#<- will be unable to cope regardless of what happens. but thank god i asked her bc lkke. god. i need to talk to her so bad *bashing head

[pepprs]

LOLLLLL not to liveblog this shit but i asked my s*per visor who is abandoning us (lol) to take a walk with me and she said yes. ok 😃

[sylverstorms]

Dimitrescus x Maiden---- The End of Winter(s)

Requested here. (I don't always have time for requests but we all needed this one.)

First come the gunshots.

Then, a feeling of dread.

It is strange; You’ve had intruders enter the castle before, in the years you’ve been with the Dimitrescus. Some lasted seconds, others hours. There were one or two the daughters kept around for more than a day, just for the thrill of the chase.

It is not the first time you hear a gun go off in the estate. Your past also renders the sound familiar, nothing remarkable.

But.

You can’t shake off the nausea that accompanies it this time. Your chest constricts and your gut churns and you just know something has gone terribly wrong.

Your fears are confirmed when, minutes later, Bela stumbles in from the doorway, her usual grace and aura of certainty completely gone. She is shivering, shaking, chilled to the bone. The visible patches of her skin look grey and hardened into an almost diamond substance. Flies are breaking apart from her and falling, twitching, to the floor.

You immediately rush to her and she collapses forward in your embrace. Her chin knocks against your shoulder, cold as a block of ice.

“Bela, love, what happened?!” you ask, while leading her to the nearest fireplace. Of course, you know about their weakness.

But how does he?

She wraps her arms around your waist tight, almost too tight, like she’s on the verge of breaking apart –physically, mentally—and you’re the only anchor she’s got.

From the top of the staircase, you hear Alcina’s hurried steps. Another door snaps open in the far corner of the room and you see Cassandra materialize out of the swarm there, then rush over to you.

“I… I… This can’t be happening.” Bela whispers, gasping for breath.

You can only hold her more securely against you, running your fingers through her blonde hair. It seems to calm her somewhat. Both your ministrations and the warmth.

You and Alcina share a look of pure worry.

“I failed. Mother, I failed.” Bela practically sobs without facing the woman and your heart shatters into pieces. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Bela—” she tries to say, while Cassandra remains there like a statue, unable to process the scene.

“He shot the windows and now he knows.” Bela pulls slightly away from you to say. “That stupid man-thing has got Daniela!”

“I’m going. I’ll rip out his intestines and feed them to him.” Cassandra growls and it’s a dark, ominous sound.

Alcina grabs her arm before she can swarm off. “No. I won’t risk another one of you. I will deal with that vermin.” she says through clenched teeth. You can see the effort she puts into keeping her voice steady.

You want to reach for her, to comfort her, but Bela is in a worst state, battling her body’s reaction to the cold and her self-loathing for her failure, so you stay put.

“Stay with Eliza. Do not let him anywhere near her. I will get Daniela.” she orders her daughters, leaving them as your guards.

Cassandra walks over to you and takes your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together. With her free one, she rubs Bela’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ve wanted to kill Daniela several times over the last century so I can safely say it just doesn’t work.” even as she tries to lighten the mood, though, you can see how tempted she is to disobey Alcina and go after Winters. Her grip keeps clenching and unclenching. “He won’t come near you, darling.” she promises you.

But then… the thought strikes you. What if you go near him?

-

-

After you put Bela to sleep, you tell Cassandra to wait a while with her and that you’ll be back.

You will be back. Just not without Daniela.

The more you think about it, the more sense it makes for you to go. You are only human, yes, but that is precisely what can give you an edge in this. You do not have a fatal weakness to the cold. You move much faster than Alcina.

And although you’ve tried hard to grow beyond your past, you always knew you were no better than what it made you.

You’ve killed dozens who had done nothing to you during your time in the military’s special forces. Why would you not plant a bullet in the head of someone who dared to harm your new family?

Duke recognizes the look in your eye when you ask to see his collection of rifles. You pick one to your liking and test its weight in your grip. So much for promising never to touch a gun again.

You run through corridors and rooms before you hear his voice.

“Shut up, witch! I’m getting Rose back!” he shouts at Daniela, coped up in the library where there’s only one entrance. You press against the wall and carefully peek through. She gives a weak giggle, chained in front of an open window as she is.

God, she must be suffering.

Still, her eye rapidly flits to you. You motion for her to drop down. And then-

You turn into the room, rifle blazing, the first bullets driven into his head and the rest of the clip emptied in his torso. Blood splatters everywhere with every pull of the trigger and for the first time in your life you do feel something as you kill another person. Pure satisfaction.

You leap over the crimson pool that is swelling around Winters’ corpse to free Daniela, who is laughing even though she’s basically an icicle, at this point.

When you pull her away from the cold she collapses into you, much like Bela did, only she can’t move her limbs enough to cling to you.

“Daniela?!!” You hear Alcina’s voice wrecked with anguish. “I will slice you to bits, you filthy man-thing!” she nearly screams as she approaches the library.

“Go wild, dear. He won’t put up much of a fight.” you reply, a brief smirk curling your lip. Daniela burrows deeper into your warmth with a faint laugh. Alcina is equal parts confused and fuming when she ducks under the doorway—

And sees the body of Ethan Winters laying in a pool of his own blood. Her claws detract. She stalks over to his corpse…

Then crushes his head under her heel.

You wince at the gut-churning, crunching sound, holding Daniela tighter, but part of you is deeply relieved it’s finally over despite the brutality. Can’t take any chances.

You almost lost them. You lower your head to Daniela’s neck as silent tears start to flow from your eyes.

“Baby, I’m.. fine…” the redhead croaks out, nudging you with her head.

Alcina kneels down beside you, more exhausted than you’ve ever seen her. She gathers you both into a hug, resting her head on top of yours. You stay there a long time.

“My beautiful girl. My love.” she whispers to Daniela and you. She’s too proud to say most of the things she wants, but you can see them in her expression and the tightness of her throat regardless.

“…I’m hungry.” Daniela complains once feeling returns to her frozen form.

“When are you not?” you tease.

“We’d have that man’s flesh for dinner… but I would never feed my daughters something so disgusting.” Alcina says.

She picks Daniela up in her arms like a baby and you do not look at the bloody mess behind you.

-

-

After dinner, the Dimitrescus and you are all sitting in a couch in front of the fireplace, making light conversation and basking in each other’s presence.

Alcina is delicately sipping wine while you’re leaned against her, with Daniela practically in your lap. Cassandra is beside her and none too happy to not touch as much of you, though she is keeping your hand on her thigh possessively. Bela is curled like a cat at your legs, her cheek on your knee.

“Can you not hog her like you’re here by yourself?” Cassandra growls at Daniela, who doesn’t even think to budge.

“I’m the one who almost died. Piss off.” Daniela’s lips brush against your neck as she speaks.

“Daughters.” Alcina chastises.

“How long are you going to play the ‘I almost died’ card for?” Cassandra asks irritably.

“As long as it works~” Daniela kisses your jawline several times.

“Bela, are you still sulking?” Cassandra nudges her with her foot.

“Leave me alone...” the eldest sister huffs.

And the answer to that is a resounding yes.

You know it will take time to be completely over this. You know right now they all need you, in different ways.

Bela has to climb out of the self-blaming pit she’s dug herself in –she always is too rough on herself—and your touch grounds her.

Cassandra wants you to please her hard and long in bed to blow off the steam of the past day or she won’t be able to rest at all.

Daniela won’t show it but she was petrified and she’s still scared. She needs your attention, needs you to drown her in kisses, until it all goes away.

Alcina almost lost her girls to that man. She hasn’t recovered from the shock but you can see the bone-deep gratitude and the sheer love in her eyes whenever they lock with yours. Her girls will get you first, but when it’s her time with you…

Well.

She’ll thank you in so many ways.

.

Ko-Fi

[thekisforkeats]

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

--------------------------------------------

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’��� He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

--------------------------------------------

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

[hangekitty]

Hiii, I wanted to ask if you could write a f!Hange x fem!reader one shot where the reader is outside the Walls for a mission. Usually hange would be with them being their Partner and everything but for some reason can't. So when they come back they stand in the front row and search for their girlfriend but can't see her and the group is so much smaller so they already know what happend and there is only one thought in their head something like...nonono this is not happening right now.... a few days later a small group stands before the Walls and explain that they got seperated from their group when Titans attacked but managed to hide, find their horses and ride back at night. The reader goes to Hange and finds them in their shared room. Broken and hopeless, ready to give up and when the reader starts talking they think they are going crazy but when she touches them they realize that the reader is real and alive and just throws themselves at her and very gentle smut and fluff happens.

Okay sorry for my english and this was way too long😅

But I hope you decide to write this and if you do thank you soo much❤❤

Hange x f!Reader - Lost without you

Oh my I loved writing this. The thought of a grieving Hange is too much so I’m glad this is contains fluff and smut! Shoutout to @sweetfaun for grammar and editing checks! 🌸

Genre: fluff, smut, 18+

Warnings: subtle mention of suicide, fingering, tribbing

Word count: 3417

A/N: I listened to the “falling in love with Hange Zöe” playlist on Spotify by ObviouslyMoss whilst writing this if anyone is interested. I might keep music a running theme on my work. AFAB Hange - I may have accidentally made them a bit softer than usual but come on they are a big softie.

The life of a soldier in the scout regiment is one of duty and dedication. At any moment you could be asked to give up your heart, your life, and your soul for humanity. It is strongly advised that upon becoming a scout you are to leave behind all personal feelings and relationships as there is a possibility you will lose everything in a blink of an eye. This is something that is easier said than done, as despite the consequences each soldier is still only human.

Regardless of any warnings, there was no stopping squad leader Hange Zoe falling for their fellow squad leader – you. Perhaps it was the way you laughed with them, or how you helped them with their elaborate experiments, or maybe that one time you convinced Hange to shower with you. Hange was smitten, and fortunately so were you. Only the Gods knew what Hange would do without you, and if they were ever to lose you…. It simply wasn’t worth thinking about. You were everything to them, their reason to be alive; so, if there ever was a day that you were no more it would feel as if Hange had lost their entire world.

The two of you had dated for little over a year. The way in which Hange had asked if their feelings for you were reciprocated was adorable. They had thought to surprise you by naming the four titans being held in captivity ‘Will, Yew, Bee and, Myne’. Moblit had assisted with the entire thing, having taken the time to write up each name on an individual plaque and arranging them accordingly. Hange had everything set up, ready and waiting for when you were leaving a meeting and had sent Moblit to escort you back to the research labs. Upon your arrival, Hange grabbed your hand and excitedly announced that they had successfully caught four titans for experimentation. As you looked upon them, noticing the quaint plaques that featured a tidy penmanship – you assumed it must belong to Moblit, as Hange’s scrawl was illegible at the best of times.

“Will…. Yew…. Bee…Myne?” You read aloud and before you even had the time to process the play on words, Hange let out an astounding “Yes, of course I will!” and wrapped themself around you. Admittedly, you were confused at first, but you soon caught on and admitted your feelings for real.

From that point, you were always together. Whether it was on expeditions or within the lab, it was a rarity to see you two together. Commander Erwin had granted you permission to share a room together. Fortunately, so, as the constant charades of having to sneak into each other’s rooms at night were beginning to get exhausting. Soon it had got to the point where sharing your space with Hange had become second nature, and that you were unable to sleep without them by your side.

---

It was the Summer of 849, and Erwin had organised an unexpected expedition. It hadn’t been that long since the last and you wondered why there was such a rush to go beyond the walls once again in such a short period of time. The unexpected nature of Erwin’s plans meant that Hange wasn’t able to attend this expedition on account of two titans that were being held in the research facilities. Hange had named them Charles and Domery – peculiar names, but that was to be assumed of Hange Usually you would be expected to assist Hange with their research, however on this occasion your presence on the field was required due to you being a Squad Leader.

“It’s just two days, sweetheart,” you cooed as the both of you rested in bed. You were sat up, lounging back within the abundance of pillows, whilst Hange’s head rested in your lap as you attempted to hush them asleep by stroking their hair. Despite your attempts, it was inevitable that Hange would spend a majority of the night lying awake due to the anxiety pooling in their stomach. You two were practically joined at the hip by now, and every time you had to separate Hange found themselves unable to sleep. They had wrapped their arms around your leg, hugging it tighter with every minute that passed. They were so scared of losing you, and so any moment they had left with you they wanted to stay conscious.

“But, y/n, I won’t be with you,” Hange whined, the irregular softness of their voice tugging at your heartstrings. This was always the worst part of the job – having to leave your loved ones behind, unsure whether or not you would ever see them again. However, it was important. You had to do this for the sake of humanity; it’s what both you and Hange had understood and had committed to upon signing up for the Survey Corp. Sometimes you wished you could just run away together and leave it all behind. You cup Hange’s face in your hands, delicately stroking their soft cheeks with the pads of your thumb.

“I know, my sweet, I know. I’ll be okay, I promise,”.

---

Despite their being an air of doubt in their mind, Hange believed that you would keep your promise of returning unharmed. Whenever Hange was unable to attend an expedition, they were sure to stand in the front row of bystanders that were awaiting the return of the scouts. Five squads had left just two days ago, but it seemed that only three had successfully returned today.

“Erwin… Levi… Miche… Gelgar,” Hange listed off as they could see their companions passing through the gates. Their eyes frantically darted through the hoard to see whether you had snuck in, to see whether they had simply missed your arrival. Panic began coursing through their veins, but it soon began to settle as a majority of your squad came into view. Evidently, the group was smaller than when you had initially left for the expedition; and the remaining members were beaten and brushed – with one unfortunate soldier missing both an arm and a leg.

“No no no nonononono, this isn’t right. Where is she?!” Was all Hange could think. Blind panic took over, and Hange found themselves moving towards one of your squad members and demanded to know where you were.

“Where is y/n? Where is she?” Hange practically screamed. The looks on everyone’s face was grim; this wasn’t looking good at all.

“We were separated. The last we saw of Squad Leader y/n they were fighting off an abnormal. We waited for them at our usual checkpoint, but no one came”. One dishevelled soldier finally answered. At this point, Hange decided to just leave immediately – not even bothering to welcome their friends back. They crawled into your shared bed, curling in on themselves and taking hold of the sheets. Tears fell down their face as they attempted to conceal a painful, horrifying wail.

“This can’t be happening” they whimpered “You promised,”.

---

A couple of days later, Hange was still in the bedroom. The numbness they felt only allowed them to drink something that Levi bought in every few hours. He never said anything during these visits, only sitting on the bed with Hange for a while and then silently taking his leave.

Despite the agonising feeling in their heart, Hange still found it funny how they’d gone from being unable to sleep without your presence to continuously sleeping throughout the days. Perhaps it was as close as they could get to being with you, as you had seemingly passed into the next realm. Or perhaps it was just a sad coping mechanism as being awake felt far too painful. They were on the edge of just giving up and considering finding a new life away from the scout regiment. Admittedly Hange had felt disappointed in themselves, having allowed themselves to develop feeling and leaving them vulnerable to heartache. Through the darkest moments, they considering just ending it all in order to be reunited with you.

---

What Hange hadn’t realised is that you and the rest of the squad had returned days after everyone else. Albeit you were all looking a little worse for wear, but overall, you were okay. Upon hearing of your arrival Moblit had immediately sought after you. He clutched your hands into his own. A worried expression was painted across his face.

“y/n, you’re okay! What happened?”

“We were intercepted by titans and my squad had to split. We had no choice but to hide and wait until it was safe for us to come back. We all had to find and gather our horse – it wasn’t an easy feat. Then we had to ride back home during the night. I’m sorry we worried you”. You let out an exasperated sigh. Being a squad leader was difficult, made even more so by being left out in the field with no food or water.

Upon receiving news of your arrival home, Levi and Erwin had come to the courtyard with a few others, all armed with bread and water hoping to nourish both you and your squad.

“y/n, you’re alright” Levi began. Despite his apathetic face, he was pleased to see you. Before allowing you to gulp down your water he placed a firm grasp on your shoulder and looked at you directly. “Please let Four Eyes know you’re okay. They’re not doing too good, and it’s been quiet without them.”

You choke on your water upon hearing this. Oh Gods, how you have fretted about Hange and how sick with worry and anxiety they’d be. Honestly, you’d half expected them to rush out and greet you. However, you already knew that Hange had probably assumed the worst and went straight into mourning. Feeling a burning sensation in your throat as tears began to prick your eyes, you excused yourself from your captain – determined to not cry in front of him. Despite the deep exhaustion you were feeling, pure determination allowed you to rush back to your living quarters and towards your own bedroom.

---

Once you reach the entrance to your room, you have half a mind to slam open the door and leap straight onto the bed where you assumed Hange was currently laying. You imagined planting them with a million kisses, but you knew you had to take a gentler approach than that. When Hange was feeling fragile, all they needed was a soft touch.

You opened the door a little, only to be met with a groan.

“No thank you Captain, please leave me alone,” Hange muttered, curling in on themselves even more. Oh, how hollow their voice sounded, full of sorrow and guilt.

“Hange?” You gently called out. Immediately their head turned towards you. Was it really you? “I’m here, darling.”

Hange shot up immediately, staring at your face and drinking in your presence. You were smiling, ready to give them a hug, but Hange’s face wasn’t that of love but instead one of panic and confusion.

“No no, you aren’t real. I know you’re not there; you’re gone! My brain must be having a breakdown I- “

You interrupt their murmurings and reach forward to take hold of Hange’s hand, placing in onto your chest directly over your heartbeat. Their eyes dart between your face and their own hand. You could feel them trembling under your touch until realisation had set in.

“y/n, it’s really you!”. Their eyes began welling with tears, causing you to begin crying all over again. This time, however, it was with a smile. Hange lunged forward and held you tight to their body.

“WAAAAHHH!” They yelled out before tackling you to the bed, crying and wailing the whole time. “Y/N YOU’RE OKAY! YOU’RE OKAY!” they repeated, not realising you were practically suffocating under their intense grip on you. There they were arms around your chest and stomach whilst rubbing their face into your neck and squirming with pure joy.

“Hange!” you giggled “Hange, I can’t breathe!”. A little alarmed, Hange let go a little and positioned you in front of them. They cupped your face with both hands, smiling at you before kissing you intently. You would have thought it would be as rough as passionate as the hugs had been, but instead this kiss was gentle and meaningful. Hange pulled away and their eyes began studying your face.

“How…What happened?” They asked, their voice gentle and soft.

“Some abnormal titans had us cornered. We had to hide and then find our horses again. We couldn’t ride home until nightfall the following day, but I’m back now. I’m safe”

That was all the words Hange had needed to hear before pulling you into another gentle kiss. Whilst you were lost in such contentment, Hange reached down to touch your thigh; earning themself an excited yelp just because they took their chance and pushed further to stick their tongue into your mouth. This gentle, romantic kiss gradually became one that was more desperate, steamier. Their hands wandered down your body, touching every inch possible as if they still weren’t completely convinced you were real.

Hange pulled away, looking up and down your body with a mischievous look in their eye. Although you were tired, you felt an immense desire to just be taken there and then – to connect your bodies and become one. And how could you resist with the face Hange was giving you in that moment? They moved down your body, planting kisses and gentle nips whilst removing any fabric that they met along the way.

“It must have been tough out there,” Hange began as they removed their shirt – their binder soon following. “I missed you greatly,”

“I…I missed you too Ha-“ Your train of thought was interrupted as Hange began nibbling at your thighs. You could feel blood rushing to your cheeks as their dark brown eyes met yours.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now lay back and let me reward you for being a brave little soldier,” Hange purred before diving headfirst in between your thighs, laying further kisses and kitten licks at your soft, sensitive flesh. If Hange was to have glanced up to your face, they would have seen the stars in your eyes - your face to full of love and admiration. And it was all for them.

Noticing as Hange was getting close to your wet pussy, you shook yourself out of your trance. Panic shot through you, and you held a rather surprised Hange’s face in your palms.

“I…I don’t think I want that. I have only just got back and I…” You could barely finish your sentence. You were embarrassed. Several days of fighting titans without any opportunity to efficiently clean yourself had left you feeling self-conscious. Hange cocked their head to the side. You could see the cogs turning in their head as they worked out what exactly the issue was.

“Oh! Don’t worry, you’re absolutely fine. But if you don’t want that…” Hange lifted themselves above you, cupping you through your underwear. “Would something like this make you more comfortable?”. They smirked as you let out a squeak before nodding eagerly.

Hange leaned in, laying hungry kisses against you as they played with your clothed clit. The whines you let out against their mouth only made them increase the pressure through the fabric of your underwear, and you could feel their smirks as they did so. As Hange’s mouth travelled further south to latch onto a pert nipple they took the opportunity to slip a couple of things through the elastic of your underwear, stroking along your folds and now aching nub. You attempted to cross your legs at the sensation as you were already beginning to feel worked up and sensitive. Amused by your squirms, Hange let out a small giggle and moved their free hand towards your other nipple. You could already feel a build-up, a hot and heavy sensation as your lower abandon appeared to coil and tighten. They then slipped two digits inside of you, ensuring their thumb remained circling on your clit as they arched their fingers inside of you. Your soft moans became deep and shaky, you were sure you were getting close to your release.

“Hange~” you purred. Your words were golden to your lover, and you could feel them relentlessly pick up the pace until you reached out to pull their hand away from you.

“y/n?” Hange asked breathlessly against your chest.

“I want to try something together,” you cooed. Hange looked at you, their face both full of lust and curiosity. You began to reposition yourself, so you were now over Hange. Giving a cheeky grin, you pulled down their trousers and underwear. You then quickly whipped off your own underwear, leaving the both of you completely naked with no barriers between your skin. Manoeuvring Hange onto their back, guiding them to rest upon the abundance of soft cushions at the top of the bed, you nudged their knees apart to reveal their glistening sex. Hange was already wet and raring to go ahead with whatever you had planned. After a few strokes of your fingers against their folds, you positioned yourself between their thighs so that your own pussy was aligned with theirs. You reached your lips forward to suck and lick Hange’s tanned nipples before pressing yourself against them, rocking your hips back and forth; your clits throbbing as your slick rubbed against each other.

Whilst still sucking at Hange’s breast you reached under them and pressed their back up, increasing the pleasure below. It was a strange position, something you two hadn’t tried before, but neither of you were complaining. Undeniably, this level of intimacy was appreciated considering recent events. You couldn’t help but moan out, and you shot a look up towards Hange’s face which was contorted in pleasure as they let our their own breathy moans. To add to the intensity, you slipped one hand between the two of you, stroking your fingers against either of your clits. You turned your focus onto Hange, although both of you were feeling incredibly sensitive.

“I love you; I love you,” you moaned. You could feel the knot within your tummy releasing, and you clamped your eyes tight shut and moved to mark Hange’s neck with dark bruises. With a few more thrusts of your hips Hange soon released against your own fingers, letting out a shrill wail as they did so. You held Hange in a tight embrace, arms wrapped desperately against each other as if you never wanted to let go and basked within each other’s post-orgasm glow.

After your breaths levelled out and you calmed down, you flopped to Hange’s side on the bed. You scooted over, bringing their back against your chest as you spooned them. Continuing to wrap them tight in your embrace, you left quick desperate kisses against their throat whilst letting out soft words of affirmation against their skin.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Hange sighed, squeezing your hands as they rested against their chest. You left a gentle kiss against the back of their head and nuzzled into the crook of their neck.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, I never want to put you in that position again,” You said, beginning to stroke at Hange’s hair. You wiggled further up the bed and laid Hange’s head onto your lap once again. As you looked down at them you felt nothing but pure adoration. However, as Hange looked up at you you could see the beginnings of tears in those big brown eyes. They gave your hand a soft squeeze.

“Please tell me you’re going to stay for the next experiment. If you don’t I’ll just have to fight Erwin to keep you for myself,” they exclaimed, all traces of previous sadness now gone from their face as they punched their arms into the air.

“I promise I’ll stay. Anything for you, my titan crazed maniac,”. You planted a soft kiss against their forehead and relaxed back into the pillows. “We really should shower though”.

“Do we have to?” Hange groaned against your lap, barely audible against your legs. Even now you were convinced Hange was hydrophobic, but you knew exactly how to lure them into a warm clean shower.

“I mean, we could shower together?” you said, your voice sounding tempting. This clearly piqued Hange’s interest as they looked up with a cheeky grin.

[let-them-read-fics]

I’ve Got You

Requested by Anon: “Could I request a jennie scenario where her girlfriend is scared of water / swimming and jen calms her down like reader did in your ‘safe with me’ work?”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,626

Warnings / Misc. -- Some Angst, PTSD / Flashbacks, Anxiety, Crying, Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: To the anon who requested this: thank you so much! I wrote it all in one go (at like 3am, mind you), and I had a blast with it. I took it a little more on the angsty side, but I really hope you guys enjoy it. Happy reading, let me know what you think!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Waking up in Jennie’s arms has always been a lovely thing, but something about this time seemed even more perfect than usual. Early morning sunlight glittered into the room, creating an almost dream-like haze, and some of the rays landed on her skin. She looked like an angel -- features slightly puffy with sleep, a small pout on her lips. Her head was against your shoulder, and her arms snaked around your waist, anchoring you close to her body. You always loved cuddling in close with her, the two of you keeping each other warm throughout the night.

Stealing a glance at the clock, you realize that the two of you almost overslept; the girls want to meet downstairs at the hotel’s restaurant in an hour. With that notion in mind, you know what you have to do; reluctantly, you gently shake Jennie to wake her up.

“Jennie, baby, we’ve gotta hurry or else we’ll be late.” 

She lets out a groan, her voice a bit gravelly, and ignores your words, opting to pull you in closer instead. 

“5 more minutes.” The words come out as a mumble, barely intelligible, but you grin. Jennie’s always been the type to sleep in when she can, and you can’t blame her; with as hard as she works, it’s completely understandable.

“Alright, but that’s it! We seriously have to get up after that.”

With a gentle nod, she snuggles into your side again, bringing a hand up to rest against your neck.

As your eyes rake over her delicate features, you start to recall the plan that all of you had decided on for the day. With the girls taking a break from practices and rehearsals to shoot a new show for their Youtube channel, you have plenty to do -- today’s agenda called for ziplining and mini golf, to be precise. Given how close you are with all of the girls, it’s no wonder that they were able to sweet talk their managers into letting you tag along for the ride. Of course, you’ll have to wait until they get all of the filming done to join in on their escapades, but regardless, you’re beyond excited to see them having fun.

With the 5 minutes officially over, you hatch a plan on the best way to wake Jennie up again. You start by gently rolling her onto her back, and proceed to pepper feather-light kisses all across her face. Soon, you feel her stir underneath you, her eyes fluttering open in the cutest way possible. Perhaps in an alternate universe, she worked as a Disney princess instead of an idol; she’s definitely qualified to be one.

“Hey cutie,” she says, voice laced with remnants of sleep, and pulls you in for a quick kiss. One of your arms is around her waist, with the other one propping you up so that you can look down into her eyes. 

“C’mon beautiful, let’s go.” 

Once she’s had a chance to rub her eyes and get adjusted to the light, you scoop her up in your arms and carry her to the bathroom. 

“Oh no, looks like we’ll have to shower together if we wanna make it on time…” Her eyes exude mischief as the words fall from her lips, and you play along. 

“What a shame.” 

She kisses you again, smiling widely against your lips, and the two of you start getting ready.

~~~~~~~  

“There you guys are! It sure took you long enough.” 

Both Jennie and yourself have to bite back your smiles. After a quick apology, the girls are already busy talking about what the day has in store.

“I know we’ll probably be tired after filming, but maybe once we get back here we can go down to the pool to unwind? I saw the spa, too; it looked really nice.” At Rosé’s innocent suggestion, you soon find your heart beginning to palpitate. Anything but that, you think to yourself, your mind already beginning to betray you with intrusive thoughts. 

You can’t blame her for proposing the idea -- after all, it’s a beautiful day outside, and the weather is perfect for swimming. But the problem lies deeper: you’ve never told any of them -- including Jennie -- about your fear of the water (swimming, to be exact). Even thinking of it makes you sick to your stomach, and you suddenly feel a bit overwhelmed. 

“I’m gonna run to the restroom, okay? Be right back.” 

As you stand, Jennie asks if you want her to tag along -- had she noticed your uneasiness? With a quick squeeze to her hand, you assure her that you’ll be fine, and you begin your walk. 

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you take a deep breath to steady yourself as your hands grip the marble surface of the countertop. Memories of that fateful summer day come flooding in, and you’re unable to push them away any longer.

It was a gorgeous day, the sun high up in the sky, shedding its heat down on everything below. Your family had decided to spend the day outside, grilling and swimming, the usual summer traditions that you held every year.

Delicious smells carried over from the food being cooked by your father, and you shouted praise to him from across the yard.

“Smells good, pops!” 

He yelled a thank you back, and your brother got your attention from his place beside you. 

“Wanna race in the pool?”

“You’re on, loser, but don’t cry when I beat you!” You throw him a smug look, and laugh when he shoves you.

“Yeah yeah, you’re going down!” He exclaims as he darts past you, getting a head start to the pool.

“Not fair!” You run after him and jump in, ready to wrestle him and make things even.

The water is cool against your skin, working in perfect contrast with the beams of sun shining down. You’re faced with a rude awakening, however, as you come back up to the surface: your brother is waiting on you, and he pounces. 

In the beginning, the wrestling match is quite fun; the two of you can’t contain your laughter as you push each other around, splashing water at one another. In no time, though, things take a tragic turn; with one particularly hard shove, you’re sent under, falling down the slope of the pool and towards the deep end. The slippery surface of the liner underneath your feet offers no grip, and soon you find yourself struggling for even a breath of air. 

Panic begins to spread throughout your body as you feel yourself losing control; oblivious to the gravity of the situation, your brother is still giggling -- he has no idea what’s actually happening. With each urgent thrash, you’re sent a little further away, out of reach of your brother. 

Shortly after he realizes you aren’t messing around, he attempts to help you. Seeing as how he’s only a couple years older and just a few inches taller than you, he’d also be struggling in the deep end. He soon discovers this fact as he reaches for you, only to almost go under himself. He knows he has to think fast and reassess his plan of action, so he jumps out of the pool and runs further down, closer to where you are. 

“Mom! Dad! Help,” he yells out, searching for something to throw to you. He spots a floatie nearby, and tosses it into the water near you. Unsure of if you can even really make out what he’s saying, he still tells you to grab it.

In a flash, your mother and father are next to him, terrified of the sight before them. Without hesitation, your father jumps in, successfully managing to grab your now limp body and pull you out of the water.

Your breathing is shallow, and your family begins to fear the worst. They shake your limbs in an attempt to wake you, but it doesn’t help. Your mother begins compressions, suddenly very thankful that she took those classes in the past, and your brother and father rush inside to call for help.

Despite it taking a few minutes, her actions are successful, and you come to. With a sputtering heave, you lean to side and cough up all of the water that had made its way into your lungs. Your mother pats your back and huddles next to you, tears streaming down her face. When the others return, they hurry to wrap you in their arms and embrace you. A few minutes pass as you all sit together, everyone happy that you’re alright. 

Being the person that you are, you decide to use humor to deflect and cope with the insanity that just went down. “Welp… that was something. Let’s pretend I won that match, okay?” You suggest, looking at your brother with a trace of a smile playing on your lips. He shakes his head at you, confused at how you’re already joking about it, but he laughs nonetheless. “No way!”

As the memories begin to leave your mind, you attempt to get a grip on yourself; surely you had been away for a bit, and Jennie would likely be coming by to check on you any second now. Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, you wet the edge of it, and wipe the sweat that’s formed on your forehead and neck. 

After drying yourself off and calming down, you exit the restroom and make your way back to the table. Jennie sends you a relieved look, as if to say, Thank God, I was worried. You manage to send her a fairly convincing smile, and she seems to accept it. Once seated again, she takes your hand into her own, rubbing her thumb in random patterns over your skin. You relax at the contact, and soon join back in with the conversation. 

~~~~~~~

“Today was so much fun! Remember when they dropped Jisoo in super fast? That was hilarious!” Lisa and Rosé cackle at the thought, whooping loudly with laughter. Jisoo proceeds to smack them on the arm in response, saying, “Oh yeah? Well at least I could actually get a hole-in-one when we golfed; Lisa missed the ball completely!” The maknae glares at the other girl for flaming her like that, but soon they’re all trading playful insults and goofing around.

You hung back a few paces, allowing them to have their fun while your mind drifted back to what would surely happen later that evening. As much as you hated keeping something as big as that from them, you were a bit embarrassed. Out of everything there is to fear in the world, yours is water? On top of that, you didn’t want to let them down or spoil their fun; they’d been looking forward to this little trip for awhile, and you didn’t want to keep them from swimming and having a good time. Completely lost in all of the negative thoughts vying for your attention, you failed to notice Jennie approach you. She had picked up on the scowl that fell across your features, your brows furrowed and lips drawn tight in a line. It was clear that something was troubling you, so she went to investigate. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Her words come out softly, a gentle request for you to share what’s troubling you. When you stay silent for a bit longer than she likes, she stops walking, and you subconsciously do the same. 

Releasing a sigh, your eyes cast away from hers, you respond, “It’s nothing, baby. I promise.”

For a moment, it seems like she’ll give in and accept your answer -- which, of course, is the one thing you desperately want. Knowing you better than that, though, she can see right through you; still, she decides to spare you this time. “I don’t believe that, jagi, but I’ll wait for you to tell me about it whenever you’re comfortable.”

“Thank you, Jennie. I will.” You wrap an arm around her, and she settles against your side as the two of you make your way through the hotel lobby. 

~~~~~~~

This was a mistake in every sense of the word. Why didn’t you just stay in the room and let Jennie come down with the girls? They all wanted you there, but surely you could’ve at least tried to talk your way out of it. 

The 5 of you scour the area surrounding the large pool, searching for a table and some chairs to recline in. Eventually, you see one in the distance, and lead the way there. With each new step towards your destination, the fear within you grows a little larger, and you wonder how hard it’ll be to keep pretending like you’re fine.

Once everyone has set their things down, they take their shoes off and begin to pull their hair up. You opt to sit down on one of the chairs and lay back, attempting to calm your nerves. 

“You’re not coming in, Y/N?” Jisoo asks, her head tilted to the side.

You retrieve a book from the bag you brought down and hold it up, saying, “I’ll just hang here and get caught up with some reading. You guys go ahead.” 

Jennie looks to you, but you simply open the book and pretend to be invested in the pages. Telling her about your fear is definitely not an option, especially at the current moment; if you do, you run the risk of throwing yourself into a panic attack. It’s all you can do to seem calm and collected right now, and you can’t afford to blow your cover like that.

She trails after the girls, albeit a bit dejectedly, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Now able to take a moment for yourself, you look around: the evening is just as spectacular as the day had been before it, the deep colors of the imminent sunset lighting up the sky with their gorgeous patterns. Sunsets have always been one of your favorite things, so you take some time to enjoy the sight. 

Jennie steals glances at you from her spot in the pool, making sure to keep an eye on you. It isn’t hard to see that something’s bugging you, but she knows not to push you to open up; she’s always willing to wait for you. A smile tugs on her lips when she sees your face brighten as you look at the sky, and she wishes whatever’s plaguing your mind would just go away. You deserve to be happy like this, a smile on your sweet face, right where it belongs. She wishes she could take away all of your struggles. 

After a while, you’re now -- ironically -- invested in your book. The sound of Rosé calling for you draws your attention to the pool again, and you meet her eyes. “Y/N, my hair tie snapped. Do you mind bringing me one from my bag?” 

Your breath hitches; you weren’t prepared for that one. With a gulp, you nod to her and attempt to send her a smile. It’s not like you could just say no. Your fingers shake slightly as you rummage through her bag in search of one of the bands, and you work to center yourself again. You can do this. 

As you near the edge of the pool, your legs feel heavy, every step seemingly harder than the last. A strange sensation of numbness takes over your fingers -- something that almost always happens when you get this nervous -- and you subtly shake them to gain feeling again. “Here you go.” You manage to make the words sound cheery despite the inner battle you’re fighting. 

“Thank you, love.” At her reply, you return from the crouched position you had been in when reaching it to her, and you think you’re home-free. About three steps later, as you’re walking back to your seat, everything changes.

“Go long!” Another hotel guest shouts from your left.

Before you can realize what’s happening and get out of the way, a body collides with yours, sending you into the pool. It all happens within an instant, and you don’t even have time to hold your breath for the impact. You hit the water with a splash, liquid already shooting up your nostrils.

Your mind is reeling with memories of that day, sending you into a series of flashbacks as you scramble to get to the surface. Strangely, you feel just like you had that day: the panicky feeling seeping in with no signs of stopping, your lungs burning as they plead for air, the feeling of your limbs thrashing hopelessly at the water. 

Before long, two arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards the surface and side of the pool. You’d know those arms anywhere: they’re Jennie’s. She pats your back -- just as your mom had all those years ago -- and helps you cough out the water. Thankfully you hadn’t been under long, but it was still terrifying either way. The girls all trade scared looks as they do their best to comfort you and make you feel safe. Jennie can sense that you’re majorly overwhelmed, so she decides to take you somewhere that you can be alone and recover. 

Once out of the pool, she quickly wraps a towel around your trembling body and leads you into the hotel lobby, sitting you down on a secluded couch that’s tucked away from everyone’s view. You eek out a quiet thank you, even in the state you’re in, needing to let her know how much you appreciate her help. She sits down beside you, settling into the comforter, and pulls you up against her chest. Soft, soothing circles are rubbed against your back, her other arm keeping your body snug against hers. 

“It’s all gonna be okay, jagi. I’m here, you’re safe. I’ve got you, I promise.” Her lips are beside your ear -- she knows how distant things can sound to you when you’re having an attack. The hand on your back stops its motions; she brings it up your cheek, rubbing the skin there as you lay your head on her shoulder. Her lips press sweet, gentle kisses against your shoulder, and she thanks the universe when she feels you relax some. “I love you, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.” Those words bring tears to your eyes, and some of them spill onto her arm; as she feels them, she almost starts crying with you. Seeing you upset like this always makes her emotional, but she does her best to stay strong for you.

“I’m sorry, Jennie.” Sobs rack your body, causing parts of the sentence to come out louder than others. 

“For what, baby?” She pulls back enough to look into your eyes, her hand still on your cheek, moving slowly. 

“That I didn’t tell you about what’s bothering me. I’m afraid of swimming; I had a traumatic experience with it in the past.”

“Oh, baby. It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. Do you want to tell me about it now?” Her words are so understanding and kind that you curse yourself for not telling her sooner. You simply nod in affirmation, and begin to relay the story. The entire time, her eyes never leave you, and she holds you close. Anytime a particularly hard detail for you to describe comes up, she strokes your hair and tells you to take as much time as you need. There’s no rush, and she makes sure you understand that.

Eventually, once you’re feeling loads better and are fully calmed down, you meet her gaze again. “Thank you for everything. I love you so much; I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you. You knew just what to do.” She smiles that earth-shattering smile of hers again, and if your heart wasn’t so tired from the time it just had, you know it would’ve skipped a beat. “That’s my job, baby.” Her eyes fall to your lips, in her unspoken request to kiss you. You grin, pulling her in closer, and connect your lips. She tastes like cherries and everything else that’s good in this world, and you revel in the fact that you’ll be the one kissing those lips for the rest of your life. The two of you part, both a little breathless as always, and you rest your foreheads together. “Let’s go see the girls.”

~~~~~~~

After many hugs, tears, and one long story later, all of you are in Lisa’s hotel room. The girls understood your fear and didn’t think any less of you at all; they wished, though, that you had told them sooner. They all want the best for you, and to see you happy, no matter what. Everyone is glad to see you doing better, and the mood is substantially brighter than it had been before. 

“Did Lisa tell you that she beat that guy up for bumping into you?” Rosé asks, a smile on her face.

Lisa’s expression shifts into anger at the mere thought of him, and she says, “He deserved it, I’m not gonna let anyone get away with that.” She shrugs her shoulders, and all of you laugh at the fact that she actually roughed him up a bit.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jisoo says patting your back tenderly and sending you a smile.

“And she’ll do it again, BOP BOP!” Lisa says, causing everyone to burst out laughing. Jennie rolls her eyes at the other girl and buries her face in your shoulder, seeking shelter from the cringe. 

“I love you guys.”

“We love you, too, Y/N.” They all say in unison… at least, as close as they can get to it.

Thanks for reading!!!

[kaysayshey]

off paper || e. kirishima

This is a work inspired by a struggle that a lot of those suffering with mental illness experience, particularly those with depression and bipolar disorder; however, it can be applied to a lot of mood-altering medications that cause sexual dysfunction. While medication is a life changing and stabilizing aspect of many lives, it doesn't come without its cons. I think Kirishima would be incredibly understanding in this situation. Please keep in mind that bipolar disorder presents in many ways. There is no one-size-fits-all in mental health treatment or in its subsequent treatment. I wanted to write a bit about the side effects of SSRI medications.

Songs that I listened to while writing include:

Serendipity by BTS' Jimin

Bumper Cars by Alex and Sierra

That Kind of Love by MAX

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, NSFW (no smut, however this work contains sexual topics), mention of prescription drugs, bipolar disorder, minors DNI.

On paper, Kirishima Eijirou was perfect. An impressive sidekick working underneath Fatgum, his cheery disposition more than capable of reassuring even the most terrified of civilians. A hard-hitting, defensive quirk paired with determination unlike anything you'd ever seen. Easy-going enough to work with the difficult heroes - and by difficult, everyone meant Dynamight. Intelligent, reliable, and just the right amount of competitive.

Off paper, he was even better. Hell, the moment he'd asked you out, you'd almost done a double-take. Was he sure? Kirishima could date, well, anyone. However, you'd blurted out 'yes' before your brain had time to catch up, even more surprised at the gorgeous pink that graced the tips of his ears.

And the date went wonderfully. Were you expecting anything different? He was a magnet, and you were willing to be the refrigerator he stuck to - at least, for as long as he wanted. How he managed to remember what flavor of milk tea and boba you preferred, following it up with a quick delivery while working twelves at the agency, was beyond you. Good morning texts wishing you an easy day of your own hero work, good night texts hoping that your dreams were "sweeter than you." The moment a bouquet of roses was sent to your office, you had to admit it.

You were embarrassingly attracted to Kirishima Eijirou.

Not that he minded, no. If anything, he returned the feeling tenfold. After the first date came a string of others before finally labeling it as a relationship. Movie nights, walks through the park, chaste kisses interspersed by giggles as you both laughed at whatever came to mind. The quick meetings between your lips turned into full-on sessions that left your knees weak. Being with Kirishima was easy in a way that nothing else had been.

But let's face it. Working as a full-time hero with bipolar disorder made life, well, tough. A pharmaceutical cocktail and therapy helped, turning what was the disaster of your life into a manageable mess. Episodes were few and far between, the prickling anxiety was quelled by coping techniques and medication when necessary. The days spent in a daze of your own "self-medicating" were long gone, thank whatever higher power was out there. No, life was on the upswing for you in pretty much every aspect of the phrase.

Except for your sex life.

And no, that wasn't to say that Kirishima was doing anything wrong. To be quite honest, he was doing every just right. Kissing the places you loved most, calloused hands lingering deliciously over your skin. A voice like honey whispering in your ear, beautiful moans of how gorgeous you were, how he absolutely adored you. Saying that it left you with weak, knocking knees was an understatement. He was an emotional hurricane, sending butterflies through your stomach as he showered you with praise and carefully placed lips.

Other than a complete lack of climaxing, it was amazing.

You knew this was a possibility once you had started taking medications. A loss of libido was one thing, but being unable to finish was starting to wear on you. Before you could stop yourself, you were doing the unthinkable: faking orgasms.

After all, who wants to spend close to an hour between someone's thighs just to be met with frustrated sighs and potentially awkward conversations? No, Kirishima didn't need to spend so much time on your pleasure, not when there was a high probability that you wouldn't finish at all. As long as the moans weren't straight out of a low-budget porno overly exaggerated, you figured you'd get away with it.

Getting away with it turned out to be the least of your issues. The struggle was real. Outside of the sweetest lovemaking with Kirishima, you desperately tried every trick in the book to reach an orgasm on your own. Something. Anything. You were beginning to feel pent-up, needy. The money spent on toys was starting to reach an uncomfortably high number. Time was wasted and followed up by flopping onto the bed in frustration. No amount of lube, porn, or fantasy was helping. Once you hit the hour mark, you basically gave up.

And you were now pacing the hallways of your apartment, irrational tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Why did it matter? Orgasming was not the end all, be all of life. But the memory of before the medications, the euphoric bliss that would force your back from the mattress, that memory reared its head more often than you cared to admit. God damn it, you just wanted to feel the shudders, the rush of pleasure surging through your body, insatiable heat quenched. And you wanted to stop lying to him. The tears rimming your lash line made their arrival known, long tracks staining your cheeks.

This is, of course, when Kirishima decides to knock on your door. After all, you had planned to have a comfortable night in, a delightful line up of rom-coms at your disposal. Movies that you now wanted to throw out the nearest window. Why, why did you have to try again? He deserved so much more than a broken partner, a partner who would never be able to match him. Someone who could crash at the slightest struggle, who broke when their insecurities were brought to life.

Another set of knocks. Time to face the music.

As you gently opened the door, the drop in Kirishima's face was visible as he took in your state. Where a bright grin had been settled now featured lips drawn into a tight, worried line. After all, you did everything in your power to keep him in the dark in regards to your mental illness. Not necessarily your smartest move, in retrospect. Hindsight, you know?

The moment the door clicked behind him, Kirishima was gathering you in his arms, a large hand gently stroking the back of your head. A kiss to your temple, his forehead pressing against your hairline. Deep breaths weren't helping you at this point. Because regardless of how frustrated you were, Kirishima was safety, the warmth of his embrace a haven for you to let out the sobs that were wracking through your body.

And as the tears fell, darkening his gray tee shirt, Kirishima ran his hands up and down your back, the comforting heat of his body providing temporary relief. After moments of crying, you pressed your head against his chest, eyes glued to the linoleum floor beneath you.

A thick finger and thumb tenderly met your chin, slowly lifting your face to meet his eyes. Those usually warm red irises were dark with worry, the pad of his thumb running circles over and over against your skin. Another reminder of just how good he was. No man had ever made you feel as desired or important as Kirishima.

"Baby, what happened?" he murmured, still caressing your face so gingerly that it brought the threat of more tears.

"It's nothing, nothing important," came your quick response, avoiding any lingering eye contact. It wasn't that important. Sexual gratification came second to emotional connection, and you had that firmly in your grasp with Eijirou. Why would you risk losing someone like that?

His eyebrow narrowed at your words, and he kept your face cradled in his hands. "Please tell me, baby. I want to help."

God, that expression of pure concern. Like you were everything to him, like your hurt was his hurt. It was in that moment you knew: you couldn't keep lying to him. Whether it meant he'd leave for someone else, someone perfectly, indescribably normal; that didn't matter. If anyone deserved a picture-perfect romance, it was Kirishima.

Eijirou, I-" Your voice broke from the nerves, unable to hold his unflinching gaze. How could someone be so earnest? He nodded, those same reassuring circles urging you to speak.

"I think you deserve someone better."

He looked like you'd honest to goodness slapped him. So many emotions flashed over his usually cheerful face that it scared you. Oh, god, this wasn't what you wanted to do, but how could you not? No one wanted someone like you. Once he knew, he'd leave. Better to push him away first and just let it end now before-

"What are you talking about? Baby. I don't want anyone else. I want you." His words came out stammered, tripping over his tongue and falling into the otherwise quiet apartment. Kirishima shook his head slowly, searching your face for some form of reassurance that this wasn't what you wanted. That you didn't want him.

"I don't know why. I just, I'm too much. You'll end up getting frustrated with me and I just, I just can't take that kind of heartbreak."

"Too much? You're never too much, what are you talking about?"

The words fell before you could stop them, faster than should be discernible to the human ear. But if there was anything Eijirou was, it was attentive.

"My medicine is driving me crazy, and I know without it I'll go over the edge again. But I want to feel normal, Eiji. I can't handle feeling like I'm not normal." And it was true. Sex was so innately human, and knowing that there was a chance that you'd never be able to gain that ultimate satisfaction was driving you mad. Was this just an overreaction from a brain exhausted from constantly fighting itself, or was this a logical, albeit emotionally charged, reaction?

"Your medicine?"

There it was. What you wanted to avoid mentioning. Sure, it wasn't fair to keep it from him. But let's be honest, you'd been expecting this to end after the first few months. And now? Now you were shaking in his arms, knowing this confession would be the end of the dreamy love you'd been experiencing.

"My medicine for uh... for my, um. I have bipolar disorder. It's why I can't work on Thursdays, too. I have to go to therapy. I know I should've told you from the beginning but I just, you know, I really, really like you, and I don't-"

One finger met your lips followed by soothing shushes from his own. As if the world's weight had been lifted from his capable shoulders, Kirishima let out a heaving sigh of relief. The arm around your waist pulled you closer, his large hand splaying comfortably against your back.

"I'm not going anywhere. I just want you to be okay. What can I do for you?"

And that left you tearfully admitting it all. Longing for the physicality that would bring you closer together, the bliss of coming undone at your partner's hands. Disgust when you listened to your friends' bragging of delicious, gratifying one-night stands. Aching heat desperate to be relieved by your man only to be left at the edge, the warmth still tingling through your body. How you felt caught halfway between "normal" and "crazy" even with the drugs. And Kirishima nodded, hanging on every word.

"I'm glad you told me," he began, slowly trailing his fingertips up and down your back. "If I had known, I would've worked ten times harder. Will you let me make you feel good, honey? Please?"

How did those few sentences send you into another fit of tears? Clutching the lightweight fabric of his shirt and apologizing for the damp stains, you nuzzled against his chest in embarrassment. But he continued his motions, adept fingers working at your tense muscles.

That night, he gave you everything you wanted and more, eager to please you in a way he never had. Eyes focused, sweet nothings spilling from his lips, tender hands and featherlight kisses. Teasing and romance and dedication over hours, something you'd never experienced before.

On paper, Kirishima was perfect. Off paper, he was even more. And he fulfilled his promise to you, "I love you" slipping from his lips when you finally reached your euphoria.

"I love you too, Eijirou."

"I'll always love you more."

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seventeen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto and @nelba! Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains intense recounts of previous abuse, intense depictions of self-loathing, self-deprecation and brief mentions of depression. Stay safe!]

Cade caught Danse before he could depart after the rest of their unofficial 'war council' had been dismissed, the medical officer inquiring, "How are you coping, Paladin? I hope that your adjustment to your newfound knowledge is going well." The arch of his eyebrow indicated plainly that Cade was looking for a clear answer, possibly to dissuade his own concerns.

  "I am still uncertain, Knight-Captain Cade." Danse stated bluntly. "I know that Quinlan's reports are accurate. I know that I must be a synth. But it is...it's difficult to wrap my head around it."

  "My door is always open, Danse. As it's been since the day you were assigned to the Prydwen." Cade reminded him. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of doing a mental evaluation on a synth, but…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's not quite right. You and I have had sessions before. Maybe synths aren't so different in their cognition. Perhaps this is a nature versus nurture scenario."

  "Perhaps." Danse allowed, but he knew that he sounded less than optimistic.

  "Maybe in a day or two, once everything has calmed down and you've had time to think?" Cade suggested. "Collect your thoughts, then come see me and we can discuss your current state and the repercussions of Maxson's treatment."

  The paladin nodded, relieved that Cade didn't wish to immediately evaluate him. It had been an incredibly stressful and arduous several weeks. More than anything, the paladin was longing to finally get some sleep.

  After he spoke to Haylen and Rhys, of course. They deserved his gratitude, if only for their combined efforts in delivering the tip-off that had literally saved his life. To say nothing of their care for Elizabeth in his absence, even though they were unable to free her. They had kept her alive, and that was more than the paladin had dared to hope for.

  Danse watched Cade depart, his mind miles away now. Backhand would be incredibly busy in the lead up to the assault. He felt almost irritated by that; it was unfair to ask so much of her so soon after what had transpired. But the luxury of time was no longer on their side. Danse understood, in a practical sense, that they needed to strike as fast as possible. It was entirely within reason that the Institute already knew of their plans and were preparing their own countermeasures.

  It still didn't erase the hollow sensation in his gut, the fear that Backhand was all too willing to stretch herself paper-thin for her various factions. He promised himself then and there that he would do his best to absorb some of the burden. 

  As much as she would allow. 

  The memory of her ripping her knuckles apart on the manual release of his armor, talking to Matthew's parents, taking her helmet off and smiling at him. Thank you, Danse or I thought you were dead or please don't do that to me again --

  Danse chewed anxiously on his lower lip. As much as she would allow. As much as he could feasibly handle. It should have felt odd that he was trading one leader for another, but Danse could only rationalize that it must be another portion of his programming. 

  "Paladin Danse, sir?" 

  Rhys . Danse started, turning around. He hadn't even heard the knight approach down the catwalk. Hell, he hadn't even realized he was spacing out in the hallway. "Yes, Knight?" He replied, nodding out of habit to acknowledge Haylen beside Rhys.

  "Elder Brandis said you wanted to see us, sir." The knight stated, sounding a bit hesitant. "He said we needed to discuss...certain things."

  Of course he did . Danse sighed heavily, bracing himself for some level of a disappointment-fueled tirade.

  "Danse, I'm so sorry." Haylen blurted out, her voice shaking. Danse was startled, tilting his head while she carried on, "I wish there had been some other way for me to tell you. You must have been terrified ." 

  "I was certainly confused, if nothing else." The paladin admitted with a wry smile. "I am immensely grateful to both of you, regardless of my own trials. You followed your training and stuck to your guns, and I couldn't be more proud." He deflated slightly. "Even if the pride of a synth means precious little."

  "The synth shit doesn't matter to either of us, sir." Rhys muttered. "We don't care. We're just glad you're back and that Maxson didn't manage to kill you. That's the important part, right?"

  "In a way." Danse agreed, grimacing. "Our battle is far from over, however."

  "Hey, we're doing something. That's more than a lot of people can say." Haylen reasoned, ever the optimist. "I've got faith in whatever plan you guys come up with."

  "Thank you for believing in me." The paladin murmured, giving the only surviving members of Squad Gladius a stiff salute. 

  "We know you, sir. You protected us, trained us. Built us up from basically nothing." Rhys sounded angry, his typically-sullen expression gone even more sour. "You think we could ever turn our backs on you? You're not that stupid."

  Haylen began to protest, "Rhys-"

  "Haylen, you and I both know he'll just self-deprecate until he dissolves. I'm not letting that happen." Rhys grumbled at the scribe, who fell silent at his reasoning. Her eyes were narrowed to slits and the sight was immensely entertaining to Danse, who couldn't keep a nervous chuckle from bubbling up in his throat.

  "I'm certain the two of you are aware of the devastating depression you dragged me out of all those years ago in the Capital Wasteland." Danse clapped Rhys on the shoulder and caught Haylen up in a rare one-armed hug. "How many times will you two save me? Should I start taking you for granted?" 

  "Paladin Danse, sir, w-we…" Haylen trailed off, her lower lip quivering. She buried her face in Danse's ribs and Rhys grunted.

  "Haylen, c'mon . Pull it together." He huffed, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Listen, sir, I think I've made our position pretty clear. We follow your orders. Learning about that shit with Maxson-"

  "I'm so angry! " Haylen interrupted him, glaring upwards. "God Danse, I'm furious . What he did to you is unforgivable, inexcusable." She announced hotly. "Everyone assumed something was going on, but we also assumed it was consensual ."

  " 'Everyone' ?" Danse echoed, a weird surge of retroactive embarrassment seizing his body. "I suppose I should be thankful you all were so willing to offer me the illusion of privacy." He mumbled.

  "He's never coming anywhere near you again, sir." Rhys stated, his jaw set in an angry scowl. "I don't care if he's the last of the Maxson line. I'll break his fucking skull."

  His words stirred Danse's guilt to life, the ugly feeling rearing its head once more. "It is a difficult situation to be in. I do not envy our elders, past or present." Danse tried to pose the sentence with a modicum of compassion, though he was unsure of the attempt's success. The paladin knew that despite Maxson's position of power, Danse bore a majority of the blame for not standing up to the elder until it was too late to prevent his spiral.

  "Difficult, my ass ." Rhys growled under his breath.

  …

  "So we've got Preston, someone by the name of John D., the…" Ingram narrowed her eyes at the readout. " Atom Cats ?"

  "Yep. Real into their power armor. And Zeke owes me a favor." Backhand explained, continuing to scroll through her Pip Boy notes. "If I can get them to walk across the pond and cover the Castle, that will free up more Minutemen to join us."

  "Should I ask how you managed to ingratiate yourself with so many of these people?" 

  "I'm a sucker for a lost cause." Vega answered, her tone dry. 

  Ingram snorted, shaking her head. "Lucky for us, I imagine. Also lucky for us that you're the forgiving sort."

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Proctor." Backhand retorted. "I'm just not yet in a position to combat your aerial superiority."

  "Whew, gonna' file that one away for later consideration."

  A soft knock on the comm doorway interrupted the two women, and Vega turned to see Danse peering cautiously into the room. "Paladin! You're just in time, we were about to start rallying the troops. Want to lend a hand?" 

  "What needs to be done, General Vega?" The paladin asked, his posture gone stiff and proper. 

  Backhand could feel her smile dim slightly, but she reined herself in. They had all been through so much, she reasoned, and old habits were usually a comfort. "Well, I've got a few calls to make on my own, but if you can get in touch with Lieutenant Garvey that would be a huge help."

  "Understood." 

  Proctor Ingram (who had been watching their exchange with poorly-veiled interest) stepped out of the way so that Danse could settle down at the desk alongside one of their many radio switchboards. "Vega, I think the two of you can handle this." The older woman remarked, giving Elizabeth a sly wink behind Danse's back. "I'll start whipping the base camp into shape. Make myself useful, y'know. Ad Victoriam."

  Vega went bright red as Ingram saluted, the proctor sporting an absolutely infuriating smirk. "B-But Proctor--"

  "No buts! You guys handle the easy stuff. I'll manage the elbow grease." Ingram then mouthed talk to him! , before strolling out of the comm area. Backhand swore under her breath, thumping her fist into the desk in mute frustration. 

  "I can leave, General Vega." Danse offered, making her start and whirl to face him.

  "No no! No, uh, you're fine. You're not the problem here." Vega assured him, waving her hands nervously. "I'm just...I'm a little uptight, that's all."

  "Will your forces refuse to join us?" The paladin asked, his rigid posture easing slightly as he tipped his head back to look up at her. He continued in an undertone, "Would it be simpler to do it with your troops alone? Do you truly need the Brotherhood?"

  "We do need the Brotherhood, yes. But I don't think we'll need them for the fighting. We'll need them for the mass casualty options and the refugee care after the fact." Backhand began to pace, mostly so she didn't have to maintain eye contact. The paladin looked fatigued yet determined, and it pained her to know that rest was still so far away for them. Rest and the possibility of actually speaking with him about the thing that had been on her mind in one form or another since…

  Well, it had been a long time.

  "We'll need help rebuilding more than anything. Not a lot of settlements will be keen to take on synths, so I'll need to figure out some kind of alternative. I really need to talk with Nick and Dea--er, John D ., and get their input on this whole engagement." Backhand rubbed her temples. "And here I thought getting in would be the hard part!" She tried to joke. 

  After a moment of silence, Vega heard Danse clear his throat. "General... Elizabeth , I know you already have many responsibilities, all of them miles more important than my own struggles."

  Backhand looked over at him expectantly, a little confused. 

  "I have to give Cade a full report." The tall man said abruptly. "I...he wants to know everything that's transpired." He stared down at the floor, the heel of his boot scuffing the grating beneath them as he rushed to add, "I know it's selfish of me to ask you to--I mean, you've been through so much, b-but I was...rather, I am uncertain of this endeavor, and my ability to maintain my composure during it. You tend to have a mollifying effect on me for some reason."

  "You want me to be present when you give your medical officer the full rundown?" Vega raised an eyebrow, further confused. Danse was a soldier , surely he had endured a full physical before?

  "I am overly anxious. It means reliving some portions of my past that I find...traumatic."

  "Oh." Oh . Backhand felt stupid as the truth dawned on her. Everything that's transpired . Of course Danse would want someone he trusted with him, this wasn't a physical exam at all. "What about Haylen or Rhys? Are they more appraised of the situation?"

  Danse was shaking his head before she had even finished. "I did my best to keep everything that happened quiet, though it appears that I was unsuccessful. I was told that was my only option, and I did not wish to disobey Maxson's orders." 

  "That fuckin' asshole." Vega growled. "Alright, if you're sure it's me you want with you, I'm here."

  "You don't have t--er, that is, I regret taking up more of your valuable time, General Vega. I promise after this meeting with Cade, I will be fully at your disposal." He assured her, seemingly pained by his current state.

  "Danse, I don't care about that. I don't want you better just so you can get used up again, I want you better for you . I'm sorry that all of this robs you of the proper time to regroup, y'know?" Backhand apologized, her words deliberately quiet as she boldly laced her fingers through his own. "Once we're done here, though, you need to take some time off. General's orders."

  "I would have to speak with Elder Brandis on the matter. As his most senior paladin, I am unsure if he would be able to permit me that luxury." Danse replied unhappily, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "' A run ashore ', always just out of reach."

  "I'm getting you time off, even if I have to kidnap you myself." 

  The paladin's chuckle in reply to her threat was subdued, but it still sent a frisson of happiness through her body. Backhand choked down the guilt of having those feelings in the first place for just a second, choosing to bask in the warm sensation. 

  "When you're ready, General, I'll need the proper frequencies to speak with the Castle." Danse's request brought her crashing back down to earth, and Vega rushed to oblige him.

  There's always something else to do .

  …

  Two days later, on the cusp of their attack on the Institute, the both of them were seated in Knight-Captain Cade's main office aboard the Prydwen. The older officer sat across from them in the cramped space, a clipboard propped up on his knee.

  "The only questions I'll ask will be strictly for clarity's sake." The knight-captain informed Danse quietly. "If you don't want to answer, that is entirely acceptable and within your right, but the more information we have, the better."

  Danse nodded, the motion stilted. "I understand, Knight-Captain. I'll do my best to cooperate." 

  Vega squeezed his hand. God knew she didn't like this one damn bit, but she was going to stick it out for him. After all, he had gone to bat for her against the elder . Loyalty like that was in short supply. "I'm right here with you, Danse." She said softly. He had gone pasty white beneath his usual windblown complexion, and he gripped her hand wordlessly. 

  "If you could start at the beginning, Paladin. Or as close to it as possible." Cade prompted him.

  "Yes, I...of course." Danse rasped. "The first time we engaged was shortly before the Brotherhood lost Knight Cutler."

  Cade looked at him over his half-moon glasses, seeming perturbed. "That was...so this was a prolonged assault."

  "Not an assault. I did as I was ordered." The dull tone of Danse's voice, the way his eyes had gone almost grey ...Vega wanted to know how the hell Maxson had ever justified this. "I could not bring myself to question Arthur. He came to me, at first simply asking for help even though it was an order. He said he couldn't sleep. I...I never told Cutler. I didn't think it was relevant. I thought I was helping the new elder." Danse looked up at Cade. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep for all the thoughts in your head."

  "Was there a specific point in time where his behavior shifted? Perhaps when it became more clear to you that there was something wrong?" Backhand was grateful for the delicate way Cade phrased the question.

  "I…" Danse's brow furrowed. "...had just come back with...after what transpired with Cutler. Four days on base. I was furious with Maxson for stationing Cutler out there, furious with myself for not saving Cutler. I was grieving and hurt both physically and emotionally, as you recall." Cade inclined his head. "I assume you also recall the bite on my arm that appeared shortly thereafter. That was a...result of my inability to perform."

  "Ah." Cade murmured, jotting something down.

  Bite? Vega could feel Danse trembling. "I-I was...unable to function or perform for him in a satisfactory manner and that was his method of voicing his frustration with me." Danse swallowed hard. "I was mourning , Cade." He sounded like he was begging the other man to understand, begging him not to judge.

  Perform for him. Backhand sucked in a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to stay silent. 

  "After that, I would just comply. It was never as bad as that time. I would perform for him to the best of my abilities." Danse paused, "but I never sought him out, and nothing occurred without me being ordered to do so." He then proceeded to rattle off a distressingly-long list of dates, every time that Maxson had coerced him. "I was not interested in...well, anyone , after Cutler." He muttered after a brief pause, "the term broken seems fitting." 

  "You weren't allowed proper space to heal yourself after what happened with Cutler. You were injured and then forced to deal with someone who kept prying open your wounds because they enjoyed lording their power over you." Cade theorized, his voice a little sharper. " Broken is not fitting in the slightest, Danse."

  The paladin shrugged. "Whatever the terminology might be, then." 

  " Traumatized , Danse. Emotional wounds take time to heal, just like physical ones. Losing Cutler in the way that we did-"

  "I deserved it!" Danse cut off the medical officer, leaning forward and clenching his free hand on his knee. "I failed Cutler, Cade! I should have gone after him sooner! The treatment from Maxson is what I deserved ." His eyes were wild, frantic. "He's an abuser, but I am a man deserving of every last instance of that abuse for my inaction when it came to Cutler!" The paladin reasoned intensely.

  Cade sighed, rifling through his clipboard. "Danse, you did not deserve or garner punishment for the consequences of Maxson's orders." He informed the other man quietly. "You were simply a man who lost someone that he cared deeply about."

  "And to find out that I'm not even that much!" Danse spat. "I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie . My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I ever believed in is completely gone. Can you imagine how that feels?" Danse was nearly shouting at this point, moving to stand. "I started out as nothing , and I've ended up as nothing . And I don't know what the hell to do about it!" 

  Backhand brought her hand up over his elbow, hauling him back down into his seat. " Listen to Cade, Danse." She growled. The paladin fought her grip briefly, but ultimately slumped in the chair. Good thing too, Vega wasn't exactly up to full strength just yet. The large man was shaking again, his breathing coming in harsh bursts. "It's okay, it's okay." Vega found herself repeating the phrase, rubbing circles on his back between his shoulder blades. Many members of military factions found repetition comforting and Danse appeared to be no exception, the large man heaving a massive sigh under the weight of her hand.

  "Danse, I'll fully admit to being out of my element here. I never expected to have to treat a synth." Knight-Captain Cade said plainly. "However, I've known you for many years. We have an established rapport. Your body is indistinguishable from an ordinary human body, as proved by my records. Your mental processes and pain responses are normal for a human. I suppose what I'm trying to say is learning that you are a synth may not change all that much, despite what you may be feeling."

  Danse choked out a forlorn noise that might have been a sob, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so confused." He confessed plaintively. "You're saying I did not deserve punishment for my failings, but...how else am I supposed to atone for Cutler?" He looked up, tears welling up in his eyes. "How am I supposed to reconcile with these human emotions, Cade? I barely kept myself under control when I believed I was human!"

  "Your feelings have always run deep, Danse. Your empathy for your fellow man has landed you in hot water more than once." Cade gestured at Vega. "According to our infiltrator, even the most brutal of synths feel regret and remorse just like we do, though they have not been taught how to cope with it."

  "I still feel like a human. Nothing feels different, yet now I constantly second-guess everything I do. I've had a plan from the beginning to shape my future, but I have to wonder about whether that's a lie as well." Danse remarked bitterly. "I had...I had hoped…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

  Backhand could feel her heart breaking the longer he spoke. His true identity was an immense blow to him, and on top of it he was still struggling under the burden of the guilt he carried due to Cutler's demise. He blamed himself for Arthur's demands. 

  "Listen to Cade, Danse." She urged. Her hand was essentially on autopilot as she traced small patterns on the center of his back, moving up and down his spine without rhyme or reason. "You're not to blame for what Maxson did. It's not yours to bear. Trust me, coming from someone who's more than willing to take on other folk's problems, that weight is not yours."

  "But-"

  "You trust me, right?" Vega interrupted him softly, cupping his face so that he had to look at her.

  "With my life, General Vega." 

  The rapid sincerity of his reply startled her and Backhand needed to take a moment, steeling herself yet again. "I know you trust Cade too, and I know this won't be a quick or easy process. But you accepting that whatever happened was not your fault would be a huge first step."

  "I...If I do…" Danse paused, hesitating. "Vega, if I forget about him..."

  "Hey, nobody said anything about forgetting. You told me about Cutler, about how important he was to you. There's no way someone like you could forget about him. But you need to forgive yourself, you have to understand that losing him was not your fault." Once more she found herself in over her head, but she did her best to tell him all the things she wished someone had told her when Sergeant Cathan had died.

  "He was...he was everything to me." Danse's voice cracked. "And I had to--I had to, he was...I had to."

  "What happened to Cutler and his team was an immense tragedy, and a needless one at that." Cade spoke up from his seat, his brow furrowed. "Maxson outed himself quite thoroughly during the trial, I would say. It will be difficult for him to explain his actions away when so many witnesses heard exactly what he said." 

  Elizabeth felt Danse go still, the paladin hanging on to Cade's every word. "Am I even permitted to be happy that he may face consequences?" He asked uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Is that a breach of protocol, Knight-Captain?"

  The medical officer shifted his weight, leaning forward to prop himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I can't promise you swift justice, you know how the Brotherhood operates. But Arthur invoked the right of a litany trial, then proceeded to break his own terms. To say nothing of the fact that he nearly killed someone uninvolved in the trial." Cade shook his head. "His abuse flourished in secrecy. Now that everything is out in the open, I do not believe even his status as the last Maxson will sway the other elders when they pass judgement."

  "Thank you, Knight-Captain." Danse closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I...thank you, Vega." He continued, a little quieter. He caught her hand in his own, giving it a cautious squeeze. Almost as if he was imitating her gesture from earlier in the week. "I have so much to think about."

  "Agreed. Shall I put in a request to Brandis for a leave of absence?"

  Danse visibly recoiled at Cade's suggestion, his eyes going wide in dismay. "No! No, I am needed, Knight-Captain. After our assault has been carried out, and the Institute has been wiped from the map, I…" he hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat. "I will gladly take a leave. Until then, however, there is still work to do."

  "There is always work to do, Paladin." Cade chided. "Remember what I told you? You will burn yourself out and the Brotherhood can ill afford to lose you."

  "I'll see to it that he takes time off after our successful operation." Backhand stated firmly. Cade raised an eyebrow at that and Danse flushed across the bridge of his nose, stuttering a little. "Your health is important to me, Danse. You can be as stubborn as you want, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this." 

  "I suppose that will have to do." Cade sighed. "Do you have any questions for me, Paladin?"

  Danse shot a sidelong glance at Vega that she was relatively certain she wasn't supposed to see, the large man worrying his lower lip. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, though, as Danse shook his head after a moment. "No, I...I just have some reflection to do." He got to his feet abruptly, saluting both Cade and Elizabeth. "Ad Victoriam, Knight-Captain. Ad Victoriam, General Vega."

  Cade returned the salute absently, already absorbed in writing something else down. Vega was a little slower, her query of, "do you need me, Danse?" coming out softer than she had intended.

  She wanted to believe that the paladin hesitated before he replied, "No, General Vega. I can manage."

Part Eighteen

[punkscowardschampions]

Bea & Ro

Bea: I’ve been talking to Tess throughout the day

Bea: And I’m glad you helped with setting up the party with everyone

Bea: But I really do feel you could actually attend the party, in action, even just for an hour or so, to show willing

Bea: You know everyone will feel bad for you at home alone, even if that is how you prefer it

Ro: The crux of the matter, however, is that I already showed a willingness in helping to set up and to offer to do any more would therefore be an over-extension.

Ro: I have spoken to Tess myself and am satisfied that she understands.

Bea: They’re different issues.

Bea: Helping out your family is expected, separately so from attending, which is less of a given but still something you should have a very good excuse for not doing. You wouldn’t opt out of Christmas, it’s entirely about spending a holiday with your loved ones, which is the norm, to deviate from prompts questions.

Bea: I understand you have anxieties but no one will want or expect you to talk to the punters, you can spend all night with Ali and Tommy and if a random person DID make you feel uncomfortable, you know literally any of the family would step in and diffuse that situation for you

Bea: So, honestly, I think you need to come. It’s unfair to bring down other people’s mood with this, everyone will be worried about you

Ro: What I have are traditions of my own to uphold. All I am opting out of is drinking to excess, which only became the norm in the 80s. Before then, my attendance at Mass wouldn’t have raised a single eyebrow.

Ro: Honestly, I think you’re being unfair given that you and Fraze are often the ones ruining the mood and causing worry when you spend the holidays together.

Bea: You don’t have to drink the minute you enter a Pub, it’s as much a requirement as you being an actual Catholic to attend Mass, luckily so

Bea: We can’t all hide in our bedrooms like children, Fraze and I are adults.

Bea: As such, we can handle any issues we may have, and have the other adults understand that isn’t really their business, though they’re welcome to show concern and be reassured. And we also honour family commitments; You are old enough to do the same and for that not to be a big ask, Ro

Ro: I am an actual Catholic, and I do not have to enter a pub simply because you demand it, Bea.

Ro: Oh no, of course not, it’s much more befitting of adults to air every grievance or display of affection as publicly as you two do. My sincerest apologies!

Ro: My behaviour, whether or not you chose to labour under the misapprehension that any of it is a coping mechanism for whatever it is, in turn, you perceive to be wrong with me, is frankly none of your business, nor need it be a cause for concern. You’re welcome to consider that your reassurance.

Bea: Of course you are. I’m not demanding anything. I’m asking you to use your head and frankly, some compassion to do a simple thing for your family, which whilst it includes me, so sorry, I am not the primary concern of now or ever.

Bea: I have no interest in discussing my relationships with you, aside from the fact you have no experience of your own to bring to what would otherwise be a riveting conversation, thanks

Bea: I have as little desire to spend all my time thinking about what may or may not be your issue; I’d just like you to either own up to the fact you have one and get some god damn help, or to show you don’t and be a person

Bea: You can surely accept the position you are putting Tess and Fearghal in? Not to mention Ali and Tommy and the rest of us. You can keep the holiday, to which your affiliation is tenuous anyway, in your way AND make the effort to give everyone peace of mind and to feel they have spent some quality time with you today

Bea: Which yes, people do want to do, and you should feel lucky that that’s true

Ro: The desire you have to address your relationships with me in conversation seems to be on par with the desire I have to continue this conversation any further at all. My answer is no.

Ro: Your hypocrisy, meanwhile, does appear to be boundless in asking me to have compassion as you show me none whatsoever and do not care in the slightest for any position you are putting me in by forcing me to state my case right now. I refuse to be put on trial by you, thank you.

Bea: You know your argument is flawed when you’ve already contradicted yourself. Do I need to show your compassion for your ‘position’ or are you no cause for concern?

Bea: We both know the truth is YOU are doing what YOU want to do, and you are unwilling to do something for anyone else, purely because it is not what you would like to do. I WAS being kind giving you the benefit of the doubt. I actually don’t think you’re anxious at all. What I do think is that this selfishness is entirely unacceptable of a girl your age.

Ro: I shouldn’t have to make an argument when, as previously mentioned, I have done what the family has asked of me.

Ro: Nobody but you sees fit to take me to task for my intended absence, which is the real truth we both know.

Bea: No one else dares to, and you know that. It’s shameful to use your well-being as a tool to hide your nastiness. No one else is going to tell you they see it, but I will and I do.

Bea: Using your mental health as an excuse for treating people badly is all well and good now but you will be left truly alone if you keep this up and you might think that’s preferable but I wouldn’t wish for you to find out you are wrong.

Ro: Everyone else has a clearer picture than you. Of course, it’s unsurprising that absence has not made your heart grow any fonder for me when there is so little room in it for anyone but him. Perhaps it’s you who needs to assess and address their mental health.

Ro: I, on the other hand, have been left largely in solitude for a while now so your threat is a hollow one.

Bea: Bullshit. We’re blood and I know you. And I do love you but I cannot and will not pander to you and your illness by pretending you are not in the wrong when you are. Snipe away all you like, any barb from you loses all power from how entirely you need help yourself. Are you not tired of this?

Bea: You don’t know alone like that and you never have. People care about you, you can’t remember what it is like to have no one that does. Don’t let it get to that point, for God’s sake.

Ro: Tired of what? People entirely and apparently willfully misunderstanding everything? Yes.

Ro: You don’t know the breed of loneliness I do or don’t feel and you never have.

Bea: You want so badly to be enigmatic and deeply misunderstood, to face hardships and overcome them with ease like no one else has or will.

Bea: You’re playing a dangerous game to lose, you make problems to conquer all day little girl and still your only reward will be your own smug satisfaction at your perceived ‘wins’. I’m not going to apologize for wanting happiness for you, for wanting better than that. That isn’t real, it’s not sustainable and the more you control your world, the smaller and sadder it will become.

Ro: You’re wrong, what I want is to be understood and none of you even try. Therein lies the hardship because what I have to overcome is what those skewed perceptions do to me. My mind. My body. I’m put at daily war with all of you and vilified when I resist. It isn’t a game and I won’t apologise either for taking the control that none of you can be trusted with. Or for not wanting to spend time with you as a result. How can you say you want happiness for me and then tell me I must subject myself to misery?

Bea: All everyone does is try, Ro. You’re the one with skewed perceptions, the one who’s fighting against what is right and rational and healthy. All anyone wants to do is help you and this is only an issue because you don’t want help yet.

Bea: You started with all this to get your own way and you continue to use it as a tool of manipulation. You should never have been rewarded, assured that everyone would give Ro what she wanted before it got too real; but what were they meant to do, let you die? You were a kid, no one wanted to see you hospitalized, force-fed, Christ knows what

Bea: For fuck’s sake, I wish you were miserable, miserable enough to have some fight in you to sort this out.

Bea: Every time I leave, I’m scared you won’t be here when I get back, do you know that? Your eating disorder makes you exempt from the absolute fear you give to the rest of us and I’m so fucking sick of it

Ro: No they don’t. What they try to do is talk over me until what’s right and healthy for me is entirely drowned out. You think I’m the one making my world small but it’s all of you who are backing me into corners whenever you can, threatening to force a tube into me. If anyone should understand that I don’t want my body to be violated, you should. The idea of that is worse than any manipulation tactics you’re accusing me of. It’s disgusting.

Bea: How many times HAVE you been force-fed? That’s right, none because we understand that that is not the right approach, and I am not threatening you with it right now, just saying it is a thing that happens to other girls like you, because it does and you are well aware of that fact regardless.

Bea: Your body and your mind are sick, and at times, maybe now, you are unable to accept that and thus work towards wanting help and change. We have to live with that. And we do. What we are not about to do is give you a standing ovation for killing yourself. It’s desperately sad, for you but for all of us too.

Bea: I wish I knew how to make you care but I don’t

Ro: I’m not like those girls you’re referring to, they’re toxic and out of control.

Bea: I’ll see you tomorrow then

Ro: At some point you’re bound to. How long are you staying?

Bea: It would be today

Bea: Just a long weekend, as I’ll be back for Rocky’s Birthday/Easter at the start of April

Ro: Yes, had you been here earlier, it would.

Bea: If you were going to the actual event I’m coming home for, it would.

Ro: If we stopped pretending as though you’d have any time for me were I attending said event, you wouldn’t have to do this.

Bea: Act as if this is my fault when I’ll be there and you won’t. The only reason I have to come back is to make time for you and the family, for God’s sake.

Ro: It’s your fault that you’re blowing the fact that I don’t want to go entirely out of proportion.

Bea: No, I’m not. You just don’t like being called out for being selfish. There are other places and parties the rest of us could be, but we’ve still made the effort and you haven’t, it’s as simple as that

Ro: I don’t like that you’re determined to do so regardless of what I say or do. It’s as simple as nothing ever being good enough for you.

Bea: It’s as simple as it isn’t good enough, and you have no argument for that. You’ll do as you please but I’m not going to coddle you for it

Ro: I have no desire to argue with you.

Bea: As per, there is no talking to you, nevertheless you will have to at some point during my visit

Ro: Fine.

[spiridakos]

bang, bang

falliam frenzy week two: “I don’t know why I’m crying.” // “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”

“We need to talk about last night.”

His voice echoes in their kitchen as soon she enters the vast, brightly lit space. The sun is shining far too much for her liking this morning, radiant and glowing, her fingers rubbing at her temple to try to calm the headache that won’t seem to quit, a reminder of all the poor decisions she made last night haunting her every time the pressure in her head got just a little worse.

Fallon wanders herself to the fresh pot of coffee he’d already brewed, pouring herself a mug of the (still) steaming hot liquid. She mixes in the minuscule amount of sugar she takes and splashes a bit of cream in the ceramic cup, stirring it with one of the wooden stirrers set near the machine. She wanders back over to the kitchen island, sitting herself at one of the bar stools.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I would argue that getting called in the middle of the night by your mother because you showed up at her place absolutely hammered after not answering my calls for hours is something to talk about.”

“I don’t want to do this right now,” she says, pushing the white mug up to her lips to take the first sip of her morning coffee, instant relief when the steaming liquid coats her throat. “I have a killer headache, so please, Liam, not now.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” he says, leaning forward against the opposite side of their kitchen island, watching her with rapt attention. “Cause this conversation is no longer up for debate anymore.”

She pushes herself up from her seat, ignoring his words, turning herself in the direction of the stairs with every intent of crawling back into their bed for the rest of the day. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

She hears him follow behind her, before his hand captures her wrist lightly, always lightly, before he spins her around so she’s facing him again; she doesn’t like the tears that are threatening to fall from her eyes already. She especially doesn’t like the look that he’s giving her when she catches his eyes; it’s full of disappointment and sadness and god, she can see just how terrified he was for her, how that fear is hiding behind his eyes even if he’s trying his dammed hardest not to show it. 

“No one could find you, Fallon,” he squeezes the words between his teeth. “You weren’t answering calls or texts from anyone all night.”

“My phone was dead!”

She pushes his hand off her and she doesn’t really even comprehend why she does it, or why she’s getting so defensive with him over the whole thing. Especially when he was right, he had every right to be angry with her right now. She did mess up, she just wasn’t ready to admit that to him yet; or even to herself.

“Fallon, I don’t really care if your phone died. That isn’t the point.” His words come out in such frustration and she hates it. All she’s ever wanted was for him to be happy, for him to be proud of her. And right now, he’s anything but. “This reaching for the bottle coping mechanism you’ve gotten used to has got to stop.”

“Liam.” She hates how her words come out in a small whisper, almost a cry; unable to think of anything else to fight back with at his words.  

“I wouldn’t have been as worried if I didn’t just know that the second you slammed our front door last night,” he says. “That you were going to find yourself at bar drinking away your feelings and trying to numb it all.”

“It’s not that serious, Liam.”

“I’m terrified that one day I’m going to pick up that phone and hear news that’s much worse than the news I got last night, Fallon,” he clenches his teeth when he says it, his eyes are watering and she swears she catches a tear escape out of the corner of his eye. “I’m afraid one day I’m going to find out you’re not coming home to me anymore.”

“That’t stupid, Liam,” she scoffs, but she turns her head away from him nonetheless so he can’t see the pain that she just knows is etching its way on to her face. “I was just out having a good time with Sam.”

“Having a good time with Sam because you were pissed off at me yesterday.” He reiterates that fact again, leaving no indication he was leaving this topic alone anytime soon. “That’s the only reason you reached for the bottle.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Well, then, by all means,” he opens his hands out to her, giving her the floor to make her case. “Tell me why you went out and got yourself drunk last night and ended up on your mother’s porch at 4am.”

“I’m not doing this right now,” she turns her body around and starts her trek up their staircase. “I’m done with this conversation!”

//

She storms in to La Mirage angrily, high heels clicking against the tiled floor with every heavy footstep she takes forward into the lobby. She spots Sam behind the bar and makes her way towards him, sitting down at one of the empty stools in front of him in a huff.

He eyes her up and down, his hands placed up against the bar top before finally asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Liam and I got into a fight,” she sighs loudly, the stress of her morning finally catching up to her, despite her best efforts to forget the whole last two days entirely. 

“Oh, god. Again?” Sam’s eyes roll far back as soon as the words leave her lips. “What are you two fighting about now? What color to paint the kitchen?”

Her eyes widen a bit at his questions, taken aback slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you two fight over a lot of stupid things,” he says, picking up a bottle of clear liquor and pouring a shot out into the glass in front of him before he slides it off to the guest a few seats down from her. “And it’s not even really fights. It’s just that you’re too stubborn to talk things out before storming off in a huff when you don’t get your way.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m offended,” she says, holding up one finger on her left hand, her shiny peach colored diamond shining from the lights above her, tugging at her heart just slightly when she thinks of him. “And, two, no, it’s not over paint colors. It’s actually a lot worse this time.”

“Okay, so what happened then?”

She sighs, “Liam thinks I depend on alcohol too much.”

He waits for her to continue, but when she doesn’t she hears, “Okay, and…”

Her shoulders sink at his words. “Don’t tell me you agree with him.”

“He’s not exactly…wrong with his worries, Fallon.”

Her defensive side comes out straight away, as it so usually does: “Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking his side, I’m just saying the only reason you asked to go out for drinks yesterday was because Liam was pissing you off and you wanted to forget about it.”

And that’s exactly when it clicks in her head that a certain someone had already talked to Sam about the events that transpired earlier that morning before she’d even arrived at the hotel.

“He called you,” she says. 

“He may have given me a heads up that you’d show up asking for a drink.”

“Well?” She snaps her fingers twice in a row, waiting for him to pick up an empty glass for her. “Shot of whiskey would be great right about now.”

“I’m not condoning your behavior any longer,” he says handing her a tall glass of water. “You can have water.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend, Sam!” She looks at the class of clear liquid that was set in front of her, unamused with Sam’s actions and Liam’s actions, for that matter, for calling Sam in the first place. “I could just go to another bar, you know! Why won’t you just let me—”

She jumps back when she hears a gun shoot off in the short distance behind her six times in a row, forcing her to turn around and see several large men (she assumes) wearing all black clothing with black face masks covering everywhere against their faces but their eyes. She holds her hands over her ears to block out the loud gunshots ringing in her ears. 

She hops off her stool and runs behind the bar to stand by Sam, stopping in her tracks when she hears, “Everybody stay where you are!”

She freezes when she leader of the pack walks forward shouting at everyone, gun pointing off so carelessly in all directions, he takes no discretion to who he points it at and she worries he’ll actually pull the trigger at anyone of them there. 

“This is a robbery. Stay where you are and cooperate with us and it will all be over with in five minutes.”

All of the guys wander around the room, each of them appearing to scout out the area among the dozens of them they’ve currently trapped in the La Mirage lobby. She watches on eagerly when she notices Sams’ employee Hailee behind the check-in desk, leaning her hand underneath the table to push the panic button Sam had hidden under there for these exact circumstances. He’d told her when he installed it that he most likely wouldn’t need it, but on the off chance he would, he was putting it in regardless.

She silently thanks him when she sees the young blondes thumb slip under the desk, thinking the police were two seconds away from behind notified of the situation. 

“Excuse me,” the lead mans’ gun points off in Hailee’s direction. “Are you aiming to be employee of the month or something?”

Her hands slip out, holding up both her hands so he could see them in front of her.

“Everyone on my staff, do as they say,” Sam says into the open space, filled with tension and terror. “Just….do what they tell you.”

//

Liam was finding it hard focusing on just about anything. 

He tried to work on his latest book, tried to put some words to paper, but the only thing on his mind was Fallon and if she was off numbing the pain and memories of their morning argument, like she always seemed to do when something wasn’t exactly in line with how she wanted it to go. 

He’d only managed to write a couple hundred words when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, everything inside him hoping it was Fallon, ready to talk things out rationally so they could both figure out this problem together, like the always did. He pulls it out slowly only to see Blake Carrington’s name across his screen, who was the last person he expected to be calling him now, or ever if he was being honest. They’d barely even spoken in the time he’d been with Fallon, and even then, Fallon was barely on speaking terms with her own father right now.

Which only led him to one conclusion - Blake Carrington needed something. 

Or Fallon was drunk again and ended up stuck on Carrington Manor today for a change. 

He slides the call icon to the right on his screen, but before he has the chance to say hello, he hears his voice on the receiving end, “Liam.”

“Blake,” he says, irritation already building in his tone. “Look, what do you want? I don’t really have time to help you with whatever trouble you’ve got yourself…”

“Would you shut up and listen to me for a minute? It’s Fallon.”

“Fallon?” That stops him in his tracks and sends his mind flying in a million different direction. Because he immediately can tell he’s on edge. Fallon’s not drunk and stuck at the manor - somethings wrong. “What about Fallon?”

“Look, Liam,” the older man starts slowly, which only puts him more on edge. “I need you to promise me you’re not going to to do anything stupid when I tell you.”

“You’re scaring me,” he says, shifting the phone from his left hand to his right. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s a hostage situation going on at Sam’s hotel,” Blake says. 

He swears he feels his heart drop out of his chest, because he just knows that’s exactly where Fallon darted off to. “What?”

“I don’t know all the details yet, but some guys in black masks with guns stormed the lobby and won’t let anyone in or out.”

He’s afraid for the answer he might get from the question he doesn’t know if he should ask, but he asks anyways, “Is she okay? She’s okay, right?”

He doesn’t like the way Blake pauses after his question, unsure, uncertainty floating in the silence between them. “I’m not sure yet. Just…just meet me at the hotel.”

He slams his laptop shut, reaching for his keys on the counter and their early morning starting to replay in his head over and over and over again. The way they exchanged words, they way things didn’t end well when she took off angrily this morning, leaving him behind to worry about what she’d do next to herself. 

It all seemed so irrational now. 

“You can’t die.” He slides his key into the ignition, revving the engine up before he starts to reverse the black SUV out of the driveway. “Please don’t die.”

//

She watches at Sam, as looks on in horror as the windows and doors to his hotel are spray painted with dark black paint, before the crew of guys move on to covering up the security cameras next, blocking out any vision to authorities who were trying to get in to see the security footage.

“Look, you can take anything you want to,” Sam speaks up on the right of her, his voice quiet and completely on edge, his tone laced with all kinds of anxieties that she’s feeling all the same. 

“I intend to, starting with phones, tablets and laptops,” the lead man says as he pulls out a folded brown sack from pocket; small, but probably enough to get what he needed from everyone in this lobby, she figures. 

She hates how when she walked in to La Mirage that morning, the only thing she was thinking about was forgetting her fight with Liam from their morning earlier today, and now the only thing she could think of was Liam and how she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that was how they left things. Because if that really was their last conversation together and she didn’t make it out of this thing alive…

“So, what are we supposed to call you? We don’t even know your name.”

It’s Sam who speaks up besides her, putting on his best brave face as far as she can tell. He keeps his eyes zoned in on the man picking up cell phones around the room, each guest of Sam’s dropping their smart phones in the brown bag before sinking back in fear against themselves. 

“A great question. You, young man, can call me One, this here,” he points to the two men in the black uniform besides him. “Is two and three. You seem like a smart man, surely you can figure the rest out.”

When he turns his back on her side of the room, she uses it as her chance to zip her purse open quietly and sneak her phone into her bra; out of site and out of mind from where they’d probably even think to look for a cellular device. But before she knows it, he’s in front of her and Sam, Sam dropping his iPhone and work tablet into the sack that’s held out in front of him. 

But then One turns to her as he holds the bag out for her. “Well?”

“I don’t have one, it’s up in my room,” she says quietly.” “I left it up in my room.”

He doesn’t question it, thankfully, and when he slips by them and moves to the next group of people besides them, she sinks quietly to the floor and slips the phone out of her bra discreetly, dialing the number she’d become all too familiar with over the last few years. 

//

He takes his last few struts up to the Carringtons’ who are already stood a far distance from the hotel, slightly out of breath from the distance he had to run. The surrounding streets were already blocked off, so he parked where he could before starting to run towards the hotel. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“Liam,” Blake says when he notices his presence next to him. “No one knows, okay?”

“Well, can’t they figure it out faster?” Liam runs his hand through his hair, an anxious habit,  frustrated and terrified all at the same time. “My fiancèe is in there!”

“They know that, Liam,” Blake spins in his direction; he can see the anger and panic in the older mans face, but he’s doing a decent job of keep it together so far, he’s not erupting in total rage at authority figures yet, which Liam counts as a success. “There’s probably a a few dozen people in there right now. It’s not just Fallon, okay?”

“Well, they should work faster."

It’s Cristal’s hand comes to settle up on his upper arm in a reassuring gesture while she says, “The authorities are doing what they can, okay?”

“Well,” he says breathing deeply, all of the worst outcomes scanning through his head on repeat. “Can’t they cut in to the CCTV he’s got in there?”

“They’ve tried, Liam,” Blake says through gritted teeth. “Whoever is in there spray-painted the cameras black. We can’t see anything.”

He paces back and forth a few moments, watching police meet in small bundles, trying to figure out what move to make next, when he sees her name on the screen of his iPhone, taking him by complete surprise. He panics slightly when he sees it, because it couldn’t be…could it? He figures he must be imagining it, there’s no way those guys were letting her make a phone call….

He slides to accept the call regardless. 

“Fal?”

Her voice meets his immediately, panic and distress floating all throughout her tone. “Liam.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hums to her, hoping he could calm down some of the terror she’s feeling. “Talk to me, babe. What’s going on?”

“There’s a bunch of guys in black masks with guns,” her voice is so soft, he’s not even sure if he could classify it as a whisper. “I’m so scared, Liam.”

“Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths,” his voice is so calm when he hears it echo back at him; he’s not sure how when he’s trying to talk his own self off a ledge. But for her, he remembers: be calm for her. “I’m right here, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Liam,” her words stutter out, still as soft as when she first spoke. “I…I overreacted this morning and I’m sorry. You’re right, I do have a problem and I promise I’m going to get better.”

“I’m sorry, too, babe,” he smiles with his words, because despite this all he’s just happy to hear her voice; he doesn’t even care about this morning anymore, that was long forgotten the minute he hung up his call with Blake. “I’m sorry I raise my voice. I’m sorry if I didn’t handle it correctly. I’m just so worried about you. I’ve seen my family go down that path and I don’t want that for you.”

“I know, Liam.” He doesn’t like the edge in her voice, the tension, the absolute terror he can just sense without even looking at her. “I know.”

“I love you, so much, Fallon,” he mutters quietly. “You know that right?” 

“Yeah,” she replies, softer in tone than before, which he didn’t think was even possible. 

“I’m right out in the front and I’m gonna get you out of there, okay?”

“Please hurry.”

“Hey!” Liam hears the grunted, muffled voice, a short distance behind her, but when it speaks up again, it’s closer and instantly put him right back on edge. “I thought you told me you didn’t have a phone!”

“I love you, Liam.”

And then there’s silence, their connection cut off, those three small beeps indicating she’d ended the call leaving him standing absolutely still on the sidewalk. He knows he’ll forever be haunted by the sound of her voice in her last four words, the way that it sounded so final, so eerily like a goodbye. He runs his hand through his hair, panic running deep inside him, a tightness clutching at his chest as her words echoed in his mind over and over and over again. 

And that’s when he hears the gunshot go off, the vibration echoing in the streets and the loud bang ringing loudly in his ears.

[writeyourownlifestory]

Lights Up

Chapters: 5/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife​ Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

Chapters one, two, three, four

Still Into You - Paramore 

I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you, I'm into you And even baby our worst nights I'm into you, I'm into you Let 'em wonder how we got this far, 'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all Yeah, after all this time I'm still into you

Richie went back home with more than half of his questions unasked but full of hope. Hope that Eddie wanted to see him again. Hope that Eddie wanted to answer his questions. It felt weird, but good, to have him back.

Fuck, his therapist would surely have a stroke right now if he knew that the progress they had made went right down the drain. Oh fuck it, he paid him big time so he could do with what he learned whatever he liked.

And what did he do to distract himself from Eddie? Well, edit Dr. K’s interview all night. It was still weird, not separating Dr. K from Eddie. They were so different but at the same time, he couldn’t deny it. Under the eyeliner and dark clothes, there was still that guy with a soft smile he thought he would never see again. The boy that haunted his dreams night after night.

Fuck.

He was spiraling down again, wasn’t he? Maybe he needed to call his therapist and book an appointment after all these years. First thing in the morning.

He fell asleep around four on top of his computer, without even realizing it, so when he heard the doorbell rang, he was surprised he wasn’t in his bed. Confused and still half asleep, he went to answer. Whoever it was, he was going to have to bear with his bad breath, messy hair and pajamas, which consisted of a pair pickle rick pajama bottoms -yes, he was a thirty-year-old man, thank you-  and an old Trashmouth shirt, his first one (and he was proud that it still fits.) Thank god Eddie wasn’t there to see that.

But Richie’s life was a mess and he left his luck forgotten in his mother’s womb, so when he opened the door, there he was, dressed as simply as the day before, but with a cap and glasses on, Eddie, a.k.a. Dr. K, in all his glory.

“I was in the neighborhood.” The man said with a smirk, lowering his glasses down to squint at the wrinkled shirt Richie was wearing. “Is that mine?”

“What? No, it’s mine.” Richie told him outright.

“I meant my band, dumbass.” Eddie chuckled.

Richie had halfway forgotten he was even wearing the thing, mostly because he had so many graphic tees and band shirts that they all got mixed up whenever he’d pull something on to sleep in. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What’s up, dude?” He asked, his voice heavy as he tried to come off as casual as possible.

“Told you. I was in the neighborhood.” Eddie mentioned with a shrug. “Mind if I come in?”

Richie always imagined this sort of thing. Well, kind of. He didn’t expect a rockstar to just show up on his doorstep. If anything, they’d meet at a stage door or a bar and he’d go back to the millionaires home, but instead, he was here. Wanting to come into his shitty apartment. It felt like something that came right out of a fanfic site.

Except this wasn’t just some rockstar. This was fucking Eddie.

Eddie who used to babble on and on about how dirty Richie’s carpet was, and how he never made his bed, and always left his clothes on the food. And honestly, it was the same shit except Richie had hardwood floors that could honestly use a polishing.

Regardless though, it wasn’t like Richie could tell him no.

So he stepped aside and allowed him to enter his apartment, wishing he had been given a heads up so he could have gotten dressed and clean up. However, Richie didn’t always get what he wanted in life. If he did, he wouldn’t be the miserable bastard he was today.

Eddie entered the home, looking around casually before turning back to Richie, finally removing the cap and sunglasses.

“If you wanted to blend in, you should have worn the polo and track shorts. Could have looked like every other dad in Whole Foods.” Richie mentioned to him, going to lean against the island, once again hoping to pull off the casual look.

“You shop at Whole Foods?” Eddie asked with a raised brow.

Richie didn’t reply. He shopped. Sometimes. Mostly ate out, because he could afford it, and anything he had at home was microwavable. And there was nothing wrong with that, at least to him.

“So um, what’s with the haircut?” He asked instead.

Eddie laughed shortly, caught off guard. “What?”

“You cut your hair. You used to have like, all the flowy locks and shit,” Richie gestured to his hair, which wasn’t that long or flowy but was a lot longer Eddie’s newest hair cut. It was similar to what he used to wear when they were kids, back when Eddie’s mom was in charge of how he wore his style.

“Oh. Just wanted something different.” He admitted. “New album. New me, right?” Eddie paused, raising a brow to Richie. “Is it bad?”

“What? No! No, no.” Richie shook his head quickly. “It looks great! Amazing, honestly. I mean, you went from looking like a seventies twink to like, a modern twunk.”

“What the actual fuck is a twunk?”

“A twinky hunk. Or hunky twink. You’re small but strong. Like . . . a bossy bottom.”

“Did you just call me a bottom?” Eddie asked, sounding more amused than offended.

“Are you? Wait, are you...are you still into...you know.”

“Richie, I write songs about fucking men, are you seriously asking me if I’m still gay?”

Richie paused, shifting from one leg to the other. He rubbed his hands together nervously, unable to what to say. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth or anything else. “I mean. I don’t know. Still trying to find out the difference between Dr. K and Edward Kaspbrak.”

“I think I’m trying to find out the differences too,” Eddie admitted somberly, going to lean across from Richie. “But, for a starter, whether it’s Eddie or Dr. K. We’re both gay. You of all people should know that.”

“Kids do stupid things when they’re, well, kids.” Richie shrugged.

“Hiding inside the standpipe was stupid,” Eddie told him carefully. “Going down to the quarry or jumping off the edge into that disgusting water was stupid. What we did wasn’t stupid, Rich.”

Richie didn’t know if he wanted to talk about it. They should. They had to. How could they not? They went from strangers to friends, to best friends, to boyfriends, and then to strangers again so quickly that even after all these years Richie was still dealing with the whiplash.

They didn’t do anything more than a kiss. Fuck, they didn’t even fully makeout. They were fucking thirteen years old. The first time Richie even talked about touching his dick, Eddie called him gross and made him double wash his hands before hanging out.

They were young, but they knew what they wanted and they knew the world wouldn’t fully understand them. They were alone together in this big, dark, scary place, but that was fine. Richie was okay because he knew he wasn’t suffering in silence. He had Eddie and Eddie had him.

And then they have pulled apart and Richie didn’t know how to cope. He had to pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for a therapist just to be able to say ‘I’m gay’ out loud.

And now here he was, talking about the sexuality of his favorite rockstar, with his favorite rockstar, who also happens to be or at least was, his favorite person too.

What a clusterfuck. People should write a book about it. Maybe make it a soap opera.

“What about you?” Eddie asked with a raised brow. “Did you switch sides in the past few years?”

“I met a girl at one of your concerts and threw up on her when she touched my dick,” Richie admitted in a blunt ramble. “Safe to say, I’m into dudes.”

It wasn’t the worst night of his life. Close, but he’d give that to any time in High school, but overall, the night he attempted to hook up with a girl wasn’t the most shining moment in Richie’s existence. He already knew that he enjoyed guys, but he thought if he could convince himself that he also liked girls that he’d be okay. That he could get away with not having to pretend.

College-Richie wasn’t the brightest, all right?

He drank and got turned on by watching the lead singer of this new punk rock band and let some girl flirt with him. They made their way into the bathroom and made out, which wasn’t terrible despite the stickiness of her lip gloss and the sweet smell of her perfume giving him a headache.

Her breasts were soft and that was pretty off-putting, but he ignored it cause his dick was hard. And then she pushed her skinny fingers into his jeans and wrapped them around his dick and suddenly Richie turned into Linda Blair all over her.

She wasn’t horrible about it. Like, she didn’t scream or anything. She just walked away from him and that was fine. It was better that way.

Richie went back to his dorm and screamed into his pillow, falling asleep to the first Trashmouth album.

“Oh buddy,” Eddie whispered. The way that you’d say when you realize how pathetic something is, but you don’t want to make the person feel even worse about themselves.

“It’s fine,” Richie said, squinting his eyes shut. He hadn’t grabbed his glasses and the world was just a bit fuzzy. “I’m fine now. Gay as a three dollar bill and all that shit.”

“I think it’s ‘queer as a three dollar bill.’” Eddie mentioned to him.

“Regardless, it’s what I am. In and out of Maine.”

“I won’t tour there,” Eddie said suddenly. “Wasn’t exactly ideal. The label tried to make me go but I refused to go on. I guess I got a rep for being a diva or whatever, but I won’t go back to that place.”

“You never told me how you go out,” Richie mentioned.

“Right.” Eddie sighed. “I guess you’ve earned my tragic backstory.”

“I was there for it asshole. At least partly.” He straightened and stretched, scratching at his five o'clock shadows. “Lemme get dressed. Get my glasses. We can talk.”

“You should keep the shirt on. It looks good on you.”

“Glad to know you still like being on top of me, Eds.” Richie fired back, making his way into his bedroom.

He returned not long after; actual clothes on this time around. Jeans and a plain tee shirt. Nothing fancy or anything with Eddie’s face on it. He had his glasses on this time around, though he partially wished he didn’t.

When he walked back out, Eddie was standing in the corner, looking at the shrine that Richie had made to all the celebrities that had changed his life. Dr. K, of course, was at the forefront and now he was here, staring at it.

“Oh fuck.”

“It’s nice,” Eddie told him, his eyes remaining on the picture. “I’m honored.”

“Listen. Lemme just get this out right now. I went through some dark shit and your music, I don’t know if it’s just you or the whole band, but it helped me a lot, okay?” Richie rushed to explain; he just wanted Eddie to stay and not run out scared that he was just another crazed fan who wanted to keep a lock of his hair in a book or something.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Rich.” Eddie interrupted him carefully. “It’s . . . well, the band is good. They’re great guys, but I did the writing. I . . . I ended up becoming a star by accident, I guess.” Eddie admitted, moving deeper into the room and going to sit on the couch. “I was at school and took up music as an elective. I took up the guitar because it always seemed interesting. A buddy of mine had a band. I invited me to go and play with them for a while. After one show he got too drunk to go on and I ended up being the lead singer and guitarist. Some big wig for the music industry ended up being there. He likes my style and asked me to play with this group of guys who needed a singer and that’s that.”

“I always thought you had a nice voice,” Richie mentioned going to sit across from him, knees bent as he leaned against the arm of the couch. “Then again, singing along to Whitney in your bedroom and selling out Madison Square Garden isn't the same thing.”

“This break up. It’s not a breakup, with Trashmouth.” Eddie admitted gently. “Those guys are like brothers to me. But they have wives and families and shit. We’ve been doing this for almost ten years nonstop. They’ve missed a lot. They wanna take a break and I respect that.”

“You don’t wanna take a break?”

Eddie shrugged easily. “I’m not married. I don’t have kids. Shit, I don’t even have a dog. I think if I took a break I might lose my mind with boredom.”

“You could get a dog,” Richie suggested.

“I’d love to but seeing as I am homeless at the moment.”

“ Homeless! ?” Richie spits out. “Dude, you’re worth millions, how the fuck are you homeless?”

“My place is being worked on. Being demolished. Hated the way it looked so I’m having it remade, though the contractor I am dealing with is a real dickhead.”

“Is that why you’re at the fancy-schmancy hotel?” Richie asked with a raised brow.

“Beverly’s place is too small and I still have a penthouse in New York, but we’re recording here in LA so it’s not like I can go back and forth.”

“We have a guy that we featured in the magazine a year ago that might be able to help you out. He’s an architect and we sort of put his name on the map so he owes us one. I could give him a call for you.”

“You don’t have to do that Rich,” Eddie waved him off.

“Well call it even after that time you stole that comic book from Keenes for me,” Richie mentioned, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.

He texted Bill, requesting the number of Ben Hanscom as well as mentioning he needed an extension on the expośe on Dr. K, going to snap a pic of him on the couch to send to Bill as proof that he wasn’t lazing off.

“You sure you don’t want me to sign that for you?” Eddie asked with a playful smirk, gesturing to the picture of him on the wall.

“Of fuck off,” Richie scoffed as he finished writing the text.

“You could sell it! Make good money out of it,” Eddie suggested with a shrug.

“Okay, keep talking, Eds,” Richie smirked. “But no. It was your first magazine spread and now it has a hell of a lot more value knowing it’s you. My little Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie groaned and threw his head back in fake frustration. “Jesus, I was enjoying living without those annoying nicknames of yours, Trashmouth.”

“You know, every time I remember you named your band after me, I get reminded that you owe me royalties. How curious, huh?” Richie teased him with a slight smirk. “No, but really, I wouldn’t sell it for anything.”

“I’m glad you like it. The shoot was a nightmare. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” Eddie admitted with a shrug. “That was when I first got into the whole Dr. K persona and I was trying to work out the kinks of it all.”

“Oooh, Dr. K has kinks, huh? Sexy.”

Eddie hummed, saying no more. “I should probably get going.” He mentioned, at last, making a movement that seemed like he was forcing himself up.

Richie followed him to the door, going to lean against the frame after he opened it. “It’s so surreal, you know? Having you back here.”

He never imagined having Eddie back into his life, let alone having him in his life in the form of his idol.

“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Eddie told him, that boyish smile and the glimmer in his eyes doing wonderful things to Richie’s heart, stomach, and well, dick.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie mentioned, watching as Eddie pulled the baseball cap back onto his head and shoved the sunglasses back onto his face. Back to the disguise to keep him from the people on the street.

Richie didn’t live in a super busy neighborhood, though it was better to be safe than sorry. Richie offered a lame wave as Eddie walked off, leaving him alone in his apartment again.

[fresh-outta-jams]

She’s in the Rain

She’s in the Rain Yongguk (B.A.P) x Reader Author: MoRo

Prompt: This entire fic was inspired by the song “She’s in the Rain” by the Rose when a certain line hit me...You and your  husband Yongguk were expecting a baby when you tragically had a miscarriage. As you struggle to cope with the death of your unborn child, Yongguk is by your side all along the way, never letting go.

Note: I have never written anything like this before. I have no idea where this came from honestly like it was written in one night, in one setting. I am still working on another fic (which is much much more fluffy). I also recommend listening to “She’s in the Rain” on repeat when reading because I used some of the lyrics from the song. It’s also just a beautiful song with a beautiful meaning. The Rose is such a talented band with amazing voices. (Shameless plug for k-bands)

Warnings: Angst (my god angst), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of suicide (but no death), and depression BUT THERE’S A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE. 

Word Count: 2,710

It's funny how things happen sometimes. They say the best things come when they're least expected. Well he was your least expected.

You were there for a vacation, is how you always started the story out. Walking around Hongdae, seeing all the people and the performances. It was completely by chance that you stopped at that one performance but you thank God every day that you did and so does he.

Neither of you really remember how it happened. You just remember standing there being captivated by him. How effortlessly he could switch from rapping to singing in the most beautiful husky voice. How his stage presence, even on the sidewalk on a makeshift stage, just filled you up. How his eyes kept catching yours as he was performing, dragging you in and never letting go, making you feel like it was just you and him there. Then his set ended and everyone else around you two clapped and cheered. Even then he kept his eyes on you and smiled.  

Oh that smile. 

The first time you saw it made your heart stop. You couldn't help but smile back. It was like a pure beam of sunlight that warmed you up and enveloped you.

You remember when everyone left after he was done. Noticing that you were lingering around too long, you started to walk away despite what your heart said. You remember he grabbed your arm. "W-wait." He said in a deep husky voice that did not match that gummy smile of his. You remember turning around and finally looking at him up close. You noticed a tattoo peaking out under the collar of his shirt and a few on his arms. Then you noticed those black curls, framing his face perfectly as a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. 

"A-ah I'm so sorry. I-I don't know why I did that." He released your arm once he realized what he did. You shook your head,  strangely missing his touch. 

"It's alright."  You told him while giving him another smile so he believed that it really was alright. You remember him getting all red and shuffling from foot to foot looking like he wanted to say something. 

"So I noticed you during the performance..." He started out. You remember how much your cheeks burned. Obviously you knew he saw you but to have him actually acknowledge it...

You just let him continue as the tips of his ears had started to grow red also. "I-I don't normally do this but I feel like if I didn't say something to you...I would regret it."  He had taken a deep breath, as if to prepare himself. "Would you like to go get drinks or something to eat?" He finally got out, that deep voice dipping even lower. You remember his words stunning you, making you unable to speak. He looked up at you through those glasses, cheeks and ear bright red, waiting for an answer.

"A-ah um y-yeah. I mean yes. I would like that."  You remember saying smiling with equally red cheeks and red ears. That sunlit gummy smile of his came back out. "Oh my name's Yongguk by the way. Bang Yongguk."

That night of drinks and dinner turned into an almost nightly thing until the time came for you to leave. You didn't want to tell him but you knew you had to. You remember how the light in his eyes shattered when you said you were leaving. You had to go but you wouldn't forget him. He was something special to you that you would carry in your heart forever. 

"I'll be back. I promise."  You remember saying as your eyes filled up with tears, blurring him from your sight. He enveloped you in a big hug, burying your face into his chest. You breathed in the smell of him one last time.

"I know you'll come back to me." His deep voice rumbled in your ears as he squeezed you tighter and kissed the top of your head every so gently.

Leaving him was the hardest thing you had ever done in your life. He dropped you off at the airport and was with you all the way until security. You remember looking back at him just standing there, all alone, even with thousands of people milling around him. He just stood there looking at you as if you were the only person in the room with him and it broke your heart all over again. 

Giving you a soft smile, you remember he waved at you. 

"I'll be back. Wait for me."  You mouthed to him. He had nodded. 

"I'll wait however long it takes." He mouthed back to you before you turned and stepped into security. 

The next couple years you saved money to go back to Korea and looked at career options there. Yongguk obviously helped you out during those long late night and early morning skype calls. Sometimes you would fall asleep on the him when  it got too late. When that happened Yongguk would watch your sleeping face. How all your worry lines smoothed out, how your breathing evened out, and how you looked so content while you slept. Regardless of what time it was, he would lay down, close his eyes, and put his phone next to his pillow, imagining you were sleeping next to him. 

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Then finally the time came. Years of waiting, years of wanting to hold you, to kiss you, to feel the touch of your fingertips playing his skin. Finally the time came. You were coming back to him. 

The moment you got off the plane in Incheon, your heart felt like it was going to burst. You had to see him. You needed to see him. 

Coming down the escalator into the meeting area of the airport, you searched desperately for him. Then there he was. Standing all alone again with a bouquet of flowers and a sign saying - "You came back to me. Welcome home Y/N."  You remember dropping your things with a loud crash and running towards him. You remember how he flung open his arms, that beautiful smile of his welcoming you home. Home to him. 

After your reunion in the airport, neither you nor Yongguk stopped touching each other. You were either holding his hand, holding onto a part of his coat or in bed he was rubbing circles on your back as you laid on his chest. It was such a foreign yet completely natural feeling. Foreign because of all the years of only seeing each other through a screen but normal because finally you both felt whole again. Finally your hearts at returned to each other. 

It didn't take long for Yongguk to pop the question. He wanted to marry you since the day you left him. He knew since seeing you at his busker that you were the one. But he wanted to wait until you came back to him to ask. 

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The wedding was a simple yet elegant celebration and the best day of your life. All your family and friends joined you two in committing yourselves to each other. Anyone could see the love and happiness just radiating off you two. It was infectious. 

You remember when Yongguk first laid eyes on you when you walked down the aisle. His eyes met yours and tears rolled down his cheeks as he covered his mouth in a gasp. You could see all the joy and adoration and undying love in those eyes. Yours reflected back the same emotions as tears rolled down your cheeks too. You remember Yongguk reaching up to wipe the tears off your cheek. "You look absolutely stunning." He whispered to you, fighting off the urge to lean in and kiss you. The way he looked at you was the same exact way he looked at you when he first saw you. You felt as those there was no one else around, it was just you and him standing there. 

Married life had its challenges but you were his rock and he was yours. Nothing could weather you two down.

You still remember the feeling you had when you found out you were pregnant. Yongguk at first thought you were pranking him but then soon realized it was not a prank at all. You remember he showered you in kisses and kept twirling you around, excited to the point words could not describe how he felt. 

Everything was going so smoothly, you were healthy, the baby was healthy, everything was good. But then all of a sudden it wasn't. Your life stopped with a screeching halt. Well it more of stopped with the silence of the ultrasound. Funny how you used to love the silence and now it was overwhelming and suffocating. There was something and then nothing. All in the blink of an eye. The baby was gone. He or she was gone. Just gone without warning. You remember how you felt like your heart was being torn out and how you were spiraling downward. Down, down, down into the silence. 

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Yongguk tried. Oh how hard he tried to make you happy again. He knew how hard it was on you because it was hard on him too, but he knew he could never truly know how hard it was. Each day only got harder and harder for you. You stopped wanting to eat, bathe, move, or even talk. Yongguk began to miss the light of his life. 

You would spend your days laying on the couch as the rain fell down, hitting against the window panes, trying to drown out the thoughts in your head. You clutched the soft dove gray baby blanket, blindly looking out the window, not really seeing anything. You felt as though your insides had been carved out and you were just a hallow shell. Oh how you wished for it to all be a big lie. But the empty feeling inside you denied that lie. That lie was the truth. You remember just the other day, being on your laptop looking at baby things, getting ideas to decorate the nursery. You remember reading baby books filled with names and Yongguk giving you a back hug as he read the names over your shoulder, making comments here and there about certain ones.  

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Yongguk tried to talk to you daily. "Honey....Y/N..." You rarely responded back, too deep in your pain and depression. "Do you hear me Y/N? I'm so scared of seeing the end...In your eyes I can see the emptiness...It's like you've lost your light." He would try to hug you or kiss you softly but you would always move away from his touch. You hated how you reacted and how you treated him but you were just hurting so much. 

"I love you Y/N. I want you to know that. I'm not giving up on you or us. It will be alright. I promise you." He would tell you, you could hear the fierceness in his voice. You believed him but you just could pull yourself together. You couldn't just wake up and decide to not be sad anymore.

 One day was so particularly hard that you couldn't take the pain and emptiness anymore. Yongguk was gone on a quick errand, not wanting to leave you alone for too long. But it was almost enough time. You remember filling up the bathtub and getting in fully clothed. You loved the water since you were little. You sat there, head above the water. Just waiting. You weren't sure what you were waiting for. Then you slipped your head completely under, the cold of the bathtub walls seeped into your back while the warm water flowed around you. You felt strange, warm and cold all at once. Then you felt nothing. 

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You awoke on the cold ground, shivering in your waterlogged clothes. You heard someone yelling far away. 

"Y/N! Y/N! Come back to me! Please...oh my god... please come back to me..." It was Yongguk. You coughed and looked up at him. You raised your hand to his cheek. The heat of his cheek warming your cold hand and cold fingers. He gripped your hand like a lifeline and scooped you up in his strong arms, pulling you close and nuzzling you. His chest heaved with his words. 

"I-I came home and when I shouted b-but you didn't answer...and then I found you in the tub...just floating there. I- I thought you were dead... why? Why did you try to do that?" His deep velvety voice cracked. It made your heart crack as well.  

"I-I feel like I'm dying inside... I keep wanting it all to just be a lie."  You tell him softly in a raspy voice. Then the tears came. All of those days of pain and loneliness came spilling out, ripping through you. Yongguk just held you and rocked you on the wet floor as you cried all your tears out until there was nothing left. Until you could no longer move, until you could no longer make any sounds because your throat was raw. He murmured softly to you as he rocked you, "If you wanna hurt yourself, I'll stay with you. If you wanna make yourself go through the pain, it's better to be held than to keep holding on." You sniffed and snuggled in closer to him, gripping his arms, feeling less alone but so so very tired. 

So he just kept on holding you until you fell asleep from the exhaustion. He brushed the wet hair back off your face so he could kiss you. He kept giving you tender kisses, trying to kiss all the hurt and pain away. 

When you woke up again you were in your bed in dry clothes and warm fluffy blankets. Yongguk was sound asleep by your side, both arms wrapped around you. Protecting you even in his sleep. You could kind of remember what had happened but it was all a blur of water and hard cold floors.

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Later your doctor told you it was a type of postpartum depression. A few months of therapy and medication later, you were in recovery. Every day you were getting better and you could feel your mood getting better. Yongguk could also see the improvement in you and your mood. He was so happy to get the love of his life back. For most people, losing a baby would have caused any other couple to just leave each other but that wasn't you and Yongguk. He stuck by your side even when all hope seemed lost and when you couldn't even look at him. You were forever grateful for your husband. Going through everything gave you a new perspective about things and about life. 

You told Yongguk every day how much you loved and appreciated him. He would smile and wrap you up, smothering you in kisses. One day all that smothering and kisses turned into you holing yourself up in the bathroom as you held a pink stick in your hands. A pink stick with a plus sign on it.

Then nine months later in your hands, that pink stick was replaced with a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. A little bundle with fluffy black curls and a soft sweet smile. 

You remember looking up at Yongguk with a huge smile on your face and tears in your eyes as he looked down at you and his daughter with a matching smile and equally watery eyes. He leaned down and kissed the tears that had fallen on your cheek. 

"Mi-hi."  You whispered, "Meaning beautiful joy." 

 Yongguk put his forehead against yours, lovingly. "Our beautiful joy..." He breathed out moving down to kiss you. It sounded perfect on his tongue as you kissed him back, full of passion and love. He pulled back and looked at you and his daughter again. A new type of love and adoration shone in his eyes. "I love you Y/N. So so very much. You and Mi-hi." 

"I love you too Yongguk. Both you and Mi-hi , I love you two with my whole heart."  

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Kurt felt his feet scraping across the ground as he forced himself down the hallway. The last few weeks had left him feeling so small. Dave and Santana being outted, Dave’s suicide attempt, losing out on both class presidency and the main role in A West Side Story; every bit of life seemed to be weighing him down recently. And then there was Blaine.

 Ever since Blaine had enrolled at McKinley, the two of them seemed to be parting ways more as each day went past. Of course Sebastian’s arrival hadn’t helped the situation, but deep down Kurt knew those same issues had been festering for a while. At times, Kurt found himself wondering if he was mismatched with Blaine; if Blaine would be happier with someone like Sebastian, someone more… spontaneous. Or at least someone who would answer his calls. Since that night, the sheer sound of Blaine’s voice was off-putting to Kurt. All that would come to mind was his hands spreading out and grabbing at Kurt, taking as much as he could like a kid with a candy bowl. The memory left a bad taste in Kurt’s mouth; almost as bad as remembering he had apologised for rejecting Blaine’s advances. At the time, Kurt had convinced himself that Blaine was right, that he had just been spoiling the fun, but the bad taste remained nonetheless.

 The one positive that had come out of the last few weeks was that the New Directions had reunited. To the surprise of everybody, Rachel had suggested giving others a chance to sing at Nationals, as long as she got her solo of course. It did mean, however, that all choreography the group had begun to work on prior to the girls coming back now had to be changed. And with Rachel’s two left feet and Tina’s quieter nature, Kurt was called in by Quinn to help choreograph and teach the new routine.

 On better days, Kurt didn’t mind helping out. Today was not one of those days. After the hypocritical mess Blaine pulled singing It’s Not Right But It’s Okay, Kurt was in no mood to see the glee club. Regardless, both Rachel and Quinn had insisted that with Nationals coming up, every chance they can get to practice had to be used.

 As he entered the room, Kurt could all but feel the atmosphere change. Quiet whispers stopped as Finn stood up. Giving signal to the others, Kurt watched as they followed him, each one of them approaching him as Puck closed the door.

 “Why are you all acting like you’re about to give an interve… oh my god, this is an intervention, isn’t it? Look I know Blaine gave a messed up image of us but it’s not going to affect the tea…”

 “We just want to talk,” Finn interrupted, gesturing Kurt a seat.

 Kurt bit his lip before shuffling his feet over to the seat. The awkward silence continued. Filled with uncertainty, Finn’s eyes shuffled between the boys’ and Rachel’s before she sighed and spoke up.

 “What’s going on with you Kurt?”

 The others scolded the brunette’s bluntness before being reminded that no one else was willing to ask. As they begun to quarrel, Quinn shut them down.

 “What Rachel meant was is everything okay? You’ve had a tough year, not to mention everything you’re still dealing with from last year and we just wanted to check in. If our conversation after Karofsky taught me anything, it’s that none of us should assume that people are coping when they’re in strife.”

 “I’m fine.”

 The words sped out of Kurt’s mouth like a horse belting toward the finish line. Kurt could feel how untrue the statement was as he spoke the words, yet he still found himself faking a smile in hopes to convince the others. It didn’t work. As he looked over at Mercedes, her disappointment hit him, forcing him to look at the ground.

 “Honey,” she started, “the truth is you haven’t been yourself for a long time now. And it’s clear that Blaine going behind your back for the West Side Story role has made things worse, especially after his performance today. We got to hear his side, now it’s only fair we hear yours.”

 Kurt stuttered for a moment before falling silent. His head went back and forth arguing over what to say next. On one hand, this was his relationship. It wasn’t any concern, or business for that matter, of the others. Not to mention Blaine was already upset with him, why make things worse? But at the same time, they were his friends and they were there trying to help. Even Santana and Puck had shown up. Regardless, Kurt couldn’t find the words.

 “It’s nothing, I’ll fix things up with Blaine later on,” He lied before sighing, “Thank you though Mercedes, for setting this up.”

 “It wasn’t me,” Mercedes smiled, looking over at Finn.

 Kurt blinked before staring at Finn.

 “I’m your brother Kurt. I’m worried about you. Nothing you say is going to change that. I, I just couldn’t find the words to say that, so I called in these guys.”

 Silence filled the room again. Kurt find his eyes shuffling back to the ground. Mike moved next to Kurt, placing his hand on Kurt’s shoulder and assuring him it’d be alright.

 “You’re wrong about the show being the issue,” Kurt started, “Around the time the role was allocated, Sebastian came into the picture…”

 “The jerk from Daltons who was trying to get onto Blaine?” Tina enquired.

 “Yeah him,” Kurt muttered, “except it wasn’t just him trying to get Blaine. Blaine was responding and meeting up with him behind my back. The night before the opening day of the show, Sebastian invited us to some bar. Blaine spent the whole night getting drunk and dancing with him until it was time to leave. I got him to the car and he wouldn’t stop touching me. I yelled for him to stop, but he, he just wouldn’t. Eventually I shoved him off and he yelled at me before leaving, but things just haven’t been the same since.”

 “That hobbit tried to rape you?” Santana shouted.

 Kurt shook his head as he began to stutter. Being barely comprehensible, he started saying it was his fault and how he had apologised the next day. As the eyes of those around him widened, Quinn interrupted.

 “You shouldn’t have.”

 “Quinn’s right,” Puck jumped in before looking at Quinn in guilt, “It’s not your fault he tried to take advantage of you after knowing you had drunken.”

 “Actually, I was the designated driver, so I was sober.” Kurt explained.

 “Dude it doesn’t matter,” Finn said, “He doesn’t get to treat you like that.”

 Unable to find the words, Kurt fell silent. Deep down he knew Finn was right and that once upon a time, there would be no way Kurt would let himself be treated like this, but things were different now. The realisation of dying alone had plagued his mind. He didn’t expect Finn or Rachel or any of the other straight members to understand. Finding a partner for them was like finding a penny. The opportunity was always there. Hell, even Santana and Brittany didn’t have to worry because they found the love of their lives already. But he hadn’t. The two gay men Kurt knew were Blaine and Karofsky, a boy who physically assaulted him for years. The thought that he may never find love crushed Kurt, but at least Blaine was something.

 Before anyone spoke, a phone began to blare. Reaching in his pocket, Kurt noticed the number straight off, leading him to sigh.

 “That’s him now,” he started, “I should probably get going.”

 The group went to speak out, but Finn just shook his head at them. As Kurt gathered his things and started to walk out of the room, he heard Brittany’s voice come from behind him.

 “Don’t forget we love you Kurt.”

 Closing the door behind him, Kurt walked away. Once out of the building, he looked down at his phone, sighing as he pressed the number of the missed call. Before he was able to say anything, a voice cut in.

 “Where are you Kurt? I called your dad when you didn’t answer and he said Finn told him you were at a glee meeting which clearly isn’t where you are. Are you with Chandler? Is that why you refused to answer my calls? I knew Finn was threatened by my talent but to help you do this is next level petty and you dragging him into it is just as bad.”

 The voice continued rambling, cutting Kurt off as he tried to answer. Moments of incoherent rambling passed, lowering Kurt’s patience until all at once, it disappeared.

 “Blaine, stop,” Kurt started, “I’m not with Chandler. The fact that you think so little of me as to not only accuse me of that but bring the glee club into it with your performance today shows just what you think of me.”

 Stutters from the other end of the phone fell silent as Kurt pushed the red button. Stopping in his tracks, Kurt felt a sigh leave his chest. Confusion and guilt begun to set in as Kurt realised that despite his frustration, the sigh had been in relief, not despair. As the phone in his hand begun to vibrate again, he found himself clenching harder as he walked away. After minutes of nonstop ringing, Kurt hung up one final time before clicking the messaging button.

 ‘I’m sorry okay. Just give me time.’

 Disgust hit Kurt as he pressed send. He continued walking as he thought about how things had gotten so bad between him and Blaine that the person he could tell everything to had become the person he felt he had to lie most to. The phone continued to buzz as several messages came through. With his patience falling, Kurt placed his phone in his bag, making sure to do so in a way where it would not noticeably vibrate off anything else.

 As he reached his house, Kurt went straight into his bedroom, closing the door and grabbing out his phone. Upon seeing the endless stream of messages, Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, grasping then slightly yanking at it. His fingers began typing at the phone before deleting and typing again for several minutes before stopping and deleting it once more. He typed one final message.

 ‘We need to talk to someone Blaine. Meet me in Emma’s office tomorrow.’

 Before Blaine could respond, Kurt heard his door twist. Placing the phone back in his bag, Kurt stood up. The door opened, leading Kurt to relax.

 “Don’t come in unexpectedly Finn. You startled me.”

 Finn stared at Kurt in silence for a moment before speaking.

 “I just wanted to check that we’re cool after what happened. Look, I know I should have spoken to you privately before bringing in the others like that. I just didn’t know what to say. I think you need to tell Burt and my mum though, you know, about what Blaine did.”

 Kurt felt his throat tighten with each word that came out of Finn’s mouth. His eyes began scanning the room, looking for anything else to talk about. Maybe an unclean surface to attend to or homework to do. But nothing came to mind. With an awkward expression on his face, Kurt looked back at Finn.

 “We can’t tell dad. You heard about what he did to Karofsky and that was just some bully. Blaine’s my partner. He’d put him in hospital.”

 “Maybe he should.”

 Finn’s words came off louder and more abrasive than he had meant them, causing Kurt to flinch. In response, Kurt let out a sigh whilst saying Finn’s name. Another silence came over the room before Finn spoke.

 “Kurt, we’ve gotta tell someone who can help you.”

 “I don’t need help Finn. I’m fine.” Kurt lied.

 “So you’d still be calling it fine if I did that to Rachel then? Or what about if Sam did it to Mercedes? Because that definitely wasn’t the case when you were telling me that what happened to Quinn was Puck’s fault and his alone.”

 “Blaine didn’t get me drunk Finn. Plus, after what happened with Puck and Quinn, I know you’d never do that to Rachel, nor would the other guys with their girlfriends.”

 “We never thought Blaine would do that to you Kurt.”

 Finn’s words hit hard. Kurt tried to find words, but none came to him. Silence began to consume the room only to be broken by the vibrating sound coming from Kurt’s bag. Nothing was said, but the sympathetic look in Finn’s eyes made Kurt just uncomfortable enough to look away. Finn considered reaching out for Kurt’s arm before another vibrating noise from Kurt’s bad stopped him. Instead, he clenched his fist and sighed.

 “At least tell mum.”

 “You say that as if she wouldn’t just tell my dad.” Kurt said.

 “She wouldn’t,” Finn started, “She’s been here before Kurt. I mean not sexually from what I know, but when I was little she had a relationship that really messed her up, the same way Blaine is messing you up right now. She’ll be able to help… Just think about it, yeah?”

 With that, Finn walked away. Kurt sat back down on his bed, grabbing out his phone. Blaine had sent several messages stating why they didn’t need Emma involved and how everything was going to be okay. Kurt stared at the final message, a simple ‘I love you’, for several moments before placing the phone face down on the bed. Pulling himself up from the bed, Kurt walked over to the door, checking down the hallways for Finn before closing it. As the door clicked shut, Kurt felt his body slide down to the ground as began to cry.

[tchaikovsky-at-midnight]

10.

@unicorn5454 asked:

So, would you like to write #10 ("If you two don't work things out, you're gonna end up regretting it.") for Barlyle? It sounds as if it could turn from angst to fluffy, which would be perfect

/Sorry I cut you short here haha :D but thank you again and yes I agree, absolutely perfect! Enjoy /

Unbeta’ed, I’m not a native speaker

(word count: 1881)

10. “If you two don’t work things out, you’re gonna end up regretting it.”

__________________________

“This can’t work. It’s just not. No. No-“

Anne comes to stand next to Lettie, who watches the door to the circus’ office closely. From behind the door two voices grow louder with every new exchange. Anne sighs.

“Again? Why can’t they just talk like normal people.”, she asks Lettie and wraps herself into the scarf she has thrown over the thin attire. She finished a new trick with W.D. they rehearsed for days now and it finally looks like they imagined it. Initially she wanted to show or at least tell their ringleaders about the good news. Judging from Lettie’s position, leaned against one of the buildings pillars, it might take a while. She purses her lips and wonders, what has gotten into the men recently.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But it’s been like this for a few days now and I can’t deal with another round of fake-happy Barnum. It is so wrong.”, the singer answers. She values the show man, as a business man and as a close friend, but she doesn’t want to see him this miserable. He would never show that openly, she knows, but it’s obvious to everyone in the troupe. After the discussions behind closed doors, Philip stormed off the last days. Didn’t show up in the evenings and avoided conversations. Barnum on the other hand put on his brightest smile and pushed on and on, rehearsal after rehearsal, new ideas and switched choreographies. It was exhausting and it made Lettie mad.

She wants her family to be happy and not to argue all the time. Anne smiles at her, but takes off again. Lettie will talk some sense into them, she is sure of it. And she certainly does not want to deal with these two. “If you need help, just say so.”, she grins when she leaves. Lettie gives a firm nod, already planning out her approach. When the door opens, she leaps forward. If she let one of them escape, the viscous cycle would start again. Not on her watch.

With confidence she grabs Philip’s arm. The young man notices her only then and his gaze softens a bit. He still looks livid beneath. Lettie shakes her head and takes him back to the door. The ringmaster leans on his desk, arms crossed and just as fuming.

“What is going on with you two lately?”, she demands to know and releases Philip. The younger man lingers at the doorframe.

“Nothing.”, Phineas grumbles, but doesn’t look at her. His gaze is fixed on the wall opposing him, his jaw tightened. Lettie can almost see the distaste radiating off from these two. Philip chuckles humourless and rolls his eyes.

“If you two don’t work things out, you’re gonna end up regretting it.”, she states.

“Oh, regret is a good cue.”, Philip spits out. Lettie looks up to him and now seriously worries what they argued about all the time.

“Really? What do you regret, Carlyle?”

“Where do I start?”, Philip bites back and steps into the room, accusingly.

“Maybe right where everything began. You ruin my life, you know that? I bet you do, you just don’t care. You don’t care for anyone. It’s all lies, lies, lies and pretence; I don’t know who you are. And I don’t want to know.”

Lettie gasps and looks horrified from Philip to Phineas. She would have never expected such harsh words from the young aristocrat who became family so fast. All she can do is stay in the doorway, watching the fight unfold.

“I ruin your life? You hadn’t had a life before me! What have you got – parents that don’t love you? Plays the people don’t like? A job you hate and a mind you drown in alcohol? It was a wonder you weren’t dead in the Hudson by the time we met with your sorry excuse of a life.”

Philip stumbles back as if the words hit him physically. Lettie thinks they might have. She can’t put the horror she feels into words. She tries to, anyways:

“Please don’t say such things. Neither of you.” She slips the key from the window into her palm and leaves the room. Fighting back tears, she locks the door to the office. She raises her voice, banning any tremor from it.

“I’ll come back in an hour. Just don’t kill each other.” Then she hurries back to the others, the key pocketed and a hand over her mouth. She cannot believe how they acted towards one another. She hopes her plan works out, she really does.

“You are the worst person I ever met.”, Philip sighs and tries to open the door. It doesn’t budge. He chews his bottom lip and goes over to the window that faces the corridor. Lettie is gone.

“Likewise.”

Philip chooses not to look back. He can’t. He hears the older man slowly step away from the desk. A chair creaks. He doesn’t look. He buries his face in his hands.

“Maybe I should just go. And don’t come back.”

“Maybe? Make a definitely out of it and I would be honoured to show you out.”, P.T. snarls and Philip can physically feel him come closer. He smells him, hears him. He drops his hands and looks up at the show man, expecting anger.

“Then why...”, he wonders, but doesn’t finish his sentence. He is too focused trying to read Phineas’ facial expressions. There’s irritation, of course, but – and this confuses Philip the most – concern, even fear?

“Why what?”, he’s prompted biting. But Philip is now unsure how biting and fuming the show man really is or whether he conceals something else. He shrugs and takes a small step back.

“Why do you look so worried.”, he finishes and his voices cracks at the end.

P.T.’s eyes widen. He hasn’t thought the younger man could see through him. He should have known better, over the last two months they have become friends, best friends and dare he admit to himself, he developed deep feelings for his partner. Philip’s gaze pins him down where he stands, still insecure but also awaiting. Prompting P.T. to explain himself.

“You don’t remember?”, the ringmaster asks, although he knows the answer. He was there after all. All aggression he might have had before has gone. Philip can see the tension flooding off and the man’s shoulders slump down. He goes backwards till he hits the broad desk and carelessly sits down on its edge. When he looks up, Philip just shakes his head. He doesn’t even know what he is supposed to remember, what situation, or even what day.

“Phil, you nearly died last week.”

“I – what? No, what are you saying.”, Philip starts. He cannot believe what Phineas’ tells him. He should have noticed if he was close to dying, shouldn’t he? He was pretty sure that’s something you would remember. Unless – it was intentional.

“I thought you’ve been getting better. But then I had to see you in that bar – which is fine, you know, it is. We’ve been celebrating, mourning, and what not together over one or another drink. But that wasn’t “one or another” now, was it?”, Phineas’ reminds Philip of the night he wanted to forget so badly. And apparently he did so until now. He was good at repressing feelings and experiences, but he shouldn’t be proud of it. It was a self-destructive way of coping.

“No, it wasn’t. Have I – did you talk to me? Oh my god I don’t remember.” Philip paces the office, his hands tugging at his shirt restlessly. He is not able to meet the showman’s intense eyes.

“I did. You told me about your parents. I’m so sorry Philip.” Phineas knows exactly what happened that night. He had wanted to go back to the circus to try something out, in the middle of the night because he didn’t want to forget this brilliant idea, but saw his business partner and friend in the bar. He got hit with whiskey-clouded breath and slurred words. Regardless, the story was pretty easy to make out of Philip’s clumsy speech. He talked to his parents – involuntarily and they got into a fight – verbal and physical assault, as Phineas’ understood it – and parting words along the lines of “you’d be better off dead”. He recounts their conversation but sticks to the important information, as he doesn’t want to aggravate the younger man’s state further. He looks pale and sick enough, hearing the evening’s events from a sober perspective.

“Did I tell you about the...”, Philip stops at the window. He finally meets Phineas’ worried gaze and vaguely gestures but doesn’t dare to finish his sentence. He can’t think about it, not with P.T. looking at him like he does. Heart-broken and sympathetic.

“Yeah. And I got you home, I mean – I got you to my place and made sure you didn’t simply die on alcohol poisoning if I didn’t let you kill yourself on other ways.”, the blunt words feel like a slap. Philip thinks he might deserve that. But he can’t remember waking up at Phineas’ house.

“You slept half of the day and I got you to the circus to sleep off the worst hangover ever there.” Ah. Philip stood at the window this whole time, unable to move. Finally his body takes over his mind. Numbly, he lets his legs take him down. With clouded eyes and parted lips, he looks right through the ringmaster. He leans back until he hits the wooden walls. There he stays, thinking about all he heard. Phineas was there. If he wasn’t, they may not be here today. He wouldn’t be here probably.

Phineas gets up from his desk and folds himself down next to the young man, who still tries to comprehend the situation. Or rather, his problems. Because they were problems and he should face them. He exhales shakily. Phineas regards him with a cautious look, and then he drapes an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. Together they sit under the window; Philip’s breath’s become quieter. After a while, he leans into Phineas and the ringmaster feels tears slowly soaking through his shirt. He pulls Philip closer, rests his head against Philip’s.

“I’m so sorry. I would ne-ne-ver really...I-didn’t wa-want to figh-t or-“, Philip wants to assure Phineas’ that he hasn’t lost his will to live just yet. At least not at this moment. And he didn’t want to argue constantly. Phineas hushes him softly and the younger man can feel him nod.

“I know. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’ll be fine. I’m here for you.”

Philip holds onto the older man, not able to get out any more words. Phineas watches him and continues to whisper calming nothings and weaves tender fingers through the man’s hair.

Lettie makes her way back to the office, slightly afraid on what to find. She looks through the smudged windows and is startled when she sees neither man. She unlocks the doors and carefully looks around the room. On the floor, propped against one of the dusty walls she finds them. Asleep and cuddled together. A gentle smile spreads over her face and she sighs.

“Oh, boys.”, she places the key back on the desk and silently goes back to the others.

______________________________________

/ send me prompts, ideas, whatever :) /

[let-them-read-fics]

Happiest Year(s)

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 1,759

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Character Death, Illness, Crying

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: OMG!!! This writing absolutely wrecked me... I’m so sorry Jisoo 😭 I promise that I have some fluff in the works to make up for this one. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! 

PS ~~ I listened to the song “Happiest Year” by Jaymes Young when I wrote this (hence the title). I highly recommend that you check it out -- maybe even play it in the background while you read this.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The pain was something you had grown accustomed to, especially within the past few months. It was nothing you couldn’t handle, though it sure gave you a run for your money sometimes.

One fateful night, everything changed: Hot, excruciating jolts shot through you, burning and raging like a fire within. Jisoo found you in the bathroom, curled up in the fetal position, and immediately called for help. To her, this was something totally unexpected -- you had always worked hard to hide what you were going through from her, not wanting to give her any added stress. She had enough to worry about; you didn’t want to be another thing on that list. Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to do, judging by the panicked look on her face as she cradled you in her arms. Surely her stress had increased tenfold now.

~~~~~~~

The soft click of the door to your hospital room grabs your attention, and you open your eyes. 

“Y/N, why did the doctor just tell me that you’ve known about your condition?” Her voice is quiet, unbelieving; she sounds tired. For the first time in a long time, her eyes are unable to meet yours. She swallows thickly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and fear. Tears threaten to spill from her beautiful eyes, and you curse the universe for not giving you enough strength to reach up and wipe them away when they inevitably fall. 

“I was going to tell you… I just never found the right time. How was I supposed to tell you something like that?”

“You should’ve.” The reply is simple, but her delivery is profound: her voice is laced with pain, a hint of resentment mixed in. Who could blame her? She’s having to witness her world crumble before her eyes, and she has absolutely no way to stop it. Her jaw clenches as she finally gives in, little by little, allowing her tears to fall. You can tell she’s trying to stay strong, though.

“Would you have lived as fully if I had? No. You would’ve spent every second with me worried about that, looking at me different. Like I was fragile and would break at any moment. Maybe you wouldn’t have meant to, but I would’ve felt it. It would’ve been at the forefront of your mind; you wouldn’t have said what you meant and did what you wanted. I needed to make those memories.” 

~~~~~~~

As you faded in and out of consciousness again, the distant sounds of monitors served as a beacon for you. Fighting sleep was growing harder every time, but you held on for Jisoo. She wasn’t ready to let go yet, and neither were you; although, the two of you never really would be.

“What am I supposed to do without you, Y/N?” Her hands are cradled around your left one, lips pressing against it as the words roll off her tongue. She’s looking down, attempting to wrap her head around what’s about to happen. Hot tears drip onto your skin, and you pray to have enough strength to hold her one last time. You want to leave this world embracing her, feeling her warmth for as long as you possibly can. You have to. 

“J-Jisoo.” Within an instant, her head snaps up, her eyes searching your face, waiting for your command. 

“Hold me.”

As she moves to lay next to you on the bed, she makes sure not to hurt you. One of her arms supports your head and wraps around your shoulders, while her other comes to circle around your waist. Her soft skin rubs against your own, and a hum of happiness leaves your lips.

In an instant, it hits her: she won’t be able to hear that sound again. She won’t be able to hear your laugh… God, your laugh. It’s always been one of her favorite sounds in the entire universe; after tonight, she’ll have to settle for listening to it from videos on her phone. Those captured memories, frozen in time for her to replay as often as she wanted, could never compare to the real thing. 

Soon, you’d be gone from this world, leaving her behind as a shell of what she once was. How could you keep this from her? Everything the two of you had spent so much time creating -- the stable life you were going to keep on living well into your 80s -- is crashing down around her. That dream of passing away together in bed, a long and happy life replaying as you fade away, is rapidly disappearing into nothingness, and she doesn’t know how to cope.

She tries to make sense of the situation -- to rationalize like she always does -- but it’s not possible this time. Why were you burdened with this terrible disease? Why you? You’re one of the greatest people Jisoo has ever known, always doing right by everyone you come across. So what kind of higher power would damn you in such a way? 

“Stop thinking about it. Just be here with me, please.”

As hard as it is to do as you ask, she does her best to push those thoughts away. 

“I can’t do this without you, Y/N.” Her sobs get in the way of her words as they struggle past her lips. She’s a mess: streaks of tears are running down her cheeks again, her hair stuck to her face in various places. The mascara she applied earlier that day is smudged underneath her eyes, mingling with the salty liquid spilling from them without restraint. 

“Yes you can, baby. It’s gonna be alright; you’ve got the girls, and you know I’m gonna be there, too. I’ll always be with you.”

She presses a kiss against your forehead, and you can feel her lower lip tremble against you. 

“I’m not afraid. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I’m not hurting.” You try your hardest to remind her of that and soothe her, even in the state you’re in; seeing her like this hurts you more than any sickness ever could. Both of your hearts are breaking at the same time, attempting to figure out how to go on without the other. 

A rather violent cough racks through your body, and she holds you once it’s over. In that moment, it’s clear that your time to go is rapidly approaching. 

“Jisoo--” You begin, mustering up all of your strength to utter some parting words.

“Don’t. Don’t say it. You’ll have to go once you do. I’m not ready.” She shakes her head in protest, still unable to accept what’s happening. 

“I have to, jagi. Just let me get it out.” 

With a shuddered breath and fresh set of tears replacing her previous ones, she nods. You take that as your cue to continue.

“Thank you for the happiest years of my life. Knowing you -- being able to love you -- has been the biggest privilege I’ve ever had. There’s no one I would have rather spent my time with. I know it’s hard baby, but please don’t hate me for not telling you… I think you’ll understand why I didn’t, in time. Just be happy, Jisoo. For me. Remember me and the times we shared; those aren’t going anywhere. I’ll love you forever.”

Her lips are against yours in a flash, gentle passion burning wildly. The feeling takes away all of your worries, and you sigh against her. She doesn’t want to stop, but she has some words for you, too. 

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N… that’s what makes this so hard. I could never hate you, though. I just wish we had more time. I’ll love you always, even through the distance that separates us. You’re my happiness.”

“Ooh baby…” The words come out through your tears, your voice unstable from all of the emotions you’re feeling. “I wish I could stay. God, am I gonna miss you.”

She kisses you again, and some of the pain is alleviated from your heart immediately. It still hurts, of course, but her kisses soothe you in a way that nothing else can -- part of you is healed now.

“I think I’m gonna miss that most of all.” She mumbles as her forehead rests against yours again. Her tears are at bay for the time being.  

“Not as much as I will.” The faintest chuckle is drawn from her; even as you lay dying, you’re still just as competitive as ever. 

You wrap your arms around her and let your face rest in the crook of her neck. You’re at peace in her arms, warm and comfortable in every way possible. Only she could do that -- no one else made you feel as safe and protected as her. The realness of the situation is hitting you again, but you try to focus your mind on the feeling of her heart beat against your chest. Yours is slowing down, the process becoming unnecessary now.

She can feel you slipping away, right between her fingers, and it’s almost too much to handle. Her entire world is fading right in front of her, and she just has to be a passenger in the process. If she could save you, she would; if there was a way for her to trade positions with you, she would do it in a heartbeat. Every other type of pain pales in comparison to seeing you, the love of her life, so weak and frail.

“I love you. Now, kiss me one last time.”

She does as you ask, whispering her own declarations of love against your lips in between kisses. 

In stark contrast with her broken state, your mind is running wild with memories from the life the two of you shared. All of your “firsts” replay in a flurry of various emotions and colors. It’s difficult to explain, but your mind is aglow with the vivid hues of a life well lived -- one with no regrets, no stones left unturned. It’s all playing in your head like some sort of slideshow, and there’s no other way you’d want to be sent off. 

“It’s beautiful, Jisoo.”

Just as she looks down at you, ready to ask what you’re talking about, the monitor flatlines. You have a content, peaceful smile on your lips, your eyes closed in comfort. 

“I’ll see you later, my love.” She whispers to you -- and those are the last words you hear before leaving this world, beginning your journey to the cosmos.

[neuxue]

Oathbringer thoughts

I was hoping to be able to liveblog Oathbringer, but it turns out I was too optimistic by half. Well, by about 5/28 anyway, given that I have two and a half WoT books left. I thought about just waiting to read Oathbringer (if there’s anything liveblogging WoT has taught me it’s patience) but I’m going to the Sanderson signing tomorrow so I was running out of time. Anyway, here are some thoughts upon finishing, for the 2 or 3 of you who are interested. I was reading probably a little too fast, so probably missed everything and will at some point need to reread, but here you go.

LOTS OF SPOILERS BELOW. ALL THE SPOILERS. HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. 

In no particular order (but there are 10: a nicely Vorin number to go with my coincidentally Vorin username)

1. Talenel. Taln. Talenelat’Elin. Stonesinew, Herald of War, Bearer of all Agonies. 

That guy.

Taln was a Problem for me literally from the moment he was introduced in the Prelude (offscreen! He didn’t even show up on-page! Why am I like this?!) with the line “Taln had a tendency to choose seemingly hopeless fights and win them. He also had a tendency to die in the process”. A doomed last stand in the form of a character. Why would you do this to me. 

So I’m sure you can guess that Chapter 38 (‘Broken People’ what a chapter title) thoroughly broke me. I mean, it wasn’t even anything we didn’t already know, really. But... “The nine realised that one of them had never broken.” And “The Bearer of Agonies. The one abandoned in Damnation. Left to withstand the tortures alone.” And the fact that it took four and a half millennia for him to break.

I’ve long had a fascination with the idea of ‘everyone has a breaking point’ (when I was 11 I tried to write a novel based entirely on the concept of someone who does not - or cannot - break; the ‘cannot’ turned out to be a rather interesting thing to explore, but the story overall was terrible because, amongst other reasons, I was 11) and with the idea of breaking characters, and what it would take to break certain characters, and what the result would be. 

As I mentioned, I also have a thing for doomed last stands, so basically Talenel was created to be my breaking point, it would seem. (“Herald Talenelat during several of his many, many last stands...” just @ me next time)

And then. And then 

“Four thousand years?” She held his hand tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” [...] “Four thousand years?” Taln asked again. “Ash...” “We couldn’t continue--I...we thought...” “Ash.” He took her hand again. “What a wonderful thing.” Wonderful? “We left you, Taln.” “What a gift you gave them! Time to recover, for once, between Desolations. Time to progress. They never had a chance before. But this time...yes, maybe they do.”

And then...lucidity abandons him, because he is broken, and it’s been four thousand years. But in that one moment, in the moment when he is briefly himself, it’s as if he isn’t broken at all. The fact that this still exists within him, even if the rest of the time he’s found a refuge in madness or forgetting or in the recitation he gives over and over, the advice he needs to give to humanity, the duty he has to them. It’s like name, rank, serial number. It’s very probably the thing he held on to throughout those four and a half thousand years, the thing he could not allow himself to let go of or forget, even as he broke. And the thought that the one point he fixed on, the thing he held fast to even as he broke, was his duty to humankind, is...a lot.

2. Speaking of Taln, let’s talk a little bit about Kaladin

There are plenty of things I could say about Kaladin, but I mostly just want to throw a few quotes out there For Your Interest. Because...I don’t know if there’s anything to this but here.

Quotes about Taln:

“The one who wasn’t meant to have joined them in the first place, the one who was not a king, scholar, or general” 

Um.

“One of them had never broken.”

Quotes about or by Kaladin Stormblessed (surgeon’s son, neither king nor scholar nor general):

“That granite will, that warrior’s poise.” 

(As an aside, how do granite and obsidian exist on a planet with no tectonics? How???)

“Ten spears go to battle” [Kaladin] whispered, “and nine shatter. Did that war forge the one that remained? No, Amaram. All the war did was identify the spear that would not break.”

One unbroken, of ten. 

Eight months. Eight months as a slave, eight months of slop and beatings. It might as well have been an eternity. --from Way of Kings

An eternity of torture? Also Taln’s Scar is high in the sky during Kaladin’s time as a slave. Maybe meaningless. 

Why were they going through all of this? What was the point? Why were they running so much? They had to protect their bridge, the precious weight, the cargo. They had to hold up the sky and run, they had to... --Kaladin’s thoughts, WoK

Take that just a little out of immediate context and that last part especially sure sounds like someone tasked with endless agony for the sake of the world

Yet the sheer glory of what he did seemed at odds with the desolation he caused --Kaladin’s thoughts, WoK

Somewhat less relevant to the thing I’m sort of vaguely postulating but still an interesting choice of words, and the Desolations happen when the Heralds break and return, so.

“His body dead, but not his will” --Hoid, WoR, telling the ‘Fleet’ story

Taln dies a lot. It’s sort of his thing. But his will takes four millennia to break.

“Then I hope I end up in Damnation.” --Kaladin, WoR

I’m just saying.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s leftover from one of the things I got hilariously wrong when first reading WoK - obviously Kaladin was gaining the powers of a Radiant but I really, really wanted him to somehow be Taln. (Amusingly, I read Way of Kings before I started Wheel of Time, otherwise it would be easy to see where this notion came from). Maybe it’s Maybelline. Regardless, it’s an interesting set of possible parallels.

3. Wow, he just up and told us what caused the Recreance in book three. 

And it felt like the perfect time for it. It’s the sort of thing you’d normally expect an author to sit on for more or less the entire series. I was tentatively prepared to wait for at least the first five books before getting this much stated outright on-page. 

I’m so glad Sanderson gave it to us now, instead. For one thing, it felt oddly refreshing to have such a big question answered so early. Playing the long game with reveals can work, obviously, but it’s fun to mix things up a bit. It also plays into some of what I ended up talking about in the ‘Dalinar’ section of this list regarding plot twists and the execution thereof. The Recreance is a good example, because it was revealed in full at the point in the story when it could have the impact it needed to have. In-story, it was both the probable and logical time for the secret to come out - it would have started to strain suspension of disbelief if that many characters had some knowledge of it, and none of them ever put it together on-page either in their own thoughts or for the other characters. For the reader, it brings everything together at a point when it’s all very relevant, and at a point when there’s enough information to figure it out if you’re careful and lucky, but not so much that it loses all surprise value whatsoever (For the record, I was close about a lot of it, but there were some pieces I missed and/or put in the wrong place. It did, however, satisfy the one thing I was really hoping it would). 

Narratively and thematically, it makes sense alongside the other questions that are being asked or otherwise addressed - the issue of colonisation and ownership and agency, the question of war and protection and the justifications for either or both, the contrast of unity and division, and of course the question of oaths and honour and betrayal.  

Answering this question now also makes the whole story suddenly feel so much bigger, because when something set up to be this much of a central question is almost just handed to you, it serves to put it into perspective. It makes the rest of the story, and next set of questions we’re starting to ask, and the questions we don’t even yet know to ask, seem so much larger, and the story so much vaster. 

4. OH THANK THE LISTENING GODS THE LOVE TRIANGLE SPUTTERED AND DIED BEFORE IT COULD EAT EVERYTHING 

I breathed an actual literal sigh of relief. I hate love triangles so much, mostly because I usually struggle to maintain ‘bored indifference’ rather than outright irritation at romance subplots in general, so love triangles are almost always intolerable because not only do they double the romance but they turn it into a point of conflict and miscommunication and angst and I cannot fucking stand it. If I had a dragon for every unnecessary love triangle I’ve had to read, I’d have been able to take over the world a long time ago. Or have the world’s most epic bonfire. 

Anyway. Through WoR (and I guess WoK but to a lesser extent) I was torn between trusting Sanderson to avoid or subvert that particular cliche and...not trusting him to do that. There are a lot of things I do trust him with as a storyteller (especially one who has clearly evolved in his writing, storytelling, and awareness) but I wasn’t sure if I could trust him on this. He earned quite a bit of trust from me for how he ended up writing this, actually.

The exact moment I breathed that sigh of relief? It was the conversation Shallan and Kaladin had about her particular coping mechanism. Specifically: 

“No. No, Shallan! I wish I could do the same. [...] How nice would it be, if I could simply shove it all away? Storms.” [...] “This way, I’ll never face it,” Shallan said. “It’s better than being unable to function.” “That’s what I tell myself.”

Because this was the moment when it became exceedingly, abundantly, absolutely clear that Sanderson was doing this on purpose. I had hoped he was, because this was something that felt off about Kaladin and Shallan during their chasms conversation in WoR as well (the ‘she smiled anyway’ thing), but then there was the possibility that it was...accidental. Now, though, I have significantly more faith in Sanderson, because this is a really...I can’t think of the word but I’m glad he did this the way he did.

And I am SO INCREDIBLY GLAD THE LOVE TRIANGLE DIED. And the way in which it died. And the fact that everyone involved respected its death. And that it didn’t stop the characters involved from communicating with and trusting one another. And also that said death included the line “Shallan. he can literally fly.”

(Adolin Kholin is not straight. Just tossing that out there).

(Shallan consistently using the word ‘passion’ when thinking about or describing Kaladin is interesting, though, in light of certain other reveals. Not sure if there’s actually anything to that, but it’s just a thing that stood out).

5. Dalinar

So the identity of Odium’s Champion was one of the things I saw coming as soon as the champion idea was mentioned in this book. (It was brought up in previous books and this was one of my theories but I definitely wasn’t certain, and I was also Distracted by what I wanted to have happen, which is not something that would ever actually happen. I’ll write the fic at some point). 

Anyway, it was predictable...but that didn’t matter, because it was beautifully executed. “You cannot have my pain” is a cool line out of context, but in context it was magnificent. 

I like the way Sanderson does plot twists, because unlike with some authors, it doesn’t feel as if his sole intent is to be able to say ‘ha ha, tricked you, aren’t I so clever’. His goal, it seems, is to tell a satisfying story. Rather than withholding all of the information relevant to the ‘twist’ to make it actually impossible to guess (which doesn’t make you a master of the plot twist so much as it makes you an asshole), he includes the necessary and sufficient foreshadowing to allow the ‘twist’ to make sense and not feel like it came out of nowhere. 

This means, of course, that some readers are going to guess it in advance. That’s just how it works. If you put the information out there, some people are going to put it together correctly and completely. Some people are going to put some of it together, and have a sense of where things are heading. Some people are going to be absolutely sure of where it’s heading...and then be completely wrong. Some people are going to have absolutely no clue. The truly impressive plot twist, I find, is the one that can satisfy people in all of those categories. YMMV of course, but having been in each of these positions at least once while reading Sanderson’s books, I feel like he manages this impressively well. It’s fun if it’s at least a little bit of a surprise, but even when it’s not, it’s satisfying because it’s written as part of the story - as a point of emotional or narrative impact, or a turning point for the characters - well enough that it still has the desired effect. Mostly because ‘gotcha’ isn’t the (only) desired effect.

I digress somewhat.

So before we move on, I’d also like to point out that Dalinar Kholin and Lews Therin Telamon clearly need to form a support group for men who murdered their wives in a fit of madness and fucked with the psyche, memory, and identity of their future selves.

6. “The apocalypse is coming; we don’t have time for bullshit gender roles”

Adolin being absolutely here for Shallan-with-Shardblade. Kaladin going ‘yeah okay’ to women joining the Windrunners. Dalinar learning to read. Jasnah as queen because honestly was there ever actually another choice? 

This is another one that’s just so refreshing to see, especially because it’s clearly something that’s being deliberately examined and played with, but is also integrated into the story. It doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb the author didn’t know what to do with, but it also plays a very real role in the story. It’s not just there so the author can point to the one sword-wielding woman in a cast of thousands of dudes and say ‘but I gave you a Strong Female Character’. 

This ties into something I really appreciate about Sanderson, which is his demonstrated ability and willingness to learn and grow when it comes to issues of representation - not just in terms of including it, but in how he includes it. 

7. Venli

I don’t have a lot to say about her except that I was genuinely surprised by this one. So well done on that, Sanderson.

Also, given his propensity for writing brothers in love with the same woman, I’m almost surprised we didn’t get some sort of reveal about Venli and Eshonai loving the same person.

8. Cosmere convergence

There was a lot more than I expected at this point in the...series? Continuity? Mass of interconnected stories that have evolved into a semi-eldritch being? I enjoyed it and had no problems with this, but I’d be curious to know what someone who’s only read Stormlight thought - does it still work? Do they just play as intriguing and mysterious characters alongside all the other intriguing and mysterious characters, or has it reached a tipping point where you actually need to have read some of the other books?

Also Cosmere-related...Hoid. He’s sure getting more and more screen time, isn’t he? I’m Interested. I have Thoughts. I need to think about them more but I definitely have some Thoughts on who and what he is. Regardless, any character who can say “if I have to watch this world crumble and burn to get what I need, I will do so. With tears, yes, but I would let it happen” is going to Interest me. Not to mention the sheer number of times he tells various characters not to trust him. And then there’s “you turned your back on divinity.” Which is...um. Yeah I’m fine this is fine.

9. Odium

Has to be number 9, because of reasons. Odium was great. Nice subversion of imagery there, and to great effect. 

10. Ideals and Oaths

I mostly find it amusing how a book called Oathbringer is the first to plainly exhibit failed Ideals. Elhokar. Kaladin. (My best guess at the Windrunners’ Fourth Ideal would be something along the lines of “I will protect those I can, and forgive myself for those I cannot” but I’ll have to reread and see if that holds up). The broken Oathpact (there’s a part of me that really wants the gem-encrusted probably-a-fabrial-of-some-sort pillar to be the Oathpact; its manifestation or sealing or what-have-you. Not sure that holds up though). It’s a fun little irony.

[workingontruth]

Part 6 of 7: The Gospel (In Full)...Stage 4; Command Us

October 9, 2019

[Forgive Me. Fill Me. Surrender Me. COMMAND US. Fuel Us.]

We’re making good progress into the ongoing beauty of the Gospel – what a JOY! With the controversy of self-will behind us in Stage 3, this fourth stage of The Gospel (in Full) represents a corner turned.

However, we must not simply plow onward into this fourth stage of the Christian life without honestly verifying the condition of our soul at this point on our personal journey with God in Christ.

Said in another way, if the controversy of self-will is not behind you in a way that you know the Spirit has dealt with you sufficiently unto repentance and surrender, now is not the time to “roll on.”

“Why not”, you say? “Doesn’t there come some point, Greg, where you just have to press on, regardless of whether one has been illuminated on a matter?”

The answer is NO. Not, that is, unless you’re just trying to “accomplish” your Christianity.

Let me try to tell you why–from a few slightly different vantage points. 

Being “Christian” out from an unsurrendered, wrong motivation of the soul will only be an unfruitful exercise into a venture that will not “work” for you. In such a case, it’s best to stay out of it altogether. 

If your motive in following Jesus is to attain “your best life now” or to somehow discover what will “work for you,” you’ll be sorely disappointed. 

Instead, in bridging our 3rd to this current 4th Stage of these Gospel (In Full) contemplations, you must know the surrendered and commandable Christian life will frequently appear to fly in the face of the old man’s, earth-side logic and self-interest. And so, until you are willing to be, at times, divorced from your own logic and unmoored from self-interest, you will never become commandable. Until the clay of your life is moldable to the Potter, he won’t fight against you. Clay which only continually leaps off of the Potter’s wheel will never reach its purpose. Neither will you. Just forget it, it won’t happen. 

The Christian life is one that must be accompanied by faith–a faith that trustingly walks in the mission of God even as your self-preserving interests are being daily set aside. 

Stay on the Potter’s wheel. Without a surrendered, faith-filled and trusting walk with God, the first sign of difficulty will have you clutching the steering wheel of control in order to regain what you wrongly believe to be the predictable stability and comfort which you value more than the unpredictability that comes with being a disciple of Christ. This need for control will sabotage any hope of a maturing walk with God and place severe restrictions on the Holy Spirit’s ability to guide and fulfill you. For the surrendered life will be one supremely commandable by its Owner.

From another vantage point, KNOW THIS –

Being commanded by one whom you ultimately believe has no right to do so will only lead to resentment and a begrudging heart of religious frustration.

We do not need more unsurrendered “Christians” today. It will be far better for you to return to the previous stage than live detrimentally to both yourself and the body of Christ.

From still another slightly different vantage point, I want you to introspectingly consider the contemplation of Billy Graham when he said…

“…the Lord Jesus Christ will come into your life and reform, conform and transform you into an obedient follower. If that is not your desire, you have every reason to question whether or not you have been saved.”

You see, a merely strategic acceptance of truth void of a truly humble heart which pleads for God’s command over you in recognition of your inability to run the show yourself, is pointless. Even further still, if you are ready to walk in the command of King Jesus but only as a “have to” of accepted obligation, there has yet been no genuine surrender–and you have a heart issue. This should make you wonder whether or not you really have a new heart! 

[If, right now, you want to address whether this new heart God offers to all who seek him is in you, it may be helpful to review the last half of Chapter 46 in my book, Set Free. Start reading at the fifteenth paragraph where it begins, “To review then,...”]

Indeed, before you will be able to enjoy the supernatural refreshment that accompanies being commanded and fueled by the Holy Spirit, our final two stages of The Gospel (in Full), surrender will have had to become part of your journey.

PAUSE to PONDER: 

Have you truly surrendered your life to Christ, or have you merely desired to have the weight of your sins lifted from your conscience while also believing you’ve met the qualification for heaven as part of your portfolio?

If you have been unable to release your circumstances, your emotional anxiety, your frustration with a physical malady, or any other state in which you find yourself living, pause and return to Stage 3. More directly, retrace your steps back to the cross and decide once and for all whether you trust the one who says he alone can give you the new life you desire, lacking nothing of value either in this earth-side “pre-life” or the life to come.

I am taking this long walk around the barn before journeying with you into God’s command of your life because attempting to walk in this stage prematurely will be fruitless. Without a surrendering heart of faith and trust in God’s desire and ability to bring you into only what is best for you, it will be impossible for you to please him (Hebrews 11:6).

So, here’s my challenge going forward into these final two, ongoing and life-giving stages of the Gospel: 

Refuse to read past this point right here until you have been ruthlessly and utterly honest with yourself, and marks of broken surrender have become a part of your experience.

Give the Spirit time to work.

Seek him persistently on this matter of surrender.

Ask him what you desire more than him.

Your Creator God, through his son, wants to gain in you more than cerebral add-ons of himself. He wants to remake you. He wants you to walk in obedience as he commands, and abide in his love–that your joy would be made complete (John 15:10-11).

Oh, dear friend, the best thing I could hear from anyone reading these Gospel (in Full) contemplations is that it took a month, or the summer, or the better part of a year to get through them. There is no rush. Let the Spirit take you to a place where you drink most deeply of Him unto surrender. Then you will be ready for The Commander!

All that said, let’s turn our minds and hearts to the only reasonable response of one who has surrendered his or her life to the omniscient, all-powerful King of Kings and Creator of all things past, present and future … a sincere desire to be commanded in his service.

There are two things I want to emphasize as we contemplate this fourth stage of the ongoing nature of the Gospel.

FIRST, we must begin to embrace our position in relation to God. He is Commander. We are his faithful and compliant inheritance, living a new life in Him.

God’s command of us is the beginning of an exciting adventure–one less predictable but promising far greater satisfaction than our old life of self-preservation and societal predictability.

This life of complete trust and sensitivity to the command of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us may sometimes border on what the world would inaccurately perceive to be irrationality or reckless self-neglect. This is because the life we now live ceases to be about us–it ceases to be only about our welfare. And this is very counter-cultural in our “plan-ahead, make a life and a future,” secularist mentality.

But thanks to the truth of our new identity on which we now continually dwell (Romans 5:12-6:23, Colossians 2:9-15), our old self is increasingly being translated into the life of Christ. As this happens, we have a new lens through which to live what is now God’s life – in us (Galatians 2:20).

In a phrase, if SURRENDER is the fulcrum upon which a flourishing Christian life pivots, then a natural and instinctive compliance to his COMMAND of our lives becomes the launch pad for what God intended to be the “normal” Christian life.

Indeed, in this fourth stage of The Gospel (in Full), we now turn a corner. We now begin living in our new creation not by sight, but by faith (2 Cor. 5:7). We now begin to live in the light of our new life as a surrendered yes man, without controversy.

Once we understand there is a God who is uncreated, beginningless, infinitely transcendent, who made this world, who keeps everything in the universe going such that all the molecules, all the stars, all the solar systems are being held up by the power of this God, …to this God we must say, “Command me!”

Here’s how historian N.T. Wright puts it:

“How can you live with the terrifying thought that the hurricane has become human, that fire has become flesh, that life itself became life and walked in our midst? Christianity either means that, or it means nothing. It is either the most devastating disclosure of the deepest reality of the world, or it is a sham, a nonsense, a bit of deceitful playacting. Most of us, unable to cope with saying either of those things, condemn ourselves to live in the shallow world in between.”

And this living in the shallow world in between is what must come to an end for us if we believe what we proclaim as ones redeemed into perfect relationship with the God of the universe. You cannot live in that misty “world in between” if you want to live with integrity as a Christian.

Do you pray to Jesus when you’re in trouble, and otherwise mostly ignore him because you get busy? Again says, N.T. Wright:

“Either Jesus cannot hear you because he’s not who he says he is – or if he is who he says he is, he must become the still point of your turning world, the center around which your entire life revolves.”

Yes, if God is who he says he is, and if he is whom you claim him to be as your redeemer, then your whole life has to revolve around him and you have to throw everything at his feet and say, “Command me.” 

He is King. We are his beloved inheritance. And during this short time on earth, while inhabiting these bodies of flesh and living in a deteriorating world due to the effects of sin, we are called to lay down our old lives, and take his upon us–and follow him.

You see, we have a new kind of King. In Mark 8:34-9:1, Jesus is saying, “Since I am a King on a cross, if you want to follow me you must go to a cross.” In other words, you must recognize him as boss.

At this point in following Jesus, it ceases to be about us…or what we’d been conditioned to understand to be “our life.” 

We must stop living in the fiction that our old man is still living, or that we own our life. It’s a lie. 

Jesus went to a cross. He really died. And he tells us in Romans and again in Colossians 2 that we went there with him…IN him (Chapter 45, Set Free). And so if logic is to be our friend at some point along this path, we must embrace living in the full command of our King Jesus.

Daily we must be eager, as an overflow of our love for him, to live into our new identity. I’m not saying that we focus on carrying our cross daily. I think that’s a bit distorted to be honest with you. What we’re doing is REMEMBERING that our old man has DIED on that same self-cross in Christ Jesus–and we’re remembering to live in the new man, the new creation, as ones who are no longer in charge…we are now under the full command of King Jesus.

SECOND, at this point in our development as a Christian, it also becomes helpful to radically change the way we speak and think about ourselves.

At this point in our development as a Christian, we must continually reckon upon the fact that we never walk alone. 

Why? Because as we ask God to command us, and he begins to do so, He may ask of us things we may feel unresourced to do. In such moments, we must remember in whom we now live and breathe and walk.

Too many Christians live as if the sky is falling and all hope is lost–at the drop of a hat! I believe this is because we retreat far too easily into our own resourcing, the resourcing of the old man or woman whom Christ himself has killed off and laid to rest in an eternal grave.

Take notice that I changed the pronouns in the final two stages of The Gospel (in Full). Why? Let me explain.

One of the things that began to transform my life is when I started to think in the “we, us and our,” rather than in the “I, me and my.” To think in the “we, us and our,” is not only healthy, it’s reality.

Let me demonstrate the difference:

If I’m fooled into believing that I am alone in the midst of life’s challenges, I would be tempted to self-talk in the following way:   

If I say, “I’m afraid I won’t make it next year!”

Or if I think, “I don’t know what to do!”

Or what if I’m going through a terrifically difficult circumstance and say, “I honestly don’t think I can make it through this! I am going to die!”

Do these singular “I, me or my” perspectives convey reality for believers in Christ, or are they “old man” thinking? 

Now, let’s try these same real and disheartening circumstances in the “we”:

“Lord Jesus, we are so afraid we won’t make it!”

He will say, “Really? I think we will.”

“This circumstance is just too difficult! We don’t know what to do!”

But Jesus says, “I think I do know what to do.”

“We aren’t going to make it–we will die!”

And Jesus says, “Really? I was raised to life again.”

Suddenly, everything is totally different, isn’t it? Do you see it?

Where is Jesus living? If you’re a born-again believer in Jesus Christ, he is living inside you. You are not alone. You do not fight alone. You do not walk alone. You do not sleep or eat or drive alone.

When we begin to take stock of our true condition as a child of God, as one possessing the life and resources of the risen Christ Jesus, everything changes!  

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. – Galatians 2:20

You are always at least two.

Dwelling on these truths of the Christian life makes us choose.

“Am I going to live in the truth of who I have become in Christ, or will I choose to live in a lie–under the influence of Satan, the father of lies?”

When you begin your day, do you say, “I’m going to my first meeting for the day…” or do you say, “Let’s go to our first meeting for the day…”? The second one is the truth. The first is a lie.

Thus, this fourth stage of the ongoing nature of the Good News is purposely in the plural “us.” Whatever he commands of us, we can know he is able to do in us, for he himself is able to finish the good work he began in us (Phil. 1:6).

Get used to inquiring of God, listening and seeking him through the pages of his good news in the Bible…and thanking him ahead of time for providing in you the ability to do whatever he asks. For once you have surrendered the short-sighted, comfort-seeking desires of your old self whom God has put to death in Christ, in favor of the new self, being continually transformed by the renewal of your mind with what is true of you (Romans 12:2), then you will eagerly, satisfyingly and joyously be commandable by the God in whom you have believed, and who is able to guard you until the day of your ultimate renewal (I Timothy 1:12,14).

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” – Isaiah 6:8

Isaiah got it. I pray you and I so live in the truth of who we are that we, too, will live commandable lives.