#“you just need to fix your brain” is little different than “have you tried exercising?” “just stop being depressed”

[pettybourgeoisblues]

just saw a post of a reddit screenshot about depression. don't want to reblog it because I want to be negative about it, which isn't really the vibe. But.

The post was the OP asking the question "does depression reveal the truth of reality?" like does living really just suck? and his full statement was cut off. The image was really just that of a comment where someone's like "no dumbass, your brain is literally broken."

But I'm not so sure about that. The other day I saw someone assert that suffering was the human condition. As usual, I first balked at those words but then considered it and agreed (In the past I would have just agreed, but without truly understanding). As someone who has struggled with depression, I do believe that life entails suffering, and that is the problem we are faced with. You can blame that on my brain, but its my brain. You can't deny my personal experience just cause my brain's a little fucked up.

So, dismissing the depressive mindset out of hand rubs me the wrong way. It conflicts with my worldview and experience. I have experienced immense suffering. Not so much materially mind you; thankfully I have a fair enough amount of privilege, but the levels of suffering my brain or mind has reached is ungodly. I cannot dismiss that. I have experienced it directly. I have looked at the world and seen the misery that takes place and has taken place and will take place and I have felt it, or at least as much as I possibly can and it is hell.

But I have also found its equal (or greater than), opposite, joy (note: this is the dichotomy of euphoria/dysphoria). Either greater than because there is actually more joy in the world, or, as I tend to believe, joy, by its very nature always overpowers sorrow. The smallest moment of great joy abolishes and makes worth the deepest sorrow, no matter how prolonged.

This is basically the implication of Nietzsche's demon of eternal return. The one that comes on the loneliest night and says that when you die, your life simply starts over again, but you can't do anything to change it. Do you wail and gnash your teeth at this curse, having experienced the deepest sorrow, rejecting life? Or do you hail this demon as a god, knowing you will experience great and greater joy, again and again and again, vowing to live a life worth living. To embrace convalescence, the great noontide, etc. etc. This is easy to do once you have experienced the greatest of joys.

Is it possible to experience sorrow just as deep to abolish joy? Yes. But again, that doesn't matter because it is temporary. Great joy is temporary too, but since joy will always be better than sorrow to us, that just doesn't matter. The mere fact that joy exists and we can experience it makes life worth living.

Theoretically, if someone was incapable of experiencing such joy, than their life would not be worth living. But I think at some point, anyone can. The post itself even points out that measures can be taken to relieve depression, affirming this.

I also take some issue with the total dismissal of a depressive worldview. By negating the statement "existence is bad" you are more or less asserting the opposite. It's not stated explicitly, but replying with "your brain is just broken and therefore your worldview is too", it at the very least is saying that "existence isn't bad;" you aren't supposed to feel that way, you are experiencing the world wrong, and you are wrong. But that doesn't automatically mean it is good, either. Feel free to call me a nihilist, but one should reject the absolutization of such value judgements. Existence merely is. We decide how we feel about it; those feelings are subjective. The real question is, which is the best judgement to make? I think the answer to that is clear.

So is existence bad? Is it good? It is neither and it is both. But the simple fact that it can be good is the only thing that matters, so focus on joy. This is the superior view. Depression doesn't give you the wrong answer per se, just the inferior one.

[midgardian-witch]

In The Abscence Of Control

(Alternative Title: Distance Makes The Cock Grow Harder)

Nathan finds out just how tightly you've wrapped him around your finger. Abscense makes the heart grow fonder or something, right?

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | Part 3

[Masterlist]

AO3

tags: established relationship | mommy kink | orgasm denial | orgasm control | phone sex | Nathan fucks an android (or tries to) | scent kink | sub!Nathan | Dom!Reader | Nathan is a brat (but what else is new) | using used underwear for masturbation | humiliation kink | female Reader with vagina

ships: Nathan Bateman/Reader

word count: 2.6k

Part of Fran's Mini Kinktober 2024

AN: big thanks to @my-secret-shame for being my beta reader for this 💙

This fucking sucks. 

How dare you leave him alone at home while you are galavanting on some tech conference he specifically told you he didn't want to attend. Which subsequently meant you had to attend it. Which meant he was going to be alone for a week. Alone in this giant fucking labyrinth of a place he designed himself. 

Why the fuck did he do that? Who needs this much space as a lone person? 

He's been staring at one line of code for over an hour without really looking at it. His focus keeps slipping away from his work and no amount of breathing exercises and fresh air can keep him on the task at hand. Nathan can't stop thinking about how he wanted you here, how he needed you here, how just your quiet presence alone would fix this. You always knew how to help him get out of his head. But now? 

Now he was left alone with his mind again. And he didn't even have any alcohol to numb himself anymore. Not that he wanted to drink himself into another blackout, hasn’t needed it in a good while. Better (though probably just different) coping mechanisms and all that.

There was one thing though. 

He hadn’t needed to use them in a while, not since you agreed to move in with him, but the thought became more and more appealing with every hour he was without you. The two of you had talked about the use of his androids before and while you weren’t thrilled about it you never outright forbid him from using his creations to blow off steam. He just hadn’t because even the tightest handcrafted synthetic pussy could not compare to the way his cock throbs when you pull his hair and shove his face into your perfect fucking cunt.

Nathan groans in frustration, his dick already painfully hard in his sweatpants. He really should stop thinking about fucking you unless he wants to come in his pants untouched like a fucking teenager. With the heel of his hand he presses down on his cock, trying to alleviate some of the pressure, shifting in his office chair awkwardly. Great, first his brain is in overdrive and can’t focus on the one fucking thing it’s supposed to and now all he can keep his mind on is fucking. Maybe he should have asked you to leave him in the cock cage while you were gone. Another twitch from his cock and the memory of how desperate he was for you when you had him all locked up making his head feel dizzy. That and all the blood in his body evidently rushing to his dick in record speed. 

Nathan is not so quietly cursing to himself as he gets up from his chair and starts pacing around his workspace. He could just activate one of his androids again and at least get rid of his boner in a less pathetic way than wanking to the thought of you digging your nails into that spot behind his balls that hurts like hell but makes him nut like he's a goddamn water fountain. 

He looks over guiltily to the closet where he keeps the deactivated android, the only one he kept. Just one time should be ok. You never told him no so that counts as a yes, right? But then again, he can imagine your disappointed face when you would inevitably find out and it makes him feel a little sick. Maybe he should just ask you, send you a quick text to see if that was something he was allowed to do. And how ridiculous would that be? Nathan fucking Bateman asking for permission to fuck his own creation?! 

He’s already standing in front of the closet, his hand reaching out to open the door as the gentle dread of future punishment creeps up from the back of his mind. Whether because or despite that feeling he opens the closet. He is greeted by the lifeless form of a woman, beautiful in a way he found attractive before you, something more out of a highly edited porno than reality. If she was an actual human the sight might have been eerie, the still features uncanny on something that looks so human and yet isn’t. Nathan is unperturbed by it, his fingers already poking and proding the synthetic skin for the hidden plate that protects the manual control switches. With an almost imperceptible click the plate raises from her neck to reveal the metal and circuits underneath. With the press of a button the android’s eyes flutter open. Nathan closes the panel and steps back. 

The android’s eyes follow him, carefully tracking his every move before she steps down from where she was kept in her dormant state. As she stands before him her gaze drags down his body and finally rests on the very obvious tent in his pants. He knows how he programmed her, the way she bats her eyelashes at him and rubs his cock through his sweatpants feeling almost stale, like days old soda that lost its fizziness. Once she had pulled his pants down, freeing his aching cock, he grabs her wrists and turns her towards his desk. There is no gasp, no sign of protest from the android as she lets herself be manhandled by Nathan. He grits his teeth as he bends her over the table and shoves a hand between her legs roughly. Unsurprisingly to Nathan she is already soaking wet, as he had programmed her to be; yet this instant readiness of hers does not make his hard cock twitch with interest like it used to either. Instead of letting those thoughts linger he takes his cock in hand, lining it up with her slick entrance and pushing into her with one harsh stroke. 

She’s tight, the diameter and squeeze perfectly calculated to have him come in just a few minutes, with just the right amount of slick to maximize the pleasure induced by friction. A perfect pussy created by his own hands.

Nathan fucks into the android wildly, no rhythm to be found. It's frustration rather than passion that drives him into her again and again. Every parameter is perfectly tuned to get him off as fast as possible. And yet even after minutes of animalistic rutting he is still hard as a rock and nowhere near an orgasm. With a frustrated huff he repositions the android and tries for a different angle. Her artificial pussy squeezes his cock just how he had always liked it, even the noises spilling from her throat are carefully crafted, reflecting his particular taste in porn. But no matter which angle he tries, how fast or slow he pumps into her, which parts of her he grabs and fondles, which holes he uses, there is no release to be found. Something is missing and not even the genius Nathan fucking Bateman could figure out what. He is so damn close but he just can't get there.

His mind is running a mile a minute thinking of all the combinations that usually make him bust in seconds but by now he has already tried everything. What the fuck is wrong with him? He has never had an issue coming before! Getting it up after a night of binge drinking? Sure. But this? It's making him crazy and the insistent throbbing of his cock is not helping him think any clearer. If you were here you could just-

Fuck.

An angry growl reverberates from his throat as he slams his hips violently into the android. It's you. He needs you. His cursing echoes through the room, his shoulders tense as he shoves himself off of the android. He slouches over to the bed, his hard cock bobbing against his stomach. With a frustrated huff he sits down on the bed, head in his hands. He can't believe it. You have dug your claws into him so deeply and he didn't even notice. And worst of all: you were miles away and he has the world's worst hard-on which he can't get rid of without you. Not in any satisfying way. 

He rubs his hands over his face, his gaze drifting over the room, the android still laying face up on his desk. If he had anything of yours maybe then he could get off. His eyes rest on the laundry hamper across the room when he gets an idea.

Is he really this desperate?

The twitch of his cock and the shuddering breath he lets out confirm his choice. Quickly he makes his way across the room and digs through the hamper. Even with the way his hands are shaking he finds a pair of your panties fast. 

“Fuck, the things you make me do,” he mumbles as he bring the used piece of clothing to his nose. It still smells like your pussy if only faintly but it's enough to make him groan. Pre-cum is gathering at the tip of his cock as he breathes in your scent. He holds your panties to his face with one hand while the other grips his cock tightly, gliding up and down frantically. This is it, this is what he needed - a tiny shred of your presence. 

His lips graze the fabric and he darts his tongue out to have a tentative lick. The taste is barely there but the sense-memory of your pussy on his tongue hits him like a train. What he wouldn't give to have you riding his face, to tell him what a good slut he is for you, only you. His cock is slick with his pre-cum just gushing out with every twist of his wrist. He’s so close; he can almost feel your nails scratching his scalp as you grind your pussy against his face. So close. So why the fuck can he still not get over that edge? 

He knows how these scenes usually end, with you whispering into his ear and with just one word you’d have him erupt. 

He crumples your panties in his fist, face twisted in frustration. Take a cold shower, that's what he should do. Just ignore the throbbing of his dick, get back to work and forget this ever happened. 

But he can't forget. And you will find out about this one way or another. And he wants to come so bad, his balls aching like nothing he has ever felt before. He doesn't know if this is worse than a week in the cock cage but he can't think clearly.

He looks over to his desk, his phone tempting him to call you. His android is looking at him questioningly. Nathan rolls his eyes and walks over. “Get back in the closet and turn yourself off,” he hisses and reaches for his phone, leaving your panties in its place. The android obeys immediately, getting off of the desk and stepping back into the closet he took her out of. 

His thumb hovers over the call button. What time was it for you right now? Maybe you were asleep and he would wake you. You’d be so mad, probably curse at him. Tell him how pathetic he was for disturbing you just to get his rocks off. What a perverted, needy fucking slut he is for you. A whine bubbles up in his throat and his other hand finds his cock again as he makes the call.

He’s stroking his cock as he waits for you to pick up. The call connects and his eyes roll into the back of his head as you answer with your name. “Mommy,” he whimpers, more pre-cum spurting from his cock. 

There is a second of silence before you reply. “Nathan? Baby, what's going on?” You sound concerned. He can imagine the way you're tilting your head right now, how your brow furrows in confusion as you try to figure out the situation. 

“You ruined me. Fuck-,” he gasps as he runs his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, “Can't even get off without you anymore.”

“Nathan, did you call me just so you can jerk off?” you ask, annoyance evident in your voice. It made his knees buckle. “Yes Mommy. I’m sorry, Mommy,” he whimpers as he falls to his knees, “I’m so hard and I can't think and nothing works, not even the fucking android, and I need you.” He’s rambling, he can't help himself. It all spills out like a waterfall and with every word, with every small humiliation, he can feel himself getting closer and closer to his climax. “Is that so, baby?” He nods quickly before he remembers you can't see him. “Yes Mommy. Please, please I need to come.”

“Then why don't you?” you ask in a bored tone of voice. “I can't. I need…I need-” “What do you need, baby,” you coo, your words feeling like a soft hand caressing his head, “Tell Mommy what you need.” His hand is not enough, it's not right. Instead he grabs your used panties he had left on his desk and tightens it around his cock, fucking into it desperately. “Need you. Please, please tell me I can come, Mommy,” he whimpers, the rougher friction of your underwear granting him the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. There is a soft gasp coming from your side followed by a drawn out groan. “Oh baby, you need my permission, is that it?” even through this horny haze he can hear the desire in your voice, “Can't come without Mommy telling you you're allowed to?” “Yes Mommy. Please let me cum. I’m so close. So close.”

His pre-cum is staining your panties, the material growing darker with every slide of his cock. Maybe you’ll spank him for it once you're back. He hopes you will. 

“Asking for permission like a good boy,” you croon, “And begging so sweetly. How could I deny you, hm?” He’s babbling, begging, pleading, a non-stop flood of please spilling from his lips as his strokes get faster and faster in anticipation.

“Come for me.”

It's like a switch has been flipped, a bolt of lightning shooting down his spine and cock as it erupts, thick ropes of cum spurting from his cockhead. Nathan moans like a cheap whore as he spills his seed over his stomach, the floor and your thoroughly ruined underwear. 

“Fuck I love you. Don’t leave me alone like this again. Shit,” he pants, his whole body shaking from the intensity of his climax.

“We’ll have to figure out what to do with you the next time I am away for longer than a day then.”

Nathan hums affirmatively. 

“Maybe I should just keep you in the cage while I’m gone?” 

You sound like you're just thinking out loud, weighing your options, but Nathan reacts immediately. 

“Yes please,” he whimpers. He can hear your delighted giggle through the phone. “That was easier than I thought. Alright then. But you know we’ll have to talk about what happened in depth once I am back, right?” 

“Yes Mommy,” he moans softly, his mind stuck on being locked up for you again. “First thing we do when I return is get rid of that bot of yours though. Looks like it isn't any use to you anyways.” “Yes, whatever you want. Just please come back soon.”

He can hear the smile in your voice and it makes his heart beat faster. “I’m sure I can find a way to cut this conference short. I’ll be back soon.”

[differenteagletragedy]

holy shit all your headcannons are so good, hi!! i saw the tags on some post of yours saying you would write for mentally ill mcs... could we see what the boys would be like with an mc that has depression? (totally not projecting lolol)

Thank you!! And I totally get you, I’m not projecting either with it, not even a little 🤫

— If you thought Cove was clingy before, boy howdy are you in for a surprise. When he realizes you’re depressed, he’s sneaking into your window all the time, and he’s trying all kinds of different things to make you feel better. He brought you a cool shell, did you see? He brought you a pretzel from the shopping street, do you want it?

— basically the boy is flailing around, losing his mind because he wants to help you SO BAD, and it’s really sweet but depression isn’t cured by sweet presents and sweeter boys (unfortunately)

— for better or worse, Derek wants to fix things. Did you take your meds? Do you need to see your doctor and maybe try new meds? He heard exercise helps, do you want to try that? He has the best intentions in the world and will listen to whatever you tell him you need, but his instinct is to take care of you, even when the problem isn’t that easily solved

— Baxter knows a thing or two about depression, so he’s just here for you. If you need to take another nap, that’s ok. If you don’t feel like eating a full dinner, he’ll grab you some food snacks so you don’t get sick on top of everything else. You can talk about whatever and he’ll just listen and probably play with your hair

— Cove is on his laptop going into research mode for this. What can help a person with depression, how should you treat a loved one with depression — he’s doing his homework and he’s taking it very seriously. Pops up with a few clinical terms when he tries to talk to you about it and you’re like “what” but he’s going for it.

— Derek hugs! He gives A+ hugs and he’s also one of those people who are always warm, so it’s very comforting to just settle into a Derek hug. He doesn’t have anywhere important to be, so get comfy.

— Baxter will try to cheer you up with a dance. Does it work? At least for a little bit, yeah.

— If you get to a really dark place, Cove won’t leave you alone. Like at all. If you’re living at your moms’ house they’ll go along with it just because they know he’ll probably be the one to reach you, so he’s just hanging out constantly.

— Do you also have anxiety? A fun double feature for your brain! Baxter can guide you through a panic attack like it’s his job

— Cove does literally anything in his power to ease your anxiety — we saw that when he tried to give MC his homework when they lost theirs. Are you stressed about work? Let him help, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know anything about it. You don’t have to do it alone.

— Basically Derek just making it his life’s mission to make you feel better. If he’s still in school, he’s blowing off extracurriculars because he’s worried. He tries to convince his parents to go for a week-long slumber party so he can be there for you all the time.

— have you been thinking about trying any kind of alternative medicine to treat any of this? Baxter’s got you.

— Baxter spending all weekend in his pajamas in bed with you while you don’t have the energy for anything else.

MC: Don’t you have something better to do?

Baxter: Nothing is better than being with you.

[susiecarter]

hi!! hope you're doing well!! just wanted to check in as you haven't updated your projects page in a while (not that you have to! but you're one of my fav writers of all time so just got worried) also, if you're seeing this, how goes the arranged marriage au? (and if u can sprinkle in some writing advice, that'd be great, tho srsly i feel like i'm asking a little too many things lmao so feel free to ignore)

/o\ :D Hi, anon, and thank you so much for checking in! No need to worry—I'm absolutely fine, I've just been ludicrously busy (my job changed somewhat at the end of last year and I acquired New Responsibilities; figuring out how to handle those and still have as much time as I need to write and to reply to comments has taken me six months :'D but I think I've mostly gotten the hang of it, hence me finally starting to catch up on my inboxes both here and on the AO3).

AND, ngl, I am absolutely delighted to hear that you were looking at the Projects page! :D That was honestly three-quarters me experimenting with the new theme I set up, haha (and the reason I threw a "last updated" date on there was 100% because if I got busy, I knew I was definitely going to start forgetting to update that sucker). I've updated it today, and the good news/bad news breakdown on the arranged marriage AU is: good news, I am still working on it; bad news, it is super not done. :'D I've got some other shorter stuff that should be done sooner than that (including some Bruce/Clark!), but I'm hoping to make that this year's Big Long Bruce/Clark Fic. Obviously I also have not made a whole lot of progress on some other things on that list :D but here's hoping I can fix that this summer!

As for writing advice, I've written a few posts in the past about my process, how I approach managing character identity, and my tl;dr thoughts on characterization, pacing, dialogue, and prose rhythm, if you haven't seen one or another of those! Honestly, working on my writing has been a real process of self-discovery for me :'D so I'd say my bottom-line "if you do nothing else, do this" of writing advice is: try things! Try different techniques, try outlining and not outlining, try doing writing exercises and not doing writing exercises, try sitting down to write a few hundred words each day and try only writing when you feel inspired to do it ... Everybody is different, everybody's brains and subconscious creative sources are different, and stuff that works for other people might work for you or it might not, but you won't know if you don't try it all multiple ways and see which approach feels the best to you.

Personally, I used to not outline at all, and I wrote the scenes that came to me in my head first and then went back to fill in the gaps—and that worked okay, it was fine, but as it turns out I'm MUCH better off when I outline every! single! time! and also my odds of completing a story I'm working on increase about 5,000% if I write it straight through from start to finish. I thought I knew what worked the best for me! I was wrong! :'D But I wouldn't have found out I was wrong if I hadn't decided to try outlining, and then decided to ditch how other people outline and outline in the way that worked for me, and then tried writing straight through, tried writing every single day and sucked at it BUT trying to write every day is actually good for me, it's just I have to let myself not do it if it's not working, &c &c. So, yeah, try stuff, don't get too stuck on doing anything one specific way, and sooner or later you'll figure out how you work, what gets your brain doing its best writing, and you'll be able to get it to do its best writing more and more often. :D

[feelingsfortheworld]

June 13th, 2023

Good morning. I’m so tired. I woke up at 3am AGAIN and I know this anxious knotting feeling all too well. I started a pilates challenge, which is nice. I have nightmares often. I am so terrified of losing people that I love. I just teared up watching a video about anger on Headspace because it’s true that as a black woman, anger is different. Anger needs to be monitored and stuffed away for fear of being “too emotional” or “dangerous.” The truth is, practically all of my strongest forms of anger are fueled by an even stronger, overwhelming depression or sadness. Yeah, I am pretty emotional. It scares me. My ex and I always said that we wish we could switch; she gets my emotional depth and I get her indifference. Because when you fucking think about it, who’s better off? The sociopathic manipulative serial dater? Or the lovesick obsessive empath? No. My capacity for emotion is my biggest weakness and biggest strength. A fatal flaw that turns me inside out. Yes, of course I despise her, and I hated the way she treated me, and the way she was able to remove herself from my social media accounts within a day of us cutting contact. But I don’t think I could even imagine what it must’ve been like. Cutting me out for good so easily. And the ironic part is that I obviously still am me, and harbor all of these emotions, and it makes me super cautious about doing anything like she did. I don’t want to get hurt; that’s where I need her heartlessness. I don’t want to hurt people; that’s where I use my empathy. But that’s not how it is, is it? No. Instead I suffer with being absolutely terrified of both hurting and getting hurt. Flashbacks. I’m just sitting here remembering 8th grade summer when her hair was short and we could talk for hours about anything. What the fuck. How? Why? She made me the happiest but she made me the saddest. And now she’s nothing but calories and Wellbutrin. Nighttime. There’s this one angle when I look up where I get a searing pain in the back of my neck, and it’s even worse than the usual neck and shoulder pain. I wish I could just stretch it out, but I’ve tried. Eh. Probably worse from stress or something. Everything wrong with me always goes back to my mental health, which does make sense, seeing as that’s my brain. I called my parents today. Normal. Happy. I was calm and didn’t say anything concerning. I passed the eating question, got praised for my commitment to exercise, and talked joyously about my job. It’s not like I’m hiding a debilitating depression from them, but what good would it do to worry them, especially when anything that would “help” would probably make me feel worse. God. I sound like a suicidal 12 year old again. Thinking, no, knowing that everyone was better off without me, even the people that brought me into this world. I’m just. Existing. I feel empty. But not really. Just a little hollower than usual. My stomach started hurting randomly two different times today. I thought it was the excess of coffee that was keeping me standing, and it probably was, at least partially. But I have this nagging feeling like when I felt randomly nauseous when I started talking to my ex again. Nothing was really wrong with me. Well, nothing I exactly wanted to hear. Learning that my loss of appetite and weight loss was chalked up to anxiety and some deranged empathy was just sad to me. That’s it? No underlying cause? No secret illness? No tapeworm eating me from the inside? No. My doctor said “if we can’t fix the mood, we can’t fix the food.” And I think I just sat there numbly, knowing that my mental state is and has always been my hardest medical obstacle. Fuck, it landed me in the ER. Gave me some scars. Mental trauma. Of all the things that could’ve been wrong with me, I dreaded hearing the answer that I think I already knew. You’re losing your grip again. 

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[fruitcoops]

could we see coops first big fight when they’re married? (essentially pure angst)

Yes, we can! Don’t worry, I got your follow-up ask about a happy ending as well--there are no sad endings on this blog, just some bittersweet ones, and this is very soft and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Combined with prompts for...

1. Another of Coops’ serious talks

2. Remus overworking himself to keep up

3. From @colored-rain: Sirius sleeping at Dumo’s for a night

4. Slow dancing in the kitchen

TW for couples fighting, suppression, and marriage issues

“Do you think we got married too fast?” a quiet voice asked in the darkness.

Remus paused for several heartbeats before opening his eyes and turning over; Sirius was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “What?”

“Do you think we got married too fast?” Sirius repeated without looking at him.

“Do you?” Remus countered. Something panicky was starting to buzz in the back of his brain and he tried to keep his breaths steady. Sirius wasn’t breaking up with him. They had only been married for a few months. Things were really, really good—as far as he knew, they were both happier than they had ever been.

Sirius sighed through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Remus sat up against the headboard, wide awake. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Sirius shifted to sit up as well and crossed his legs. “I don’t know! People usually date for a lot longer than a year and a half before getting married, right?”

“We’ve known each other for seven years, Sirius.”

“Yes, and I love you, and you’re wonderful, but everything happened so fast.”

Remus wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest or dissolve into a puddle of pain. “Are you—Sirius, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Sirius said immediately. “I just said I love you, what the hell?”

“People can love each other and still break up!”

Sirius grabbed his hands, holding tight even when Remus tried to pull back and let his panic overtake him. Grey eyes locked on his, as solemn as he had ever seen them. “I’m not breaking up with you, Remus.” The clock on the nightstand beeped midnight and Sirius pressed his lips together. “We have early practice.”

“We need to talk.”

“We need to sleep.”

“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow, then.” We need to talk right now, actually.

Sirius squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. His cheek. “I promise.”

Remus didn’t sleep much that night. His cheek burned with the memory of Sirius’ lips.

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

Their morning routine was stilted and quiet. Practice was awkward, and though neither of them let the previous night’s events influence their performance, he knew the tension was palpable. “Y’all good?” Leo asked under his breath as Remus filled his waterbottle up.

“We’re fine,” he answered, exhausted.

“Loops—”

“Stay in your lane, Knut.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth—the kicked-puppy look on Leo’s face was more than enough to make guilt spike up—but he kept on moving down the hall and tried to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

The ride home was worlds worse than he could have expected. Sirius turned the radio off the moment it started to play and kept his eyes firmly on the windshield the entire time, tapping his thumb against the wheel in the tic that always appeared when he was nervous. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help us fix whatever’s going on.” Remus wasn’t angry, per say, but he was really fucking frustrated with Sirius’ sudden inability to communicate. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Sirius chewed the edge of his lip. “I was just thinking.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. “Wow, thank you for that incredibly helpful information,” Remus said sarcastically when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not trying to be mean—”

“Well, you kind of were—”

“Then maybe you should talk about your problems for once!” Remus snapped before he could shove it back down. Sirius’ jaw clenched. “If we’re going to work through this, then you have to tell me what the hell happened to make you so worried and upset. Do you regret getting married to me?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “Thank you, that was what I needed to hear.”

“Do you think we moved too fast?”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I used to. I don’t, anymore. There’s no rulebook for any of this. How long have you been thinking about that?”

Sirius started tapping the wheel again. “A couple weeks.”

He may as well have opened the passenger door and booted Remus from the car. A breath punched out of his lungs. “A couple weeks?” he whispered. The world was spinning, the floor was open, hell itself was coming to swallow him up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured it was normal marriage stuff. That it would pass.”

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“And I do?” Remus said incredulously. “News flash: this is the first time I’ve ever been married, too!”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Being married means you share things, Sirius, not keep them bottled up for two weeks! Especially when they concern the other person!”

Something stormy came over his face. “Oh, really? So when were you planning on talking to me about the fact that you haven’t slept in six days?”

“I literally sleep next to you!”

“You toss and turn all night, and then you get up and run drills for an hour before coming back to bed. Every time I ask how you slept, you lie to my face, Remus. That’s not okay.”

Remus was speechless. He had done everything he could think of to be quiet and careful so Sirius wouldn’t know. “I…”

Sirius glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Be an adult. Be an adult. You’re married. Be an adult. “I’m still worried about catching up to the team.”

“I figured. We’ve talked about this before, Re, it’s not safe for you to do that to yourself—”

“You don’t get it!” Sirius pulled into their driveway and turned the car off. “You have no idea how it feels to constantly be catching up to people! I’m fine, it’s not like I’m doing any damage!”

“I’m sorry, did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Remus clenched his teeth and got out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat before slamming the door. He felt a little guilty—the rising memories of hushed confessions of hours of exercise to his father’s whistle meant Sirius understood better than anyone. Then the front door closed behind them both and the indignance on Sirius’ face sent his temper flaring up again. “You never bother to talk to me about anything that’s going on with you, so why should I even try?”

“What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership’?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen. “Have we moved on to the hypocrite stage yet or are we still clearing the air where nothing ever gets solved?”

Remus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Every time we fight, you start all sarcastic and defensive, and then you get preachy like you’re reading something out of a fucking self-help book!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Remus, it feels like I’m talking to a therapist instead of my partner!”

“Husband!” The ring on his finger had always been a comfort instead of a lead weight. “You can’t even say it?”

“I don’t regret marrying you!

“Then why are you so upset about us being married young?!”

“Because it’ll fall apart!” Sirius shouted back. “We’re going to be insufferably happy for a while, and then somewhere along the line we’re going to hate each other, and then it’ll be cold looks when we pass and different beds and all our friends will have to pick sides because we can’t stand to be in the same room together!”

“If you’re so sure about that, then why are you trying to fucking hard to keep us together?” Remus’ heart pounded like he’d run a marathon. Hearing his own fears thrown in his face was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.

“Because I love you.” Sirius’ voice broke. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but Remus could see the pain on his face. “I love you, and I don’t want some—some impulsive decision to ruin that forever.”

“I love you, too.” Tears clogged the back of Remus’ throat. So stop pushing me away.

“Then I’ll be at Dumo’s.”

Remus nodded silently as Sirius walked past him toward the stairs; the moment he was out of sight, he headed into the downstairs bathroom and sat down with his back to the closed door, burying his face in his forearms. There was a rustle outside, and the front door closed with a click.

It wasn’t until his face itched with drying tears that he remembered Hattie. Guilt and panic stabbed through him and he scrambled back out, sprinting to her bed and then to the backyard. “Hattie?” he called, frantic with worry. “Hattie, c’mere!”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the day. They had left her in the house for practice, and he vaguely remembered hearing her in the other room while they were fighting, and when Sirius left—

“Oh, you bastard,” he said aloud. The rustling of Sirius grabbing his duffel and whatever else he packed had been accompanied by the pattering of Hattie’s paws. “You took our fucking dog.”

Part of him was grateful that at least somebody had remembered their baby. The other part was absolutely furious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a few deep breaths as the tone played. “Hello?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Re, are you okay?”

“Not really. Can you pick me up?”

Concern dripped from Lily’s voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“…where’s Sirius?”

“At Dumo’s.”

“I’m on my way.”

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

Harry Potter had been alive for less than two years, and he had been cried on by about half the Lions. Finn had started referring to him as ‘therapy baby’, and Remus was inclined to agree—it was hard to feel anything extreme when he was holding the pudgy little angel to his chest.

“So you fought?” Lily asked gently from the armchair across from him. Remus nodded. The whole story had spilled out in a gross mess of sobbing and baby snuggles until he laid down on his back, holding Harry to his chest as he dozed.

“I feel like an idiot,” he said miserably.

“Don’t.”

“It was awful.”

“I bet.”

Remus sniffled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Thank you for getting me. I didn’t want to be there alone.”

“I’m glad you called.” She took a sip of tea and gave him a look that he never liked. “Re, can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I was kind of waiting for this to happen.” At his stricken expression, she folded her hands around the sides of her mug. “I don’t think you got married too early, because neither of you do big things like that on impulse and you love each other so much. However, I do think that you have a habit of trying to protect each other from the shit you carry with you. James did the same thing to me, and it sucked.”

“It does suck,” Remus agreed. “I hate the thought that he can’t trust me.”

Lily held her finger up and shook her head. “Nope. It’s not an issue of trust, is it? Why didn’t you tell Sirius that you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry h—oh.” Harry wiggled around for a moment and Remus adjusted himself so he was leaning on the armrest. “I think I get it now.”

“You guys need to talk about that at some point or it’s going to keep coming up.”

“Is that what you and James did?”

“No, we let it fester for, like, a year and then broke up for two weeks.”

Remus made a sympathetic face. “I forgot about that part. I should call him, huh?”

Lily shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to apologize,” he said carefully. The sore spot in his heart and chest still twinged. “But I’m still really upset. And hurt. And a little angry? Mostly worried. There’s so much happening, I just want to hold your baby.”

“Go for it, he’s having a blast. Lover?”

There was a shuffling sound from the other room before James appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Remus snorted. “Simp.”

“Yes, and? What’s up, darling?”

“Can I have some more tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him with a dimpled smile and he sighed, then took her mug with him into the kitchen.

“You only love me for my kettle!” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe!”

Remus turned his head to look at Lily while he ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Lils?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I preachy when I’m upset?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Preachy. Like—like I’m reading out of a self-help book.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood up and walked to the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “No, Re, you’re not preachy. You like being right, but you’re not preachy.”

“Sirius thinks we’ll end up like his parents.”

“I’m not surprised about that, either.” She brushed his messy hair off his forehead and braided a small strand along the front, then gave it a little tug. “Guest bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it, okay?”

“That might be a while.”

She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “It won’t.”

“Could be.”

“Remus.”

“Sorry. Sleep well, Lils.” He sat up slightly and covered Harry’s ears. “And you, eavesdropper!”

“Love you!” James laughed from the other room. Lily picked the sleepy baby up and ushered Remus into the guest room with a final ‘goodnight’.

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

“Am I an idiot?” Sirius asked.

The bed creaked as Dumo readjusted his legs. “No, mon fils, you’re not an idiot. You are a young man going through his first marriage spat.”

“I hate it. I hate it. I said horrible things to him.”

“It sounds like you’re both to blame.”

“No, I brought it up first.” Dumo huffed, and he let out a slow exhale into the pillow. “Okay, maybe—maybe we were both in the wrong.”

“Fights are rarely one-sided. You have a visitor.”

Something cold prodded Sirius’ ear and he groaned, then curled on his side to let Hattie onto the covers next to him. “Bonjour, sweet girl. Thank you for the cuddles.”

She licked his nose and he smiled, petting the velvety top of her head. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Re’s got the house to himself for a bit, then, and he knows I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time to calm down a bit,” Dumo said as he stood with a final ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “That’s a wise decision. Bonne nuit.”

Sirius mumbled a response and made more room for Hattie, then settled in for a restless night. He never wanted to sleep alone again.

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

By some miracle, practice was more bearable the second day. Remus still ached somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t like he had anything else left to suppress. Seeing Sirius was a relief; it surprised him at first, considering the explosive nature of the previous evening, before sliding into something that soothed him. If he could still find peace in Sirius after all that, they would be okay.

He knocked lightly on the side of Sirius’ stall after he returned from the shower. “Knock, knock. Ca—”

“Who’s there?”

Remus’ heart stuttered as Sirius looked up at him from the bench with an apologetic tilt to his mouth. Something clicked into place. “Can I get a ride?”

“ ‘course you can.” Sirius stood up just as Remus stepped forward, and they met in the middle for a tight hug. He tucked his face into the dip of Sirius’ collarbone and breathed in his shower-fresh smell, as well as the trace of laundry detergent from his shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Let’s go, mon loup.” Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair and they headed out toward the parking lot together; Remus caught Leo’s eye and saw him smile.

“How’s Dumo doing?” Remus asked as they turned out of the parking lot. Start slow, start easy. “Did you drop Hattie off at home before you came to practice?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s good, and Celeste sent me back with some brownies.”

Remus tentatively reached over and rested his hand on the side of Sirius’ thigh—his chest visibly caught before he relaxed into it and reached down to put his own overtop. “Harry’s doing well. Lily says he’s almost started running.”

“Did you go see them?”

“Stayed at their place last night.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It felt weird being there by myself.”

“Re—”

“I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a rush, despite his best efforts to keep it in until they reached home. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, and especially for how I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about how I was feeling, too. It should never have gotten to that point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sirius sounded a little choked up. “I don’t think we got married too soon, if that means anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Remus half-laughed as he wiped the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “It means everything.”

“I thought it might be too late.”

“Can you pull over for a second?” Sirius obliged, and as soon as he turned the car off, Remus turned to face him. He linked their hands, making sure Sirius was looking into his eyes. “It is never too late to talk to me, okay? I’m sorry if I ever made you think that it was.”

Sirius unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over for a brief kiss that sent bubbling warmth throughout Remus’ entire body. “I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. And for keeping everything in, even though we both promised to stop doing that. All that shit I said, it—it wasn’t true, Re, and I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and wound his fingers in the short curls fanning Sirius’ face. “Honey, we’re not your parents.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid that we’re going to hate each other out of the blue, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If—” His mouth went a little dry and he faltered. “If you want to take a break, or take things slower, I totally respect—”

“Nope, no, no, no,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for another fervent kiss. “I love you. I’m happy with you. I let my head get away from me, and I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, love.” They sat in silence for a minute longer as Sirius traced his jawline. “Let’s go home.”

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

Sirius woke up in bed alone, which would have scared him if he didn’t know exactly where his husband was. He smiled to himself and got out of bed, grabbing a hoodie off their dresser before heading downstairs.

The kitchen light was on and music played quietly from Remus’ phone over the sound of running water. “You’re up late,” he said casually from the doorway.

Remus almost dropped a pot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Just me.” Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist as he set the pot on the drying rack. “Stressed?”

“A little. I forgot to do these earlier and didn’t want to leave them overnight again.” Sirius hummed his agreement and rocked back and forth, then took Remus’ hand and spun him in a slow circle. “Oh, are we slow dancing to the Billboard Top 100 now?”

“Very romantic, I know,” Sirius laughed.

Remus shook his head with a wide grin as they swayed, much too slow for the actual song but absolutely perfect. He was beautiful in the low light of their kitchen, puffy eyes from and all. “You are ridiculous.”

I’m the luckiest person alive. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sirius leaned down for a series of quick kisses, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Remus let go of his hand and draped both arms over his shoulders, tangling his hands in his hair. “I know we can’t exactly control it,” Sirius said against his lips. “But let’s never fight like that again.”

“Deal.”

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

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Celebrate 2K with me!

[pastelwitchling]

Journey to the Past

read on ao3

This was meant to be part of my one-shot collection, it turned out to be too long, and now it’s a separate fic. If you enjoy reading even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Michael woke to find he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Before anything, he sat up, checked to see if Alex’s eyes hadn’t fluttered, if he wasn’t finally waking from his coma, but his hand remained perfectly still in Michael’s, the heart monitor echoed steadily into the otherwise empty room and echoing off Max’s bedroom walls.

They would’ve taken him to the hospital, but since the attack that did this to him had been by his father’s rogue Project Shepherd agents, they couldn’t risk leaving him in a room that any enemy could access. At least here, Isobel and Michael could set up forcefields around the grounds. At least here, Max could strike anybody that came too close with lightning and they could blame it on the weather. At least here, Michael could cling to Alex and no one would bother him about it.

Michael wasn’t Alex’s boyfriend, he knew. Alex’s actual boyfriend – or his ex, that is, as of two weeks ago – was back in New York, unaware that the man he’d fallen so deeply and treacherously in love with had fallen victim to his father’s pissed off and ridiculously loyal minions.

Michael followed the bruises on Alex’s jaw and cheeks with his eyes, the cut on his lower lip, visible under the thick respirator. There was a stitched up gash in his forehead, and his knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody from the fight he’d given the attackers. He’d fended most of them off, before Michael had arrived to blow the rest of them into the walls and knock them out, but not before one of them had managed a stray shot in and got Alex in the stomach.

Max had done his best to heal him, but the bullets had been laced with yellow pollen. Jesse Manes’ last attempt to kill his youngest son, apparently, had followed him out the grave.

Michael shut his eyes against the thought, and instinctively gripped Alex’s hand tighter. He didn’t want to think about Project Shepherd and what they’d intended. They’d failed, and that was all that mattered. His grip turned painful on Alex’s hand. They’d failed.

A knock came at the door, but Michael did not look away from Alex’s face. He heard Max’s voice from the end of the room ask, “How’re you holding up?”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” Michael demanded. “You said he’d be awake by now.”

“No,” Max sighed, and closed the door behind him. “I said Kyle hoped he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s been two days.”

“We’re doing everything we can –”

“Well, it’s not enough!” Michael snapped, and the room collapsed back into silence.

“He’ll wake up,” Max promised him. “He will. Just give him some time.”

“I need him,” Michael whispered.

“I know –”

“No,” he growled. “I need him.” He rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “Where’s Is?”

“Outside,” he said. “Why?” When Michael didn’t answer, Max’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Michael, no.”

“I know we said there were risks –”

“Risks?” he scoffed. “I already told you it’s too dangerous to go digging through Alex’s head! Isobel told you it’s dangerous!”

Michael stood. “Valenti said his brain waves are normal, he’s just asleep. If I can find the part of him that doesn’t want to wake up, then – then I get him back.”

“Or you guys screw something up,” Max argued, “and change something that can’t be changed back.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “He won’t wake up, not like this, and I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Michael,” Max tried, purposely calming his voice in that way when he knew Michael was seconds away from blowing up and wanted to ease him back down. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried about him, but if you go into his mind, you could make things worse.”

Michael swallowed. Max was right, he knew Max was right. But he remembered Kyle’s voice when he’d hoped Alex would wake up soon. He had been too quiet, his eyes downcast like he was praying and didn’t want the others to know it was that bad.

He had no idea that when it came to Alex, Michael paid attention. Only when it came to Alex.

“If I do nothing,” he said, “Alex stays asleep.” His fingers curled to fists at his sides at the thought. He looked back at Alex, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly. His unmoving fingers and closed eyes.

Michael sniffed, and decided, “If Alex doesn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, I’m going in to wake him up myself.”

 They waited until the next morning, then noon. Michael had been ready to start at dawn, but Kyle had seemed anxious, and Max argued for “Just a couple more hours, Michael, he’s the doctor here!”

Michael had argued that Alex didn’t need a human doctor, and Kyle had argued that Alex was human, so who else was going to treat him?

Michael forgot that sometimes; that Alex wasn’t actually an alien like him, that he didn’t have any superpowers like the others did. He’d just always seemed so strong and intelligent that it slipped Michael’s mind. But Alex was human, and more fragile than Michael allowed himself to believe. He’d been too careless, too willing to ask for Alex’s help fixing this or fixing that without ever considering what he might’ve been doing to him. What it might cost.

Maybe that was why Michael was so eager to go into Alex’s mind already and wake him up. It was time for him to save Alex for a change.

“Just for the record,” Isobel said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You deal with brains all the time,” Michael argued.

“Not like Kyle,” she insisted. “And not memories. It’s like . . . time travelling! If you touch something in the past, you could change the future forever!” She swallowed. “And Alex is . . . he’s too important.”

She didn’t need to say the words for Michael to know what she was thinking. He’s too important to you, she seemed to be telling Michael. If I hurt him, it’ll break you, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Michael took her hand. “You’re gonna do great,” he said resolutely. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

Her brows pinched, unconvinced, but Michael didn’t have any more time for doubt or hesitation. Alex hadn’t woken up in too long, and his nerves were fraying with every passing second.

“Do it,” he said.

Isobel glanced hesitantly at Kyle. Kyle looked to Alex, as if weighing the damage that they could do, but even he must’ve known that Alex being asleep for this long was abnormal, because he looked to Isobel and nodded, clearly unhappy about it.

“Be careful,” Max warned. “For your sakes, and his.”

Isobel’s hand on Michael’s tightened, and she shut her eyes. Michael kept his gaze on Alex for as long as he could. Then he felt a sudden chill shoot throughout his entire body from his hand, and he inhaled sharply. One second he was looking at Alex’s sleeping figure, and the next, the world around him turned to smoke, and he found himself standing in the desert on a bright, sunny day.

He was still holding Isobel’s hand, but nothing looked familiar. There was just desert and gray-steel buildings built high with tall glass windows, clustered like boulders in the sea.

In the distance, he could see uniformed soldiers, marching in formation. Men and women training, sergeants barking orders, laughter from friends somewhere hidden. Where were they?

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking around. He didn’t recognize the area at all.

Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael turned and found they were inches from a doorway that opened to a large, steel room. There was a raised platform at the very opposite end, and several soldiers fighting, sparring, exercising – but Michael couldn’t see any of them.

Isobel gasped. “Michael,” she pointed. “Isn’t that Alex?”

Michael had already spotted him. He was on the platform, fighting another young man. But even before Isobel and Michael approached him, Michael knew this was a much younger Alex. He looked barely eighteen, his hair having lost its spike and was cut short, he was throwing punches and kicks in a way that seemed very unnatural for the man who hardly had to raise a finger to induce fear. And he was losing. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody can see us,” Isobel murmured, looking around at the other soldiers as they passed. “Or hear us.”

Michael’s eyes were on Alex. His heart was hammering, beating painfully against his ribs with every beating Alex took, every time his body fell to the floor. His opponent delivered a roundhouse kick that had Alex on his face again, and Michael snapped. He held a hand up to blast the other fighter back, but his powers wouldn’t work.

“Are you crazy?!” Isobel hissed, slapping his arm. “You can’t change anything, remember?”

“Literally,” Michael spat, hoping Alex’s opponent could feel his glares. “My telekinesis isn’t working.”

Isobel looked around before her eyes focused on another soldier who was doing pushups. Her brows furrowed for barely half a second, then she winced and put a hand to her temple.

Michael tugged on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s taking all of my power for us to just be here,” she sighed. “My other powers won’t work either.” She frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that Alex, beaten and bloody, was slowly pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

“His face is covered in blood,” Isobel shook her head. “He needs to stay down!”

Michael guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Alex so resolved to stay on his feet. His hair was plastered to his temples with blood and sweat, his breaths were quick and short, like his chest ached, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes were filled with a fiery anger. Alex was looking at his opponent like he was every other person who’d ever beat him down and ordered him to stay there. He was screaming, without any words at all, that he wouldn’t.

It didn’t seem to matter to the opponent as he threw hit after hit, hurting Alex again and again, making Michael flinch and burn with rage every time.

When the fight was over, the other soldiers jeering and eager to start their own training match next, Alex’s opponent crouched down beside him and whispered, loud enough for Michael and Isobel to hear, as though they were in Alex’s place themselves –

“Nobody cares who your daddy and brothers are, Manes,” the opponent sneered with disgust. “Your kind will never survive here.”

Michael clenched his jaw. He felt Alex’s anger, his frustration, his grief. He’d often wondered what happened to Alex after he’d enlisted, how a soldier trained and what that did to them, whether it was hurting Alex the same way.

No one offered Alex a hand, no one knew what to make of this lesser Manes. Michael wanted to kill them all for hurting him, for pushing him down. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to see things differently.

With all the charge of that emo kid from high school, Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He spat the blood in his mouth out, and wiped his forearm against his nose. His eyes were dry, his expression unreadable, but that same anger stayed.

More than a few soldiers looked surprised and even impressed, but Alex, already walking away, didn’t notice.

The scene changed.

Before Michael could blink, they were outside again. A cursory look around told them they were behind the building this time, where rocks and stray blades of grass grew out. Alex was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. In the distance, soldiers marched on, but nobody seemed to see Alex as he cried.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.

Michael glanced at Isobel, and saw her eyes were wide and sympathetic. Alex wiped the tears away faster than they could fall. He sniffled, and pulled a picture out of his pocket, hiding it between his eyes and knees, a secret for no one else.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sniffled again, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “I’m trying not to. I’m getting better at it. Not that I think you’d be disappointed that I cried, I just . . . don’t want to cry in front of anybody else. Never again.”

Michael and Isobel each went to a different side of Alex to see whose picture he was talking to, all the while Michael trying not to scrunch up with the uncomfortable thought that Alex had taken enough comfort in someone else that he would sneak a photo of them into base, even back then.

When he saw the picture, he froze. Isobel breathed, “Oh my god . . .,” and Michael had to kneel down next to Alex. It was a picture of them – him and Alex – similar to the picture he had in his airstream. Except this one was taken at a different angle, and they were smiling at each other, taken in the exact moment Alex had noticed Michael watching him play guitar, and the two had laughed, giddy at being so close together and knowing what they knew about their feelings for one another.

Michael tried to breathe, but a lump lodged itself in his throat. Alex had kept a picture of them with him when he’d first gone to the base, and he pulled it out whenever he needed strength and comfort. All this time, he’d thought Alex hadn’t thought twice about him . . .

“I’m scared, Guerin,” Alex confessed to the picture, his grip on the edges tightening. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to be here. I don’t want to be here.” His lower lip trembled. “But that’s why you started to pull away, right? I was too weak to protect you . . .”

“No,” Michael breathed, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t say that, please.”

“That’s why Alex enlisted?” Isobel said. “Because his dad hit you?”

“It was after Rosa,” Michael croaked, eyes on Alex. “Everything changed, and I . . . I could never tell him what happened. But he – he thought . . . I didn’t know he thought . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex cried, hiding his face with one hand. “I’m trying not to cry, I swear I’m trying. I just miss you so much, Guerin. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home to me, and now I’m here, and I’m more lost than ever.” He exhaled shakily. “All I wanted was a goodbye. I keep thinking about the way I left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Isobel’s own eyes were glassy. “Michael?”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered in response to her silent question. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. It felt like I would never see him again if I did.” He clenched his jaw. He tried to press his forehead to Alex’s temple, to inhale his scent, but he couldn’t feel Alex at all. He could only watch him suffer.

“The last thing I ever said to him before he left was –” he scowled at the bile in his throat “—that I’d be better off if he left. I was just angry, and – and hurt!” he tried. “I didn’t mean it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, pulling her eyes off Alex. “It’s in the past, Michael. That’s what all of this stuff is. Memories. You know Alex now, you know what he thinks of you. He loves you.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what hurts, Is.”

“Then what does?”

“It’s that he loved me this much even back then.”

“Private Manes,” a voice sounded, and Alex gasped just quickly enough for Michael to catch it before he was on his feet, straight as a board.

Michael looked up and found none other than Sergeant Ramos, Alex’s mysterious leader who’d come to Roswell a mere few weeks ago. The man Alex had looked up to and smiled around and trusted. The man who seemed more Alex’s father than Jesse Manes had ever been.

Sergeant Ramos, looking about twelve years younger, raised a brow at Alex’s right hand which was subtly pushing the photo back into its hiding place in his pocket.

He tilted his head at Alex. “You’re the new kid, right? Jesse’s youngest. Alec?”

“Alex Manes, sir,” Alex said loudly, coherently. Like a soldier.

“Alex,” he nodded. “You miss your friend, Alex?”

Alex faltered. “Sir?”

“Your friend,” he nudged his chin at Alex’s pocket. “In the picture.” His eyes were meaningful when he said, “You must’ve been very close.”

Alex swallowed. It was no use trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He’d just come back from his father’s house, he was too used to being afraid. He hadn’t spent a decade learning to hide that fear.

“Is he the reason you’re here?”

Alex raised his chin. “I’m here to be stronger, sir!”

Ramos smiled, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “You seemed plenty strong to me up on that platform, Private.”

Alex frowned. “I was . . . losing, sir.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you were getting back up. No matter what he hit you with.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I don’t like bullies, sir.”

“Did a bully hurt your friend there?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

Alex said nothing, and Michael could see the questions in the furrow of his brow. What would happen to him if a sergeant discovered he was gay? Would he report him to Jesse?

Ramos sighed and looked around. “If you don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “you won’t last long, I can guarantee you that. You know where you are?”

Alex blinked, confused. “The – the US Air Force Base?”

“Are you asking me?”

He straightened. “The US Air Force Base, sir!”

“You ever been in a plane?” he asked. “Ever seen what we see up there?”

Alex hesitated, then shook his head. He quickly caught himself and said, “No, sir!”

Ramos hummed, then patted Alex’s shoulder once, hard enough to make Alex stumble. “All right, follow me! I’m about to show you the few good things about being out in this godforsaken desert.”

Alex followed as he was supposed to, though doubt never left his face. He seemed convinced that there was nothing good about being out here.

Michael and Isobel exchanged a glance before they quickly followed. Michael stayed close to Alex and reached for his hand several times, until they passed right through each other and Alex hardly seemed aware of him.

They went into a hangar with several smaller planes inside, and Alex tensed just for a moment at the sight of them all before he realized Ramos was leading him to a little aircraft at the far right of the room.

“Stay with me, Guerin,” Alex suddenly whispered, his eyes wide and betraying some fear. Michael looked to him, surprised, but realized that Alex was just talking to himself. His hand covered his pocket where his picture of him and Michael was, and with a deep, shaking sigh, he followed Ramos to the plane.

When Alex got close enough, Ramos tossed him a helmet. “Hop in, kid!”

Alex swallowed. He looked like he wanted to stutter an excuse not to, but he gripped his pocket tightly and nodded once, putting on the helmet.

“Oh my god,” Isobel said with a smirk tugging at her lips as realization dawned. “You’re like his good luck charm.”

Michael swallowed, though he definitely didn’t want to smile. When did it stop? When did Alex realize that he wasn’t good luck at all? When had he stopped needing him?

Before Michael and Isobel could say anything else, they both ended up in the backseat of the little aircraft, Ramos and Alex in the front, the plane on a wide stretch of road. Michael didn’t know if this aircraft had initially fit two people in the back, but it was like the memory warped and changed for them to be able to follow.

“We’re tied to Alex,” Isobel told him. Despite the roar of the engine, they heard each other, and the other two passengers, perfectly. “We’ll keep getting tugged along with him.”

Alex gripped the edge of his seat tightly as the plane took off into the air. Michael could hear his gasp, his eyes wanting to close but unwilling to do it in front of his sergeant. They rose high to the clouds, Alex’s knuckles white. Michael wanted more than anything to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but this Alex was on his own. He’d never had Michael there as Michael had had Max and Isobel. It was just him, alone, with nothing but a picture to comfort him.

“Better hold onto somethin’,” Ramos laughed and pulled up high above the clouds.

What they saw knocked the breath out of their lungs. High above a bed of white, the sun shined brightly, turning the sky around it to gold and pink and purple and blue. It looked like the color of their spaceship surrounding them.

The sunlight hit Alex’s wide eyes, and Michael watched him breathing quickly, emotions turning from fear to shock to grief to wonder to amazement to grief and shock again. He could’ve done anything in that moment. He could’ve cried, could’ve screamed. Instead he smiled, a surprised burst of laughter escaping his lips.

He held up his hands and yelled, “WOOOOOOO!” and Ramous laughed harder. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh along, and Michael couldn’t look away from Alex. The bright sunlight had turned his tear-filled eyes to crystal green, and if Ramos noticed his crying, he didn’t say anything. Alex just laughed and ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the sight before him, as if he’d never expected that such a beautiful treasure could be right over his head this whole time.

After they’d come back down, Ramos handed Alex his half of a ham and cheese sandwich. “Every year,” he told him, “I look at new recruits, try to decide if there are any worth keeping an eye out for. This year, that’s you.”

Alex blinked. “Why me?”

“Because a soldier who can start a battle is a dime a dozen,” he said simply. “I need the kind of person who can win them. I think I can make you captain in record’s time.” He raised a brow, and finished his sandwich in one bite. “Would that be something you would want?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “That would outrank my dad – er – Sergeant Manes.”

“Yes,” Sergeant Ramos said slowly, as though he’d just figured out the bully’s name. “It would. He would have to answer to you.”

Alex’s cheeks were red, but his expression fierce and hopeful. “You can really make me captain, sir?”

“If it’s what you want,” he said. “If it’s the kind of person you want to be. But you ‘aint gonna get it getting beaten down the way you do.”

“I’m – I’m trying –”

“Trying is for excuses,” he said. “‘Round here, you do. If you want to outrank your old man, there’s only one way to do it, Manes. I can train you, but the work’s gotta come from you. What do you think?” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to go to be the stronger one?”

The look on Alex’s face said it all. He would become whatever he had to, do whatever needed doing. He had enemies, and he wanted them to burn.

The picture changed. It was like walking through a film, memories too blurred and passing now for Michael and Isobel to cling to.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Isobel, and she shook her head.

“Alex doesn’t clearly remember any of this stuff,” she said, “so we can’t see it any better than he can.”

They saw Alex get older, training harder, running faster, shooting better than anybody else around him. They saw him rise in ranks quickly, uniformed men pinning medals to his chest, congratulating him. Alex laughing with a team of his own, men with muscles larger than Michael’s head, following him like he was their hero.

The memory then stopped, and Michael and Isobel found themselves in a hospital hallway.

Isobel shivered and clung to Michael’s arm. “What is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

Michael looked around, and pointed at a familiar man pacing along the wall, his thumb pressed to his lower lip.

“Gregory?” Isobel blinked. “What’s he doing here?”

A doctor stepped out, and Gregory was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he demanded at once.

The doctor sighed. It sounded sad. Gregory’s face fell, anguish overtaking his expression. “We did all we could,” he said, “but we couldn’t save the leg.”

Isobel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this.”

Michael couldn’t hear anything else she said. He was watching Alex who was sitting up in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. Michael went inside and stood at Alex’s bedside. He did not look at the sheets and what they revealed.

“Private,” he whispered, leaning in as close as he could without touching Alex. “Can you hear me?”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t look down or move. The circles around his eyes were dark. He slowly reached over to the tray beside his bed where a few of his belongings sat in an opened plastic bag, and took something out. It was a picture, his picture of him and Michael, tattered around the edges and stained with specs of blood on the back. He hugged it against his chest as a tear wordlessly rolled down his cheek, though he remained expressionless.

“Alex,” Gregory came in. He looked over Alex’s missing right leg, and swallowed thickly. “Hey,” he brushed his hair back from his face. Alex was either half-asleep or still filled with anesthetic. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Michael knew Alex could, that he remembered this moment perfectly, or he and Isobel would never have been able to see it.

Alex’s lips tugged up in half a sad smile, his brows furrowed as another tear fell down the bridge of his nose. “He’ll think I’m broken now. He’s so beautiful, he’d . . . he’d never love me like this.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been shot. Alex had kept the picture. Alex had thought Michael wouldn’t love him without his leg. Even now, after all these years, he’d kept the photo of them together. Even now, Michael was still his comfort.

The scene changed.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Isobel groaned. “Where are we now? It looks like Alex’s house, doesn’t it?”

It did. It was night, and they were right in Alex’s driveway, the trees lit with fairy lights, and there sat Michael, or a previous version of Michael, on the bed of his truck.

Michael’s heart fell into his stomach. “No,” he breathed. He remembered this.

“Whoa,” Isobel looked between Michael and Memory Michael. “It’s like Inception.”

“No, please, no,” Michael whispered as Alex pulled up. He stepped out and saw Michael shaking his head.

“What?” he asked in that cute way Michael had never admitted to.

“Pick another memory,” Michael told Isobel. “Any other memory!”

“I can’t control where we go!” Isobel said. “Why? What happens here, Michael?”

Michael pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes as Alex’s plea to help him find out more about his mom sounds in his ears. Then Michael’s own cruel words, “I like Maria, okay?”

Isobel’s hand tightened on Michael’s. “Oh.”

Michael was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when the image before them blurred. It didn’t go away, it just faded to darkness.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked Isobel.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed. “It’s Alex,” she said. “He – he stopped paying attention.”

Michael swallowed thickly as the colors ran around him. Then he and Isobel were in Alex’s living room as Alex came in. It was right after Michael had left his house.

Alex sat down on the couch, staring off into the distance. He pulled off his cap, and his arm fell limp to his side. Slowly, Alex let his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, the same numb expression on his face as when he’d woken up to losing his leg. Any pretense of being fine or indifferent to Michael’s confession was gone.

Alex sniffled, then straightened. His eyes were dry. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out that same picture of him and Michael. He stared at it for a long time, but he didn’t say anything.

“He kept it,” Isobel breathed. “All this time, he’s loved you so much.”

“I didn’t –” Michael croaked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

He’d thought Alex didn’t care who he was with. Then he thought to the way Alex’s eyes had fallen time and time again; in his driveway, his backyard, outside Michael’s airstream over and over and over again. Never surprised, just afraid that his suspicions had been right. That he was too broken for Michael to love anymore.

Alex lied down with a deep sigh that sounded frighteningly like resignation, his hand with the picture hanging off the couch. Slowly, his jaw clenched, Alex let the picture flutter out of his fingers and to the floor. He turned over to his other side and closed his eyes. He didn’t pick the picture up again.

“Alex . . .” Michael whispered, but before he could try reaching for Alex, the picture changed again, and he and Isobel were standing next to Alex in front of a short building. Kids played outside and elders swept their front porch.

Isobel leaned her weight against Michael. He put an arm around her waist. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, Michael. We have to find the broken part here, fast.”

Michael looked Alex over. “I think we’re getting there. Wasn’t this what he was wearing the day he was ambushed?”

Isobel straightened, eyes narrowed. She gasped. “Kyle told me Alex had gone to visit his mom that morning! He called on his way to the bunker, and –”

“That’s where they got him,” Michael growled, his hands turned to fists at the thought. “We’re close.”

As if hearing the urgency in their voices, a woman opened the door to greet Alex. She had Alex’s dark eyes, dark hair, and kind smile.

“My baby,” Alex’s mother pulled him in for a hug. Alex hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

His mother quickly noticed and her smile faltered. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, baby, come in. Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

That was how they found themselves minutes later, seated in a small but comfy living room with plush floral couches, Michael and Isobel on each side of Alex as he and his mother nursed hot cups of tea.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s mother said. “Why do you look like that?”

Alex scoffed halfheartedly, “Are you saying I look bad?”

She brushed his hair back from his eyes. “My son is the handsomest in the world.” She brought her hand to his chin and lifted his head. “So why is he so upset?”

“I’m not upset, mom,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m just . . . so tired.” His smile fell away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a sip of his tea and set the mug down. He rubbed his hands together. “When you called last night, I told you everything was fine. I lied, mom.”

She nodded, like this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I know.” She tilted her head, and softly asked, “Is it your breakup? I thought you were okay with that.”

“I was,” Alex shook his head, eyes shut. “I – I am, but I . . .” He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. He huffed a miserable chuckle. “I tried to burn it. I couldn’t.”

She took the picture from him, and Isobel gasped softly. It was the same one Alex had had of him and Michael for all of these years. He’d never gotten rid of it. Michael had never stopped being a comfort to him. Until, apparently, now.

Realization dawned on Alex’s mother’s face. “This boy. What was his name again?”

Alex rubbed his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore. Forrest and I broke up, and he still won’t tell me anything.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you loved each other?”

Alex nodded. “I used to believe that.” He sighed shakily. “Not anymore.” He chuckled sadly, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of – of excuses and being afraid and – and being brave just to find out that it makes no difference. It’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Alex,” Alex’s mother looked horrified at her son’s words. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Alex confessed in a whisper. “He showed me. He told Maria he loved her.”

Isobel’s eyes were wide. “Michael, you what?” she demanded. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I was scared,” he said, his eyes on Alex. “I wanted to hold onto something easy.”

But he didn’t know this was what he’d been doing to Alex. That he was hurting him this badly, all to date someone he’d never actually wanted to date. Michael looked at the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, his tousled hair, and wondered how long it had been since Alex had eaten or slept.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex said. “I’d always hoped that . . . that we’d end up together. But it’s not something he wants anymore. If he ever wanted it at all.” His eyes shut tight. “I can’t keep clinging to bread crumbs, mom, I don’t want to.”

His mom looked concerned, but she took Alex’s hands in both of hers and said steadily, “Alex, what’re you trying to say? You can tell me.”

Alex exhaled shakily, and lifted his gaze to his mother’s. “Mom, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve thought about it since he and Maria first started . . .” he clenched his jaw and looked away, like just the thought of Michael and Maria together pained him. Finally, he said, “I’m leaving Roswell.”

“No,” Michael breathed.

“And I’m not coming back this time.”

“NO!” Michael stood. “Alex, you can’t leave!”

“Michael,” Isobel tried. “He can’t hear you.”

“Alex can’t leave me,” he shook his head. “He can’t.”

“I can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “I can’t pretend he still loves me. It hurts too much.”

Despite Isobel’s protests, Michael leaned over Alex and grabbed his arms. He kept going through him.

“Alex, look at me!” he demanded. “I’m right here, look at me!”

Alex flinched just as Michael’s hands collided with his arms, grabbing onto him. He could feel Alex, and Alex could feel him.

Alex looked startled, his mother’s voice was gone. Everyone’s voices were gone but Michael’s, Isobel’s, and Alex’s. The world around them was turning to black as Alex searched the air in front of him, as if looking for the source of the sound.

“He can hear me,” Michael muttered, eyes wide. “He can – he can hear me!”

Alex’s eyes fell onto Michael’s, and his brows furrowed. “Guerin?”

“This is it,” Isobel stood. “This is the faulty memory! The part where Alex’s brain is screwed up and is keeping him asleep!”

“Isobel?” Alex blinked. He tried to stand with Michael clinging to him. Michael was afraid that if he let go of this memory, Alex would disappear from him for good. “What’re you guys doing here, what is all this?”

They were standing in darkness. Nothingness upon nothingness.

“You were attacked,” Isobel told him, “by Project Shepherd agents.”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days,” Michael said. “We couldn’t get you to wake up, we had to come into your mind, try to wake you from here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alex shook his head. “Attacked? Coma? None of this makes any sense!”

“Remember!” Michael demanded. “Remember! This is just a memory, the real you knows what happened! Remember, Alex!”

Alex looked shocked, doubtful, disbelieving. Then something in his expression slotted together. “I was – I was at the bunker . . . the door was open . . . it all happened so fast.” He blinked, and gasped. “A gunshot. Someone – someone shot me.” He frantically patted down his stomach, looking for the wound, but he wouldn’t find it in a memory. He looked back to Isobel, then Michael. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You have to fight it, Alex,” Isobel urged. She leaned forward on her knees and huffed, like just breathing was getting tiresome for her. “You have to want to wake up.”

“Want to wake up?”

“Yeah,” Michael cupped his jaw. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me,” he breathed. “I miss you, please wake up for me.”

Alex searched his face, then said, “No.”

Michael faltered. “N-No?”

“No,” Alex tried pulling his arms out of Michael’s grasp, but Michael held on. “Guerin, I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? Alex, this is your life we’re talking about –”

“My life?” he laughed. It sounded so sad. “What life, Guerin? The one where the man I love won’t say two nice words to me? The one where my friends don’t think twice about what their decisions might do to me? Where my own brother tried to kill me because I got in his way?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Guerin. No. I’ve been tired for a long time, and I want to rest now.”

Michael gripped his arms harder. “You think I don’t know the real you?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know that you’ve had hope for us even when I didn’t? You think I don’t know that no matter what you say, you’ll believe in us whether you want to or not? We’re cosmic, Alex, this won’t kill us, and you know it won’t. If you don’t wake up, I’ll just come after you again, you know I will.”

Isobel stared, shocked. “Michael . . .”

His grip on Alex turned painfully tight. “I’ve never trusted anything, Alex. I’m not like you, I can’t see the good even when everything just feels bad. But I trust you. If you don’t wake up, I’ll die.” He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And you won’t let me. I believe that.”

His grip loosened.

“What’re you doing?” Alex said, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“I’m trusting you to come back to me,” Michael said, his whole body trembling. “Because you always do.”

“Michael,” Isobel warned, “if you let him go now, we might lose him for good.”

Michael smirked, and a tear fell down Alex’s face. “I’m not letting you go,” Michael told Alex. “I can’t.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried, but Michael was already straightening, bracing himself.

“You’ll come back,” he said, sure of this more than anything else.

Without another word, he let go of Alex, and a sudden wind hit his face. Then he blinked, and he was back in Max’s bedroom. He and Isobel both broke apart and fell to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Kyle gasped somewhere in the distance and helped Isobel up while Max came to Michael’s side.

“You guys have been frozen for hours!” he said, pulling Michael to his feet. “What happened?”

“Michael had Alex,” Isobel said, and looked to her brother. “Why?” she demanded. “Michael, after what he told us –”

“What?” Kyle said, looking between them. “Told you what?”

Michael lumbered out of Max’s hold and took his place at Alex’s bedside again, taking his hand in his. “Come on, Alex,” he begged in a whisper. “Come on. Come back to me.”

“He said . . . he said . . .”

“It doesn’t matter!” Michael snapped, and Isobel fell silent. “He’ll wake up. He will. Come on, baby,” he murmured into Alex’s hand. “Come on.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Michael,” Isobel said quietly. “He’s not going to wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” Michael said at once, his grip on Alex’s hand bruising. “He will.”

“Just give him a minute,” he heard Kyle say. He must’ve been clinging to that hope just as desperately as Michael was.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, Alex. Stay with me.”

A moment. Two. Michael’s eyes burned, and his hands started to tremble. Then he felt it; he felt Alex’s fingers move in his.

He gasped, and waited. Alex moved again.

Kyle pointed at one of the monitors. “Brain activity’s increasing!” he all but yelled. “Alex?”

They looked to Alex, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and a sob escaped Michael’s lips before he pressed them to Alex’s fingers, kissing each one. Kyle gently pulled off the respirator, and he and Michael both helped a confused Alex sit up.

Alex’s brows were furrowed as he took in the room. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Isobel collapsed into tearful giggles, and Max, relieved, patted Alex’s shoulder twice. Kyle ruffled his hair, and Michael moved to sit next to him, hugging him tightly and keeping him close.

“Don’t ever do that to us again, Manes,” Kyle warned him with a trembling smile.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember anything – ow!” He lifted up his short sleeve to reveal red nail marks. Michael’s nail marks from when he’d been gripping him a little too tightly, terrified of losing him.

Alex met Michael’s gaze with furrowed brows, realization quickly dawning. Michael pressed their foreheads together and took a second to breathe Alex in before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s lips in his own.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and then Alex broke away, panting, though they kept their foreheads together.

“Get off him,” Kyle slapped Michael’s shoulder. “He still needs a minute to breathe.”

“No,” Michael said simply, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck, feeling as much of him as he could.

“Oh!” Isobel started. “Alex, what ever happened to that photograph?”

Michael tensed.

“What photograph?” Max asked.

“Alex,” she said, “had this picture of him and Michael when they were seventeen. We saw it in all of his memories.”

“Isobel,” Michael warned through grit teeth. He expected the same out of Alex, to see him embarrassed or shy, but Alex simply blinked like he’d forgotten about the picture.

“That?” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small photograph.

Michael hugged his waist with one hand and took the photo with the other. “I have one just like this.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’ll show it to you,” he promised into his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “I think it might be time for a new one.” He smiled at Michael like he adored him. No, more than adored him. The thought made Michael’s heart flutter and made him cling tighter.

Michael kissed Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

“Um,” Isobel said testily as Max and Kyle looked away with red faces. “Y’all know we’re still here, right?”

[hoseokisgucci]

You Lift Me Up

GENRE: Fluff and Smut

WORD COUNT: 5K

PAIRING: Taehyung x Reader

SUMMARY: Taetae here sees OC at the gym, one day helps her out a little when she gets injured and somehow ends up in her bed. 

WARNING: Tbh there’s some oral in there (fem receiving), some body worship, a lil of undiscovered kinks showing a sneak peek, penetrative sex, a little dialogue heavy, Taehyung being softboi max. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally uploaded this without the smut, but then deleted it, and now I’m putting it up again because I finally got around to finishing it. I definitely wanted to write something gym related because its my safe space but I really also wanted to make it soft because IM AN IDIOT FOR PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE/FINDING THEIR PEOPLE. 

“How different would it be anyways? I’ll just ask someone for help if I need it. It’s not like I’ll be abandoned by everyone just because I don’t have a partner.”

 “Hey! We didn’t abandon you!! We have exams. Our university made you lonely, not us.” Your friend squawked over the phone.

 Taking advantage of this new found chink in her armor, you added, “Yes. An institution is more important than I am. I see how it is. Hungry, partner-less and overcome with despair. That’s my life now.”

 She huffed, and you could just imagine her shaking her head at you. “You’re a heathen. I’ll buy you food. Now bye. Duty calls.”

 You laughed out an affirmative and slid the phone into the side pocket of your gym bag. The university gym was located close to your dorms, which made it easier for you to haul your ass to the gym even on your lazy days. You were already wondering what it would be like without a partner. You always had friends with you at the gym, be it one or two. You never had to worry about spotting or support ever before, but now these questions crossed your mind. Scenarios where you dropped a dumbbell on your toe or worse, your face flashed before your eyes. You shuddered when a haunting crack resounded in your ears, the sound reminding you to be wary of heavy lifting while you were on your own.

 Getting started on your workout was easy enough. A little warmup here, a bit of running and cycling there. The music pumping through your ears helped you keep up the pace as you cycled, body starting to sweat, lips mouthing the words of the song playing through your earphones. When you hit the 15-minute mark, you figured it would be alright to cycle for 5 more minutes. 

Just as the song changed, and you looked down to check if the lever for your seat was proper, your heart came up to your throat as someone tapped you. With your hand over your heart, legs coming to a stop, you turned to see the most gorgeous man ever. Scratch that. The most gorgeous being ever.

 Lost in your head, you only came to when you realized that his lips were supposed to be forming coherent sentences. That were aimed at you. Raising your hand, your palm faced towards him, you said, “Wait, I can’t hear you.”  His lips grimaced, as if embarrassed and he nodded his head. When you turned off your music, paused your timer and turned to look at him, torso twisting in his direction, his eyes quickly snapped to yours, as if he wasn’t just checking out the swell of your ass perched on the tiny cycle seat. You raised your brows at him, which probably kickstarted his brain again. He gulped and said,

 “How long will you take?”

  You were about to retort and tell him that there were other cycles too, but when you turned the other way, you saw that all of them were occupied.

 “Maybe around 4 more minutes.” He nodded in response, gave a quick smile, and when he was about to turn away, you tapped his hand, grabbing his attention once more. You didn’t know why you felt good, having those eyes on you. You were probably going crazy, you imagination making you see the electricity in them.

 Rethinking about your situation, you said, “Actually, I’ll get off. I was just going to do some extra cycling, but you can get started.”

 He shook his head, curly hair bouncing around as he said, “No no, please take your time. I’ll just stretch some while you’re getting done.”

 You nodded your head and smiled at him, hoping that he could understand how grateful you were. You got back to cycling, starting up the movement of your legs once again. Without the music to keep you occupied your eyes wandered to the mirror in front of you. As you scanned your surroundings, you noticed the guy from before, stretching his arms, gazed fixed on your form. The intensity with which he kept looking at you almost made your legs flounder, but you concentrated on maintaining your momentum.

 Sighing inwardly, your eyes moved backed to him. He hadn’t noticed you looking at him, because he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather your ass. Wanting to add fuel to the fire, you stuck your ass out a little more and arched your back a little more, making your body look a little more tantalizing. As you did this, you could see his eyes widen a little, hands now hanging limp. You discreetly kept looking at him, and could see him scan your form, his gaze focusing on your face. You cycled a bit more aggressively, the motion moving you from side to side. 

If he was watching, you might as well give him a good show. When you eyed him again, he was bent over, legs spread wide, hands touching the ground, stretching. But his eyes, they didn’t leave you, or rather, your butt, even once.

 Your timer beeped, signaling the end of your 20 minutes. You slowed down your legs and sat there, catching your breath. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, sweat dotting your forehead and your face glistened. You looked thoroughly wrecked. He was still looking at you. You got off the cycle, walked to him and said, “Its all yours.”

 He nodded, and you walked away. You breezed through the rest of the workout, mind occupied with thoughts of big hands and one beautiful man.

  Through the next week, you kept seeing him at the gym, on a machine or doing a rep. You weren't ignoring him, per se, but what the hell would you go and say to him? "Hey I think you're pretty hot, come over and choke me?"

 Definitely not.

 A week without a partner goes by with no problems, but its like your beginner luck in the world of solo exercising has run out when you lose your balance while doing weighted squats. Even before starting the set, you were a bit worried, because the rod itself weighed 32 kgs, and you had added plates of 10 kgs. You never imagined that you'd get injured at the gym out of all places but, alas! Your time had come. When you felt that you had no control over the bar and your body anymore, you tried to brace yourself for impact, but two hands lifted the bar off of your shoulders, which allowed your body to gain some balance. When you looked at the mirror, you saw cycle dude holding the bar in his hands. You quickly turned around and helped him rack it.

With frantic eyes, he scans your body for any apparent injuries and asks,

 "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

 "Uh no, I don’t think so. Just that, my knee might be a little sprained."

 His eyes focus on your knee, hands out in front of him, ready to support you. You start walking, but you can feel a slight tinge in your right knee when you put pressure on it. The discomfort might show on your face, because he wraps your arm around his shoulder, and urges you to put your weight on him. He walks you to the bench and sits you down, your leg extended in front of you.

Squatting near your leg, fingers brushing the hair our of his eyes and off of his forehead, he asks,

"Can you call someone to take you home?"

 You take a minute to think if there's anyone who actually could take you home at this moment. And you come up with no one. You tell him so.

 Tentatively, eyes now darting here and there, he says

 "Uh, would you mind if I dropped you off?"

  You blurt out, "Why?"

 "Huh?"

 "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."

 "Well I, uh, might have a small crush on you. Not in a creepy way! I just think you're kinda cute. And I would feel better if I knew you'd get home safely."

  Welp. That's kinda endearing.

  "Okay. Let's go."  

 He asks for your locker number, goes and gets both of your bags and comes to get you. For a few minutes, you walk with your arm around his

 shoulder, half of your weight held up by him. Your pace is probably slower than a snail, what with you trying to clumsily hop and him trying to support you. He stops and says,

 "Okay, let's get you on my back. You can point in what direction you wanna go and I'll carry you. It'll be faster and way better for you."

 You try to protest but he's already hanging both of your bags around his neck and getting on his haunches in front of you, hands ready to hold your legs. So you climb on.

As he starts walking, he says,

"I'm Taehyung by the way, your beloved servant."

 "Well, my dear servant, you shall call me princess then," you cheekily reply as you tighten your hold around his neck.

 He laughs and shakes his head, huffing out, "Wow, the audacity."

 "I'm sorry. Thank you so much, I'll be indebted to you forever. You're too kind," you sincerely say to him.

 He just hums in response, so you leave it at that. Your dorm building isn't that far, so you make it there in no time. You get in the lift, and once it opens on your floor, you tell Taehyung your dorm number.

 You tell him your door code, and he walks you in, going straight to your couch and sitting you down. He takes the bags from his neck and puts them aside. Next, he takes off your shoes and puts them near your door.

 "Okay, do you mind if I check your fridge? Is there anything like an icepack? To put on your knee?"

 "Yeah, there is an ice pack."

 He grabs the ice pack, fills it with ice cubes and holds it on your knee. The freezing sensation

 sends a twinge down your knee. He urges you to hold the ice pack and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back, he presses a glass of water to your lips, and you drink.

 Once you're done, he sets the glass on the coffee table, and settles beside you, grabbing your leg and gently getting it on his lap, urging you to lie down, with your head resting on the armrest. He holds your leg with one hand, and tenderly ices your knee with the other. The action makes you relax your body, all the stress unwinding. Taehyung doesn't say anything, his eyes concentrated on your knee. Feeling the pain in your knee numbing, you close your eyes.

 The next thing you know, Taehyung in shaking you awake, calling out your name in his low baritone. When you gain some semblance of consciousness, the first thing that you register is the fragrance of food. Your stomach grumbles, and Taehyung chuckles at you. He helps you sit up, and shoves a takeout box in your hand. You thank him and dig in. Once you're done, he cleans up and comes back to sit beside you.

 "How are you feeling now?"

 You flex your leg a little, and when it doesn't hurt that bad, you say, "It feels better.  I'll just take a painkiller and knock out."

 He nods his head, hand reaching out to feel over and around your knee. After being satisfied, he rests his hand on your knee, and looks at you. "I'm glad. Just be careful."

 In a moment of courage, you rest your hand over his and say,

"I can't thank you enough. For getting me home, taking care of me, feeding me."

 His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he rests his other hand over yours, your palm now sandwiched between two of his. He leans closer to you, and whispers,

 "You don't have to thank me, doll. But I can think of a few things you could do."

 The way he says these words makes tingles run up your spine, the intent clear in eyes, made clearer by his words. You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa, knowing that Taehyung's eyes are fixed on you. The knowledge that this kind, breathtakingly beautiful man has a crush on you, and moreover wants you, gives you the confidence to act a little, if not more coy. With your head now tilted towards the ceiling and your eyes closed, you channel your inner heathen and say,

"And what would they be, hmm?"

When you hear him suck a breath in beside you, you smirk inwardly. You wait for him to say something, but he just retracts his hands from yours. This action makes you open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, question clear in your gaze.

Just as you're about to sit up and say something, you're hit with a face full of Taehyung, and suddenly his palms are grabbing your face and his lips are on yours. The shock makes your eyes widen, but as you register what's going on, your eyes close and your hand fists his shirt as you kiss him back.

Taehyung's lips feel way better than you could ever imagine, and the warmth seeping into your skin from his palms makes this experience feel real, and not just fantasy. When his lips suck on your lower lip a little harder, you arch your back, your upper body lifting off the couch. This makes him slide one hand off of your cheek and around your waist, and he pulls your body closer to his.

At this point, he's basically straddling you. When his tongue probes your mouth, one of your hands grab the back of his hair and pull. The low groan he lets out as you disconnect from his mouth and start sucking on his neck makes you quiver, the thought of hearing the same baritone in your ear as he pounds into you making you want him even more. He parts from you, and as he sits up, your hands leave his body.

 "What do you want?"

 You bite your lip, and instead of answering, one of your hand rises to his waistband. Instantly, his hand grips yours, and as he smiles, he leans down to kiss your palm. Against it, he whispers,

"Want me to eat you out? Wanna cum on my tongue?"

You gulp at the thought of this man between your legs, and nod at him. Something in his face hardens, and he drops your hand, only to lean over you and grip your chin.

"Use your words, baby doll. What do you say?"

You maintain eye contact with him and whisper,

"Yes."

Though your answer makes him loosen his grip on your jaw, only makes him move closer to you.

 "Yes what?"

 "Yes sir."

 At your answer, Taehyung's eyes widen, and then a smirk spreads across his face. His hands urge you out of your top, and he throws it over his shoulder, uncaring as to where it lands. 

His eyes take you in, and in a second he's getting off you and pulling your leggings and underwear down your body. You struggle a little to lift your ass off the couch, a little pain shooting through your knee at the pressure. Taehyung makes you rest your injured leg straight on the coffee table. After making sure you're comfortable, he leans down you kiss you, on of his hands making their way to your tits. When he squeezes and twists a nipple, your body arches off the couch, legs spreading wider.

Once Taehyung's satisfied from claiming your mouth, he gets down on his knees in between your legs. For the first time, you see hesitation cross his eyes as he nibbles his lower lip. You lean up, and say,

"I want you. Please make me cum, please."

A smile blooms on his face, eyes lighting up as his hands move up your thighs. He leans forward, kissing up the inside of your left thigh, his hands squeezing where they hold you. After a few kisses, he suddenly bites, which makes you reach out to grip his hair as you moan.

 Indifferent to your reaction, he moves forward, his hands widening your legs as he comes face to face with your core. Sounding absolutely wrecked, he says,

"Fuck I can't wait to taste you."

With this, he kisses your mound, and then spreads your outer lips.

 "Holy shit, darling, it's all for me, right?"

 You card your hands through his hair as you whisper an affirmative. Happy with your response, Taehyung leans in and envelops your clit in his lips, and sucks. Slowly, he starts making strokes with his tongue, delving deeper. He speeds up the motions of his tongue, now moving it in and out, and puts a finger in your core. The slide is tight, and it makes you both moan. But he doesn't stop, if anything, he gets even more determined. 

Soon, he adds another finger and his tongue moves onto your clit. The added stimulation makes the knot in your core tighten, the arousal pulsing stronger in your veins. He takes his mouth off of your clit with a pop and leans back to see his fingers scissoring as they move inside you. You tilt your head down to take a look at him, and dear God above, he looks wrecked. His hair is all messed up, thanks to your fingers, and his lips are swollen and glistening, and you're pretty sure his chin is too.

 Fuck.

 Your eyes roll to the back of your head as this visual ingrains itself in your eyes, a whimper falling from your mouth as you say,

"Fucking God, please fuck me. Want you so bad, please."

 "I'll think about it if you cum like a good girl first."

  His fingers speed up, and he leans down to capture you clit in his mouth again. This time, he's absolutely brutal with the way he goes at you, nothing gentle about his mouth or his fingers. Just as you feel yourself climbing up to a climax, he adds another finger, his tongue now flicking across your clit.

 As you get closer to the finish line, your moans turn into curse words, your voice getting louder.

 "Fucking Hell, Taehyung, don't stop! Shit! I'm s-so close, please, please, I'm gonna c-cum!"

 Saying nothing Taehyung curves his fingers inside you as he lightly bites on your clit, and that's all it takes for you to let go. Your body pulls taut, legs shaking around him, hips riding his fingers. His fingers and his mouth guide you along your high, and even after you've come down, his mouth still keeps laving over your clit. You moan in oversensitivity and that's when he deems it enough.

 He gets up, but groans out while straightening his legs. You giggle at his facial expression, and he stands over you, hands on his hips, mouth drawn into a pout.

 "I just ate you out but you're laughing at me, huh?"

 This makes you laugh out loud, and you say,

"Can't believe you're a grandpa."

 His mouth falls open, flabbergasted. His mouth tries and fails to form a word, and his mouth just bubbles out a laugh. He's shaking his head as he takes off his tee, and throws it on the couch beside you. Oh you're definitely not laughing now.

 "Well, this grandpa did get you off, baby doll. Now, where's the bedroom?"

 He leans down to pick you up, his hands urging your thighs to wrap around his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck. You hold on tighter when he stands up straight with you in his arms. He leads you to the bedroom, kicking the door open and walking in. He lays you down on the duvet slowly, mindful of jostling your leg. 

Once you're lying on the bed, he goes to get a pillow and puts it below your knee. You make eye contact with him, hoping your smile conveys how grateful you are. He smiles at you, expression shy. Pointing at the bedside table, you say,

"The condoms are in here."

 He raises an eyebrow, but gets a condom and climbs on the bed. Once he's in between your legs, one of his hands knead your thigh, the action relaxing your muscles, making you let out a sigh. Seeing your reaction, he leans down to kiss your tummy, trailing light kisses down to your pelvis.

 "You look so beautiful like this. So lovely."

 His hand glides up your inner thigh, two fingers plunging into you without warning. He pulls out, only to push back in, your soft wet walls accommodating to his ministrations easily. When he doesn't hear you making a sound, he scissors his fingers, and starts sucking a hickey on your hipbone. A shiver runs through you, and you let out a whimper at the sudden influx of stimulus.

 "Such a sweetheart, huh? Always ready to let me know how good I'm making you feel."

 As he says this, he adds another finger, and the added stretch makes you arch off the bed. Soon, Taehyung has you moaning his name, your hands reaching out to hold onto the bedsheet. Taehyung slows down his fingers, and asks you,

 "What do you want? Tell me. Tell me and I'll give it to you."

 The husk in his voice makes you groan, the timber of it sending trills of arousal shooting through you.

 "Want you to fuck me. Now. Right now."

 Pulling his fingers out of you, he whispers, "Then that's what you'll get, baby."

  He takes off his gym shorts and his underwear, his cock standing hard and proud, the tip glistening with precum. While stroking his cock, he says,

"Although everything in me is telling me to fuck you like the devil you are, I don't wanna add to your injuries. So let's have you wrap you legs around me, okay?"

 Actually processing what he said, you try to move your leg, but the twinge of pain has you nodding your head in agreement.

 Seeing your approval, he gives you a smile and tears open the condom. Your eyes trace him as he kneels between your legs. The soft curls falling into his eyes, the slope of his nose, adding to his charm. The strength visible in his shoulders, all the way down to his arms, makes you want things that can only be done behind closed doors. The thoughts of being manhandled, being pushed into the mattress as he takes you run through your head among other lust-filled scenarios, and these make you gulp.

Your eyes follow when he rolls the condom onto himself and strokes his cock in long motions.

 His eyes, fall onto you, and seeing how you're entranced by, well, his dick, he chuckles. The sound makes your eyes flit to his, your cheeks already filling with colour, embarrassment flooding your mind.

 Taehyung doesn't say anything, just urges your legs to wrap around his waist as he leans over you. That one moment of silence, where you and him are just two people, closer than ever, closer than any galaxies, any stars, seems to last for a lifetime. When he slightly smiles, one of his hands coming up to stroke your hair, you feel a storm brewing where you heart is meant to be. You smile back, and then Taehyung is thrusting into you, the stars in his eyes now clouded by lust.

 The first few thrusts are slow, languid and have Taehyung's eyes flitting over your features, looking for any signs of discomfort. But when he finds none, he gains confidence, his hips moving with more purpose, plunging impossibly deeper into you. Your eyes close, head tilting up as your mouth lets out little moans mixed in with whimpers.

 Taehyung's thrusts slow down into him just grinding his cock into you, and he grabs your chin to make you look at him.

 "Look at me, baby. You feel so good, like heaven. Maybe even more divine than heaven itself."

 The sincerity in his eyes as he says this makes your clench around him, throat choking on the words you want to say. You reach out a hand and put it on his shoulder, which makes him pause his movements. Worry flickers across his face as he waits for you to say something.

 "G-go faster. Wanna cum. Right now. Please."

 The worry on Taehyung's face quickly dissolves into cockiness as he positions himself to pound into you better. His smirk grows as his thrust gets a moan out of you. Continuing with his ministrations, he manages to grunt out,

"This good enough for you, doll?"

 When you don't answer him, too busy whimpering, he leans over you and one of his hands reach out and twist your nipple in warning, hips maintaining their momentum.

"Think I asked a question, darling. Come on, now."

 The hand you had on his shoulder moves up to the back of his head, and as your fingers entangle in his locks and pull, you say,

"Yes! Yes! Dear God, yes! F-feel good."

 He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he hums, the low rumble of his voice making you feel some type of way.

 One of his hands land near your head, the other one grabbing your thigh, and its pound town from there. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixed in with Taehyung's grunts and your moans. The boy in between your legs turns into a beast chasing just one thing, and he doesn't slow down. The sound of sex resounds in the room, making you feel downright dirty.

 Your eyes focus on Taehyung's face contorted in pleasure and his body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Maybe it's this realization, that you have this beautiful man fucking into you that pushes you closer to your climax.

When your walls start clenching around him, the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach so close to bursting, one of your hands reach down, two of your fingers rubbing your clit in desperation.

 "That's it. Make yourself cum on my cock. Let me see you cum, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me."

His words are accompanied by his hips moving faster, hitting the spot inside you, making the fire in you unravel. Your back arches off the bed, mouth opening in a whimper as you cum, body drowning in pleasure.

 Your walls tighten around Taehyung, making him let out a choked moan. With two, three more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming in the condom. He slumps on you, letting out puffs of air, catching his breath. When Taehyung taps both of your legs gently, you remember that they've been there this whole time, and, holy shit, your fucking knee was fucking sprained. Taehyung, apparently has the same realization, because his concerned wide eyes lock with yours and he slowly untangles your legs. Your knee gives a twinge in protest to movement but as soon as it's straight and on the bed, you feel fine. Taehyung pulls out, and ties the condom off, getting up to go and throw it in the bin.

 When he comes back, it's to you playing with your fingers running circles on your navel. You stop your actions when you realize he's back in the room, your cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment. Taehyung mumbles a 'cute' but doesn't say anything else.

Taehyung has a wet towel in one hand, with which he gently wipes between your legs. And when he's done, he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead, and then he's gone again. Your eyes follow his bubble butt as he leaves the room.

 Exhaustion seeps into your bones, and your eyes close. They only open to the sound of something being set down on the bedside table. You open your eyes and turn your head to see that it's a glass of water, and Taehyung, Taehyung is wearing shorts again.

 You sit up, grabbing the glass and gulping down the water. The thought that you're still completely naked makes you feel shy, even after all of the things you just did. Taehyung sits

 beside you on the bed, taking the glass from your hand and putting it on the table.

 "Uhm.."

 "I ju-"

 Both of you shut up, but when you lock eyes with each other, laughter spills out of you. With a smile on his face, Taehyung speaks first.

 "What were you going to say?"

 You think for a moment, wondering if what you're about to say will sound weird or not.

 "Uh, just that, do you want to stay over?"

 With disbelief painting his face, Taehyung asks, "You want me to?"

 You try to keep the endearment out of your voice as you deadpan, "Oh no, the monster under my bed just liked your feet and told me to ask you to stay longer."

 It takes a moment for your words to register, but when Taehyung realizes what you just said, laughter tumbles from his lips.

  Your concerned friends knock on your door the next morning, and a clueless Taehyung opens the door to let them in. Your friends barge in to find you wrapped in a blanket, lying on the couch, Haikyuu! playing on your TV. Taehyung just stands there, neck full of hickies, rampant sex hair, smelling like your body wash.

 Your friends look at you for a moment, then turn to Taehyung only to turn back to you. When one of them asks you what the hell you've been doing yesterday and where you've been, you lock eyes with Taehyung as you smugly say,

 "What can I even say? It was one heck of a workout."

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

hi can i please request one where levi's s/o is sort of like him in personality but just melts whenever theres a baby. like she'll see a baby in town and will go from silent and moody to the heart eyes emoji but a person, or she'll babysit her neice or nephew or cousin and will be just so loving and bubbly? like its obvious that she wants to be a mum but she never brings it up because she doesnt think he wants kids and eventually they get pregnant + his reaction? sorry if this is too much (1/2)

ΑΝΟΟΟΟΝ IM BLUSHING THANK YOU SO MUCH. I really loved this request and it inspired me so I pushed before others because I had to get it out of my system. I hope you like this. It's super duper long also👉👈

Warnings: uhh pregnancy, mentions of anxiety

Tags: fluff, domestic Levi, pregnancy, modern au

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Baby Fever

Your heartbeat grew louder with each passing second as Mike abused the door with one too many knocks. You didn't know if you could talk, or breath or do anything other than vomiting though this time from the anxiety building at the pits of your stomach and not due to your very recent event of morning sickness.

"Are you alright in there?"

You choke on your own voice as you try to huff a single response. It's not really up to your judgement of you're alright or not but rather in the small white object's that rests between the thumbs and pointer fingers of each of your hands. You contemplate if there's a way to not raise any more suspicion to the blond male, you're at his house for all that matters. Nanaba called you to take care of their their twins and you happily complied to your half sister's pleas because Mike had a very important job interview. Life had taken a toll on him lately, they couldn't afford a babysitter and he was just recently fired due to his company having to cut down expenses thanks to the pandemic. Amidst this pandemonium he had to find a way to provide for his family and help Nanaba with at least a short monthly salary. So babysitting your beloved niece and nephew wasn't much of a problem. Not until now.

At first it hadn't bothered you that your period was late, you had accepted the pcos lifestyle the hard way ever since you first got it. You would track down your period in hopes you could ever predict when it would come again but it always seemed to surprise you. Sometimes it would come in a months notice only to take four months to do a full circle. At twenty three, this was the most positive outturn as a resolution to your problem. Levi was pushing you to eat healthy and exercise to get a better grip of your situation, even though you knew it was in vain. And thus, overall it didn't bother you that you hadn't had your period still, fatigue and breast inflammation were also common problems due to hormonal abnormalities so you chose not to pay any attention to those early signs either.

What had driven you to urge Levi to drop you off to the drugstore next to Nanaba's house though was that you've been having symptoms of morning sickness for almost a week now, that you had tried to push aside for Levi not to notice. He would quarantine you on your on your own and go stay with Erwin and Hange had he any suspicion of you being down with the stomach flu. The stomach flu though didn't feel like that and you knew, you had been through it one too many times, this was something different and yet you cursed at yourself for overthinking it. You had bought the pregnancy test as something that was supposed to turn out negative, as a positive resolution that you weren't pregnant and that you should quest for whatever it was that was making your stomach turn and twist every morning.

Upon finally opening the door in an attempt not to delay Mike who wanted to attend his interview, the blond male inspected your form with a harsh gaze. "You shouldn't push yourself if you're sick. We could call my mother to watch over Eli and Blaire."

"No." You pushed it off. "I'm fine Mike, it's probably that weird mushroom soup I ate yesterday, Levi insisted on not buying it but I didn't listen."

"I see." Mike said scrunching his nose at the process. Sometimes you hated that he knew you so well that he could even smell you lying, but he was Nanaba's childhood friend before her mother married your father and had you; you had practically grown up with the blond duo so for all you knew, even if he was certainly aware that you were lying he didn't push things further. He simply placed a hand on your shoulder, the brother like nature of his touch as assuring as one can be. "If you need anything call me, I'll answer as soon as possible, drink lots of water and don't wear yourself down."

You bore your eyes into his and nodded simply. Mike greeted the twins with reluctance and let out a sigh before fixing his suit perfectly on his shoulders. The small kids smiled bubbly in return and waved at their father enthusiastically. As soon as the door closed and their father got out of sight both children jumped on you with loud giggles. The act alone was enough to curl your lips into an upward position.

By noon you had fed and lulled the kids to sleep, earning some significant time to sink into the crevices of the feathery soft sofa before Nanaba came back from her shift. As tiring as Eli and Blaire were you enjoyed their teeny company. You didn't mind their lack of ability to form full understandable sentences yet, you loved how they didn't even try to spare a second thought on what they bubbled on about and you did your best to provoke them to speak correctly. They would open their arms for you, their tiny palms signaling you to take them into long affectionate hugs as they called a baby spoken version of your nickname and you would melt at it every single time. Everyone knew you much you loved the chubby cheeked sweethearts, as much as it contrasted with your usual demeanor. There was something that truly made you feel like the best version of yourself when you were around them.

Babies seemed to be a hot topic in your group of friends for a couple of months now, ever since you started helping Nanaba in the house before Mike got fired. Levi seemed very unbothered by the subject in a way that saddened you almost; sure, you might have talked about it in the past, being that he was a little older than you and he might have understood that you longed to be a mother one day, but that was as far as that one conversation had gone. He still had that bored, stoic gaze that slipped off of yours when you would encounter a baby in the street, whereas you would basically make heart eyes and weird grimaces to any infant he would just click his tongue and avert his gaze away, to any other direction as if he disapproved off your fondness.

That memory alone left you hollowing inside as you recalled of the two very much pink lines on the screen of the test this morning. Naturally you would check with a doctor before jumping to conclusions, there still was a chance that the test was at fault and you wanted to bet on simply that. If the case was that you were actually pregnant though things were more complicated than you wanted them to be. For instance you were still in University, for your last year at that, but you had excessive amounts of studying to get your hands on your degree and Levi was cornered and ready to be squished by his job for being a vice president, which was unfair as he worked for Erwin. You understood the situation though as Erwin was struggling to keep the company going especially through these rough rough times. There was also the fact that you were terrified of Levi asking you to put the baby down, with pcos wearing your system down you were panicking that you wouldn't have a chance to conceive a baby later on. What if this was your only chance? You've always longed to be a mother so it didn't matter that it came to you this early right?

The sound of the front door clicking open shook you off your thoughts immediately. For better or for worse it was Nanaba that had finally returned, eager to strip herself of her clothes and face mask and run to the bathroom. She offered you small greeting to which you only nodded, your tired mind ordering your eyes to find comfort at small shapes in the ceiling. You didn't know how long your sister took in the bathroom, but judging by the lack of giggling coming from the babies' room you supposed it wasn't for long.

"You want to wait for Levi to come pick you up or should I give you a ride home when Mike's back? He should be home soon!" She spoke as she poured water in a red metallic boiler.

"I'll just walk. I need some air."

Nanaba emitted a soft hum in response "Are you alright? You seem off."

"Oh no." You brushed her off "I was just thinking about what I should wear at Erwin and Hange's anniversary dinner next week, and what gift to buy Levi now that his birthday is coming."

"Good, I see, just don't stress alright?"

___

The way home was longer than you had initially remembered, whether it was for your inability to walk with a steady pace or mostly because it was already getting dark and cold. You wondered if Levi would be getting home by now as you neared the apartment complex the two of you resided in. By the looks of your illuminated window he was already home as expected of him this certain hour. It probably was one of those days when he didn't have a strict deadline to attend to, which, under normal circumstances, only meant more cuddles and kisses for you. Yet, tonight was different.

"Hey Levs" Your voice lingered in his brain the moment you stepped inside.

"Hey brat, welcome home." The kiss you left on his cheek as you hurriedly headed to the bathroom was different, off almost, and he picked up on it immediately. "Did Nanaba drop you off? I had asked Mike to come by tonight, he said he'd bring some tea leaves he bought for me."

He leaned at the frame of the door as he watched you wash every crevice of your face thoroughly, paying enough attention to the insides of your outer nasal cavity. He was pretty meticulous about hygiene and especially at times like these with a hole pandemic going on he wasn't taking any chances, you knew, plus you were kind of disgusted of germs lately yourself, you thought you finally understood where he was coming from. He took a few steps ahead, away from your body in search of a clean face towel to hand out to you when you were done. You have it to him, even if he seemed cold as stone that domestic lifestyle was mesmerizing to you.

"Thanks baby, you're the best." You half smiled.

"You good?"

At this point you wondered if you seriously we're so easy to read. You supposed you were off, but you were always off and unresponsive to many things so what exactly was it about today that made everyone know you had a conflict in your mind.

"Yeah I'm just tired, I walked here."

Levi clicked his tongue at that "Nanaba's home is very far away from here, have a shower and I'll rub your legs and feet." With eyes that never left yours Levi watched as your face lit up a little more, he gave you a tiny of a smile on return.

"You prooomise Levs?" You knew teasing with him could only lead to one thing, yet you did it shamelessly.

"Tch, of course, hurry up, I'm making pancakes with eggs and bacon."

Normally at the very sound of this particular food your eyes would water and your mouth would drool but the unresponsive nature of your expression only sent a new wave of worry through Levi's chest. As much as he had wanted to convince himself you were just tired, he couldn't, not after this reaction to your favorite snack. He decided not to push you into saying anything you didn't want to though. Maybe it was that enormous amount of notes you had to memorize for your next exams in addition to your fatigue and any hormonal altercations.

"Yeah" you trailed off "babe, about that, can we have cocktail shrimp? And maybe fried rice and fries? Pretty pretty please?"

Ah, there it was. Although it was a rare occasion for you not to be in the mood of his infamous pancakes, you could still have a few different cravings from time to time. Levi let out a sigh of relief as he proceeded your order trying to figure of where he should order from, last night's mushroom soup had messed your stomach up, that he knew, but you seemed to be fine now so in theory that should be enough to prevent him from whining out his concerns.

As he closed the door to the bathroom he hummed his favorite tune to himself, softly enough as not to disturb you with your bath. He picked up his phone from the kitchen table with ease before collapsing on the couch, there was a limit to what his body could take and he had surpassed that by far these past few months. Endless deadlines that took turns one after another and extra hours at the office had been killing him, mentally and physically, making him a little more grumpy than usual. In great addition his back ached, his fingers were sore and his mind felt like canned alphabet soup every single night. Perhaps, seeing him in this state was taking a toll on you as well; you were always so protective over him, almost like a mother to her child, despite being younger, and he if he had to, he'd admit he enjoyed it a little too much than he should have.

When you came out of the bathroom he gazed over you briefly, you were sitting before the end of the dresser, standing in front of the full body mirror, examining your form. He seemed to be puzzled by your demeanor once again. Normally, or up until yesterday, you would have immediately shot out to where he was seated at to plough into his arms with wet hair, only to slightly irritate him for getting him wet, not that he didn't enjoy to smell your fresh scent anyway, but it was a game of routine for you by now. It was almost as if you were seeking to be scolded at for not rushing to dry your hair. He always wanted you as healthy as ever.

You couldn't shake off your head how soft Levi's chest is. There probably wasn't a reason as to why he's sleeping shirtless tonight, your apartment was very warm, given that it was the start of December already, but you didn't complain. The feeling of creamy, milky soft skin, perfectly excused by any coarse hair was slowly putting you to sleep. You loved how Levi was so soft everywhere you touched, it was so unlike what the world perceived of him, maybe your baby's skin was going to be as smooth and perfect as his and not as dry and oily as yours. Of course the baby's skin was going to be soft, ugh and those little arms and legs, you couldn't lie to your self, deep down you were just a tad excited to have a baby, if it meant that it would look like Levi you wouldn't want to give up on it for the world.

"Levi, does Kenny keep baby pictures of you?"

"What?" The onyx haired male raised a brow at your inquiry but didn't give you enough time to repeat yourself before he answered. "My mother had so many pictures of me so I guess that it's natural that he has some and well there probably are a few pictures from after my mother's death, I'm not that sure."

In response, he only earned a hum.

"Tch, can I lay on your chest? I want you to play with my hair." His eyes pleaded with you in the darkness. Of course you could never say no to such thing, you loved it even more when he was the one sleeping on you. Another sentence left his lips, this time with a yawn as he shifted himself on you, cooing like a small child. "I'll call Kenny tomorrow, sleep now I know you need it."

____

Under any other circumstance you would have loved seeing everyone's dumbfounded faces stating at you as if they had seen the dead rise from their graves. You had to pinch your arms to remind yourself this was indeed serious and you shouldn't let out a single chuckle.

"Please tell me you're joking" Nanaba pleaded, placing her hand on yours in disbelief.

"I'm going to screeeeeam! Shorty can't even hold it in, ghaaaa!"

"Hange he will hear you through the restroom."

Hange blinked her eyes rapidly at the sound of that. "You haven't told him?" She immediately seemed to lose her enthusiasm, something you hadn't intended to happen, especially at such a night, but you knew you didn't have a say in other people's emotions.

"Hange he never seemed too fond of the idea, why would I complicated things for him?"

Mike's eyes widened in disbelief. There was no way in hell he was having this. You were practically his little sister, seeing you so tormented as you were in the moment when you spoke those words ravaged his last nerve, causing anger to clench his hands into fists. He watched as you took a small bite of your food giving the rest to Eli who was comfortably sitting on your lap, tapping his little hands on the rim of your plate. Other than the fact you broke out such news to him, Nanaba Hange and Erwin and had expressed your fears on informing your significant other, you seemed quite bubbly. Children really did bring out such a soft side of you, he knew that was for sure.

"Hange" you spoke, unphased as ever "Levi's coming please stop screaming at me, i love you but it's only making me dizzy."

It felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were burning holes through his whole body, his head, and everywhere around his personal space bubble. Levi could feel his pulse tense just a tad, Hange's unnerving gaze and her crippling smile were fixated especially on him, making his nose itchy. There was something very different in the atmosphere around him; Nanaba wasn't eating anymore, she was more fixated on her daughter than anyone else, Erwin was nervously staring between him and you and you and Mike were trying to clean Eli's hands from the food he had just touched. When the scenery wasn't something irregular, none of you dared look eachother in the eyes, beat it that Hange was staring only at him.

"Oi, what the fuck is wrong-"

"Levi, shorty! Does Eli look like he's enjoying himself in (y/n)'s arms?" Hange turned her sweetened gaze on you, making you choke on your words, you shot her an atrociously strict glare. "Remember when Nanaba gave birth? What do you think about babies? Maybe you think they smell a lot? But what about ackerbabies?"

"Way to be discreet Han, thank you!" Your lips puckered in anger as you brought your arms to cross under your chest.

"Wait what's going on shitty glasses?"

"Yada Yada shorty, you're not getting a word from me, my lips are sealed" Hange spoke and shut her eyes to emphasize the significance of her words.

You sighed in a pathetic attempt to relieve some tention of your chest. A tight knot had formed due to anxiety, fog had clouded over your brain and you were feeling so faint and exhausted that you just wanted to get it over with. You didn't mind standing there like a fish out of water after breaking the news to him, the tention in the air was in fact what was making you suffocate in your seat. With wobbly hands you pushed Eli off your lap, not caring about the moan of disagreement he made and you shot up from your seat, announcing you had to take some fresh air. Levi had to stop Nanaba mid tracks to be able to come after you, fast enough to be there when you got out.

Naturally, you stood seated at a bench that neared the restaurant. Your hands were covering your face scratching softly through your hair, probably in attempts to calm your self down. He approached you without any second thought, this time determined to know what was it with you. Your behavior these past week had been unnerving and overly concerning to say the least. Carefully he sat himself down next to you, his right arm come around your frame comfortingly while the left one came to caress underneath your cheek.

"You should probably talk to me."

Your voice came muffled from between your palms as you still hadn't dared to look him in the eye. "Levi, I'm, I'm so sorry it's just... I'm very anxious."

"I think I figured that, brat." His voice was so soothing, it felt as if he was speaking to you in the comfort of your private room, not on a bench outside a semi fancy restaurant

"You know when Hange talked about ackerbabies she uhm, she might have had a particular baby in mind."

Levi blinked erratically for a single second before his mouth, unable to compel to his brain's orders, formed the shape of an oh. Of course, in the moment it was hard to click with any other even but he attributed that to his lack of knowledge over the situation. Had he any clue or suspicion that you could be pregnant he would have been able to realise that it wasn't that your stress had been messing with your stomach every morning and that your extreme fatigue couldn't possible align with the erratically swift rhythm of your palms. Of course, of course it wasn't a thermometer that you had disposed of in the toilet, he wanted to slap himself for being so naive as to believe that. He was strict with recycling rules, you wouldn't have just straight up there s thermometer in the trash. Fuck now's not the time to think about recycling.

With the soft, chaste kiss at the top of your hair you finally decided to turn your gaze to him. Watery eyes met with an adoring grey gaze, a gaze you've never seen at this extreme before. "I love you, you know." Another kiss meant your head got to lift a little more, just to get closer to him. "I don't say it often but you don't have to worry, I'll try to tell our kid more often."

Your eyes shimmered with adoration at his words, despite the cold weather you couldn't bring yourself to feel not even a little tingle, Levi was keeping you so warm with his words. "Really? You want this?"

"Tch why wouldn't I, you thought I'd ever let you go and leave me lonely? I've always thought you knew we're sharing the same future."

Your lips attacked his in fiery passion. It was a natural reaction to his words, an ice melting kiss, a promise for the future. There were many reasons as to why you lived Levi but maybe the fact that you would have a little stoic faced baby running around your feet made you love him a little bit more.

[sickficsforthesoul]

Twin Idiots - Osamu

For @punkozume​

Prompt: sick Osamu, caretaker Suna ft. caretakers Kita and Aran (Michinari is here too, but he doesn't do that much tbh)

Osamu with the flu and a very high fever, he tries to hide that he's sick from Suna and almost passes out on the school, has a lot of nightmares and is kind of delirious

Word count: 2433 words

If you couldn't tell, there will be a separate Atsumu version of this fic coming soon. I didn't include any nightmares, but if this fic does well enough, I'll write a (hopefully) short ficlet to follow this fic up and focus on the nightmares and delirium, so let me know what you think!

(Suna doesn't have an accent because I remember reading somewhere that he's from Tokyo originally, but idk if that's right, so if it's not, please forgive me and pretend it's my own headcanon, not me forgetting where Suna's from.)

‘It’s really chilly today,’ Osamu notices, shivering under his coat. While winter was never warm, Osamu can’t remember the last time he’s felt so cold. Even his long walk to the Inarizaki gym does nothing to warm him up. Osamu snuggles into his jacket as he trudges on. It’s not snowing yet, but the sky is cloudy and ominously gray, so Osamu doesn’t expect the ground to stay snow-free for long.

Osamu doesn’t have to put up with his idiot brother today, at least. Tsumu had left for his fancy volleyball camp in Tokyo for the entire week the day before, so Osamu is on his own in Hyogo. Osamu and Tsumu attended together last year, but when Osamu’s invitation failed to arrive along with Tsumu’s this year, he can’t say he was too surprised. Osamu has never been as into volleyball as Tsumu.

Osamu has his own interests, like cooking and chemistry, that he’s far more passionate about. Volleyball is fun, but Osamu knows he won’t be doing it for the rest of his life like Tsumu probably will. Tsumu will always put more into volleyball than Osamu, and that resulted in him being invited to the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp while his brother was not.

Osamu’s not upset by any means. He’s enjoying the separation from his twin. For one week, Osamu can have his own room, cook whatever he feels like, and watch as many cooking shows as he pleases. It’s a weeklong vacation from his ridiculously loud brother, and Osamu intends to enjoy every second of it.

When Osamu finally reaches the gym, he relishes in the warmth of the cozy gym. It’s a welcome change from the frigid air outside, and now Osamu is finally warm enough to shed his coat after shutting the gym door. Most of his teammates are already in the gym, either changing or warming up. Inarizaki may be on winter break, but Kita was adamant that his team continue to practice, even with Tsumu away at camp.

Osamu is already in his practice gear, opting for donning a sweatsuit over top of his shorts and tee-shirt due to the freezing weather. Osamu dumps his coat, bag, and other belongings along the wall before stashing his water bottle on the bench. Suna hasn’t shown up yet, so Osamu begins his warmup stretches alone. By the time Osamu has stretched his legs and hips, Suna and the rest of the team have finally assembled in the gym.

Once everyone is ready, Kita gives out instructions for what everyone will practice today. Most players are assigned exercises or drills for their current position, but Osamu isn’t so lucky. With Tsumu gone, Kita decides to use his absence as an excuse to work on Osamu’s setting. Osamu isn’t thrilled about the idea, but at least Kita, Michinari, and Suna will be working with him today, so practice shouldn’t be too miserable.

They begin simply, with Osamu setting to just Suna. Suna spikes Osamu’s set, Michinari digs up the spike, and Kita sends the ball over the net for Osamu to practice setting mid-rally. They continue the drill for a while, so Osamu can get in a grove before he tries more difficult sets later on. Osamu doesn’t love setting as much as Tsumu does, but he will admit that he’s enjoying the easy rhythm of the drill a lot. It’s a nice change of pace from his usual blocking and spiking, and Osamu enjoys setting to his best friend much more than he thought he would.

But Osamu’s enjoyment doesn’t last. When Kita finally sends them off for a water break, Osamu is feeling off. His muscles ache constantly, and he’s oddly cold despite the snug warmth of the gym. Osamu takes a sip of water from his bottle and sits on the ground in front of the bench. He leans his head against the bench and glances up at the gym ceiling. This proves to be a mistake as the bright ceiling lights cause a headache to flare in his temples. Osamu lowers his head and focuses on finishing his water, hoping futilely that he was just a little dehydrated.

Kita calls Osamu, Michinari, and Suna back to the court for more practice. This time, Aran joins them too. Kita explains the new drill they’ll be working on now. ‘It’s basically the same as the other drill,’ Osamu thinks quietly. The only difference between the drills was that now Osamu can choose between setting to Suna or Aran.

They get to work, and Osamu quickly adjusts to having a new spiker. His sets to Aran aren’t as clean or precise as Suna’s, but Osamu knows his sets are improving with every toss. Osamu’s headache also increases with every toss, but he doesn’t want to think about that. Kita will give him hell for practicing with a headache, and Osamu doesn’t want to get chewed out like Tsumu did when Kita caught him practicing with a cold. So Osamu stays quiet while they practice. Even as his headache gives way to nausea, and his body trembles with small shivers whenever he stands still for too long.

By the time Kita calls for another water break, Osamu is miserable. His arms ache fiercely from setting, and his legs are so shaky that he barely makes it back off the court. Suna fixes Osamu with a blank stare as soon as Osamu manages to stumble to the bench. Kita and Aran also stare at Osamu, but they remain silent. Osamu shifts awkwardly, eventually opting to lean forward and stare at the ground because that position lessened his headache the most. Osamu’s teammates still say nothing. The minute of silence between the four of them is almost as painful as Osamu’s raging headache, and that’s saying something because Osamu is pretty sure his brain is trying to escape from his skull with how hard his head is pounding.

Finally, Suna opens his mouth. “You’re an idiot, Samu.”

“No ‘m not,” Osamu mutters weakly.

“You are,” Suna insists. “You’re one big, sick idiot, Samu.”

“But ‘m not sick,” Osamu whines quietly. He knows he is, but he can’t bring himself to admit to being sick because then Kita will lecture him for practicing when he’s sick. Osamu can handle a lot of things, from a moping Tsumu to an Instagram-crazy Suna, but Osamu cannot handle a Kita lecture. Kita isn’t the type to yell or swear, but he always sounds so disappointed, and Osamu can’t stand disappointing someone he admires so much over such a stupid mistake.

“I hope you’re lying, Samu, because if you’re not, you’re a lot stupider than I thought you were,” Suna frowns slightly. “Maybe even stupider than your dumb twin.”

“Take tha’ back, ya jerk,” Osamu slurs, lifting his head to look at Suna’s near-expressionless face.

“Then stop acting like an idiot,” Suna counters, his voice still a steady monotone. “You need to go home. Like, now.”

Osamu sighs tiredly, lowering his head to face the ground again. His body agrees with Suna completely, but somehow, Osamu still doesn’t want to leave. Maybe it’s his hypercompetitive instincts from practicing with Tsumu so much, but Osamu doesn’t want to leave until practice is finally over. It’s completely ridiculous, Osamu knows, because he doesn’t even love volleyball that much. But Osamu hates leaving things half-finished, even if his body burns with fever, and his head throbs with every breath.

Osamu remains silent, so Suna takes matters into his own hands. Suna slides off the bench and stands in front of Osamu. Suna bends down and takes Osamu’s shaking hands in his own warm, steady ones. Then he gently pulls Osamu to his feet.

Osamu’s body strongly protests the sudden position change. Osamu’s headache intensifies to a new level of excruciating pain, and intense dizziness makes Osamu’s head spin. Osamu desperately tries to keep his balance, but his weakened body doesn’t stand a chance against the sudden but fierce wave of lightheadedness. Osamu’s body pitches dangerously as shadows creep into the edges of his vision. He feebly reaches for Suna, trying to steady himself before faints onto the gym floor.

Osamu tilts forward, his chin coming to rest on Suna’s shoulder before Osamu’s knees give out completely. Suna squawks in surprise as he suddenly finds himself bearing all of Osamu’s weight. Suna carefully guides them both to the floor as Kita and Aran dart off the bench to offer aid.

Osamu is still conscious (somehow), so he is distantly aware of everything his friends do to help him. Kita and Aran grab Osamu’s shoulders and pull him off Suna. They settle Osamu on his back lying prone on the gym floor. Suna takes Osamu’s ankles and holds them up at chest level to get some blood flowing back towards Osamu’s head. Michinari zooms off, returning seconds later with his and Aran’s duffle bags. Michinari stacks them to an acceptable height, and Suna rests Osamu’s feet on the bags.

Kita pillows Osamu’s head in his lap. “Osamu,” Kita calls softly, “are ya still with us?”

“Hm…? Yeah…” Osamu mumbles as his hazy eyes lock on Suna, who’s still kneeling by Osamu’s feet. “’m with ya…”

“Tha’s good,” Kita smiles gently. He rests a soft hand lightly on Osamu’s forehead. “Ya have a wicked fever there, Osamu. Do ya want some water?”

“Ya,” Osamu nods weakly. “‘m thirsty.”

“Here, Samu.” Aran offers the sick boy a water bottle, but Osamu’s hands are shaking too hard to hold it without splashing water everywhere, so Kita helps Osamu sit up more while Aran holds the bottle.

Osamu drinks greedily, only stopping to gasp for breath every few gulps. Aran sets the bottle on the floor once Osamu empties it completely. Osamu’s appearance has improved considerably by now. His face is regaining color, his eyes aren’t foggy, and his body has stopped trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind. Kita and Aran help him sit all the way up, and when he still looks okay, they beckon Michinari and Suna over to help them get Osamu standing.

Once Osamu is on his feet, Aran and Suna support the sick blocker by his shoulders. Kita goes to explain the situation to their coaches while Michinari does the same for the rest of the team, who had slowly stopped practicing once they noticed what was going on with Osamu.

Suna and Aran slowly walk Osamu to the door. They stop briefly to haphazardly dress Osamu in his coat as well as Suna’s hat and Aran’s scarf. Ginjima, who has slipped away from the team gather with Michinari, holds the door open for them. Ginjima has the trio’s bags. He passes off Osamu’s bag to Suna along with Suna’s own bag while giving Aran his bag too.

“Ginjima,” Aran says as he and Suna maneuver Osamu out the door, “please let Kita know we’re leavin’.”

“Sure,” Ginjima agrees, eyeing Osamu worriedly. “Are ya takin’ him home?”

“Yeah,” Suna replies. “He’s going straight to bed when we get there since he won’t rest unless we make him.”

“Okay. Good luck, then.” Ginjima wishes them well with a wave before he closes the gym door.

Suna and Aran make the agonizingly slow trip to the Miya household. It takes them over an hour to get Osamu home. By the time they reach the front door, snow flurries are falling onto their hair and eyelashes. It takes another fifteen minutes to get Osamu upstairs, changed, and settled into bed.

Osamu’s parents aren’t home, so it’s up to Aran and Suna to find Osamu medicine, water, and food. Suna tackles the food because Aran admits that he’s never done more than boil water, and Osamu will kill them for destroying his kitchen, even if he’s burning with an extremely high fever (the thermometer Aran finds in the bathroom reads 39.5°C after resting under Osamu’s tongue for a minute). Suna reheats leftover rice he finds in the Miya’s refrigerator and dumps it in a bowl. It’s hardly gourmet cuisine, but Osamu will be too loopy to care anyway. Suna also fills a glass with water before carrying both things up to the twins’ shared bedroom.

Aran is sitting on a chair across from Osamu, who is snuggled up on the bottom bunk. Aran takes the water from Suna and forces Osamu to swallow both the fever reducers he’s found and the entire glass of water. Once Osamu’s finished, Suna presents him with the bowl of reheated rice. Osamu only finished half of it, but Suna didn’t expect much more, even with Osamu’s reputation for his voracious appetite.

“I have ta go home now,” Aran admits as he gathers the bowl and glass. “Are ya goin’ to stay with him?”

“Yeah, at least until his parents get home,” Suna nods. “We can’t leave him alone when he’s like this.”

“Ya,” Aran agrees. “I’ll clean this up before I go. I left the medicine on tha bathroom sink, and the thermometer’s right there.” He nods to the thermometer lying next to Osamu’s pillow. “Thanks fer stayin’ with him, Suna.”

“S’not a problem,” Suna hums lightly. “You should get going before your mom comes looking for you.”

Aran laughs, “Good point. I’ll see ya later, Suna.”

Aran leaves, taking the bowl and cup with him, so now it’s just him and Osamu in the bedroom. Suna reaches out to ruffle Osamu’s gray hair. “You’re still an idiot, Samu.”

“I know,” Osamu cracks his eyes open slightly and smiles, “but yer not.”

“Obviously,” Suna smirks, “but you’re not as stupid as Tsumu. Not yet, at least.”

“Gee, thanks, Suna,” Osamu laughs faintly. “Thanks fer stayin’.”

“You didn’t seriously think I’d leave with you like this, did you?” Suna raises a slim eyebrow.

“Nah,” Osamu smiles, “yer too good of a friend fer that.”

“You’re getting soft on me, Samu,” Suna smiles back.

“I’m sick, ya jerk,” Osamu huffs. “I’m allowed ta be soft.”

“You are sick,” Suna concedes, “but you’re still an idiot, and sick idiots need sleep.”

“Who’s gettin’ soft again?” Osamu quips, but his eyes still slip shut without protest.

“Goodnight, Samu.” Suna pats Osamu’s head gently as he settles himself onto Aran’s now vacant chair.

“G’night, Suna,” Osamu yawns, finally drifting off into a feverish but natural sleep.

Suna adjusts Osamu’s blankets and pulls out his phone. Knowing Osamu, the night won’t be as peaceful as Suna is hoping for, so he plays stupid mobile games on his phone and waits for what he knows will come in a few hours.

[ccinagalaxyfaraway]

Thanks for supplying so much content for this ship! <3 Could you write some more wholesome content with Wolffe interacting with Plo's padawan? Could be Lissarkh or an OC

Wolffe meets General Lissarkh the week after Ventress takes his eye. He doesn’t see the point in putting himself through rehab when the long-necks are going to decommission him anyway, and no offense, General Koon, but the Kaminoans aren’t really scared of someone like you.

General Koon tilts his head in the holo. “What would they be afraid of?” he asks in the tone of voice that future Wolffe will recognize as signaling trouble ahead for somebody in Plo’s way. Wolffe snorts bitterly. Maybe if he gave a giant lizard one of those fancy laser swords, but that was never going to happen. 

Not two days later, one robed Trandoshan with a lightsaber appears in the doorway of the medical ward. She picks Wolffe out almost immediately and marches to his bedside. “Get up,” she says. “Time to work.”

Wolffe stares up at her. She rivals the long-necks in height, and probably weighs twice as much as one. “What?”

“Master Plo likes you,” she says. “He says you have some hangup about doing your PT. I’m here to fix that.”

Wolffe blinks, sure his brain is making things up to fill in the missing data from his eye. He revises his opinion on the lizard woman to definitely not a hallucination when she tips the mattress over and dumps him on the ground. The rest of his first day of PT goes about the same way. 

General Lissarkh is as different from General Koon as possible. She has no patience for fools, no brain-to-mouth filter, and no time to waste in getting Wolffe back up to spec. She is also every bit as exacting as the Cuy’val Dar, except that she does all the exercises with him, running laps and doing push-ups and ribbing him the entire time. She spends hours throwing rubber balls for him to catch and spars with him until he’s almost used to having a blind side. When they’re done for the day, she lurks in his general vicinity, staring down every long-neck who comes within 20 feet of him and unnerving everyone else in the process too.

Wolffe thinks she's hilarious when he’s not busy cursing her name, parentage, sexual preferences, and personal hygiene, which is almost all of the time. But the work does pay off - he’s cleared to return to his Pack as soon as the shuttle arrives. The long-necks hurry him on board and practically shove General Lissarkh in after him, and they’re cleared for departure faster than Wolffe thought possible. He watches as the medical station disappears into streaks of light as they jump to hyperspace.

“We’ll be meeting up with Master Plo in a few hours,” says the General. “He whinged until they gave him the supply run so he could pick you up.” He can hear her eyes rolling. 

It still doesn’t explain what she’s been doing with him for six weeks. She’s a Jedi in her own right and has been for over a decade. General Koon is a sentimental man, as Wolffe has come to realize. General Lissarkh doesn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says instead. “For helping me.” He doesn’t say he couldn’t have done it without her, because that would be a lie. But she was an excellent motivator, and having her around was easier than not. She gives him the side-eye.

“I can hear you thinking. Ask your question,” she says. 

“Why?” He shrugs. “General Koon I’d understand. You don’t know me, sir.”

She smiles a terrifying smile. “When I was a padawan I thought I was invincible, and I did a lot of reckless things. Put myself in all kinds of danger. One day it caught up to me. Just because my leg grew back doesn’t mean I wasn’t without it for two years.”

He studies her in a new light and thinks he might understand. “You carry it with you, sir.”

“You are your experiences, but you’re not only your experiences,” says General Lissarkh. “Master Plo is going to ask you a question. I want you to really think about it before you answer.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” Wolffe says. “I’d do anything for General Koon.”

“He’s not asking for himself,” says General Lissarkh. “He only cares that it’s the right choice for you. When he asks, he doesn’t want anything from you. He doesn’t think less of you, and he won’t think more of you however you answer, so - answer for yourself. And if that means you need time or more information or something else, trust that you’ll get it.”

“Even General Koon has his limits,” he says, trying not to sound too doubting. 

“I guarantee you won’t be the one to find them,” she says with a laugh. “Not where hundreds of beings have tried and failed. He survived my apprenticeship, after all.”

Wolffe ducks his head. “He can’t just make things appear. That’s all I meant.” 

“He already got you a lizard with a lightstick,” she says, laughing. “Have a little faith.”

[simp-for-mha-men]

𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤 (𝕜𝕒𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕚 𝕓𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕘𝕠𝕦 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Request by @oneseharuxo: So, Can I request a bakugo x fem! Reader fluff where it's the reader's birthday? I really loved the Aizawa fluff! And you can take your time dw!

A/N: My first request! I was so incredibly soft while writing this. It’s the cutest little thing for our favorite explosive boy. I hope you all enjoy this little bit of Bakugou positivity to get you through the week! Also, I was listening to Ghibli soundtracks so it got super romantic. Enjoy!

Genre: some cute pro-hero!Bakugou and pro-hero!reader banter/fluffy times, a little bit of swearing, a dash of angst in the beginning about the reader feeling terrified of the future during past birthdays 💥❤️

Word count: 3.9k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

Birthdays are awful. No matter how you celebrate them, they always bring on the negative and looming thoughts of the future. You’ve known this since you were quite young.

Your mother told you not to worry about your 6th birthday party. You didn’t care about the theme, cake, or favors because you were too caught up in the idea about starting kindergarten. It was terrifying. You were going to need to make new friends, meet new teachers, and start the beginning of a full education.

On your 12th birthday, you began to worry about becoming a teenager. Sure, it was a year away, but it still scared you. The fact that high school was just around the corner made you want to vomit. Middle school was already a big issue in your life, and high school was just going to make it all worse.

When you turned 16, you were already done with U.A. You began to get anxious about your future as a pro-hero. Who would you intern with? Who would you do a work studies with? Who would you be a sidekick for? When would you get your own agency? All of these questions brought on a lot of stress, causing you to want U.A. to invest in one thing: a counselor.

Your classmates were a big help during this period, considering they were all thinking the same things as you. You got close with a certain group of “hooligans,” as Mr. Aizawa put it. He told you to be wary of those individuals, but he was so wrong. The Bakusquad, comprised of Mina, Denki, Hanta, Eijiro, and Bakugou, brought you so much joy and made you forget about your thoughts temporarily. However, you weren’t as close with Bakugou as you were with the others. You were never even on a first name basis with him.

Now, you were older and still stressed yourself out about the littlest things. You had officially become a pro-hero, after graduating as a sidekick to Best Jeanist, and worked at Bakugou’s agency due to him “owing you a favor” from high school. You wanted to start your own agency, but you were currently tight on money due to some issues with your apartment. Of course, the entire plumbing system needed to be fixed right before your meeting the bankers to ask for a loan.

Bakugou was “kind” enough to let you work alongside him, but he treated you the same way he did in high school. He was distant enough to not ask you personal questions, yet he always showed up when you had a bad day and needed to rant to someone. Today, it was the latter.

“He was so idiotic and rude!” you yelled to your co-worker.

“Yeah, what an asshole,” he replied, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk.

You were currently in Bakugou’s personal office, looking out the window and whining about a man you encountered after your recent rescue. It was already close to 10 PM so the building was empty. It was always like this, especially with the week just beginning.

“After he told me to come over later,” you sighed, “he tried to get my number.”

“Wait, really?” Bakugou asked, walking over next to you.

“Yeah! I mean, come on! You don’t just say that to a pro-hero. I’m not even that good looking.”

Bakugou fell silent. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t get anything to come out. He thought you were so gorgeous. How was he supposed to tell you that, though. He had acted as if he hated you until you both were 3rd years. He always regretted that. Maybe he needed to learn how to just “be manly,” as Kirishima would say, and tell you his actual thoughts.

“Hey, dumbass,” you said, flicking his forehead.

He rolled his eyes dramatically before grabbing your hand and flinging it away as gently as possible. “Oh, please. You’re the dumbass, dumbass.”

You giggled at your friend’s response. It was a classic exchange between the two of you. He had always called you a dumbass, and you had grown accustomed to it. You thought it was endearing and sweet, despite it being an insult the first time he said it. At least he wasn’t calling you an extra anymore.

“Well,” you began again, “what kind of paperwork do you have tonight? Is it some major damage paperwork due to your inferiority complex?”

“Shut up,” he growled. “Today, I actually didn’t go out. I had a couple of meetings with the damn nerd and pink cheeks.”

Huh, you didn’t remember him telling you about seeing Izuku and Ochako. You two weren’t the closest, but you both knew each others’ schedules inside and out in case of an emergency. 

“Oh,” you replied, dramatically. “Let me guess, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Uravity.”

That earned you a hard punch in the shoulder. While you were wincing in pain, Bakugou was churning over what you had just said in his mind. Did you think he had a thing for pink cheeks? You had thought a while back about him and Kirishima dating, earning relentless teasing from Raccoon Eyes, until he denied it.

“You know for a fact I wasn’t,” the explosive hero commented, walking back to his desk.

“Yeah, yeah,” you groaned.

“You just love getting in my head, don’t ya?”

“Obviously.”

“You’ve been doing it more recently.”

Oh no. He’s noticed. You admit that your teasing has gotten a bit heavier since the beginning of the month. Why? You were trying to distract yourself from a certain day. Today, if you want to talk specifics.

“You wish,” you uttered quickly.

Bakugou chuckled and bore his vermillion eyes directly into yours. Smirking, he commented, “You totally have. What? Finally developed feelings for me or some shit?”

Well, great way to get caught twice in the span of 30 seconds. You were way too obvious for your own good. However, Bakugou was oblivious. You’ve liked him since 1st year. I mean, how long is it going to take this guy?

Trying to cover up your embarrassment, you howled with laughter before saying, “Absolutely not! How low do you think my standards are?”

He started chuckling. You turned back to face the window again and joined in the hilarity of his accusation. Although both of you wanted him to be right, neither of you wanted to admit it. With Bakugou’s pride and your fear, a confession was not in the near future.

Bakugou’s laughter subsided first, causing him to look down at the mahogany desk. A faint blush crept up on his cheeks from your sweet voice filling the air before fizzling out. Damn, he really thought he had you there. Apparently, he read the signs wrong.

“When are you leaving?” a tone of bitterness lining his voice that he wished wasn’t there.

You flinched at the sudden hostility and glanced at your watch. “Now, I guess. I mean, all I’m doing is going to my shabby apartment to freak out over my ever-growing age.”

“What?”

“What?”

Both of you were looking at each other. You just let slip your biggest flaw: your tendency to overthink your future. Also, it was your least favorite day: your birthday. The fact you admitted it in front of Bakugou, your only crush in history, was like being bound up my Hanta’s tape. 

You couldn’t move. You had always kept up a stronger guard around the blonde than with the others because you had another fear. You had never even let this slip to Mina, and that’s saying something. Your biggest fear besides the future was losing Bakugou.

Throughout your time at U.A., he constantly pushed you to do better. Whether you were doing a simple training exercise or working on getting stronger for the sports festival, he was always there to encourage you. Of course, his encouragement was telling you to get your ass in gear or face the consequences from him, but it was still sweet of him. 

Suddenly, the opening of desk drawers sounded through the room. You tilted your head to the side, wondering what your angry Pomeranian of a friend was doing. All you could hear was grunting for a couple of seconds.

Then, pens and pencils were thrown out. Next, pieces of paper went up in the air. Whether they were contracts for new sidekicks or just blank binder sheets, you ducked so you wouldn’t get in the crossfire of flying office supplies. After a couple of other things, like paper clips and sticky notes, were scattered across the office, Bakugou finally sighed.

You looked between your hands covering your face and noticed he held...a calendar? Since when was King Explosion Murder organized? You had known this man for years and understood his habits. You even understood why he went to bed so early in high school. This, however, was very different.

“Ugh, what the hell?” he muttered.

Just as you were about to ask him what was up, he grabbed his bag off the back of his chair. He jogged over to you, grabbed your hand and bag, and opened the door.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, shoving you into an elevator. “How long? How long have we known each other? You still never told me.”

Your brain couldn’t keep up. What was he talking about? Did you forget an important dinner meeting he had? No, he usually only scheduled those on Fridays. Then, what was going on.

Before you could ask him, you felt your whole body being yanked by the muscular man. He took you both down to the parking garage and walked straight to his BMW convertible. Letting go of your hand, he went to the trunk and dropped both of your bags in. He opened your door, practically shoving you in, and slammed it closed when all of your limbs were safely inside. Bakugou got in the driver’s seat, buckled his seatbelt, and started the car.

You felt very hazy. You know Bakugou can get...intense about certain topics, but he’s never dragged you into it. The calendar was weird. Him dragging you to his car was weird. The aura was weird. All of this was weird.

“Bakugou?” you asked.

“You’re such a dumbass,” he scoffed.

“Bakugou, please tell me wh--”

“Shut your damn mouth.”

He was acting strange. You weren’t phased by his attitude since you’ve known each other for ages. Deciding to give up, you sighed and looked out the window. The scenery passed by quickly, making your mind wander to the moment you realized you liked him.

It was a normal day at U.A., and exams were just around the corner. You were planning to study alone until Bakugou asked you to join Denki, Eijiro, and himself. You agreed and immediately regretted it. Bakugou was constantly yelling at your other two friends because they were being absolute idiots. In his defense, they were. Denki didn’t even know his body was made of cells, for crying out loud. Despite this, Bakugou indirectly complimented you on your notes. He even smirked a bit at your flustered response. You knew from the way your heart picked up its palpitations that you had fallen hard.

“Out,” Bakugou huffed, scaring you out of your flashback.

Opening the car door and getting out, you looked up and noticed his apartment complex. You heard from Eijiro that it was nice, but it was beautiful. It was made with a light gray cement, almost looking white in the light of the moon. The wood accents were all dark oak, and each apartment had a secluded balcony. You’d definitely have to hit Red Riot the next time you saw him for calling this complex “nice.”

Noticing Bakugou had already grabbed your bags and started up to the door, you began walking to catch up to him. You both got in the elevator, and he pressed the button to the top floor.

You turned your gaze to him. He was deep in thought. His eyes held a purpose, but they were a bit muddy. The reason he had dragged you here must’ve been important. Could it be a reconnaissance mission of some sort?

Soon enough, the ding in the elevator signified your arrival. Instead of a long hallway lined with apartments, there was only a single door. Bakugou slid his key in and turned the look. Holy mother of All Might...Bakugou owned a penthouse.

You were expecting minimal decorations from your friend, and you were right and oh so wrong at the same time. Everything in his apartment was classy and modern. From the wood floors to the paint color to the granite on the counters, his house looked like it had been done by a professional designer. You decided in that moment that you were never taking Bakugou to your apartment.

“Well,” he sighed softly, “go take a shower. The bathroom is down the right hallway over there. You can use one my shirts and a pair of shorts once you’re done. Just don’t waste all the hot water, got it?”

You blinked your eyes a couple of times before meekly nodding your head. Carefully walking over in the direction he pointed, you admired the living room from a new perspective. You also got a chance to see the paint color up close. It was a beautiful soft blue that held a lot of gray tones. It was perfect for a man of his caliber, despite his anger issues.

Once you got to the bathroom, the clothes were already there for you. Bakugou had either gained your former class president’s quirk or you were walking extremely slow. Either way, you smiled when you recognized the top: his iconic black skull t-shirt. He’s had it since high school. The fact he chose that one for you, or maybe just yanked it out of the depths of his closet, made your heart flutter.

The warm shower helped clear your senses. You had to figure out a way to make sure you kept your cool around Bakugou. You had no idea why your crush had acted so strangely before dragging you to his apartment. However, as strange as this whole thing still was to you, despite living in this reality for almost an hour, you couldn’t let him know anything.

After using up almost all of the hot water, you got out of the shower and put on his clothes. They felt so comfortable and reminded you of some of the craziest things you both had gone through. From the USJ attack to witnessing All Might’s fall, you two had seen a lot of crazy things. These thoughts helped give you courage. With that, you checked yourself in the mirror one last time and went to the living room.

Upon walking into the open space, you felt your heart stop. You had only been in the shower for 15 minutes, but Bakugou had done some work. The angry boy you had watched grow into a man had changed, but what you saw was completely beyond you.

On the coffee table, a little strawberry cake with fluffy white icy sat in all its beauty. Next to it were two forks, some napkins, and two cups of tea. There was a card with a picture of you and Bakugou messing with each other that Denki had somehow snapped after the concert had been executed perfectly in 1st year. The reason he had rushed you to his house wasn’t because of hero work. He knew it was--

“Happy birthday, dumbass,” he said, causing you to look up to him.

He held the softest expression you have ever seen. Bakugou’s eyes entranced you and held something similar to...adoration? He was holding some candles in his right hand, but his left hand was hidden behind his back.

“But,” you began, “how? How did you even remem--”

“We were in Yokohama at the hero conference a couple of years ago,” he stated. “Jeanist told me your birthday was coming up, and I asked him what specific day it was. After that, I marked it in my calendar.”

He sauntered over to the coffee table and sat down on the ground. He placed each of the candles meticulously onto the birthday treat. It was almost too perfect.

“I then tried to find you a gift,” Bakugou continued. “Of course, I suck at remembering what people like. I couldn’t get you anything. I did remember something, though.”

Once the candles were placed, he activated his quirk, barely creating a spark, and lit the candles. There were only 4, but it was even sweeter than him leaving out his shirt. 

“At U.A., you always distanced yourself around this time,” Bakugou said, looking up at you. “I thought you had a family thing happen to you or something, but Dunce Face explained it to me. This year, I wanted to change that for you.”

You were speechless. Never in your life did you expect such a gesture from your friend. At this point, it didn’t even feel like you two were friends. It felt as if you two had been together since the dawn of time.

Bakugou then slid on the floor and propped himself on one knee before you. He took his left hand from behind his back, revealing a black and orange box. When he slowly opened it, you gasped at what you saw. It was a Cartier simple black band adorned with emeralds and jaspers.

Tears welled in your eyes as Bakugou extended his hand to you. You placed yours gently in his, allowing him to stand up and slide the ring onto your right hand. It was a perfect fit. Never in your life had you received such a perfect birthday gift. It was a sign from the universe, you thought. It was now or never.

“Baku--” you began, inhaling a sharp breath before starting over. “Katsuki, I can’t keep it from you anymore. I think I like you.”

“No,” Bakugou stated, trying to contain his laughter.

“Excuse me?”

“Try it again, (y/n). Tell me how you really feel.”

You were too infatuated with this man to get angry at him now. Screw your pride. This was your man standing in front of you. You had to say it. You had to say the words he and you both wanted to hear.

“I love you, Katsuki Bakugou,” you announced, causing warmth to flood to your cheeks.

He smiled and sighed. Rubbing a hand over his face, he groaned, “You know I suck at words so get your ass over here.”

Listening to his command, you stepped forward into his arms. He glanced at your lips before you both instinctively closed the gap. You had never felt more alive. It was as if you were both perfectly molded for each other. Whatever god or goddess had created you had also created the handsome specimen you were kissing. The genuine passion and love his kiss held spoke to your heart. It made you realize that the time you had spent waiting to confess to him was wasted time. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

After pulling apart, you both stared into each other’s eyes. Every romance manga you had ever read could’ve never prepared you for what this man was about to say to you.

“Be mine?” Katsuki questioned.

“Absolutely,” you smiled, kissing him once again.

Your entire world changed in those two words. His entire world changed in the response you provided him with. It was meant to be. It was the best thing to ever happen to him. You, (y/n) (l/n), were the best thing to ever happen to him. It was because of you his anger subsided drastically in 3rd year. It’s because of your positive personality that he ended up deciding to take a social ethics class to be kinder to civilians. It’s because of your smile that he kept going, even through the events you both had been through.

Breaking off the kiss, you giggled before saying, “I should blow out those candles. Wouldn’t want your fancy place getting burned to a crisp.”

Playfully punching your shoulder, Katsuki sat down and held open his arms. You got on the ground and crawled into them, feeling peace and security enter your system. Leaning forward, you thought for a few seconds before blowing out your candles. You did make a wish, for the first time in your life, despite having everything you could’ve ever wanted holding you tightly to his chest.

“Wanna break the rules and tell me what you wished for?” he whispered in your ear.

“Sure,” you replied, turning your head to look into his eyes. “I wished for our new relationship to be even better than our friendship.”

Rolling his eyes, he leaned in and kissed your temple. “Now,” he said, grabbing the forks, “let’s dig in.”

You both sat together on the floor of Katsuki’s apartment for the next 3 hours, talking, laughing, and eating the strawberry cake. You both reminisced on how you met, gave your genuine first impressions of each other, and even talked about your first thoughts on the life threatening situations you guys had been in.

For the first time in your life, you weren’t worried about the future. You were actually excited by it. Why? You finally had your partner...no, soulmate. Katsuki was meant to be with you, and you with him. Everything had finally fallen into place. This was the best birthday you had ever had.

Together, you cleaned up the dishes at 3:22 AM, and Katsuki headed off to take his shower. During this time, you began to wander around the apartment again. There was a wall, secluded from the others, that caught your attention.

On it were multiple sleek, black picture frames holding many different photos. There were a couple from the sports festival in 2nd year, one of the first photos the Bakusquad took with you, a couple of Katsuki and Izuku when they were kids, and a single photo of you.

You recognized it. You were at the beach with Mina and Hanta because they begged you nonstop to go. You ended up having a lot of fun, and Mina captured this photo when you happened to look back at her with the biggest smile on your face. When did she give that to him?

“She gave it to me graduation day,” Katsuki stated, as if he was reading your mind. “It’s my favorite photo on this wall.”

“Of course it is,” you smirked. “Who wouldn’t love a photo of me on their wall?”

“That’s it.”

Suddenly, Katsuki charged you and threw you over his shoulder. Laughing like a maniac, you hit his back until he was laughing with you. After a couple minutes of this, he put you down and hugged you. He really did wonders through his actions. Who needed words when Katsuki’s hugs were the best in the world.

“We need to go to bed,” he said into your hair.

“I know,” you yawned.

He picked you up, much more gently, and led you to his room. He plopped you down on the bed and got under the covers. Quickly, you scrambled in next to him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you. His warmth caused your heart rate to quickly slow and your eyelids to flutter shut. Before you completely fell asleep, you heard the one sentence that made you remember that this birthday was not a dream.

“I love you, (y/n).”

[the-shiftshop]

What’s In The Water?

Credits to @maleappreciasian for the pictures. Check is page out to appreciate more asian hunks.

"Jinho, thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem. I told you I’ll repay you soon enough. Now’s the time for that.”

“Naw, man. You didn’t have to go this far. Inviting me to your family’s farewell party? I ain’t part of your fam, man.”

“You treated me as a family when no one did at school, Daniel. Of course I’d treat you like that too.”

I just smiled back as I couldn’t disagree more. Jinho gave me an eye smile with his hand on his face and I couldn’t help but feel much calmer.

The story here is that Jinho was a transferee from Korea and he enrolled to our school to study for just a year, which was a bit unfortunate, although I know he would be happy for that. Jinho was bullied throughout the whole year for being Asian. I couldn’t see what’s wrong with being a different race, but students in our school didn’t think the way I did. I was the only person who approached Jinho, kindly. At first, he was kind of intimidated by me but I tried my best to connect with him. I started following him around, sitting with him at the cafeteria, studying around him at the library, and more. Soon Jinho got comfortable and I did all my best to protect him at all cost.

Today is the last day Jinho will stay here in the US. Since the party only accepts Jinho’s family members who live here in the state, he decided to sneak me in the venue in the morning. The party doesn’t start until 6 pm so we have the rest of the day for us to have fun together.

“Just drop us by the building, Gramps.” Jinho said to his driver as we approach the building. “And please make sure you won’t tell Mom or Dad.”

“Yeah of course I wont. I don’t want to ruin my favorite grandson’s last day here, right?” The man chuckled as he pull over by the sidewalk.

Jinho and I got out the car and he told me to enter the building as he would need a few word with his grandfather first, so I went in with my small backpack and sat on the sofa on the lounge. A few minutes later, Jinho came in with something in his hand. It looked like some sort of a small glass bottle with something shiny in it but I didn’t get a clear look at it as he hid it in his pocket. He pulled me by the arm and lead me to the elevator.

The elevator binged and the door opened. We entered and waited until we arrived at the highest floor. The door opened again and we got out and see the glory of the venue.

Jinho’s family was well prepared. The venue looked as if someone’s getting married today. There was a buffet on the side with a lot of tables for guests. Curtains fall down from the glass roof which made it look like a bit of a ceremony. There were tons of foods I’ve never seen before, and I quickly guessed that those were Korean foods.

There were people behind the buffet, most of them are still preparing for the party. These were also people fixing the curtains and tidying up the whole venue. What I’ve noticed though is that everyone were Asians. More specifically, Koreans. Jinho’s family was really picky with whom to let in the venue and it shows.

“Daniel.” Jinho called my name and I looked behind me. “Do you wanna eat first before we take a swim?”

“Ah... No. I’m full. Thanks.”

“Come on! At least just a few spoons. I want you to try my country’s dishes.”

I couldn’t really decline from Jinho. He’s very nice to me and all, and I can’t help myself but follow him. He grabbed me a plate from the buffet and got a few desserts and sides. Jinho told me what they are called whenever he get one. He got a few dumplings and placed them on the plate. On a small bowl, he poured some of those rice cakes with some sort of a spicy sauce. He also took a few of those vegetable rolls with rice wrapped in seaweed. After that, he guided me to the table.

“If you can’t use the chopsticks, here’s a fork.” He placed the plate and the utensils on the table and I sat down.

Jinho went back to the buffet to get me a drink. While he does so, I tried picking the dumplings with the metal chopsticks. It was very slippery and I always fall down the sticks. I gave up and proceeded in eating with a fork. I thought I wouldn’t enjoy the dumplings, but I finished all 8. There was something in the food that makes me want to try more. It might be because it’s very unique or, I may say, it have that unfamiliar taste. I then tried those rolls. I tried to pick it up with the fork but it only got the vegetables in the center, and eventually, the whole roll fell off, leaving only the radish, carrot and what seems to be a ham. I then decided to scoop it with the fork and put in it in my mouth. Again, it was delicious and I ended up eating everything on the plate. What were left were the spicy rice cakes.

I was really nervous at first. I never ate spicy food before. I never even tried putting sriracha on my food as well. This is basically my first time eating something intentionally spicy. I forked the rice cake and slowly placed it into my mouth. I chewed slowly at first, but soon, my tongue began to sting and I can’t help but chew faster. Though that didn’t help and I breathed heavily, trying to get the air cool down my mouth.

“Dan!” Jinho rushed to me with a glass of water. “I’m so sorry!”

“N-No. It’s fine.” I said as I drink water. Although it didn’t help that much, the icy feeling in my mouth eventually felt much better than having fire dancing in it. I fell back the support of my chair, trying to keep my tears from welling out my eyes.

“I’m really sorry. I thought you can handle it.”

“No, really. I’m fine! See? I have recovered already.” I said. “Bet I can actually finish this.” It was supposed to be a joke, but I still proceeded in getting another bite. As I chew down, I suddenly realized it wasn’t that spicy as before. I drank more water so wash down the small stinging in my tongue, then I took another rice cake. Soon, I can taste nothing but pure sweetness, though with a little bit of spice but it wasn’t that painful at all. “This is actually very good!”

I heard Jinho do a soft chuckle and stood up from his chair. “Glad you like it.” He then took of this shirt and exposed his skinny body. “Should we go and take a swim now?”

“I guess we can.”

I stood up and tried to take my shirt off. I then stopped for a bit, noticing that my shirt felt a little bit tighter than before. My eyes widened for a second but I just disregarded that and took it off. 

Jinho jumped into the water of the pool. As for me, I couldn’t run to the pool. There’s something that feels off. I felt as if I’m slowly gaining weight. I felt much heavier by every second that passed by. I started to feel lightheaded as well. I got dizzy for a full minute and noticed as if the ground looked much farther than before. I noticed the black hair blocking my sight so I tried to comb it away with my fingers.

Wait... Black hair? As far as I know I have blo.... blon.... bl... black.... Yeah... What’s wrong with me today? Why do I feel so off?

I placed scratched my chest and felt them grew with muscles. My eye’s widened, but then I realized it wasn’t the same as how I used to make it big. My eyes felt much smaller. Back to my body, I looked down to see abs starting to form and my biceps starting to get gains.

I smirked. I guess my exercise routine is working... But... I haven’t went to the gym before...? No... I haven’t returned to the gym for a week...

“What the heck is wrong with-” I cut myself. I grabbed my neck and felt a much prominent bulge on my throat. Why did I thought of my voice weird? It’s supposed to be this deep... right?

“A-Ahhh...” A moan escaped my mouth as I felt something grow in my boxers. I suddenly felt so horny and my cock was hard.

Get a grip of yourself! Snap out of it, Da-... Dan... 

“Hey, Daeho! Are you really just going to stand there?” Jinho called and I was brought back to reality.

Fucking hormones, suddenly doing this to me at this time of the day. I don’t want my brother to find me weird. I’m not gay and why am I feeling aroused around him? No. It’s just that I haven’t jacked off in a while. It’s not because of him. That’s weird!

“Wait a bit, okay? I’m technically 7 years older than you and being this old is giving me random nausea.” I shouted back... in Korean...

I grasped my mouth, but then again. What was weird about that? Of course I can speak fluent Korean. It’s not that I lived too long here in the USA to forget how to speak in my native language.

Fuck this. Maybe pool water will calm my mind down.

I slowly dipped into the water. I remembered my phone was in my pocket so I pulled it out and sat on the corner. I looked at me phone and saw my reflection on the black screen.

Right. Haha. Very funny, brain. Stop messing with me, making me think like I’m not Asian. I’m Daeho Park, 25 years old. A Korean in America.

Jinho swam near me and sat beside me under the sun.

“Bro. I’m so happy you’ll come back home with me.”

“Same, Jinho. Same.”

“I’m so thankful Grampa Timothee convinced you to make up with me.”

“Hey, Jinho. Let’s forget our problem before, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Jinho gave me one last smile before he splashed me with water.

“Hey! This jerk! My phone might get-”

“Then swim with me, you idiot!”

[dustjacketmusings]

The Intervention Scene: Pretty Much A Rant

I've seen a lot of really great discourse in the fandom around whether the intervention was controlling/abusive or necessary tough love. The thing is... Nesta absolutely needed an intervention. And this was an intervention. Feyre said approximately the right things at approximately the right time with approximately the right amount of structure for this to be successful. My problem is all of the approximates. It's really not clear why there was an intervention in the first place, and all of the actions following it undercut the message, or literally any message.

I charted them all out because this mess is living rent free in my brain. So here are the possible reasons why there could have been an intervention, and why the intervention itself or following actions made it fall so very flat for me.

Nesta is depressed. This is absolutely true. We see from Nesta's perspective that she is slowly killing herself. But following conversations with other characters make it clear that how Nesta sees herself is not how Cassian and other others see her. Do Feyre and Cassian know that Nesta is depressed? I honestly have no idea. And if that's the reason why they intervened... why did it take until Chapter 12 for anyone to ask how she was doing? Like - putting a depressed person in bootcamp and then never asking them how they feel, while systematically shutting down any time they want to vent is the worst idea I've ever heard. Even if Cassian is excused (maybe he didn't get the memo), Feyre could have checked up on her more. I wouldn't send my very depressed sister away without status updates more frequently than Feyre does. She also, pointedly, does not take Cassian aside to remind him to treat her sister with kindness. This is not even to say that the bootcamp aspect of this is extreme. If she is just depressed, why does she need to train so vigorously that she needs a strict diet? Exercise first -> battle formations later. The weird focus on training still makes no sense to me. I understand expecting training to help, but Cassian really does shut down any time she tries to talk about her feelings.

Nesta is alcoholic. This is pretty realistic and the structure of the intervention mimics this cause the closest. This looks like the intervention from the family of an addict. The problem is... Nesta has no problems with alcohol. She's fine after two days, never has a relapse, and suffers no ill effects. If that's the case, was she in danger of being an alcoholic in the first place? There also isn't really a plan for when she gets out of here. Eventually she'll be able to climb the stairs and even though she has no money, an addict will go to desperate measures to get alcohol. It's never brought up or addressed. The training aspect of bootcamp seems extra extreme for this scenario because... why would she need to train at all? It's just detoxing, really.

Nesta is not eating enough and arguably has an eating disorder. This one infuriates me after the breakfast scene. I cannot come up with words to explain how absolutely stupid it is to take someone with a suspected eating disorder and then control what they eat, while ignoring their requests for different food. Additionally... TRAINING. Why would you physically exhaust someone who's not eating? They'll just train and not eat and then they're worse off. And also this would be way better if anyone ever referenced THAT SHE WAS EATING. "Cassian... make sure she eats something" would have made Feyre so much more sympathetic. Ugh its just the worst! Because they notice that she's lost weight (while still fitting in her leathers perfectly, because that's possible), and then totally ignore her positive attempts to eat food.

Nesta is a sex addict. This is also argueable true. But I'm again unclear how training and mandatory service are supposed to help a sex addict other than keeping them busy. And, of course, she has a ton of sex with Cassian all the time. So if this is the issue, its incredibly problematic and never solved. They just stuck her in bootcamp while also feeding her addiction. There is literally no reason for the controlling aspects.

Nesta is spending too much of Feyre's money. Yeah this is true. Sorry Nesta but its absolutely within Feyre's right to cut her off. That being said... bootcamp? "You spent too much of my money so I'm going to control almost every aspect of your day and kick you out of your apartment" ??? I don't think I need to say how extreme of a response this is. This motivation would work really well if she was just doing library services. "You spent too much money without contributing so now you have to contribute at this library. Since you can't winnow or fly and everyone else has actual jobs (it's my headcannon that they have actual jobs and can't just taxi service) you need to live there too. Cassian will also be there because he lives there and to make sure you comply." Feyre could just say she's going to pay back her debt so she has to work at the library for XX time. OR the libary now funds her allowance (but that gives her way too much freedom). But training? We'll revisit in a few months? Revisit what?

Nesta is embarrassing Feyre as High Lady. This one is tricky, because on the one hand, fuck Feyre for this comment. On the other hand, Feyre is now an important public official and her sister does reflect on her. (Do not get me started on how Feyre not being able to "control" her sister implies shes unfit to be High Lady. The fact that she used the word "control" implies that she's unfit to be High Lady, not Nesta's behavior. You don't control your subjects but - ugh, I got started) Lets assume for a second that this is valid. If Nesta is embarrassing Feyre in public wouldn't the rational response to have someone... tell her what is appropriate behavior in public? Say, someone very good with presenting a public face... like Mor??? Who also conveniently has a few days off from being a politician????? Bootcamp to become a strong warrior is... not relevant? Wtf? Have they never met a warrior who is totally compentent on the battlefield and an epic embarrassment otherwise (that sounds kind of like Cassian tbh...). There is an arguement to be made that Nesta already knows how to do this (she's actually decent at politics) so her embarrassing Feyre must be on purpose. It's still a gross oversight to say "You're behaving incorrectly but I'm not going to tell you what was incorrect, go fix it". UNLESS:

They want to control Nesta. This one makes an UNCOMFORTABLE amount of sense. They didn't tell her what to fix. She's just going off and "they'll revisit in a few months" to check on her progress. See how moldable she is maybe? Controlling every aspect of her life in a place she can't escape on her own? check. BUT because this book makes no sense, they manage to fuck this up too. Why did they train at Windhaven?? Look, I'm not saying that anyone should control someone's life until they break down and become a shell of their former self, but if someone were to do that, it's in private. Arguably, Windhaven, where there was civil unrest less than a year ago, is full of people who ABSOLUTELY need to believe that Nesta is under the control of the IC (or at least on the same side). So why would they take her there on the first day, when she is most full of defiance? (They're idiots, moving on) Cassian's comments about how Nesta was embarrassing him in front of other people were hilariously a joke because he put them in front of other people to begin with. (Even if they didn't want to control her, why windhaven? Like... oh look there's the High Lady's sister who is an absolute weakling and garbage at throwing a punch. This reflects so well on the inner circle. what????)

The problem is that SJM took all of these reasons and put them in a blender to give some frankenstein motivation. In the end there was too much going on so she achieved none of it. It feels almost like a successful intervention, until you look a little closer, and then everything falls apart.