most of the default designs for the female characters, or the customization pieces, they're definitely "toned down" compared to the older games. fuck, i've had ppl here agree with me that all the women tops made it look like they're working a job as an intern or something. they're all very conservative (in the literal sense, not political sense) blouses or tees. we only had one (1) crop top, and zero (0) pieces that were low cut or showed cleavage. which perfectly fits franck's statement when he told the namco team when they'd "show too much cleavage". it's also telling when the men get more than just tees, but also cool jackets with no shirt underneath, more sleeveless options, options that show off their muscles. but the women options are all... bland.

also like harada once said that he told the devs to not add boob physics, but the devs "sneakily" added it in anyway. he later said it makes sense for there to be, given that if you move that much, your body will too (which yeah, that's true) but it also fits in with the team or a consultant telling the devs not to do something that might be deemed suggestive, when this wasn't a thing of the older games.

or how asuka, who's had many boob jokes regarding her character, wears a default outfit that is clearly designed to hide her chest. (they look smaller until you put her in a custom piece, then suddenly they get big lmao) or how, in all the default designs, nina's the only one that shows cleavage. even alisa's outfit looks like it intentionally has a piece that hides her cleavage lmao. (when her previous designs either had cleavage, or shaped her chest well)

some fans may be saying "what does it matter??" and perhaps it doesn't. but the point is, it still happened regardless if it matters or not.

hell, i'm not even saying it's a good or bad thing. like the only real complaint i have regarding it is just how lame the female tops were. but like,,, just comparing the designs now to the older games, i just feel it's obvious there was some consulting or decision making to alter the designs so they're not as revealing or suggestive, and i just think it's a little silly to deny that happened to some extent.

[steakout-05]

drawing my Craig fan design for REAL!!!!! + stupid little doodles

earlier i made a post talking about how i was planning on making my own canon where Crarry could still feasibly exist (as well as having other story beats and whatnot) and i mentioned how i refined my Craig design a little bit from the last time i drew him. i finally got around to actually drawing a proper full-body sketch of him and what he's supposed to look like!!! i think i drew his eyes a little more far apart than i intended but. whatever.

he's my skrunkly. he's my baby. he's got perpetually bored resting face and a phd in Pocketbeasts lore. he's got messy hair and a few stray whiskers as he tends to forget his own personal hygiene, what with being a hardworking scientist who usually doesn't show his face and all. i redesigned his eye to have more of a prominent scratch on it that warps and distorts his pupil, as i felt like that'd be the most fitting for his facial scar and the type of injury he has!

and for fun i'm gonna do a general timeline of the evolution of how i've drawn this design over time, because it's actually changed quite a bit since i first drew him back in 2022!! (click for better quality)

god it is. so weird looking back at that first design. it's so..... why is he so square shaped............. lol

now, in terms of differentiating this Craig from Canon Craig, i've thought of giving him some slight personality enhancements that i've always thought would fit him. i haven't seriously thought about it yet (i am tired) but here's some basic little traits i want to make more apparent in his character:

Logical Knowledgeable Creative Naive Perfectionist Fearful and Cowardly Not a very high self-esteem; Afraid to take charge Easily exhausted Not physically strong; Makes up for it with his quick-thinking skills Easily irritated when presented with inaccurate/false information Easily embarrassed; Tends to erase memories when this happens Reliable Honest Earnest Nerdy; LOVES to infodump about any given special interest he has Focused, sometimes to a fault Detail-oriented Introverted

this will likely be expanded on and developed more, but these general personality traits are quite fitting for how i headcanon Craig to be as a person!

i love how whenever i get attached to a character or even just really like them, i always bestow my best headcanon onto them in high regard: the autism headcanon. gonna try to keep this short so i don't infodump for 12 hours but the major autism traits i like to imagine Craig displaying are issues with social skills (unaware of many cues, accidentally says things in an inappropriate way/unintended tone, takes things literally, misconstrues sarcasm as genuine statements), a speech affect (monotone affect), low empathy (doesn't feel what other people feel and has trouble reacting to and feels uncomfortable with certain emotions), has special interests (robotics and engineering, Pocketbeasts, cats, and he loves infodumping about them!!), stimming (rubbing the back of his head when uncomfortable, fidgeting with and studying a particularly intriguing object or tool very closely, doing little puzzles that make little clicky noises that are very pleasant to listen to), experiences sensory issues (joint pain, eye strain, sensitivity to loud and sudden noises, despises certain tastes and textures, often experiences shutdowns), has a strong need for a solidified routine (sudden routine changes can cause distress for him, as he needs more time to process his surroundings and has a strong need for structure in his daily life), a few motor control issues (he's quite clumsy and has issues with spatial awareness, causing him to bump into stuff. this has unfortunately resulted in him bumping his thigh on the edge of a table way too many times.) and a few other things i've probably forgotten about. a lot of these are inspired by a few of my own traits as an autistic guy myself. the dude's like a combo of Data, Barclay and Geordi mixed into one dorky nerd (apologies for any non-trekkie followers who don't know who those characters are :skull:)

Craig seems like the type of person who, once you get him started, will infodump to you about his special interests for HOURS and he still wouldn't even be done yet. just like me fr. also tiny little Craig getting his face smooshed

get squoshed idiot

this is an older sketch i did when i was still finalising Craig's design along with doodling other stuff on the page. this was a little expression test of Craig blowing his face up with chemicals because 1. i thought it'd be funny. and it was. and 2. i've never really drawn him with big wacky expressions before, and i LOVE drawing big wacky expressions lol. it will be a rare sight to see Craig making a face like that but it'll still be funny nonetheless lol

no comment. only moob. i feel the same way about barry tbh HAHAHAAH what who said that

i fucking LOVE the Yababaina music video so much, it's absolutely insane and fun to watch, although it does put my eyes out of focus when i look at it for too long. heavy eyestrain and seizure warning for anyone who wants to check the video out, it's extremely fast-paced and has a lot of bright saturated colours. here are my three boys drawn doing that little handholding thing Miku, Teto and Zundamon do in the video. also first drawing of Prince Runingunin!!! he's so silly <3

that's everything i have today. i'm excited to draw this version of Craig more and make more art of him and Barry together!! just sucks i have to sorta swerve around canon with a convoluted solution but whatever. i like diverging from canon and making stuff up into my own thing anyway lol. blond nerd craig my beloved

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 37: The Silence

Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,069 words

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language

A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs. 

They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside. 

Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs. 

All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders. 

You’re crying. 

It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears. 

He can’t. 

He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain? 

Not all of it would have been unavoidable. 

You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation. 

Shepherd fucked him over too in the end. 

Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future. 

It’s going to take a lot of work. 

“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them. 

“About four minutes.” Simon answers. 

“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her. 

“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.” 

Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well. 

You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting. 

Pain and bliss. 

That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.

It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job. 

His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you. 

You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in. 

He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.

Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet. 

There’s no freedom.  

All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word. 

The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.

“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.” 

Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door. 

“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.” 

“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm. 

“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.” 

“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.

“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.” 

Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen. 

“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea. 

“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. 

Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed. 

“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks. 

“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says. 

“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.” 

Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.” 

“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon. 

Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.” 

“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry. 

“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.” 

Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack. 

It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have. 

Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was. 

He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time. 

They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here. 

They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days. 

Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him. 

Little shit. 

His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you. 

He’s not your alpha. 

He almost wishes he was. 

He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you. 

“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter. 

Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.

“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup. 

“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her. 

“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”

“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea. 

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.” 

“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”

“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”

“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”

Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside. 

It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there. 

She’s not the only one that does it. 

The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try. 

“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room. 

You don’t even turn to look at her. 

“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag. 

There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there. 

You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer. 

Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you? 

Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would. 

You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality. 

If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever. 

Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on. 

When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you. 

Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question. 

Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair. 

You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders. 

Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long. 

The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it. 

He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can. 

He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention. 

Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail. 

“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.” 

You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position. 

They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen. 

John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.

“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon. 

Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much. 

You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon. 

Fuck. 

You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.

You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime. 

“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table. 

None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly. 

The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going. 

His alpha is screaming. 

Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away. 

It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you. 

“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.” 

She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room. 

All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed. 

“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate. 

Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table. 

He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad. 

He just didn't think they were this bad.

You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie. 

His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away. 

You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away. 

You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea. 

He wants to take you. 

He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it. 

John would have his hide if he left with you like that. 

Simon would eat him alive. 

He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close. 

Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half. 

It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get. 

He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral. 

Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long. 

He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise. 

He just wants to hear you speak again. 

He needs to hear you speak again. 

He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were. 

Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet. 

He might as well be sitting alone. 

It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence. 

Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down. 

John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things. 

You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward. 

Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen. 

Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again. 

He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment. 

What a good alpha Simon is. 

What a failure of an alpha John is. 

Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures. 

Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence. 

It is a scream. 

It’s your scream. 

NEXT ->

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[spicysourchimken]

Interesting reunions

Tim and Danny are twins, Danny was given up for adoption by the Drakes when he was a baby and Tim was never told he has a brother.

After a reveal gone bad, Danny, Jazz, Sam and Tucker became thieves after closing the portal. They mainly target supernatural or cursed items. Their target, a necklace, is being held in a museum with their in being a private event to show off the piece before it's sent back to its owner.

The heist would've gone well if Tim hadn't also been in attendance.

------

'Lmao and here I thought you didn't want to be here'

It was a text from Dick.

Not exactly the strangest thing to happen when Tim was forced to attend an event.

He'd been benched after a mission resulted in a minor concussion. He'd personally been planning on going over his paperwork for Wayne Enterprises, but apparently that wasn't 'rest', instead he was sent off to be bored out of his mind at some art function. He didn't have time to prepare notes or even do any real research. But he still had Dick who had apparently been dragged along as his babysitter (And was fortunately interested in the items on display)

They'd been texting throughout the night. Dick fed him enough information to be mildly interested in topics of conversation, and when that failed the strange history of the main display. An old necklace that supposedly was connected to a string of deaths and all around misfortune.

So no, the text wasn't strange, but what was, was the photo attached. It was a picture of a man, grinning and chatting amicably with a woman whom he could barely make out as the collection's curator. His hair was longer than Tim's, tied neatly back to be clear of his glasses and to give clear view of the man's face.

Tim's face.

There was a clone at the event.

'can u get me another pic?'

Tim was now significantly more interested. Tim could identify the room they were in, housing the main display and it was about two rooms over from where he was currently hiding out. He could get there easily enough.

Dick sent him a thumbs up before replying with another, distinctly more uncomfortable photo of the man. He smiled awkwardly and Tim could finally get a better look at his face. Tim's brows scrunched together. A lichtenburg scar stretched up from beneath his collar and trailed along his jaw and in the light the man's eyes almost looked green.

He ran the photo through his facial recognition software, getting at least a few pings on himself before finally landing on Jonas Spencer, private security currently assigned to shadow one Morgan Deveraux. His history was solid, highschool records, even a spotty criminal history (points where he'd almost been arrested for bar fights) before he'd joined up with his firm.

So. not a clone. Probably.

Tim would still need to check it out. He pushed past a dark haired woman and entered the main show room. Dick, luckily had kept him in conversation but Jonas looked flighty, his eyes always drifting back to his charge.

Then he caught sight of Tim.

He froze. Staring at Tim for a moment before he tapped his ear- and what Tim assumed to be a comm. He made a move for Morgan, leaving Dick in the dust.

The lights flickered. Jonas reached for Megan, his hand wrapping around hers. Tim could've sworn his eyes darted upwards. Then there was a complete blackout. There was a clatter as a vent grate fell to the floor, shouts arose from the attendees.

Then the lights flickered back to life.

Jonas and Morgan had vanished, and so did the necklace as well as three other paintings.

Good news, its not a clone. Bad news, he might have a twin brother who is in a gang of thieves.

--

Daniel Fenton, or as his ID currently stated 'Jonas Spencer', wouldn't exactly call himself a thief- personally he was more of a collector. Or a curator, whatever the hell you might call a guy who grabs haunted and or cursed objects and dumps them in an alternate dimension.

And it wasn't exactly like he was normally the one stealing things either! That was mostly Sam, he'd done for a bit when they'd first started up (pushing his hands through the glass and taking a necklace with him, or making a painting completely invisible as he whisked it away) but then Sam started calling it 'cheating' and claimed 'his technique was lacking' and promptly took over his position.

(He didn't exactly mind, using his powers too often made his skin crawl. He may not have the GIW constantly hunting him, but he'd had enough run ins to make him sweat. He also didn't want to think about his parents.)

So maybe their entire deal wasn't completely altruistic. When you've been on the run since seventeen and had decided that you, your best friends and your older sister are going to become international thieves, sometimes you have to steal things so that you can have an income. And sometimes stealing is fun.

Unluckily their current job wasn't recreational. They'd heard word of a haunted necklace, there was a string of bad luck connected to it. Mirrors shattering, injuries popping up only days after interacting with the piece, lights falling out from the ceiling. There'd also been a case of near death.

Very clearly the latest display piece was cursed meaning they needed to grab it before it was shipped back into it private collection in France. That meant a time crunch, meaning they wouldn't be fully prepared. It was fine- they'd stolen the dagger of Amon Ra when they had half a day to plan, so three should've been fine.

He and Jazz manned the floor, Jazz kept to grifting while Danny worked as support if things went sideways on any front. Jazz, currently wealthy socialite 'Morgan Devereaux', draped an arm around a politician as he guided her through the collection. Jazz shot him a glance telling him to stay back, keep monitoring the main floor with the necklace.

That was fine. He could do that. He approached the curator and complimented the piece, letting her tell him about the struggles she had getting it overseas let alone her conversations with the owner. Ok, so definitely cursed.

Danny felt eyes on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw someone take a photo. Tall, dark hair and a bright smile.

Sam pointed out that it was a Wayne.

At that point Danny made an attempt to leave, if he was going to get into a fight we wasn't going to do it there. He'd be too close to the necklace for Sam to get in and grab it without attention being drawn to her too. But Grayson cornered him impressively fast. He asked Danny for a photo, claiming that he looked just like his brother. Danny relented.

Then Tucker chimed in that someone had ran his face. Fuck. Dick kept him in conversation but Danny was eyeing their escape roots. Sam warned that another was coming through the left entrance and that she'd already lifted his phone. Danny turned, preparing himself for confrontation.

Then Danny saw him, his doppelganger.

Grayson hadn't been lying. That thought was terrifying.

Danny sent two taps into his earpiece and made his way towards Jazz. They couldn't risk staying any longer. Danny didn't know if they'd been made or not but he wasn't taking chances. He nodded to Sam who went for the jewels as Tucker cut the lights. Jazz and Danny took a painting each.

Sam went for the vents and Danny and Jazz disappeared through the front door.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom (teaser)

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.0k (teaser) + approx. 38k (full fic)

c/w: sweaty ateez (warning well deserved), lots of hurt/comfort, one of the slowest slow burns to slow burn, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: when i started writing this i really thought it wouldn't exceed 25k but here we are :D full fic will be released in about a week and i am so ready

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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@itstheghostofmypast @kiki277 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar

@aaa-sia @nollamuumialaaksossa @skz1-4-3 @minkilicious @joongscheese

@ddeonghwva @delulu18 @teenyfinds @shakalakaboomboo @hxpelesscxven

@fureastel @seomisaho @levishun @lesyeuxdeanna @readerofallthingss

@potatos-on-clouds @apriecotte @hhoneylix @kyeos4ng @smally97

@savluvsmingi @pixie0627 @kyeos4ng @yunhowooyo @yeehawnana

@telail @drinkingrumandcocacola @frenkoza01 @myblovedjyh @enhacracy

@satsuri3su @jinternational-playboy @seonghwasslytherin

[nathaslosthershit]

Trips to See the In-Laws (LS2)

Summary: In order to save his teammate from an interviewer with not so innocent thoughts, Alex has to reveal that his thought-to-be-single friend, Logan, is actually in a long term relationship.

“Alex, Logan, so wonderful to have you both here with me today. Now that we are rapidly approaching the first race of the season, how are you both feeling? How was both your breaks?”

“Well firstly, thank you for having us. It has honestly been crazy. Break has gone by fast and with all the training we’ve been doing, I honestly feel ready to just jump in the car and start back up.” Logan replies.

It was no secret that Logan Sargeant had been training much more during the off season, everyone had seen how much he had changed. The way the interviewer was staring at him though, as if he was their next meal, was making him shift uncomfortably in the seat. 

Alex, being as perceptive as ever, immediately saw the change in Logan’s demeanor. He was confused by it until he saw how the interviewer shifted closer to Logan, eyeing him up and down in a very flirtatious manner. He then chimed in to try and alleviate the tension. “Yeah, busy break but we have been putting in the work and I think we are both ready for this upcoming season.”

“You both look very different from the start of last year. Alex with your hair and Logan has gotten very, very fit.” Dammit, this interviewer really wasn’t going to let it go, Alex thought.

“Um yeah, we are both pretty different looks wise.” Alex weakly responded. What was he supposed to say, the interviewer didn’t exactly ask a question.

“I was in a pretty bad state at the end of last season, both mentally and physically. I worked really hard this off season to improve both of those things and gained 5 kilos. I feel much better now that I am at a more healthy weight and I think it just cements how much more learning and growing I needed last year.” God, how can the interviewer continue to try and eye fuck Logan while he gives such a sincere and vulnerable answer, Alex wonders. He knew he needed to help his teammate and friend in some way, but the idea that came to mind might have some consequences. But surely it was better than the alternative of letting Logan get harassed.

“Well Logan, you took some time to travel a bit since being here in New York” Alex teased.

“Ohhh, where did you go Logan?” the interviewer asked, intrigued at the blush on Logan’s face that had appeared as he picked up on where Alex was trying to go with this.

“Well actually, my girlfriend is originally from New york and still has family that live outside the city so they very kindly invited me to visit them and watch the Superbowl. She wasn’t too happy that I got to see her family while she is stuck in London but also was ecstatic that they clearly like me enough to invite me to visit even when she isn’t with me. It was sweet and such a kind gesture, definitely beats spending that night watching the game in a hotel room alone.”

“Hey, I would have watched with you. You wouldn't have been alone” Alex said, offended.

“Mate, you did not have any actual interest in watching the game.” Logan responded.

“But I still would have kept you company.” 

Before the two could continue their fight, the interviewer bursted out a very aggressively asked “Girlfriend?”

The two were quiet then, not knowing what to say. The interviewer wasn’t looking at Logan like a piece of meat anymore, but now he had to deal with this sudden hard launch of his relationship.

“Uh yeah, I have been in a relationship for a while now. Met my girlfriend when I moved to London. We lived in the same apartment and had moved in around the same time. Insane luck, I guess.” Logan answered, still blushing.

“Leave it to Logan to find the one other American in his apartment complex and immediately start dating her.” Alex teased.

“Hey! It was a coincidence and she is from New York while I’m from Florida, they are practically two different countries.”

“Yeah whatever.” Alex rolled his eyes playfully.

The interviewer, now upset at practically getting rejected, stopped asking questions and just watched as the two Willaims drivers took over the interview, rambling, and teasing each other, till it was time to end it.

The interview had immediately gained popularity once it had been posted. Not many drivers hard launch the way Logan did and while Logan hadn't anticipated that this was how his relationship was found out, he did have to thank Alex for getting him out of that situation.

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon, williamsracing, and 73,355 others

logansargeant My favorite New Yorker 💙

[rooksunday]

thinking about fox getting his first poll card after the vode get citizenship. the guard scattered after sithsplosion day, but he and a score or so that were functionally useless without each other, like nervous space greyhounds with military training, all ended up bundled together on some planet in the mid rim.

he’s been working on a book about his years at the senate. no one knows about it aside from thorn, who has been checking his basic, and advising him where he needs to wind the reveals back a little because libel. the rest of the time he does payroll for a number of small businesses, picking and choosing his hours, and delighting in sending invoices for his business: the shiny security fund, he’s called it, to continue the tradition in a more official manner.

(when they’d been on triple zero, the fund had been for rations. blankets. bacta. they’d conned credits from tourists and stolen them from senators and turned those credits into hope for the poor bastards shipped to the city that ate shinies before they could ever earn paint. these days, the fund was for whatever his guard wanted. aside from a pony. fox couldn’t figure out where hound would keep the pony.)

the book had been born from two lists. one was the blackmail and gossip the guard had collected during their stint on coruscant; that was where thorn needed to check for dangers, but since most of those senators had died in sith-related incidents, or had been jailed when the media got hold of their dealings, all fox was doing was providing context.

the other part of the book was fox’s List. thire sometimes called it a manifesto, because he had been studying for his degree and liked to show off occasionally. the list was a suggestion of changes to the republic, some small, some large. it was a silly fancy of fox’s, as the whole book was, but if he couldn’t indulge himself in his own karkin’ book then they might as well have punted him off the high levels back on coruscant.

yet for all that he’d settled—and paid taxes, even—fox hadn’t felt part of the citizenship of the planet. then the poll card had arrived. and suddenly he mattered in a tangible way. just like the bothan baker next door did. just like the twi’lek downstairs, the one with the noisy kriffin’ speeder, did.

thorn found fox in the kitchen, still staring at the scrap of card. he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.

“you okay there, chief?” he asked. he’d been trying out alternatives to ‘sir’. “noise complaint again?”

fox shook his head. he didn’t look up. “voting thing. there’s an election.”

“oh! yeah, we got ours yesterday. are you— what’s that face you’re making. i don’t think i like it.”

fox raised his head and gleamed his smile at thorn, who backed away slightly, one hand drifting to where a blaster once hung. fox’s eyes felt very wide. he jabbed the poll card like a vibroknife.

“do you know what this means?”

“democracy comes in two postal batches?”

“no! well, yes, apparently, and that’s inefficient, but— no!” fox jabbed the card again. “this means i am a citizen and i am about to make that a senator’s problem. where’s my manifes— list, thorn? it’s time for an update.”

[anthurak]

So with everything we learned and saw in Episode 4 from Angel, Valentino, Charlie and Husk, here’s a little theory on how the Hotel crew saving Angel from Valentino might play out. Particularly in how Husk’s status as a former Overlord may factor into things.

Because I have a hunch it’s actually going to be Husk, rather than Charlie who gets fed up first and goes out to make a real attempt at getting Angel away from Valentino, given everything we saw between Husk and Angel in this episode. Specifically, Husk aims to lure Valentino into gambling for Angel’s contract.

Now that raises the question of what exactly Husk could gamble with. I see two possibilities:

Option One, Husk full on bluffs Valentino that he still has substantial power as an Overlord and has been hiding it all this time, tempting him with more souls and power. And as we’ve seen most notably in Episode 2, Val in kind of a massive fucking idiot, so I could see him actually falling for this. Essentially, Husk gambles with nothing, save his own soul, for a chance to save Angel.

Option Two, Husk actually gets his power BACK from Alastor. Specifically through fulfilling some mysterious, nebulous condition Alastor set up for him. It could even be that this is what sets up Husk to gamble Val for Angel’s freedom. Alastor returns Husk’s power as an Overlord because he’s curious as to what Husk will do with it now. Which we see, is putting it all on the line again for a chance to save Angel.

Whichever way we get to it, we find Husk in a high-stakes card game with Valentino. And of course, Husk does the classic trope of NOT telling his friends or even the guy he’s doing this for what he’s doing to ‘keep them safe’ and all that. Of course, they do find out. Which will come into play later…

As for the all-important gamble; Husk actually does WIN legitimately against Valentino. However, because Valentino is… well, Valentino he welches on the deal and attacks Husk, and perhaps a recently arrived Angel as well.

Now in the event that Husk was bluffing Valentino the whole time and is actually helpless against a fully-powered Overlord, this would be when Alastor, from afar, actually returns Husk’s own power as an Overlord as some offhand, magnanimous whim. Which of course now allows Husk to actually fight back against Valentino.

What ensues is a full and proper fight between Husk/Angel and Valentino, with all the requisite emotional drama of Angel and Husk admitting their feelings for each other and all of Valentino’s shittiness as a person coming out in force. Maybe like an mlm version of the Bees vs. Adam fight.

However, despite getting his power as an Overlord back, Husk ultimately turns out to not be as powerful as Valentino. Alternatively, perhaps he never gets his power back at all and we just skip to here from Husk winning the bet. Whichever way we get here, Husk and Angel are now at the non-existent mercy of Valentino.

Which is precisely when CHARLIE shows up.

And I imagine what ensues plays out in a flash. Like everyone is only just registering that Charlie has appeared when suddenly everything is on fire. We get only the briefest glimpses, perhaps only in silhouette, of the full-sized horns on Charlie’s head, the great leathery wings coming out of her back and the pitchfork in her hand before she has Valentino by the throat and the mothman starts BURNING, screaming in pain as he is consumed in hellfire.

Basically, I feel that after this episode we are going to see Husk be the one to step up first to try and save Angel from Valentino, given everything we saw between the pair this episode. But at the same time, I think the interactions between Charlie and Valentino, particularly Charlie starting to transform in rage, sets her up as the one who’s going to ultimately put Val down. Specifically via giving us a glimpse at Charlie’s true power.

And I do say glimpse because I imagine the full and proper reveal of Charlie’s ‘Devil Form’ is almost certainly going to be saved for when she’s forced to take on the likes of Adam and the Exorcists, the ones who have been set-up as proper antagonists to Charlie herself.

[harmonysanreads]

Analysis↬Sunday and Jealousy

The Oak Family's leader doesn't get jealous, he shouldn't get jealous but still ; at times, it feels as though the practiced grasp he keeps on his emotions is more fragile than it appears to be.

「 words : 1.3k 」

Jealousy catches Sunday completely unprompted one day.

It's not that he'd been ignorant to the concept of envy, having met its acquaintance sporadically throughout his younger years. But envy in relation to a person, someone who's getting closer and closer to bringing down the barricades around his soul at an increasingly concerning rate — turns out to be an entirely new predicament for the Oak Family's Head.

Not that he welcomes it as well, because of the realizations it brings alongside itself. Envy is a reflection of insecurity, a gap in healthy confidence. That one has no faith in their capabilities. Alternatively, they refuse to acknowledge their worth or deem it insufficient before another's, but at the same time, can't bring themselves to focus on improving themselves — resulting in a state of inferiority complex.

Envy is a natural response scattered throughout one's lifespan, because no one is at their best all the time. To let it consume them further than a miniscule timeframe and drive those initial feelings of insufficiency towards hatred, that is where the problem arises.

Visible indication of these emotions is scarce, but his silence is meaningful. As a leader, it's more or less obligatory for him to use his words at the right place, while also knowing when to utilize silence. For you, he's willing to both lead a conversation and to remain a listener. But when jealousy sinks its talons into him, he's rendered a bit too silent, almost as though he's unable to process what is happening before him.

Further observation will reveal some other things ; namely the manner in which his wings curl around himself, how he withdraws both of his arms behind him and his overall countenance appearing even more rigid, withdrawn than before. Should you be perceptive enough to look into his eyes, you'll find their edges to be far sharper than what your memory suggests.

It takes no more than a while of contemplation in complete silence for Sunday to draw all these points. The feeling is uncomfortable at first, because dwelling in that pessimistic headspace isn't the most enjoyable. Sunday holds himself guilty before extraordinary standards, which is why his first course of action is self-improvement.

He attempts to pinpoint where exactly his subconscious detects himself insecure, what aspects of him he can improve so that his heart won't betray his soul and makes apparent progress in that pursuit as well. But it doesn't work in the long run, because he's harsh on himself. The cage of “self worth” lures many to make mistakes, but the human subconscious will always tilt towards asking external influences to take the burden. Because of this belief, he has difficulty in shifting the microscope away from himself for a long time.

When he finally wills himself to look at the source of the envy, he becomes even more confused. Objectively speaking, there are very few who can best the Oak Family's leader in an overall inspection. Perfection is but an estimate, he's aware everyone falls somewhere in the path towards it and for matters that concern human relationships, objective views don't really matter. So, he spares you of any judgement.

Supposing that the source of his envy is a person, Sunday holds himself back from comprising a resolute opinion on them as much as he can ; since he's aware that that opinion will ultimately be dictated by emotions. Still, studying people comes as a natural instinct to him. So when he spots certain... negative qualities in them, he's split between pity and relief. The latter stuns him initially.

Accustomed to viewing things from an overall perspective, oftentimes feelings such as anger and hatred seem futile to him. Like an instrument handled a little carelessly or left unused for an extended time, Sunday would not mind ‘tuning’ that person if necessary. After all, everyone deserves compassion and he'd much prefer settling things peacefully.

On the other hand, his relief stems from his trust in you. Because if he didn't place his faith in you, you'd not be as important to him as you're now at all. He knows sooner or later you'll see what he sees as well and return to his side on your own ; unless his perception of you was wrong. Though the thought births an ache in his heart, he doesn't reject it either. He's been betrayed and used too many times to cross out that possibility.

There is another case that'll hurt him far more, if the person is revealed to genuinely love and care for you and there is no such quality that tramples their positives. There is so much Sunday can't give you, being with him requires more patience than what one would think and worst, he knows this all. As such, he can't bring himself to just walk up and drag you away from them — not when he knows you deserve better.

If your relationship with Sunday was established even before this ; he's first displeased, then in disbelief until it settles on disappointment. This disappointment vacillates between you and him before he ultimately fixates it on himself. Sunday places before him nearly impossible standards to meet and unconsciously expects the same efforts from the people he cares about. It's not a hassle for him to be harsh on himself but he can't expect similar attitudes from others, everyone is different. You are not someone he can control and shape to his preferences.

So when his silent, impossible expectations aren't met, frustration and hopelessness replace them. He shouldn't have expected so much from you in the first place. When he thinks about them more, could he have just overreacted? Analyzed the situation so much that it became separated from what happened initially? This ensues a state of paralysis where his functions become static until he ultimately blames himself for everything.

After all, it's easier to do so. Take everything on himself so that no one, or worse — you get hurt. To know that he'd lowered his thoughts to such a degree and for a measly reason at that would undoubtedly fracture you, put forth the question of whether he has trusted you at all. No matter what, Sunday cannot ever bring himself to be cruel to you, it's not in his nature. Rather, his problem is that he cares so much for everything else around him that he has not a speck left of that kindness for himself to spare.

In this stage of it all, he really has no idea who is at fault and everything that transpired in his head feels meaningless and he's tired. A part of him keeps probing that he should just be honest, confess everything to you and bare his soul — but he can't find any semblance of courage required to do so. To everyone he appears normal, with nothing out of place. But inside he's crumbling, everything he's pushed to the back of his psyche has come forward to crush him.

Sunday is not above letting you go should you desire. He's always been selfless, sacrificing everything of himself for the greater good. And for you and your happiness? Destroy him, take away everything but please, be happy. Be genuinely happy and he'll find joy in your smile, even if you forsake him.

Sunday has always known attachment would inevitably hurt him, which is why he doesn't bare himself to just anyone. This turn of events does not surprise him, but it still hurts. Admittedly, he would not mind being proven wrong for once, he yearns for it even.

Besides, he has far grander plans to execute, so many other responsibilities to shoulder. He can't dwell on that attachment for long. Granted, he won't just forget you and the thought of what he could've had would haunt him for a long while but still, he won't blame you for anything. He knows he could just prevent everything by coming clear to you, however, he doesn't have that courage yet.

His suffering is silent, as it has always been. Even in the sweet dream of Penacony, he remains plagued by nightmares he can't shake off. In other words, he's afraid to awaken, to face the inevitable. And until he learns to be sincere to himself, to not be as tenacious as he is, this cycle will remain a challenge to break.

[legandairy-horror]

Does anyone else feel a strange sort of dread waiting for new deltarune chapters?

It sounds crazy right? I admit it's a weird feeling for sure, and I'm not even 100% sure if dread is the right way to describe it. But as more info is revealed and the next chapter inevitably gets closer and closer to releasing I can't help but feel a strange sort of, melancholy? Longing? The only way I can describe it is "when you know the goodbye is coming". The strange somber feeling when you know you’re going to have to leave stuff behind, but aren't quite ready for it yet.

warning: words. Homestuck

In 3 months Chapter 1 will be 6 years old, and in 2 months Chapter 2 will be 3 years old. Deltarune is ostensibly in Early Access but this release schedule puts new chapters closer in time scale to whole sequals if anything, which they most assuredly are not trying to be. This has created a strange situation in the fanbase that I don't think I've ever truly seen anywhere else. One where, In the time between chapters It feels like everyone has had their own chance to decide what Deltarune is to them. To create their own version of this story, to write their own themes that they want to see explored, to imagine their own events and plot twists they want to see play out.

@lynxgriffin Paper Trail Comic Being an Alternate Story following off of chapter 1

@lilybug-02 The Chara Timeline Being one of many interpretations on the popular Asriel & Chara roommates headcannon.

@huecycles Andromeda Chapters being their interpretation on the full game

The innumerable Deltarune Theorists and analysts like HalfBreadChaos, Andrew Cunningham, Stuffed Alpaca, etc. etc.

@vyletbunni Deltatraveler being a whole ass fangame based around a chapter 2 meme that it has long since outlived

And that's kinda the thing isn't it? Once more deltarune comes out, a ton of these projects will just become outdated, it's an inevitability. So what will happen to them? will they become forgotten? maybe, maybe not, it's impossible to tell. but either way it feels kinda sad to think about yknow? that one day all the time and effort spent and all the memories made might one day just cease to exist.

There's a lot more I could say on this topic if given the chance but to keep this tumblr post from morphing into a 2 hour long video essay in text form let me leave off with this.

In the age of the internet and social media there will always be a fan of something. Nothing truly dies quite like it used to anymore, regardless of whatever influencers want you to believe. But that doesn't mean things stop changing, that there wasn't a past that has since been left behind. I'm a Homestuck fan. more specifically I'm a Late Homestuck fan, one who came in after the comic had already ended and it's peak in popularity was long behind it. The fandom's still around all these years later. But it'd be foolish to admit that, 8 years after the comics controversial end, the inescapable trend of new fans replacing old fans has left the fandom wholly disconnected from the monolith that it once was. the only remnants of which lie in decades old discourse and fanfiction. Like old relics of a long forgotten city, waiting to be excavated under a fine layer of dirt.

Before I close out here I just want to make it clear: I'm not saying that we should be trying to return to some nebulous "glorious past" that never really existed. I'm not trying to deride Toby Fox for not working in the sweatshop hard enough to produce more content™, or whatever you wanna try and spin-doctor this post into. It's just a thought that creeps into my head every now that I wanted to share, see if anyone feels the same, yknow?

Besides it's not all doom and gloom. For those of you OG Homestucks who read till the end. You remember Heinoustuck? Guidestuck? Nightfall? Fucking Ke$haStuck? yeah those are still going by the way! after years of inactivity they've now started back up again. some under new authors and some by the same author but still!

You could say a lot about that but to me at least, it makes me feels hopeful in a way. That, even if not everything will survive. we'll at least have some mementos to remember what came before.

[mononijikayu]

from the start — fushiguro megumi.

“You’re now my friend, Fushiguro–kun!” You smile at him, turning to your snack pile and handing him one. It was a panda bread, one of those he sees at the convenience stores. “Here, as a token of our friendship!” He blinked. “...It’s okay. You can keep it. I’m not hungry—” You pouted, pushing it toward his arm. “But Fushiguro-kun, these are good! If you take them, you end up making a wish that our friendship is sweet too!” “Huh? There’s no such thing as that.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Canon Convergence;

Warning/s: Alternate Universe, Romance, Fluff, Comfort/No Hurt, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Sorcerer! Reader, Mild-Tsundere! Megumi, Feelings, Romantic Confession, Getting Together, First Kiss, Making Out, Light-Hearted, Humor, Protectiveness, Happy Ending;

Words: 5k words.

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 800;

note: i rewrote this multiple times because i wasn't satisfied. i was going to upload this hours ago, but i ended up reading it and i was like 'shit this doesn't look as good as i would have liked' and now i finished it and i love it now. i hope you love it too!!! i love you all <3

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

MEGUMI REMEMBERS THE DAY HE MET YOU. The sun was shining brightly that day. He could remember how the golden rays cast a warm, inviting glow over the middle school courtyard. Students milled about, enjoying their lunch break under the clear, blue sky. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, a vibrant tapestry of youthful exuberance. 

Fushiguro Megumi doesn’t really remember when he ever partook in anything that big. Even in kindergarten, he really didn’t find himself in a big group of people, messing about. It’s something that Gojo Satoru had consistently teased him about for years. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He just didn’t know how. And if anything, it frustrates him. Because he does want to. He wants to reach out to someone and talk to them. Even just one. But he knows his reputation wouldn’t make it easy. 

He was known in school to be someone who got into trouble. And it makes it even more hard, knowing that Gojo manages to make every bit of trouble and complaint go away. a flick of a finger. Even back then, whatever the trouble — Gojo Satoru would insist.

Of course, he lectures him here and there, as any pseudo–parent would. Yet he still saves him, no matter the trouble. But it’s not like Megumi wanted trouble. Somehow, it always just finds him. Because if he was being truly honest with himself, Fushiguro Megumi doesn’t like injustice. And he hates it even more when it’s done to people minding their own business.

That’s how Megumi met you. On the third day of the school year, it was a chilly afternoon. You sat on a bench, unbothered, watching the chaos unfold with a peaceful expression as you prepared to eat lunch. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, people making friends and people talking about in their freetime. 

He saw you from one of the windows by the second floor. He already ate his lunch with his sister a while ago, but he wasn’t particularly hungry and her friends had come over to their spot. So, he just left to go look at the school through a window and enjoy the weather.

And then he stops at you. You were so quiet, but he could feel it. How your energy just bursts from within you. You smiled happily as your focus was fully on the carefully packed lunch box resting on your lap, filled with your favorite snacks. You seemed content with some silence, it didn’t bother you. You were just excited to eat well.

The serenity was abruptly interrupted when a sleazy boy, with a smirk that revealed a missing tooth, snatched the lunch box from your hands. Megumi always hated the kid the moment he met him too. He was a senior, but he acted like he owned the place. You would think that he would learn his lesson being knocked out by him. But he didn’t. And that annoys Megumi. Because he could continue to do horrible things. Like now. That sleazy boy’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he darted away, leaving you momentarily stunned. 

You quickly stood up and shouted, your voice slightly trembling, "Hey! Give that back!"

Megumi didn’t know how fast reacted. Jumping from out the window and into the scene, it would have taken someone much longer. But he took no time at all. That sleazy boy can feel it. Fushiguro Megumi, famed for his deeply sharp gaze. He approached the boy with the stolen lunch box and effortlessly blocked his path. 

"Hand it over, scum." he said, his voice calm but commanding, leaving no room for negotiation. “Or do you want a repeat of what happened last time, huh?”

The elder boy hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation, and glanced between him and you before reluctantly dropping the lunch box at his feet and muttering under his breath as he slinked away. 

He picked up the lunch box and walked over to you, offering it back to you. “Here you go. It didn’t drop, you know….the food.”

You took the lunch box, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks. “Thank you. I didn’t really know what to do.”

He shrugged, his expression easy and relaxed. “No problem. I’m glad I could help.” 

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you introduced yourself. “I really wasn’t expecting that. Thanks for the save. Hey, hey! What’s your name?”

“I’m Fushiguro. Fushiguro Megumi.” he replied back. “I’m from Class 1–A.”

“Ehhhh, I didn’t see you in class!” You gasped. “We’re classmates!”

Megumi thinks he would have noticed if you were his classmate. But then again, he did get bored and slacked about the other day. It’s quite possible that he didn’t just notice you. He shrugged and nodded at you. 

“I guess we are.”

“You’re now my friend, Fushiguro–kun!” You smile at him, turning to your snack pile and handing him one. It was a panda bread, one of those he sees at the convenience stores. “Here, as a token of our friendship!”

He blinked. “...It’s okay. You can keep it. I’m not hungry—”

You pouted, pushing it toward his arm. “But Fushiguro-kun, these are good! If you take them, you end up making a wish that our friendship is sweet too!”

“Huh? There’s no such thing as that.”

“But that’s my wish.” He doesn’t know how your pout got deeper. But it suited you. “Please, just take it.”

He really doesn’t know what to say. He could feel his palm embalmed with sweat. If he doesn’t take it, you might pester him even more.  And if that happens, he wouldn’t be able to leave because you’ll continue to ask him to take the panda bread. He could feel heat rising in him. He could feel it even in his ears.

“Alright, fine. Megumi relented, taking the panda bread from your hand. The soft packaging crinkled as he reluctantly accepted the snack, feeling the eyes of several classmates on him. It was strange, this sudden attention, but there was something about your insistence that he couldn’t quite ignore.

You beamed, satisfaction lighting up your face as if you’d achieved a small victory. “Yay! Now we’re officially friends!” 

Megumi glanced at the panda bread, his expression softening despite himself. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to indulge you just this once. It’s not like its going to be something that happens on a daily basis. Anything to get you off his back.

“Thanks….I guess.” he mumbled, unwrapping the bread and taking a small bite. The sweetness of the filling surprised him. It’s good, not too sweet. He thinks it's great and he finds himself nodding in approval. 

“See?” you said, watching him intently. “Isn’t it good?”

“It’s... not bad.” Megumi admitted, trying to maintain a semblance of nonchalance. But he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward, a sign that perhaps your enthusiasm was contagious.

“Let’s make a deal then, Fushiguro–kun!” you proposed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Every time we hang out, I’ll bring you a new snack to try, and you can tell me if it’s good or not. Deal?”

Megumi considered your offer, weighing the potential for more unsolicited treats against the undeniable warmth in your smile. It was hard to say no to that sort of smile. It reminds him of Tsumiki somehow. It’s….it’s pure.

“....Fine.”  he agreed finally, unable to resist the sense of camaraderie forming between you.

And just like that, Fushiguro Megumi found himself drawn into your world, a place where small gestures held deeper meanings, and new friendships could be sealed with a simple piece of panda bread. And somehow, when he walked away from you as you waved him away, he was afraid to admit it then. But, he wanted more. 

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

IN A BLINK OF AN EYE, YOU WERE IN MEGUMI’S LIFE COMPLETELY. He really didn’t expect that to be the cas. But all these lunch hours turned into days together in the classroom and  turned into weeks in the abandoned classroom, and as always, your new tradition took root. It was now his normal. You were now his normal. And he couldn’t say it was a bad thing.

Every day, without fail, you would meet up. It didn’t have to be at lunchtime anymore. For a while, he didn’t know why he’d make time, but his body had gotten so used to needing to find you, to meet up. He thought you’d bother him again, and you were good at finding him.

When you did, you’d present Megumi with a new snack, each more interesting than the last. Sometimes it was a sweet treat, sometimes savory, but always chosen with care and a mischievous glint in your eye as you awaited his reaction. 

As time went on the awkwardness slowly dwindled. He felt like he was finally starting to get used to your presence in his life. You are his constant now, his routine, his day to day. Slowly but little,  Megumi found himself looking forward to these small exchanges.

At first, he couldn’t understand why. It was just a simple gesture, after all. But there was something about the way you offered him each snack, the way your eyes lit up with anticipation, that made him feel...special. It was as if you saw something in him worth noticing, something he hadn’t seen in himself.

One afternoon, as the two of you sat under a large cherry blossom tree in the school courtyard, you handed him a small box wrapped in a colorful cloth. “Today’s snack is special, Megu–chan!” you said, your voice full of excitement. “I made it myself!”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He doesn’t mind you calling him that. “Really? You cooked this?”

You nodded, a hint of nervousness creeping into your smile. “I hope you like it.”

Megumi carefully unwrapped the cloth, revealing a neatly packed bento box filled with an assortment of foods. It was….it was cute. It was a dog chara–bento.His shikigami dogs. You saw his shikigami before. Very well, and he could only surmise that you were just like him. But he hadn’t asked. And he wasn’t going to do that now. 

His eyes widened in surprise. “You made all of this?”

“Yep! Go on, try it, Megu–chan!” you urged, watching him intently. “I made it all for you.”

He picked up a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks, examining it before taking a bite. The sweet, fluffy texture melted in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but let out a small, appreciative hum. “This is really good, you know?” he admitted, looking at you with genuine admiration.

Your face lit up with a radiant smile. “I’m glad! I was a bit worried it wouldn’t turn out well. I really…I really tried to do well. I didn’t know your taste in bento that well yet, so I was nervous!”

Megumi shook his head, taking another bite. “You’re talented. This is better than most of the things I’ve tried from the other places. Don’t worry. You…you did great.”

The compliment seemed to fluster you, and you ducked your head, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “Thanks, Megumi–chan! It means a lot coming from you.”

At that moment, Fushiguro Megumi thinks he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that left him slightly off-balance but not unpleasantly so. He realized he was beginning to look forward to these moments not just because of the snacks, but because of you. The easy way you talked, the kindness in your eyes, and the genuine interest you showed in him—it all made him feel like he was part of something special.

He thinks nothing of it.

He really thinks it's nothing.

He could feel his heart thump.

“Shit.” He whispers as he went home that day. “Is this….Is this something?”

He couldn’t sleep much that night, and laid in bed, thinking about you. As the days went by, Megumi found himself seeking out your company even outside of your snack-sharing ritual. You’d come over to his house now to study together, share stories about your day, and laugh over silly jokes that only the two of you found funny. 

Gojo was good at teasing him about it, Tsumiki too but she gave you space. Still….he’d endure the teasing. He liked you—well, he liked having you around. He liked how comfortable he was with you. Even if he doesn’t speak most of the time. You were fine with that. Megumi thinks he was lucky. It was easy, being with you, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease around someone.

But with that ease came something else, something deeper and more complex that Megumi wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. He caught himself thinking about you at odd times—during class, while training. Gojo had managed to corner him in training badly and had to ask him if he was okay.

Megumi thought he was being subtle but even when he was supposed to be focused on other things. He wondered if you thought about him, too, if you felt that same inexplicable pull he did. He wished you did. He wished that you thought about him as much as he did with you. Maybe then…maybe, he’d be able to sleep at night. And dream of you.

It was during one of your afternoons together after club activities. The birds were singing, the air was clear, the sky was as blue as it could be. You hummed a song as you ran your fingers through his hair. He was reading the book aloud. You said you liked his voice and….no was hard to say. To you, especially. So, he just did as you asked. 

But now he was tired and he thought that laying on the grass was comfortable. But you furrowed your brows like you always do, so cutely —and pulled his head on your lap and pouted. You said you make comfort more than the grass did.

Megumi was lucky that his face wasn’t facing you. You would have noticed it. How red his face is. But you were too focused on the clouds. So, that he was glad about.  As you both lay on the grass watching the clouds drift by, Fushiguro Megumi found himself on the verge of admitting something he wasn’t quite ready to face.

“Hey, Megumi?” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “You hear me? Are you awake?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m really glad we became friends, you know?” you confessed, turning your head to look at him. “You make school a lot more fun. Actually….You make everything fun. You’re my bestest friend. And you just….I’m so lucky to be with you.”

He met your gaze with his blue–green gaze, feeling a rush of warmth at your words. “I’m glad too….” he replied, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re...important to me.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to surprise you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Megumi was often blunt with his words. And at times, it's hard for people to understand him. But there were times he preferred to keep things to himself.

He couldn’t vocalize it well yet. But at this moment, you think you were waiting for it for a while. And you finally have it. The world around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this garden of eden. 

As you smiled at him, Fushiguro Megumi felt a strange flutter in his chest, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying. His chest was throbbing, over and over. He pursed his lips into a tight line, looking at you as you stared into the sky again.

He realized then that he didn’t just want to be your friend. Not anymore. He didn’t want that name anymore. He wanted to be something more, something….something beyond that. He wanted to say it, to make it real to you. To him. But nothing came out.

‘Not yet, Megumi.’ He thinks to himself. ‘Not the time.’

This was enough. For now, this is what he has. Friends. That’s better than nothing. He’d have to hear you talk about some other guy for now. He’d have to deal with your tears when this guy hurts you. He’d have to deal with being just your friend.

Your best friend. He can do it. He’s content. He can wait. This was more than he’d been able to ask for. He was content to be by your side, to bask in the warmth of your presence and enjoy the sweet moments you shared. 

Because even if he couldn’t quite find the words to express how he felt, he knew that with you, he’d found something truly special. And that was enough. At least, for now. But one day. He knew that one day he’ll find his voice. His words will make their way to you. They will. Because he….he loved you. And love? It should always make way. It will always know how to lead him there to you.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

HE NEVER THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD JOIN HIM HERE IN TOKYO. But you were a sorcerer and you were needing training too — so you joined him. He knew from the beginning that you might be recruited by some of the other sister schools.

You after all had potential and the other sister schools would love that in their ranks. In fact, he found out later that your parents were Fukuoka alumni. They were retired sorcerers, who retired for wanting to enjoy watching you grow up. They wanted for you to attend their sorcerer school too.

But you thought it would be better for you to join him in Tokyo. You knew that being together would make it easier. You were friends, meaning you  wouldn’t have a harder situation. You’d have Megumi, as you always had.

And Gojo-sensei, as Megumi calls him now, was good at charming your parents. That had been a surprise to you, but it seems the Gojo charm was something that could not be stopped. And that settled everything. You were going to go to Tokyo with him.

Though, he couldn’t help it but  he worries about you. He knew you were perfectly capable of taking good care of yourself. He’d seen you stand your ground against Maki-senpai. But being a Jujutsu Sorcerer, there was no guarantee that you’d live another day against curses.

It terrified him to think that he would lose you, that he’d end up without you at all. He…he was close to losing Tsumiki already. And it pained him to think he would be unable to protect you. To think that you wouldn't come home after a mission.

Like always, Megumi didn’t think he’d be able to voice it out loud. He was scared of what you would think. What if you got angry at him for thinking you weren't enough? What if you thought he was belittling you?

He didn’t want it to come across badly. And he was already bad at explaining things. He sighed as his thoughts became heavy. It must have been the exhaustion from training. Yeah, he was overthinking it all. He could tell you well. You’d understand what he was saying.

Still, the nagging worry persisted, and he realized he couldn’t keep these feelings bottled up forever. Every day he spent with you, Fushiguro Megumi felt his heart swell with emotions he couldn’t quite articulate.

It was becoming harder to ignore the way his thoughts wandered to you during missions, how his heart skipped a beat when you smiled at him, and how the mere thought of losing you was unbearable. If he didn’t say something soon, he might explode, and that would be both messy and embarrassing. 

So, he decided that today was the day he would finally confess. He had to. There was no going back on this. He was in love with you from the start. He knew that. Backing out now….he’d just suffer. And so his free day was spent thinking about you and lamenting about you.

He spent the morning overthinking every possible outcome, mentally rehearsing what he would say. He had even considered writing down his feelings, but each attempt ended up crumpled in the wastebasket. He was at one point close to breaking his mirror. But he realized that would make him worry more because of bad luck. So he stopped. 

The entire day had passed, and Megumi still hadn’t managed to confess his feelings. He’d woken up with every intention of telling you how he felt, but each opportunity slipped through his fingers like sand.

In the cafeteria during breakfast, he’d seen you sitting at your usual spot, animatedly discussing the latest manga you were reading. Megumi had slid into the seat across from you, silently willing himself to say something—anything. Instead, he sat there, listening to you talk about what you were excited about today, nodding along as you spoke.

“...and then I found out there’s going to be a new chapter released next week!” you said, your eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Can you believe it, Megumi? I’ve been waiting for this arc for months!”

Megumi forced a smile, trying to focus on your words instead of the nervous energy buzzing inside him. “That’s great.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re excited.”

You raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off. “You okay? You seem a little...distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, avoiding your gaze. “Just thinking......about some stuff.”

You accepted his answer, but he could tell you weren’t entirely convinced. You always knew what he looked like when he’s lying. But you let him do it. You don’t think that you should pry. He will open up eventually. He will tell you what’s wrong when he's ready. He always has.

Later, as the two of you went for a walk around the school grounds, Megumi tried to muster up the courage to finally speak his mind. The sun was high in the sky, casting dappled shadows through the trees as you strolled along the path. You walked close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed, sending a thrill through Megumi each time.

“This weather is perfect these days, you know!” you remarked, tilting your head back to gaze at the sky. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with the fresh scent of summer. “It’s days like this that make everything feel...right, you know?”

Megumi nodded, silently agreeing as he walked beside you. He couldn’t help but notice how the sunlight highlighted the contours of your face, making you look almost ethereal. Your hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and he found himself mesmerized by the simple beauty of the moment.

The two of you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, your footsteps in sync as you meandered through the school grounds. The path was lined with vibrant flowers, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, adding a splash of color to the serene scene. It was a perfect setting, and Megumi knew it was the right time to speak his heart.

He could feel the words forming in his throat, the weight of them pressing against his chest. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, doubt crept in and silenced him. What if he messed up? What if he said the wrong thing and ruined everything?

He glanced at you, searching for a sign, anything that might give him the courage to speak. Your expression was peaceful, content, as you took in the beauty around you. It was moments like these that reminded him of why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. His heart was pounding, a relentless drumbeat that seemed to echo in his ears. Megumi knew he couldn’t let this chance slip away, not again.

“You know….” he began hesitantly, trying to sound casual despite the nerves bubbling inside him, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

You turned your gaze to him, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. “Oh? About what?”

Megumi hesitated, momentarily losing his nerve. His mind raced through all the possible ways to say what he needed to. Finally, he forced himself to speak, his voice quiet but determined. He looked at you. Your eyes were the clearest he had ever seen. It took his breath away for a moment. You pat him. He forgot how to breathe.

As you walked side by side, Megumi found himself growing increasingly tense, his nerves threatening to overwhelm him. He had been working up the courage to tell you how he felt, but now that the moment was here, his heart was racing so fast that he almost forgot to breathe.

“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him with concern. “You haven’t breathed in a while!”

“It’s... alright. I just forgot,” he replied, trying to sound more relaxed than he felt.

You snickered, giving him a playful nudge. “What do you mean you forgot how to breathe?”

He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the cool air steady his racing thoughts. This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for all day. He couldn’t let his nerves get the best of him now.

“About us. About how much I enjoy being around you,” he said, his words tumbling out more awkwardly than he’d hoped. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and...well, I really like having you in my life.”

Your expression softened, and Megumi could see the understanding in your eyes as he continued to speak. His heart was pounding, but with every word, he felt a sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

You paused, processing his words, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake. But then you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that eased his fears. His ears were red. He seemed embarrassed. And nervous. He looked so cute. 

“I like being around you too, Megumi.” you replied warmly, your eyes shining with sincerity. “You’re one of my closest friends. You know that. You’re my best friend.”

Megumi’s heart sank slightly at the mention of friendship, like a souffle collapsing in the oven. He could almost hear the sad trombone playing in the background. This was his one shot to get this right, and he knew he had to be clear.

“Yeah, but I mean...I like you as more than just a friend.” he blurted out, his words coming out in a rush like a nervous racehorse out of the gate. He blinks. Oh. He just said it out loud. 

You blinked, surprise flickering across your features. “Huh?”

“I...I like you,” Megumi repeated, his voice cracking slightly, sounding like he was a teenager going through puberty all over again.

“You do?” you asked, your eyes widening in disbelief, as if he’d just revealed he was secretly a wizard from another dimension. “Wait, what?!”

He nodded, feeling the weight of his confession lift from his shoulders, though it left behind a trail of awkwardness. He rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to find the right words. “Yeah... I’ve liked you for a while now, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid I’d mess things up between us. Because we’re friends, and I didn’t want to—”

Before he could finish his rambling explanation, you leaned in and planted a quick, unexpected kiss on his lips. The suddenness of it left him momentarily speechless, his blue–green eyes wide and blinking rapidly, like a startled owl. You turned, hiding your face in your hands. It was too red all over for you to even reveal. Megumi didn’t know what happened. You….you kissed him? You did it first? What happened?

“Nghh—” Megumi exclaimed, his brain short-circuiting for a moment. “That was... I mean, not that I didn’t want that, but... uh, wow.”

Finally recovered — you looked at him and still clearly amused by his flustered reaction. “I figured…… I’d shut you up before you started overthinking everything. You know, like you always do.”

He huffed, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t overthink that much.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge. “So, does this mean we’re a thing now? Do I get to call you my boyfriend?”

Megumi hesitated, his usual stoic demeanor struggling to catch up with the situation. “I guess so. If you want to. But only if I can call you my partner.”

“Deal!” you replied with a cheeky grin. “Though I have to say, you’re not as smooth as I imagined.”

He sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “Well, sorry I’m not a charming prince. But at least I’m honest.”

“True, and that’s why I like you.” you said, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the moment. “From the start, you know?”

Megumi’s heart did a little flip as your lips met his, a sudden rush of warmth spreading through his chest. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. He couldn’t help but smile against your lips, feeling a mixture of relief and happiness.

For a moment, the world around him faded away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble. The tension that had been building inside him all day melted away like snow under the sun, replaced by a sense of lightness and joy he hadn’t known he needed.

His mind, usually a constant whirl of thoughts and calculations, was blissfully quiet, focused entirely on the simple yet profound sensation of your closeness. He could feel the gentle pressure of your hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the moment.

As the kiss lingered, he became acutely aware of the details—the softness of your lips, the way you seemed to smile against him, the faint scent of your shampoo carried on the breeze. It was an odd mixture of overwhelming and comforting, as if the universe had aligned just for this perfect moment.

When you finally pulled back, he found himself at a loss for words, his usual stoic demeanor nowhere to be found. Instead, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

The look on your face—affectionate and a little amused—told him everything he needed to know. Any lingering doubts he had vanished, replaced by a newfound confidence in the bond you shared.

As the two of you broke apart, you chuckled, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Easier than fighting a cursed spirit,” Megumi admitted, his voice tinged with relief as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a rare, genuine smile. The normally stoic expression he wore was softened by a warmth he could no longer hide.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between yours with a mix of shyness and longing. “Can I…,” he began, but the rest of his sentence faltered as if the very thought of what he wanted was almost too overwhelming to put into words.

Before he could finish, you took the initiative, a playful sparkle in your eyes. You stepped closer, closing the small gap between you with a confident, yet tender, movement. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gently guiding him as you leaned in.

Your lips brushed against his in a kiss that was both reassuring and electrifying. It was a kiss that seemed to capture all the unspoken emotions and the depth of what you both felt. The sensation was soft yet intense, a slow dance of warmth and intimacy that seemed to make time stand still.

As you deepened the kiss, Megumi’s initial nervousness melted away completely. His hands instinctively cupped your face, his fingers feeling the gentle curve of your jaw, as if he was afraid to let go and have this perfect moment slip away. The kiss was tender and full of the promise of something more, a shared connection that felt as solid as it was fleeting.

When you finally pulled back, your lips lingered just a breath away from his, the faintest smile playing on your face. Megumi’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of awe and contentment. His cheeks were flushed, and there was an unmistakable softness in his gaze.

“You were saying?” you teased gently, your voice a soothing murmur.

Megumi smiled, still feeling the echoes of the kiss on his lips. “I was saying,” he replied, his tone now brimming with a newfound confidence, “that I definitely want more of this.”

You laughed softly, leaning in to give him another quick, light kiss before resting your forehead against his. “So do I.” you whispered, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

With that, you both pulled back slightly, but your hands remained entwined. The world around you felt like it had shifted into a perfect harmony, where every little detail seemed to fall into place. You finally felt like you finally belonged where you are, in his arms, from the start.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

epilogue

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the campus as you and Megumi continued your walk, your hands linked together in a comfortable, affectionate hold. You were enjoying the tranquility of the moment, the weight of the day’s earlier tensions now replaced with a sense of ease.

As you reached a secluded spot near the edge of the campus, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. Megumi leaned in, his gaze soft as he captured your lips in another gentle kiss, savoring the newfound closeness you both had discovered. The kiss was tender and unhurried, a shared promise of more to come, until—

“Hey, lovebirds! Time’s up!”

The sudden intrusion of Gojo Satoru’s voice startled both of you. You pulled away, cheeks flushed, to see Gojo Satoru standing a few paces away with his trademark blindfold, that ridiculously dashing wide grin and a mockingly exaggerated pout.

“Having a moment?" With that, Gojo turned on his heel, his laughter echoing as he walked away, leaving you and Megumi standing there with a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment. Megumi lowered his head, muttering. You think he’s about to conduct a curse against Gojo Satoru.

Megumi’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly stepped back, trying to regain his composure. His face was a deep shade of red, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly caught off guard.

“Gojo-sensei, what—” he mumbled, clearly flustered. “We were just—”

You turned to Megumi, who was still trying to compose himself, and said with a smirk, “Well, I guess our moment’s been officially interrupted.”

Megumi sighed, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Yeah, thanks to Gojo-sensei. But... I guess it’s kind of funny.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It is. And at least we know we have his approval.”

“We don’t need it.”

“He’s….he’s your dad, isn’t he?”

“Hgh— no he’s not!”

“But—”

“No, he’s not!”

“Ah, they’re arguing. Their first couple argument!” Gojo Satoru says, still laughing. “True love!”

“Shut up, Gojo–sensei!”

[disneytva]

"Gravity Falls: The Book Of Bill" Panel Brings Insight In The Nightmares.

Gravity Falls fans went trought behind the secrets of The Book Of Bill who took the internet by storm, the panel also had the book artists Ian Worrel ("Gravity Falls", "Amphibia") and Joe Pitt ("Gravity Falls", Disney TVA pilot "Park Poppers")

Photos by Karla Garcia and Disney Publishing Worldwide

-Ian Worrel, Joe Pitt and Alex Hirsch all met in an Animation summer camp in High School

-Adrian Molina (Pixar Animation Studios "Coco", "Elio") was also one of the fellow classmates of Alex, Ian and Pitt at CalArts

-One of the reasons to make The Book of Bill was to work again with the former Gravity Falls crew

-Bill started as an inside joke in the Gravity Falls production as Alex wanted him to be a foil and to make Dipper crazy with his conspiracy theories and the crew decided to put it on every episode and the opening credits sequence

-Bill was almost a meme before it was a character, the zodiac was made up at last minute

-The Book Of Bill has been a New York Times Seller for 3 months in a row

-One fan who owns a book store told Alex, Pitt and Worrel that The Book Of Bill sold out on his book store

-Alex Hirsch reaction to the reception of The Book Of Bill has been terryfing and surprising as he thanks the fans for still loving Gravity Falls after all these years

-Ian Worrel's favorite pages where the "Dream Statues" page and the Pines Family group photo who didn't knew it was going to be burned at the end

-Alex Hirsch favorite joke was Bill playing the Xylophone apologizing for Weirdmaggedon

-Ian Worrel's process for the statue page was made all in VR

-Joe Pitt's favorite page was the bad end alternate universes of Dipper and Mabel

-Alex being asked about an Alternate Reality we’re Dipper was trapped in a Bubble rather than Mabel with the awnser being Dipper's Bubble being him and Ford having an X-Files show and Mabel saving him by the same way he saved her.

-Alex being asked if Bill loves The Duchess Approves with Alex awnsering that he loves it and likes fan-art on his alt-account

-Alex being asked what were Bill and the Axolotls’ prior relationship? Alex awnsers that he dosn't want to give lore for free

-Alex being asked for some more information on Bill’s Home Dimension? Alex had two pages with many information on Bill's Dimension but he kept it secret and decided to release them as of yet.

-Alex being asked before creating the Book of Bill did he ever consider creating something on his own or continuing Gravity Falls? Alex is very open to make more Gravity Falls books after the explosive sucess of The Book Of Bill that surprised Disney Press, Ian Worrel, Alex and Joe Pitt.

-Alex being asked about the process of editing and adding all the Ciphers and Codes into Gravity Falls? The codes and ciphers where added at last minute on the episodes for Alex the codes where so much fun.

-Alex being asked if he could tell us any additional canon about the secrets of Dipper and Mabel and anything beyond the Book of Bill? As of yet Alex cannot speak on Mabel and Dipper's backstory

-Alex being asked to elaborate more on Stan’s Nightmare? Alex talks about a story of Bill entering Stan’s mind to try and strike a deal with him with Stan not being fooled by Bill's tricks.

-Alex being asked since originally The Book of Bill was meant to be more of a “Bible of Bill” did he at one point want to lean more into the idea of “Ciphertology”? There's more and maybe one day he will reveal it.

-Alex on Billford relationship on The Book Of Bill: If anyone in your life is like Bill Cipher RUN AWAY FROM IT!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Summary: Don't trust anyone. That's the advice you were left with. How much should you follow that advice? How much will you have to follow it?

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,058 words

Warnings: ANGST, heavy emotional turmoil, very detailed descriptions of depression, ANGST, panic attacks, lots of thoughts of death and crisis, distrust, anxiety, ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, ANGST, betrayal, weapons, guns, blood (barely), brief violence at the end, drugging (more sedation than anything), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, incorrect medical stuff again, oh and ANGST

A/N: Sorry

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The world is painted in grey as you stare at the wall. Your eyes trace over the pencil lines on the paper as if it might bring you some sort of comfort, as if it might bring them back to you. 

Johnny put the drawings up after your heat, ones he'd done while watching over you as you slept the days away. Strawberries, rolling hills, you asleep in a field of flowers. Visages of the outside world, a place that seems almost foreign to you. 

Despite their absence you're still a prisoner, still locked in your tower. Dr. Keller is your guard now, dutifully watching over you as she had promised Simon and Johnny she would. She’s done it successfully before, or at least she was as successful as you allowed her to be, as you had kept her in the dark just as much as your pack. Obviously they trusted that she hadn’t known, otherwise they wouldn’t have left you here with her. 

It’s not like they had much of a choice. 

She's moved into the spare room temporarily so you're not alone. Your pack's barracks are far more spacious than her own room in the barracks with the rest of the medical staff. You almost wish you'd gone to stay with her. Anything would be better than your grey prison. 

You get to leave now, only long enough to walk to the mess and back, and occasionally to the med center. You don’t get to eat in the mess, staying just long enough to grab food before you’re ushered back to your grey prison. You've gone to Dr. Keller's office twice, but even then it had been a short stop so she could grab some paperwork before you returned to the barracks.

The grey and white of your home has never affected you in such a way before. You've been able to look past the sterile halls and prison grey walls of the rooms until now, until you’ve become a bit stir-crazy. You’re afraid you might actually go crazy, driven to insanity in your isolation. 

There's been no word on when your pack might return. There's been no word at all from them.

For all you know, they’re dead. 

You've gone numb to that thought, the tears not even stinging at your eyes at the idea. You're empty, the only thing you're capable of feeling is the steady churning of your stomach. It's been two months since you revealed the cameras and you're still sick, still in pain. 

What if they don't come back because they hate you? What if they've abandoned you here? 

You're not sure you could even react to that if it does happen. You can’t even react to the thought of it happening. There’s no drive to, no instinct to be upset by the idea of being abandoned. For all you know it’s already happened. 

You turn over onto your other side, facing the room. It’s Johnny’s room you’re in, the most welcome place in the barracks. It’s the place you spent the most time before they left, isolated just to Johnny’s arms by Simon’s anger at your betrayal. He’d only cared for you out of necessity, the progress you made with him all wiped out because of your own stupidity. 

Those thoughts don’t even bring a tear to your eye anymore. He never wanted you, he wouldn’t have chosen you. 

So why did it hurt so much? 

Dr. Keller is worried, but it's her job to be worried. You've shut down, shut out everything. You're not capable of much more than laying around numb and depressed. The scents are fading, quickly disappearing and being replaced by the bitter scent of your depression. 

Depression. That's what Dr. Keller said. Not surprising given the circumstances. You're not surprised either. Then again, you can't feel much of anything anymore. There’s no hope left, the memories of them fading as fast as their scents. They’ve moved on, or they’ve died. Regardless, they’re not coming back. 

You’re alone again, abandoned by those you loved, those supposed to take care of you. 

You can only count leaves on the plant hanging from the ceiling of Dr. Keller’s office so many times. You’ve given up sitting, instead curled up in a ball as you stare at the plant, counting leaves up and down the vines. Dr. Keller is at her desk, writing and shuffling papers, doing what she normally does during the day. Doing what she had last time you had been left alone. 

She had the idea that leaving the barracks might be good for you. A change of scenery, a more comfortable and warm setting, might help your depression. Escaping the oppressive grey walls of your prison for some fresh air might aid in her efforts to help you wallow less in your misery. Being free of the suffocating walls of the barracks might help free you from the constant memories of what was, what might have been, what’s left you behind. 

Your stomach still hurts. The ache had intensified as soon as they told you they were leaving too, that John and Kyle were so desperate for backup they had to call everyone in. It had made you uneasy, the idea of being alone so soon after everything, the idea that things might be going so badly that they need help. The memory of what had transpired while you were alone the first time makes you nervous. 

What if it happens again?

What if something worse happens? 

You won’t be stupid this time, you told yourself. If anything is off, you’ll notify Dr. Keller immediately. You’re not making that mistake again. If you did make that mistake, the consequences wouldn’t just be dealt out by whoever is so desperate to get to you, to watch you. Your pack will leave you, will mark you as untrustworthy and give you up, or worse, throw you in a cell until you can be sent back home, back to the institute. Maybe they would be merciful and send you back to the CIA. What would the CIA do though? They couldn’t send you to another pack, not in the initiative, not with you already having been claimed. They wouldn’t take that risk when the severing of those bonds would destroy you and everything that you are. 

Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you. Save you from the pain and mental anguish after the severing of a bond. 

“Hungry?” Dr. Keller asks. It’s close to lunch, you think. Time is meaningless, the only routine you have left the necessary mealtimes Dr. Keller insists on keeping. Even then, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t know when those were supposed to be. 

“No.” You murmur, still staring at the plant. The leaves have begun to blur, blending together as your eyes unfocus. 

“You should eat.” She says. 

“Not hungry.” You say. “Stomach hurts.” 

She sighs softly, pushing her chair back before walking over to you. She drops to a knee in front of the couch, staring at you. “How long has it been hurting?” 

“Weeks.” You say, still not looking at her. 

“Weeks?” She sounds surprised. “You didn’t say anything. Nausea? Any headaches?” She asks. 

“Uh huh.” You nod.

“Any fever, body aches, congestion, dizziness?” She asks. 

“Body aches.” You say, finally looking up at her. 

She hums, staring at you for a moment. Her face is the usual clinical mask she wears when she’s in doctor mode, but you can make out the slight furrow of her brow as she thinks. She puts a hand on your forehead, your skin cold instead of the warmth it would usually have. Even you’ve noticed it in your numb state, your fingers and toes aching constantly from how cold they are. 

She removes her hand, letting out a quiet breath. “Well, my dear.” She says, staring down at you. “I’m diagnosing you with stress.” She says, resting her arms on her knee. “It’s been a long few weeks, and then with your alpha leaving on top of it, I’m not surprised by your symptoms. I know you may not feel like it, but eating will help. You’ll be no good to your pack when they return if you’re wasting away.” 

“If they return.” You say, not even able to sound worried like you did last time. There’s no tears, no panic, not even a hint of worry. 

“They will.” She says, pushing herself up to stand. “They know what they’re doing and all we can do is trust their skills.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You murmur, taking her offered hand to get yourself up off the couch. You’ve heard it a thousand times. “I know.” 

“Come on,” She says, giving you a smile. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can eat in the barracks again. Watch some dumb daytime TV show for a while.” 

“Yeah.” You say, trying to sound excited as you follow her out the door. It’s been your routine for weeks. You’re growing sick of it, but what else is there to do? Read? Sleep? Lay numbly in bed staring at the ceiling until it blurs together or until you inevitably pass out from exhaustion? 

Your life has become sad and pathetic, and it’s all your fault. 

The days continue to drag on, every one without a single word of your pack driving you deeper and deeper into the hole you’ve already sunk into. You’re not drowning anymore, not clawing desperately to the surface, praying you can cling to hope long enough to drag yourself out of the depression. Now you’re just sinking, letting the weight of your numbness drag you down until the pressure becomes too much and you implode. 

You miss them so badly it hurts. 

Do they miss you? Do they think about you? Have they even thought about you? Did John and Kyle ask about you when Johnny and Simon arrived? What did they ask about? What did they say? 

Or perhaps they just mutually agreed this was the opportunity to leave you, the chance to move on and make the job 100% of their lives again. No more worry, no more stress, no more distraction, no more needy omega clinging to them every minute of every day. 

Maybe you should have been less needy, less reliant. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so close. It would at least have been easier on you. The job comes first. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself under that rule, distanced yourself to make this pain less severe? 

Why didn’t you just tell them right away? 

“How are you doing over there?” Dr. Keller’s voice breaks through the endless haze of thoughts. 

You’re in the rec room with her, your most frequented place over the last few weeks. You might as well have moved in there. It would almost be better than the four places that only serve as constant reminders of what is gone. You could sleep in your room, but it’s been tainted, ruined. It’s not safe anymore. Even with your pack you hadn’t felt comfortable to be in there longer than it took to grab clothes. 

“They left me.” You say quietly, voice muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. You’re on your stomach on the couch, a blanket thrown over your back. 

“Not by any choice of theirs.” She says. She’s sitting in the chair, Simon’s chair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her. He’s gone. It’s not his place anymore. 

“They’re not coming back.” You say, fingers digging into the front of your sweatshirt where they’re tucked under you. 

“You don’t know that.” Dr. Keller says, closing her book. “Those men would fight from the brink of death to make it back to you.” 

“They hate me.” You say, nails digging into your palms from how tightly you’re gripping the fabric. 

“They don’t hate you.” She says softly. “They may have been a bit upset, but they’d never hate you.” 

“Simon does.” 

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Lieutenant Riley is his own beast.” She pushes herself up to stand, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to you. “He’s in his head just as much as you are. In my professional opinion, he could use some therapy as well. Some extensive therapy.” Her hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing it gently.

You’re thrown back to the times you were sick when your mother would rub your back, almost as if she was trying to ease the sickness away. You are sick. Sick in your own grief and disappointment and anger with yourself. The depression is its own sickness eating away at you. You’re not even sure your pack’s return could cure it now. You might be too far gone, your brain too convinced that they’re not coming back that you won’t believe it when they do. They won’t return for you, they won’t be happy to see you. They won’t be real. 

Dr. Keller lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t think any of them are capable of hating you. Even Lieutenant Riley. They love you too much to abandon you like that. I don’t think they’re capable of abandoning you at all. I’m sure they’re just as worried, just as eager to get back here.” 

She pats your back before holding her hand still. It’s warm through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s almost comforting, almost seeping through the chill that’s taken over you despite the warm summer air outside. 

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” She continues, her voice soft and laced with emotion. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it. It’s not good for you mentally or physically. It’s downright cruel. I thought maybe at first that you’d be taken care of, that you’d be taken into consideration as much as they are.” She scoffs. “I was stupid to think they’d ever give an omega the decency of being considered a human being.” 

Her voice is determined, almost angry. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the program, at the initiative, at those above you making the decision, pulling the strings, controlling every part of your pack. You can almost feel it, the passion, the compassion for omegas that she carries. She knows firsthand what it’s like. Even before she became a specialist she knew. She could have presented as an omega herself. Instead she was blessed with presenting as a beta, able to be seen as a human being, able to have rights and make decisions for herself. 

“I’m not going to give up on you.” She pats your back gently. “Once your pack returns, I think we need to have a long discussion about the future of this initiative.” 

“Are they going to take me away?” You ask. 

“No.” Dr. Keller says. “Your pack will fight for you. I will fight for you. But this isn’t good for you. It’s making you sick. I’m worried about what might happen if it continues.” 

You slide your arms up, wrapping them around your pillow. “They’re not going to give it up, their jobs. They won’t. I hate it.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them. “I hate that they don’t put me first. I hate that they have to hide things from me, keep things from me. Why is it fair that they can keep things that might put me in danger hidden, but I can’t do it without them getting mad at me? I hate that they have to leave, that they can just leave so easily. I hate their job, I hate what they do when they’re away. I hate them sometimes because they don’t even think twice about hurting me.” The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to rise again. “It hurts a-and t’s not fair!” 

Dr. Keller shushes you gently as you press your face down into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes for the first time in almost two weeks. “I know. The CIA should have had an omega expert in on this from the start. There should have been someone that could advocate for the omegas they want to throw into these positions. I hate this too, what they do to you, what they put you through,” Her voice goes quiet, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “What they will put you through.” She runs a hand over the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “All we can do is cling to the hope that word will come in soon that your pack is on their way home.” 

You want to believe her. You want to believe she’s telling the truth, that they will be coming home. You want to have that hope, but hope has long faded from your mind. You don’t have hope anymore, as much as she tries to instill it in you. 

The days continue to drag on. There’s been no word on their status, no calls, not even a text. Dr. Keller has tried to get ahold of Kate, but she’s been unsuccessful. It hurts. You feel abandoned, even by those that were supposed to be available, those that were supposed to help you. It all feels wrong. There’s something happening. You can feel it. 

Something is changing, something is ticking at the back of your neck. It could just be the paranoia, the fear, the unease brought on by the isolation and the separation from your pack. It’s not normal. Johnny and Simon promised they’d do everything in their power to get a hold of you when they can. 

Unless they can’t. 

What if they’ve been trying but no messages are getting through? What if there’s something along the line blocking them? What if there’s someone purposefully keeping those messages from coming through? Purposefully isolating you from your pack. 

The thought has a chill running down your spine. There’s things happening behind the scenes you can’t even fathom. Things beyond you, things beyond Dr. Keller and even John. Someone had those cameras put up. Someone was watching you, even after you found them and hid them. Someone wanted to see you, wanted to watch you with your pack. 

Why? 

It all seems too coincidental. John and Kyle being called away and then Johnny and Simon weeks later, isolating you from your pack. No word has been coming through, possibly no word from anyone getting to them. They won’t know what state you’re in, they won’t know something is wrong. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t know. They’d have no idea until it was possibly too late. 

You’ve been isolated on purpose. 

All five of you. 

What if it’s Kate? 

You don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to even think about it. Who has contact with them during their missions, though? Who has been in control of relaying messages back and forth to everyone? Would she do it? Was she capable of such betrayal? John trusts her more than anyone besides the members of your pack. They’ve known each other for a long time, why would she betray them like this? 

You can’t trust anyone. 

The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to choke you for a different reason this time. You’re beginning to panic, and while it’s nice to finally feel something, this is almost worse. You’d prefer the numbing depression, the emptiness, the inability to think. This is worse. It’s so much worse. 

So many thoughts are flying around in your head, your stomach aching as you begin to panic. You’re not safe. You’re not safe here alone, not even with Dr. Keller. There’s too many chances. You’re too open and exposed. 

You can’t trust anyone. 

What if your pack is in on it? What if they were responsible for all of this? What if they knew Shepherd was coming and hid it from you on purpose? What if they had the cameras put up to watch what you do when they’re away? What if they’ve been surveying you to report to the higher ups about your progress and the initiative? 

What if they pretended they didn’t know to see how long you’d hide it, how you’d take it if they were upset at you, how far they could push you before you’d crumble? 

What if they left on purpose to make you crumble?

You can’t verify it. You can’t even know if those orders were real, if they ever came in. You’ll never know because you can’t because they have to keep you safe. What if Kate doesn’t even know they’re gone? What if they’re sitting in a pub in Hereford watching you fall apart at the seams? You want to leave, you want to run there, comb every inch of town just to find them and scream at them. What if they’re too cowardly to force you out themselves? What if they want you to leave, and they’re pushing you to the point you want to?

“Hey,” Dr. Keller kneels in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me.” 

You stare at her face, the furrow of her brow, the worry in her kind eyes. You feel sick, your stomach churning. You want to vomit, you want to puke up all the worry and the depression and the stress. You want it all to be over with, you want it all to end. 

“Come on.” She says, squeezing your shoulders tighter. “In and out, nice and slow.” 

You can’t. You can’t breathe. The world is falling apart around you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your breaths catch in your throat, stuttering as your lungs spasm. You’re beginning to tense, your joints locking into place. It’s not all that different from a few weeks ago in the rec room with Simon as you panicked. 

Only there’s no alpha to help you this time. 

“Come on.” Dr. Keller says, hauling you to your feet. It’s like trying to move a mannequin, your joints locked into place, dead weight as she half drags you down the hall and into one of the exam rooms. She manages it, stronger than you thought as she moves you easily into the private room. It’s the one you spent your heat in, still set up just like it had been then.

She gets you into a chair, wheeling over the oxygen. It’s cold as it hits your face, a clammy sweat covering your skin. Your hands close around the arms of the chair, fingers clenching until they pop and ache, shaking from the force but you can’t let go. You cling to the chair like it’s the last thing keeping you sane, keeping you in place, keeping you from floating away. 

Maybe then they’ll come back. Maybe then they’ll feel guilty for doing this to you. 

Dr. Keller approaches with a syringe, wheeling the tray closer before setting it on top. You stare at it, tears slipping around the mask before dripping onto your chest. “It’s a sedative.” She says, putting a damp paper towel on the back of your neck. It’s cold, still dripping water. “If you go into distress, our only option is to put you under and hope it calms your brain fast enough that you’re not going to lose yourself to your omega.” 

You almost wish she’d let you. It would be an easier end than finding out your pack was involved in all of this. You’d fade away, let your omega take over until the toll was too great on your body and you died before you even knew what happened. 

It almost sounds blissful right now. 

“Easy.” Dr. Keller says, cupping your face. “Don’t think too much. That’s just going to send you spiraling even more.” 

If only it was that easy.

She gently peels your fingers from the arms of the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. Your hands close around your arms, squeezing until it hurts, until you’re sure you’re going to have bruises. It’s a comforting position though, even without anything pressed against your chest. 

You miss your bear. You miss having John wrapped around you, offering you comfort only he can. You want him back, you want to be in his arms again. You want your safe space back, your nest, your pillows and stuffed animals. You want your alpha no matter what. Even if he is behind this or not, if he’s involved, you don’t care. You need your alpha again. 

The air in your lungs rattles as Dr. Keller replaces the paper towel on your neck. It drips down your back, sliding down your spine. Goosebumps rise on your skin but it begins to calm you, shocking your system out of the edges of distress it had been rapidly falling towards. It makes you miss being numb. Numbness was at least better than the dangerously high panic of distress. 

You can’t even be stressed without being in danger of your own body. 

The churning in your stomach intensifies and you rip the oxygen mask off, bending forward as you take deep breaths. You don’t want to vomit, especially not on Dr. Keller’s nice shoes. Your hands grip the arms of the chair again, eyes squeezing closed as you breathe. 

“Good.” She says, rubbing your back. “Keep breathing like that.” 

She steps away for a moment to grab another wet paper towel as you continue to focus on your breathing, in and out. You pretend John is there, breathing with you slow and even. You can hear it in his chest, feel the rise and fall as he inhales and exhales with you. The steadiness of his heartbeat that never seems to raise, even when he’s stressed, thumps under your ear. He’s always so calm, always so aware, always so capable of acting even in the most stressful situation. 

A strength he possesses thanks to his job. 

“I miss my alpha.” You whimper as your joints begin to unlock, muscles relaxing. 

“I know.” She says, replacing the cold paper towel. She squeezes the back of your neck gently for a moment, sending a cascade of cold water that soaks into your shirt before she releases you. Something prickles in the back of your mind as she moves her hand, the back of your neck tingling and not from the cold. 

You continue to breathe deeply, the hitch in your lungs slowly lessening until it's gone, the air flowing in and out evenly. The air in the room is cold, only made worse by the sweat on your skin. You’re trembling, the effects of the almost distress coming down, leaving you a mess. More of a mess than you had just been. 

“I just want him back.” You croak out, the tears still falling. 

“I know.” She repeats, easing you back so you’re reclined back in the chair. She stares at you for a moment, chewing on her lip before she nods. “I’m going to make a few calls.” 

The days continue to go by in a haze. You’re not sure what to think anymore, the numbness  and stress battling in your brain for control. The near distress you went into has left you exhausted and burnt out, yet your thoughts won’t let you relax. You just want your alpha, the need sinking deep into your bones, nearly consuming you now. 

It’s getting colder, Fall making its rapid approach. A couple short months and it’ll mark a year since your arrival, a year since this entire thing started, since you joined your new pack. To think it might not even last a year. That was the point, though, to test if it would work and how long it would work. 

Less than a year. Hope you’re happy with those results. 

It’s windy today, blowing hard enough you can hear it inside the barracks. The whooshing as the air hits the side of the building, being forced over the top of the immovable object in its path. It’s grey outside too, the sky cloudy. It might rain, though it’s hard to tell. It’s been grey for the last couple days, the weather always seeming to be in tune with your emotions. 

You’re seated on Johnny’s bed, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your packmates, since you’ve seen your alpha. They almost feel like a distant memory, thoughts of them floating around the empty barracks like a ghost, haunting your mind. All of them seem like ghosts now. You’re scared you’ll forget what they look like, what they smell like, what they sound like. Your brain is being clouded by your own roiling emotions, slamming up against the sides of your brain like the wind outside. 

It’s confusing, the violent rocking of your mind between numbness and stress in the storm that’s raging in your amygdala. It would be nice if it could pick one, choose a direction and send you head on into the storm or the doldrums. You want the numbness back, the clouding of your thoughts, the slowing of your body to a crawl. It would be a relief over the alternative point where you risk distress every minute. 

There’s no help for you. 

“Ready?” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door as she knocks quietly. It’s lunch, the usual time the two of you go. Early enough the mess isn’t as crowded. The last thing you need is a confrontation, or for you to panic like you did the day you revealed the cameras to Simon. 

Dr. Keller could help you, would know how to help you through that, but you’re not sure you could handle that stress, that embarrassment of falling apart in front of the soldiers that already send judgemental looks your way. Falling apart again. 

Not when you can’t trust anyone. 

The words still float through your mind, one of the last things John had said to you before he left. Before he abandoned you. 

Don’t trust anyone. 

Anyone could be a threat. 

Dr. Keller knocks again, calling out your name softly. 

You force yourself off of Johnny’s bed, your joints cracking as you stand. You’ve been in that position far too long. Your body has stiffened, losing the flexibility you once had in the weeks since John left. You’re not even sure you could run as fast as you used to. There’s no space to do it in the barracks, and with how numb you’ve been, you have no drive to even reach down and touch your toes anymore. For all you know you’ll fall forward onto your face and break your nose if you try. 

You open the door with a sigh, looking up at Dr. Keller. You’re sure you look like death...you have probably looked like death for a while. The constant rocking between stress and numbness has made you feel that way, and has likely made it worse. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not even sure you remember what you look like. 

You don’t care anymore. 

There’s no one to impress here. 

The less alive, the less enticing you look, the more likely it is to keep audacious alphas away. 

“Ready?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowed slightly as she looks down at you. 

You nod, knowing you have no choice. “Yeah.” 

She nods. “Okay, I-” She’s cut off as her phone begins to ring, the loud ringtone slicing through the air. She keeps it on at all hours in case someone calls about your pack. 

For just a moment you feel hope, something coming back to life inside of you as her phone rings. Could it be Kate? Could it be someone with word of the status of your pack? Maybe it is your pack, calling just to let you hear their voice. 

Maybe for the last time. 

That hope fades as Dr. Keller frowns. “One second.” She steps down the hallway to answer, leaving just enough space between you, you can’t hear what’s being said on the other end. 

You don’t really care to hear, leaning against the wall as you wait. It’s not about your pack, obviously. The thought stings. Still there’s been no word, not even a text. The drop of excitement is almost worse than the numbness, the acceptance that you’re not getting any word, that had begun to form in your mind. 

Dr. Keller walks back up to you, the frown on her face deeper than it had been. It had been a short call, most of the talking done by the person on the other side, you assume. Her answers had been short and simple. Whoever it was...it must not have been good judging by her face. 

“I have to run to my office.” She says. “I need you to stay here.” 

Your heart rate picks up at her words. She’s leaving you alone? You’ve gone back and forth with her so many times, why does she have to go alone now? Maybe whoever had called wanted to continue the conversation without the risk of anyone listening in. 

Who called her, and what did they say to get her to break her promises to your pack? 

“I’ll be right back.” She says, sounding anxious to get to her office. “You’ll be okay here? I won’t be gone long.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you have much of a choice but to agree, but you’re also not about to argue. It’ll be the first time you’ve been alone since the day you confessed to your pack. You’re itching for it now, just a second to be truly alone. Just a second to breathe.

“Don’t leave the barracks.” She says pointedly. “John will have my hide if he finds out.

You shrug. “Don’t know where I’d go anyway.” 

She nods, accepting your answer. It is the truth. You wouldn’t have left anyway. “You call me immediately if anything happens. I’ll be just a couple minutes.” 

You nod in understanding. “I’ll be here.” 

“Good.” She seems satisfied by your answer as she turns to jog down the hallway. 

Good thing she’s wearing comfortable shoes compared to the ones she normally does.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as the door closes. You stand there in the silence of the barracks for a moment. You’re finally alone, the oppressive feeling of being watched, of being held prisoner lifting just a bit. Sure you can’t leave, but you couldn’t do that before anyway. You head for the rec room, walking as silently as you can, almost as if one of your pack members will jump out from around the corner and reprimand you for being alone. It’s not your fault. Dr. Keller was the one who left you. 

You try not to think about what that phone call had been about as you grab a snack, tiding yourself over before Dr. Keller returns. She said she’d only be a minute, but you’re not sure how long it really will take. You’re silently glad for the break, silently glad for the ability to rest in silence, even if it is only for a couple of minutes. 

You’re not sure what to do with your newfound freedom. It’s not like you didn’t have freedom before, but at least now you feel like you normally do, free to wander around and go to the bathroom by yourself. 

You’re going to do just that. 

It’s instinctual that you choose Simon’s room. You’ve been using his shower still, comforted by the routine you picked up during the time he and Johnny were still with you. It’s comforting, so much so you’ve made sure you hang your towel where it’s supposed to go, and put your soap and shampoo back in place with his. He’d be angry if he came back to find his room a mess, the order he exists in disrupted. 

More angry than he already is with you. 

You let out a sigh as you leave the bathroom, eyeing the books on his dresser. You’ve read all of yours already, and there’s nothing new in the rec room. You haven’t felt like reading much, and you’ve already read all of yours. Now, though, as life begins to fill you again, you feel the urge to do something. 

The spines of the books are slightly dusty as you run your fingers across them. You’ll need to clean again soon. You’d forced yourself to do all of their laundry once their shirts lost their scent. It was beginning to stink and after being gone so long, you doubt they’ll want to come back to stinky dirty clothes. 

Maybe you should clean their rooms too. Dr. Keller has been saying it might be helpful to do something productive. 

And this way it might help in case they do return. Omegas are supposed to keep house. It’s what you’ve been taught to do. The last thing you want is for them to be upset with you for not doing your duties. 

You grab one of the books randomly before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind you. Your steps are still instinctively quiet as you make your way down the hallway. Until you freeze mid-step. There’s a sound ahead near the rec room, the wind outside getting louder for a moment before it quiets again. 

Someone opened the door. Someone is inside. 

Your breathing hitches as you take a step back, then another moving backwards down the hallway. Dr. Keller did say she’d be back soon, but why would she go through that door? She knows your pack always uses the door at the front, the door behind you to enter. That door only gets used when the guys smoke outside, or when Simon and Johnny have to leave during your heats. 

Whoever entered wouldn’t know that. 

Dr. Keller doesn’t smoke. 

You stumble back to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle for a second before slipping inside. You close the door quietly, clicking the lock before pushing the dresser in front of the door. It’s your room you’ve taken refuge in. There’s dust coating everything, floating around you as you disturb the stale air. You hold your breath, fighting the urge to cough as you wait, hoping the air filters hide your scent before they make it down the hallway. 

Your hands are shaking, gripping the book tightly in your hand. If nothing else, you can use it as a weapon. Simon would be proud of that, improvising a weapon to protect yourself. The panic is rising in you as you wait, the silence of the barracks the only thing allowing you to hear the quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. There’s a nervous fluttering in your chest as you wait, trying to keep your breathing under control. If it’s Dr. Keller she’ll knock, she’ll say something to let you know it’s her. She wouldn’t sneak around the barracks. She knows how much stress you’ve been under. She wouldn’t try to scare you like this. 

A scream dies in your throat as the door handle starts to jiggle, forced back by your own panic. Whoever it is on the other side is trying to get in. You're thrown back into the terror of your first time alone, when someone tried to enter your room in the middle of the night. 

You’re not going to be stupid this time. You’re not going to face this alone. Your fingers fumble around your phone, barely able to unlock it as the jiggling of the handle gets more aggressive. Whoever it is, they’re determined to get in. 

You press Dr. Keller’s number, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you lift it to your ear. It rings in your ear, the sound echoing outside the door. Your stomach drops, following your phone as it slips out of your hand, still calling Dr. Keller. The ringtone echoes in the empty hallway, quickly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. 

The sudden phone call, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks to run to her office, entering through the wrong door...

No...it can’t be. 

The door shudders as something rams against it. You have to hide, you have to get out. You can’t hide in the closet or under the bed. Even the bathroom wouldn’t be smart. It’ll leave you too vulnerable. If whoever it is can break through your door, they’ll get through the bathroom easily. You turn to look at the window. You have to get out. You have to get help. 

There could be others out there, waiting for you to try. 

You have no other choice. Better to try and fight than to stand there and let it happen. That’s what Simon always says. 

You can defend yourself. You can fight until you get a chance to run. You can run. You’re an omega. Running is what you do. 

You barely remember to pick up your phone before you climb onto your desk, not caring as you knock things off. You have to move fast. Whoever it is on the other side of the door probably heard that, probably has figured out you’re going for the window. You have to get out. You have to run. The window slides open slowly, the adrenaline pumping through you, giving you strength you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re not sure you’ve ever opened the window in the time you’ve been here. You squeeze through the opening just big enough to fit you through. You don’t waste time looking back as you take off running, heading in the direction of the trees. 

You’re alone, kicking up gravel as you run to the road. You have to find someone to help you before whoever it was catches up to you. Would they be that brave to attack you in the middle of the base? Would they try something with witnesses around?

You can’t trust anyone.

Would they even believe you if you did try? Or would they take advantage of your state, tricking you into believing them before dragging you into a dark corner? Even if you try to go to the higher ups on base, who would you tell? How would you even find them? 

You can’t trust anyone. 

Instead you choose the trees, racing down the road you had followed Price down not long after your arrival. You thank the CIA for making you run, you thank the guys for letting  you run laps to keep your strength and stamina as you tear down the road, getting glances as you go. You haven’t lost much of your ability, not even in the weeks you’ve been almost completely sedentary. It’s partially the adrenaline, partially your own fear, partially your instincts to escape from danger helping you sprint down the road. 

It’s lunch time, most of the soldiers probably in the mess by now. Maybe you should have run there. Someone would help you. Someone would help you. 

You’ve passed a few on your way down the road, only getting passing glances. If they really cared, they would have followed you, tried to intercept you to ask what was going on. 

None of them stop you as you reach the trailhead, breaking through the brush. Don’t follow the trail. Weave through the trees and double back. Confuse them so they can’t follow. Price’s advice rings loud in your ears as you rush through the forest. Confuse them, and then make for the tower. You can hide there, call Laswell, get help. You’re not sure how much help she can provide from across the ocean, but if nothing else, she’ll at least know. 

If she answers. 

If she’s not behind all of this. 

She might rat you out. 

Maybe going for the tower is a bad idea. Maybe you should double back and head for base again. If you can make it to the gate maybe you can convince one of them to help you, or if nothing else you can force your way through and get off of base. You recognize landmarks well enough you can hike to Hereford, find the police, find anyone that might help you. 

You can’t trust anyone. 

Your chest hurts as you run, tears burning in your eyes, making the trees around you blur. You can’t cry now. You can’t let the ache of betrayal settle in yet. You really can’t trust anyone. John had been wrong. But why now? Why wait this long? 

Something has happened to your pack. 

The whole thing has been organized. 

You trusted her. 

You dart across the trail, a sharp pain biting through your calf before you can reach the other side. You yelp as you fall into the dirt, your leg giving out from under you. You push yourself up to look, a roughly half inch wide hole cutting through your jeans. Blood is starting to seep into the fabric, darkening it around the edges of the hole. 

You’ve been shot. 

“You’re a quick little thing.” A voice says, stepping out from the brush next to the trail. “Though, I suppose with all the running they made you do, you would be.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at the gun pointed right at you. Will it go off again? Will it rip through your chest, giving you a slow painful death out here where no one will find you until it’s too late? Or will it go through your head, giving you a quick death before you even know it’s happened? 

“Why?” You choke out, your heart pounding in fear. You can feel it, the edges of your vision darkening as you begin to panic. You’re going to distress, you’re going to die no matter what happens next. 

“Money.” The gun shifts with the accompanying shrug. “Sure the pay in these positions is decent, but it’s never quite enough. And, you know, I’m all for helping with experiments.” 

The gun lowers, but that does little to ease the panic flooding through you. You turn your upper body, trying to claw through the dirt away from your assailant, trying to escape the shoes getting closer and closer. They’re tennis shoes, practical and easy for running if need be. Your mouth has gone dry as you gasp for breath, your heart thudding in your ears. It’s getting dangerously high, the dark edges in your vision continuing to get bigger and bigger. Your muscles are tensing, ready to tighten painfully, joints locking into place. It’ll be too late to do anything, but then again, it’s too late now to do anything. 

You can’t run. If you try, you’ll get shot again, and maybe this time it will be fatal. 

One of the shoes lifts, stepping down on your leg. You scream as pain ripples all the way up to your hip, stopping your movements. Tears slide down your face, dripping down your nose and onto the dirt. 

A hand reaches out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look straight again. Fingers dig into your jaw, making you whimper with pain. “I always hate when omegas cry.” The hand releases you as their right hand rears back. 

Pain erupts across your cheek, your body being thrown to the side. You fall into the dirt, your ears ringing as the entire left side of your face throbs. You can taste blood, the coppery tang making you want to gag. 

“That was for fucking up the cameras and making me do more work.” 

You’re forced onto your stomach in the dirt, a knee digging into your back painfully. 

“You’re going to go to sleep now.” You can barely make out the words over the ringing in your ears. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you had never been picked for this initiative in the first place.” 

A stinging pain bites into the skin of your neck, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in your cheek and the burning ache in your leg. Tears continue to slide down your cheeks as you lay there, your vision going blurry as the sedative kicks in. There’s no help coming. 

No one even knows you’re out here. 

NEXT ->

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[ane-doodles]

I refuse to create a new au, let's call it "alternate timeline"

Ok so, this is based on this illustration. They were just thoughts that came into my head while I was coloring. I'm bad at narration and good at lists so bear with me...

We are located in the time just before Narinder discovers/creates/idk the way to revive mortals. He is still the bishop of death with his own cult and there are no problems with the rest of the bishops. I want to add a note: since this is set before the whole betrayal thing here Narinder is portrayed as calmer focused on his own thing.

The lamb (we will call her Avan hehe) is part of the cult of the red crown. She is really interested in everything related to spirits and gods and often gets into trouble because of her curiosity.

One day in particular she decides to follow one of the fireflies/devotion lights through the forest and ends up meeting the bishop of death who, thanks to a convenient breeze, ends up revealing his face by accident.

I don't know what happens in this period of time but the lamb ends up visiting the forest often to meet Narinder until it becomes a kind of habit.

Visits in the forest become common company within the cult as well. Avan receives as a gift the red cord that she uses as a belt to match Narinder (thanks to this other cultists believe that she has ascended to a new position and do not usually bother her with questions)

Avan ends up helping Narinder perfect the resurrection method with the knowledge she has of materials (bones, plants, among others) in addition to providing a different perspective and questions to the god of death. In the end they end up achieving the result that we know in the game. [for the ritual to work the summoner gives a small fragment of his life, since Narinder is immortal this does not affect him in any way]

Here the pre-game events take place: the bishops don't like this, they plan a way to stop what Narinder has started and opt to imprison him in the gateway, but first they must kill him (inspired by this post, go check it out )

So Narinder is killed but he is not immediately chained, but rather the bishops decide to first put an end to the cult (to prevent knowledge about the resurrection from being dispersed). Avan's life is spared because "she seemed to be close to Narinder and his memory should not be forgotten" (me to myself: HA FOOLS! they left alive the only one who really knew the resurrection ritual)

As the massacre takes place, Avan (between terrified and confused) decides to do the resurrection ritual on her own. She takes Narinder's heart and hides deep in the forest.

As Avan is a mortal, the ritual affects her quite a bit (you can see her blackened fingers in a sketch). Narinder is brought back to the world of the living as a demigod, as Avan's mortal life was not enough to bring him back fully.

This is where the story gets a little blurry because my imagination started to run out…

While Narinder fervently desires to take revenge, his powers are truly limited now, and abusing them could kill him and even the lamb. Avan, for her part, prefers to hide at least for a while, scared of the bishops and the idea that they will discover that she was the one who brought Narinder back to life.

How the hell do you hide a cat at least three times your height?

Before the story went totally off track this was supposed to be some sort of Narinder flashback for the CFP Au

I did think about designing a lamb especially for this one, but I prefer to take and adapt Avana, it's more fun and I think the blue suits her well.

Is this a romantic Au? dramatic? Platonic? of friendship? of survival? idk, be creative with your own imagination and enjoy.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay wait! We need more fae farm Sans please! that was too good! What would it look like when Sans's secret is revealed?

HFKDSJ okay, here's some more.

I really don't think he'd be too worried about it, when you discover his otherworldly nature. Because neither would you. Everyone already knows he's kind of strange, rumours of him not being 'normal' are abound. At that point, you would've already spent many moons getting to know him, being vulnerable without even realising - and you'd be living in a world where fae aren't uncommon at all. He's already proven himself a trustworthy friend. Why would you be scared of him?

... Especially since you have no reason to believe he's anything other than normal fae.

What you (a human) might forget is that the fair folk are not a homogeneous group. Some fae even other fae fear. He's one such entity.

It's difficult to tell if he's more powerful than Dream or Nightmare, considering he spends all his time... well, farming. It's also difficult to compare them because while all three are very ancient, they trace back to very different lineages. Dream and Nightmare are fae of butterflies, flowers, mushrooms, trees, seasons. Farmer is of ferns - of bogs, of gingkos, pine and moss.

Yall remember my Forest God AU? He's like if a Forest God got its act together, and just decided to settle down in a humanoid form. He's lived long enough to know what really matters... things like soft socks, a place to call home, the eyes and lips of a human you love.

He calls you "chickadee". It's his favourite bird.

People from the nearby village will giddily ask if you and Farmer are 'courting'. The delightful but mysterious bachelor finally has someone he likes? Everyone's rooting for him!

You have a very important role, on his farm. Very very important. You're his preserves tester. How is he supposed to know his jams and chutneys are any good, without someone of refined palate to assist him?

He has a really wonderful singing voice.

Old habits die hard; he still likes to trade. But the trades are silly, and often just an excuse for him to play. You want to hear him sing again? Better 'trade' by agreeing to cuddle up by the fire with him. You want another song, because the last sounded so ancient and beautiful and unlike anything you've ever heard? Try his spiced rice pudding, then he'll think about it.

His favourite food is roasted chestnuts.

His farm rests on the boundary between the fae and human worlds. You can enter from either side - and if you're not careful, leave on the wrong side. Farmer always walks you the right way, but if someone he doesn't like decides to make their leave, he might not be so attentive to where they're going.

You can stay at his farm without turning into fae. Alternatively, if you enter his property from the fae side, your transformation into fae is paused.

Wouldn't be surprised if he can reverse an incomplete transformation.

He talks fondly, but in the past tense, about a brother.